Maddie Ann s Playground

by Mackenzie Drew

  While she lay against the cement walls, the talking, laughter and music outside grated on her nerves. The festivities provided too much noise and much too much mental stimulus for her fragile psyche. In the past, once a year, the Cravens family looked forward to the festival. Steve enjoyed making quaint country wooden shelving units, and Cindy baked cakes and other desserts to sell; they always gave the funds to charity. Jennifer and her friends’ always took part in the annual fund-raiser for their school, usually some silly fishing booth for children, as well as decorating and riding on the school float. Not this year.

  Jennifer hated change. Now that her friends were gone, she vowed never to partake in another event. The pain was too great to endure. Time for healing old wounds was not going to work for her. Time alone would never be enough to ease the pain she held in her heart. It went beyond death, beyond anyone’s imagination. Jennifer was alone in her own world, building a life she didn’t understand. Running away to figure out where she fit in and whom she could trust; Claire was her answer. And if only to see her again, could she find the answers to soothe her mind.

  She'd stand up any minute and hitch a ride to the cemetery. As soon as she rested her tired eyes, just for a second…

  ***

  Steve and Cindy drove into the downtown vicinity hoping to finding Jennifer somewhere among the crowd. He parked in a lot two blocks from the Town Square. Walking into the heart of the Harvest Festival action, Steve spotted a group of his friends from work. It suddenly maddened him watching them drink beer and jostle in the streets like a bunch of idiots, but only because they didn’t have the worries he had. Jealousy got the best of him, and it made him angry.

  “I don’t think we’re gonna find her here, so let’s go cruise the side streets,” he said, grabbing Cindy’s arm.

  Jennifer might be out here among all these people, but he doubted it. She'd probably try to find a place to hide from all this confusion and noise. But it came down to Steve couldn’t stand seeing everyone having a good time. And since his daily grind now consisted of caring for his sick daughter, he figured no one else should be enjoying themselves, either. He gazed at the blue sky above him and squinted at the bright autumn sun. It made him even more irritated, because today was a great day to barbecue.

  Steve always looked forward to this party the city hosted yearly with the rest of his buddies. The insurance company's booth roasted huge haunches of beef on a massive grill his boss towed on a flatbed trailer. There'd be no booth for him this year, no basting of beef, no giant sandwiches, and no beer-guzzling contests.

  “Wait a second, Steve. We just got here,” Cindy, replied standing on her tiptoes to look over the enormous crowd.

  “I know that, honey, but do you think she’d come here with all these people?” he questioned, antsy to leave.

  “Maybe yes and maybe no, but if we take off and she happens to stumble in, we’ll miss her.”

  Steve saw stars and he didn’t feel good. His head hurt, his stomach growled and he wasn’t about to buy any barbecue from those guys. That’d be another hour wasted talking to them about his private affairs.

  “I think this is hopeless. We’ll never find our daughter in this mess. How about we drive around town a little more?” Steve asked taking Cindy by the hand.

  “But I’m afraid if we leave, we might miss Jennifer.”

  “I’m telling you; she’s not here and even if she was, she wouldn’t show her face. Trust me; I know what I’m talking about.”

  He stood firm on his word. Finally, they left the noise and bustle of the town square. As they rounded the bank building on the way back to where they'd parked the car, they noticed a big display of pictures hanging on a brick wall in remembrance of Claire, Lisa, Liz, Tina, and Kari. Steve felt suddenly sick to his stomach.

  His daughter was as much a victim as they. She'd survived the nightmare when her friends hadn't. Relieved her face wasn't there among the dead gave him little comfort. He couldn’t face those families, knowing his daughter alone lived through it. And to think Jennifer might face criminal charges for their deaths? It was all too much.

  “Listen, if we don’t find Jennifer in the next hour or so, I’ll call the police, but let’s ride around first and look for her ourselves,” he said, helping her into the car.

  Cindy nodded. Steve knew a gloomy day lay ahead of them, long and tiring, trapped in the car together, and he dreaded it. I took out the scene and left the small portion above.

  ***

  Steve cleared the traffic jam and raced down the expressway. Cindy placed her hands over her flushed face and bawled. What happened to them? Their marriage used to have meaning, love, and passion. Now all they knew how to do was degrade each other in their endless fights. Jennifer's troubles started this, and if Cindy wanted it fixed, she needed to end it. She'd do the researching and find out what she could about the Old Creek Cemetery.

  Steve took the cutoff to their subdivision.

  “Let’s not fight anymore. Right now is the time to put our heads together and think. I’m sorry I yelled at you. I just want to find Jennifer and end this nightmare,” Cindy said gently caressing Steve’s pale cheek.

  Steve glanced at his wife smiling. “Listen, after we hit Jennifer’s hang out spots, we’ll go home and relax. We’re tired and my head is hurting like a son-of-a-gun.”

  Cindy nodded even though she disagreed with Steve. What good would it do to go home and sit on her hands with worry, when she could scout the streets for her sick daughter? “If we don’t find her within the hour, we can go home. But for now, we need to check the park and the outlet mall.”

  Instead of taking a left into the neighborhood, Steve hung a right and took off toward the city park.

  ***

  The rest did Jennifer good. Before leaving her hiding place, she wracked her brain thinking of someone she trusted enough to confide in. The police? She didn't trust any of them. Father Donovan came to mind. He'd been her priest since birth; he had to believe her, didn't he? He understood the afterlife; she'd heard he once performed an exorcism, so he believed in demons and black souls. She decided he’d be the best candidate to talk with. If anyone understood this strange phenomenon turning her life upside-down, he’d be the one.

  It had been awhile since she attended church. Feeling good about her decision, Jennifer walked toward the busy downtown streets. As she stood on the corner of Meridian and Fifth watching the semaphore, out of the corner of her eye, she saw a police car cruising by. Ducking behind a large woman, she avoided detection, crossed the busy thoroughfare, and hurried toward the church. Staring straight ahead, looking up to God, the tall steeple come into view and knew it wasn’t much farther now.

  Come on, Jennifer, you have to make it, she urged herself. She staggered, bouncing off a light pole, but managed to reach the churchyard before slumping to the ground. While lying on the fragrant lawn looking at the bright sky, she noticed faces in the clouds gazing down at her. The surgical incisions in her arms began to throb and sting. Jennifer reached her arms above her head, willing the pain to drain away.

  Nature washed her with healing sunlight dappled through the trees, as a mother lovingly washes her child. At ease, her mind cleared and she felt a burst of energy. Now she had to face Father Donovan. If she sounded convincing enough, he might be able to help her. She wanted to believe that more than anything right now. She staggered to her feet, and limped to the double doors of the church, stopping often to take a deep breath. A morbid thought of having to have her forearms cut off flashed in her head. She’d better figure out how to make her hands work or she'd be an unfortunate blob without them. Jennifer used her elbows to help lift herself onto a concrete bench and rested, composing her speech before she went any further.

  The images of Claire’s gruesome death kept creeping into her mind. She knew if Father Donovan couldn’t help end this massacre, then no one could. As her breathing pattern returned to normal with no more gasping or coughing, Jennifer stood an
d entered the church.

  Gazing around, hoping to find him nearby, her heart sang when she spotted him standing at the altar practicing for his Sunday sermon. His half-glasses rested on the end of his nose, and he proselytized to an imaginary audience. He'd aged in five years, looking like a friendly gnome.

  She gave him a smile as he looked to see who entered, and tiptoed down the aisle like a little mouse. She hated to interrupt him. The front pew sat empty, so she took a seat and glanced up at his imposing girth.

  “Is that you, Miss Jennifer Cravens?” he asked, taking his eyes off his work.

  “Guilty,” she said raising her hand. It flopped uselessly from her arm, and she looked at it as if it belonged to someone else.

  Father Donovan left the pulpit and sat down next to her. He saw the stitches crisscrossing her arms, and sucked in a sharp breath. She looked like the bride of Frankenstein in her hospital gown and ugly orange sweats. Jennifer slumped down on the pew. A heavy red flush shadowed her face. The questions were going to arise; she was sure of it, and she had better have the answers.

  “Jennifer? What on earth happened to you, child?”

  “It's a long story, Father, but I know what happened to Claire and the others. They were all murdered and I know who did it.”

  Looking alarmed, he gave her a hard stare. For some reason, instead of concern for her, he looked rather angry in some weird way. His eyes changed from this bright, vibrant blue, to this dark, hazy gray. Talk about awkward.

  “Are you going to say something?” She swallowed thickly, waiting for him to reply.

  Bowing his head, he fumbled with his thumbs, and finally said, “Why do you come to me, Jennifer? If what you say is true, you'll have to contact the police. Please tell me what involvement you have with this incident. If you'd like to give me your confession, we can adjourn to the booth…”

  She had to make him understand. Claire needed her. Jennifer knew how suspicious this must have sounded to him. But he should help her spiritually, and the first words that came out his mouth, contact the authorities? What in the world could the cops possibly do to stop a poltergeist?

  “Listen to me, please Father Donovan. Maddie Ann, a dead child in Old Creek Cemetery, is responsible for this. She died a long time ago, controlled by a demon who took control of that place. Her slaves, the black souls, are my friends who went with me into the cemetery on Halloween night. Maddie Ann killed them. She controls them all, and they are hunting me down. They want to torture me and condemn me to their Hell, and unless you help me, I’m going to die. Evil spirits live in Old Creek Cemetery. Believe me; I barely escaped with my life. Nobody has ever left that place alive. If you don't help me, I'm doomed.”

  Father Donovan sat there through her nonstop soliloquy, stunned. “But…but I have to advise the authorities. This is a high profile case.”

  “Tell me, Father, what are the cops going to do to a little girl demon? Handcuff her?”

  ***

  Father Donovan didn’t know how to respond. Had Maddie Ann resurfaced? He knew eventually she’d come back for more souls, but not this soon. Either way, he had to handle this without scaring her off?

  “I have to say, dear, this is some tale. If you’re telling me the truth, you know this is serious. I don’t want be the bearer of bad news, but the authorities have to talk to you and they'll make you show them the bodies whether you want to or not. There are dead girls to consider. Their parents want to lay them to rest with a proper burial. They deserve that much. I hope for your sake, you’re prepared to go through all of this to the conclusion. After it’s started, there is no turning back.” Father Donovan laughed inside his mind.

  “Father, do I have to call the cops? Can't you do a Linda Blair thingy, wave your arms, and make it all go away?”

  “Jennifer, I'll be right beside you, all the way.” He wasn't letting this little soul out of his sight. First things first. He needed to call the cops.

  ***

  Ridiculous. What bodies? She knew it wasn’t possible to find them. There wouldn’t be a trace of evidence showing her or anyone else's presence in the cemetery. This whole mess would come back to bite her, striking hard. And the law would mark her as the guilty party. She'd be the one they’d prosecute. How can telling the truth hurt so much? Jennifer’s parents taught her to tell the truth and it would set her free. But this time it wouldn’t—it didn't; it made the problem worse instead of fixing it. She didn’t want to hear anymore drivel.

  “Listen to me, Father—if you can’t help me, fine, but don’t play with my head. I know you think I’m crazy and maybe if I were you, I probably would too. But when I tell you the truth, I expect you to have a little concern for my feelings. The cemetery is dangerous. I’ve seen my friends ripped to shreds by freaky, devilish beings I never thought possible. I've had those black souls turn around and attack me! After I escaped, the only one left alive, they continued to torture me in my dreams. I couldn't sleep and I couldn't take the persecution anymore, so I tried to end my life,” she lifted her arms into the light to show him. “That's why I came here, to God. I ran away from the hospital to find you. If you don't believe me, then go check it out yourself. Go to the cemetery.”

  He shook his head while running his thumbs through his eyebrows. With a caring grin on his face, he replied, “Jennifer…there’s nothing I can do short of consecrating the entire cemetery, which is a job for someone with more skills than I hold. You're sick, injured, and hallucinating. You need to go back to the hospital where you belong and talk this over with a qualified professional. I’d like to drive you over there and meet your parents. I’m so sorry, but I can’t do anything for your spiritual crisis except pray for you. Will you pray with me?”

  Jennifer sat there for a minute, stunned over his rejection of her truth. Before she said another word, Father Donovan folded his hands in front of him and began mumbling some stupid crap in Latin. She so wanted to believe he'd be able to help. Wasn't a man of God supposed to fight demons?

  After saying “Amen,” Father Donovan tapped her on the knee. He told her, “Wait here,” and stood, heading toward his office. Uncertain of what he’d do next, Jennifer snuck out the back door, hiding in some bushes off the path through the back garden. She took in a deep breath and wondered what to do now. She had to find Claire.

  She noticed a child running in and out of the bushes who looked familiar to her. Where had she seen her before? The blue dress, the blonde banana curls tied with blue bows that stood up straight on her head, like the ears of a Doberman. Where were her parents? And what was a little girl doing in the back garden of the cathedral? As she sat in the dirt, wracking her brain to remember where she’d seen her before. Jennifer heard the little voice singing an odd tune. Strange. Something about her sent chills up Jennifer’s spine. She peeked through the brush to see the child's face, but instead, heard an eerie voice calling out behind her.

  “J-e-n-n-y, you have been a bad girl,” she whispered. “I let you go and you did everything I told you not to do. I told you what would happen if you went against me. You know too much now for me to let you go.”

  Maddie Ann! Jennifer recognized that voice. She haunted her dreams, and made her believe in demons. “No,” Jennifer screamed, scrambling to her feet.

  “Now I’ll have to punish you,” the little girl said, darting toward her.

  Jennifer took off in a hard run. She swiveled her head in case the kid chased after her, but the creepy little girl had disappeared. She just vanished.

  Jennifer raced back inside the church, and smacked head-on into the priest. “Father Donovan, you have to help me, the evil child is after me,” she cried, looking over her shoulder.

  “What are you talking about? I don’t see anything but the lovely garden,” he replied, squeezing her shoulders none too gently. “Where do you think you were running to in that walled enclosure, dear? I think you’ve had enough for one day.”

  Relieved he came along when he did, she migh
t have fallen into the hands of the wicked child again. But he had an uncomfortable grip on her upper arm. She tried to shake free. She suddenly felt like she'd jumped from the frying pan into the fire. “I have to go; there’s something I have to do. Please…this can’t wait. I have to find Claire.” She had to get out of there in case Father Donovan called her parents—or worse, the police. But getting away from him wasn’t going to be easy. Distract him. “Look, she’s over there.”

  Father Donovan dropped her arm and dashed out the back door through the narrow maze created by the bushes. He glanced around. While searching for something that didn’t exist, she found her chance and took off out the front door.

  Confused, he called, “Jennifer, where do you see the child? I don’t see anyone.” As he turned around to question her, she'd slipped through his fingers.

  Claire. Claire. Claire. Ducking in and out of bushes that lined the busy street, Jennifer knew the farthest she’d get before nightfall was the city park. She knew most of the neighborhoods rather well, so it’d keep her hid from passersby. She used to take shortcuts through neighbor's yards all the time. Keeping a steady pace, she reached the edge of the park. Relieved to see her destination, her heart sank when people crowded the lakeshore. A bunch of kids sailed their toy boats across the rippled water. The Annual Regatta, Jennifer remembered. She won it four years in a row.