A Haunting of Horrors, Volume 2: A Twenty-Book eBook Bundle of Horror and the Occult

by Brian Hodge

  Women aren’t very good liars, not good women anyway. I suppose there might be some evil women out there who can play some poker, but I don’t want to know them. Poker is also about risk taking. Women aren’t so eager for that most of the time. Women like to play it safe. Best thing for them, really. Safest thing.

  Now that I’m married and have my own daughters to look out for, I don’t play much poker anymore. As I suspected, it wasn’t very important to my wife either, and as hobbies go, it just fell by the wayside. Now life was more about schedules and play dates and knowing all the pop-culture, mundane garbage kids like. Keeping an eye on that was important these days; you never knew who was out there trying to influence your kids.

  My girls especially liked Teal and Tammy Barnaby. I didn’t know who Teal and Tammy were at first, when my own girls were younger. Mikey used to love those movies, went to see them all the time. It was years before I realized they were movies made for teenage girls. Mikey used to buy teen magazines with the Barnaby twins, which I have to admit was kind of freaky. He always said they were for Chandra and Durga. He said their mother didn’t like them having that kind of magazine, so he bought them just to get on their good side. He kept on buying them even after Dami and the kids left.

  I guess it was around that time that I stopped calling him to hang out. He was moody and secretive, still acting like a teenager. He’d always been that way; I just hadn’t realized it until I had a wife and children of my own. It became all too real, how grossly inappropriate he’d become. When you’re a young bachelor type, getting loaded and chasing tail is the most important thing on earth. That was a given for most guys we’d known. But all that has to end some day, usually once you make the decision to have a child. Once you make that kind of commitment, to be responsible for the well-being of another human life. It’s staggering. It sobers you and makes you see the world … I can’t really explain it. It’s just different. Parents aren’t the center of their own universe anymore. It revolves around that tiny, squalling thing wrapped in a pink blanket.

  I was sorry to say it, but I didn’t have room in my life for someone like Mikey anymore. You couldn’t have an intelligent conversation with him. It was all about women and how unfair everything was. All he wanted to do was drink and smoke pot and complain about his life. Really, though, he wanted to whine and complain about his whole life when he wasn’t doing a goddamn thing to improve it. If you hate your job, find a new one. If you want to meet a nice girl, you have to go to nice places. If your house is a mess, fucking clean it. It’s not that difficult.

  Telling him that was another matter. Mikey was the kind of guy who got offended really easily. If you didn’t tell him exactly what he wanted to hear, he might freak the hell out on you.

  I didn’t hate him or anything. I just didn’t have time for him. He didn’t really add anything to my life. My wife thought he was creepy, and she always had a good eye for scoping out weirdoes.

  Avoiding Mikey was actually much easier than I’d anticipated. After I stopped calling him, he only got in touch with me when he wanted to use the vacation house. Looking back, it seems like he only ever called me when he wanted something. It was my own diligence that had kept our supposed friendship going on for as long as it did. That made me either a loyal friend or a foolish jackass. I leaned toward the latter. Loyalty was immensely precarious and powerful. Misplaced, loyalty brought only tragedy and regret. I’d had enough of regret.

  Mikey had unwittingly coerced me into a metaphorical poker game, one that left no room for friendship or loyalty. Sorry if that sounds literary or melodramatic. It was true. And I was all in.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  (Mikey)

  Along for the Ride

  Elise was really something. Her job was empowering women, which had to do with showing them they didn’t really need men for anything. Well, anything but sex I suppose. Everyone knows men and women need each other at least for that. Elise and I were having sex pretty regular, even though I didn’t bring her home to my house very often. It was a long time before I could get the place clean enough for her to come inside, and even then she scrunched up her nose every time she walked in the door. Plus, she was nosy, very into poking around in my things.

  This week she was giving a presentation at a school. As a matter of fact, she was giving a presentation at Durga’s school. I decided I’d go with her for support. Really I was going to see my daughter and see how she was. I hoped she was dressing and acting like a proper young woman, not a whore. I hoped her vile tramp of a mother was teaching her better.

  I’d be getting up early on my day off; Elise was picking me up from my place because her car was nicer than mine. She didn’t care that I had such a shitty car. Beat-up, she called it. She was just being polite. She didn’t want to be seen in my junk heap, and why should she? Her car was perfectly nice and new. She’d bought it herself. I felt embarrassed just standing next to her sometimes. It wasn’t right.

  I wasn’t feeling well. I hadn’t been sleeping much. Yesterday I got up in the middle of the night to look around for that black girl from a few weeks ago. All I could find were some clothes and some blood. It was creepy. I remembered her being here, but not taking her away. At night I had trouble remembering the difference between real life and nightmares. Once I thought all my old girlfriends were coming to kill me. They threw bus tokens at me and called me “Mama’s Boy.” Horrible.

  I needed to feel extra good today since I was going to see Durga at her new school. Going to any school makes me nervous. I wasn’t allowed to go to regular school, and the kids in my neighborhood thought I was some kind of freak. When I see kids all happy and laughing and going to school, it makes the Red come on me. I want to just punch them all in their giggling little faces. And I want Mama to watch and see. See what she made me do.

  “Good morning women,” Elise was saying to the gymnasium full of girls. “How’s everybody feeling today?” She said that was her routine beginning, so she could talk to girls about their feelings and how to best express them. I thought it was crazy that anyone would want girls to express themselves more or talk more about feelings. All girls ever did was talk about their feelings. Any time you wanted to do anything fun with a girl, she wanted to stop and talk about feelings. I’d always wondered why that was. Now I knew it was because of women like Elise. What the hell was she thinking? This was all her fault.

  “… because you have to listen to what your body is telling you. If your breathing is shallow and your heart is racing, you’re probably doing something you’re not comfortable with. And it’s okay to stop.” If I didn’t know better, I’d swear she was teaching girls to be goddamn little teases. Sure, it’s okay to kiss and grope, and just when it gets hot, you want to stop and laugh at us because we get in trouble if we want to make you finish what you started. I didn’t know for sure if that was what Elise was actually saying; I wasn’t really listening. But it sure seemed like it. Damn.

  “You don’t have to settle for anything that isn’t really what you want. You don’t have to accept anyone’s definition of you! You can do anything you want to!” That’s just the kind of crap they teach girls these days. Then they grow up and turn gay or have convenience abortions—no fucking morals at all.

  The girls clapped a lot after Elise was done talking. They asked a bunch of questions and there was laughter and cheers. It reminded me of those affirmations they teach you in the hospital. I’ve only been in the hospital for a little while here and there, and only when they made me go. I really have no use for doctors unless they’re getting me out of trouble.

  As I was walking out, hand-in-hand with my girlfriend, Durga walked right in my path. She stopped abruptly in front of me.

  “How are you, darlin’?” I said to her. She looked at me with utmost horror. My daughter ran from me as if I were the Devil himself.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  (Chandra)

  Empowerment for Sale

  I wa
s answering an e-mail from Thomas, when my sister came running home in what looked like complete panic. Thomas sent romantic e-mails every afternoon around this time. He was quite enamored with me.

  “What’s the matter?” I leapt from the rickety computer chair, almost toppling it backwards.

  “He was there, at my school. He tried to talk to me. He’s not supposed to try to talk to us!” Mother had talked about going to the police, getting an order to make him stay away. As far as I know, she’d never actually called them. Her reluctance to act was infuriating. Sure, she was going to meetings and making lists, but what was she doing that really helped? Nothing. Only prayer and beseeching. Where was Shiva when Father was being murdered? Why did Arjun not see that his killers were brought to justice? Real justice? I’d had enough of impotent gods.

  “Why is he still bothering us? What does he want?” Durga asked her questions over and over again. I had no answers for her.

  We went to our grandmother’s home and stayed there until Durga was calm. I understood her panic. The longer we were away from The Villain, the more time I’d had to think about how close we’d come to being truly victimized. Each time he returned to frighten us, I was that much closer to believing he’d never leave us alone. I didn’t just hate him, or even fear him. I wanted him dead. All throughout history, people have been publicly executed for less.

  Thomas helped me find a consignment shop. I thought it best to have a handgun in our home in case something awful happened. I was relieved and grateful to have Thomas with me there. The man behind the counter gave me an unwholesome stare, and asked me if I needed a gun for “some kind of terrorist shit.”

  “It’s for protection, for our family,” I told him, ignoring his offensive remark. I’m well-practiced in feigning obliviousness for the benefit of idiots. Apparently, all dark-skinned brunettes looked alike to him.

  “I see, and do you have any ID, little lady?” I produced Mother’s driver’s license from my purse, to the awestruck horror of my boyfriend. The shop owner smiled and demonstrated some gun basics to me: where to find the safety, what kind of bullets it took, how to hold it properly. For being such an ass, the clerk had a lot of information to share. He gave me a business card for a firing range, and told me where to buy the ammunition. Apparently firearms weren’t supposed to be sold at the same time as ammunition. Ridiculous. One is worthless without the other.

  We left the store heavy, which is a mob expression for “with a gun.” I heard a mafia boss say it on HBO. We were also light to the tune of three hundred seventy-five dollars. A fair price for a twenty-two caliber handgun, I suppose. I didn’t know enough about guns to know if it was a suitable weapon for my purposes, but it was all I could afford. When I asked the salesman about stopping power, he laughed at me and never actually answered.

  “What are you thinking, using a fake ID?” Thomas rounded on me the second we were out of sight of the gun dealer.

  “I just purchased a handgun and you’re upset about a fake ID? What’s the matter with you?” He really was being stupid. How else was I going to purchase a gun?

  “I just don’t want to see you get into any trouble. Wouldn’t your mother be furious if she knew?”

  “How would she know? Besides, my mother is responsible for this in the first place. I’m sorry, but it’s true.” I looked at him defiantly, almost pleased at the surprised look on his face.

  He didn’t say anything else until we got back to my mother’s house. Normally when we went there, he wanted to kiss me and try to have sex with me. Not today. Today he sulked on the sofa and flipped through all the cable channels, without actually stopping to watch anything for more than a few seconds. It was very annoying.

  “Do you have to do that?” I finally inquired impatiently.

  “Do you have to keep a gun in the house, with a child in it?” Durga was hardly a child. It was another stupid, manipulative thing to say. Did all men seek to manipulate women?

  “Why did you come with me if you were so against it?” I was so angry. What was the point of coming along to buy the gun, only to complain about it for the rest of eternity? How could he judge me? I was protecting my sister from a monster. Who else was going to do it?

  “Because you had no business going to such a place alone. Did you even notice how rude that man was to you? You’re so naïve. You think everyone is good and nice and—”

  “I think everyone is good and nice so I bought a gun? You’re not making a damn bit of sense!” Who was he to tell me where I could and couldn’t go? So audacious.

  “I didn’t want you to get hurt, and I still don’t.” He took a deep breath, steeling himself. “I don’t think you can handle a gun and I don’t think you should have one in the house.” His eyes were pleading. I’m not entirely sure why he was making me so angry.

  “You know what I don’t need around my house? You.” I opened the door, inviting him to leave. He walked out, sulking. A few steps down the walk he looked behind him, waiting to see if I’d ask him to come back. I’d like to think I’ve evolved beyond those kinds of games. I returned to my room and began searching for a place to hide the gun.

  Chapter Thirty

  (Mikey)

  Uncle Stan

  After Dad got killed, Uncle Stan said he wanted to “pick up the slack.” Mama said he’d be in charge of teaching me all the things men needed to know. That made me scared, and I really hoped I wouldn’t have to go hunting anymore. Hunting was so drunk and awful.

  Uncle Stan told me he’d never killed anything in his life. He said it like it was something to be proud of. I felt like wires had loosened up inside me. You could still be a man if you didn’t go hunting? Why didn’t anybody tell me that? Why would they try to trick me? It was so mean and unfair.

  Mama was right, in the end. Uncle Stan spent a lot of time with me, teaching me all the things a man should know. For my twelfth birthday he bought me a bunch of beer. That was when I learned beer was disgusting. Why the hell would anyone drink that? Uncle Stan was drinking his own beer, looking at me to see how I liked it. This was what men drank. I’d be a pussy if I didn’t like it. Dad would have said so. I smiled, pretending.

  “It’s … um … good.” I took another sip. It tasted like something that’d leaked out of a car. I wanted a Coke so bad. This was the worst birthday ever. Last year Mama got me nothing but socks and a new Bible, and even that was better than this.

  “You little liar,” he said, laughing. He wasn’t even mad. “Nobody likes beer the first time they drink it. It’s an acquired taste.”

  Uncle Stan said he had something I might like better. He came back from the kitchen with something pink in a glass bottle. It tasted like strawberries mixed with limes. I think I’d had it once before when Mama’s cousin Francine died. There were motorcycle gangs at the funeral and Mama wouldn’t let me talk to them.

  I drank three of those strawberry lime sodas from Uncle Stan. He had another birthday surprise for me. A bag of videos with black covers. Even I knew that black covers were code for dirty movies. This was gonna be awesome. I was pretty tired, but I could make myself stay up for this.

  “Mike, you’re getting to be a man now. There’re some things you need to understand. This is guy stuff. You don’t want to be telling your mama about any of our guy stuff.” He held onto my arm. He was being really serious, so I listened close to him.

  “So, like, it’s a secret?” I would never tell Mama about drinking beer or watching pornos. She’d go crazy. But Mama said I should never keep secrets from her. She said if I tried to keep a secret, Jesus would know and he would tell her. I bet she was lying, tricking me like before. I decided I was going to keep all of Uncle Stan’s secrets. Then we’d just see whether Jesus really talked to her or not.

  Uncle Stan put in the first video, then he went to put on his pajamas. Two ladies were kissing and rubbing on each others’ tits. Oh man … I couldn’t wait to tell the guys about this. They weren’t gonna believe it. Then this
guy came in and got in between the two porno ladies. He looked old, grey hair and stuff. One of the ladies took his whole dick in her mouth. It was gross. I always knew what a blow job was, of course. Looking at it, it didn’t look that good. It looked like she could bite his thing off and swallow it. You’d think guys would be on the lookout for stuff like that.

  Uncle Stan sat down next to me with a pack of smokes. He lit one and held the pack out to me. I waited to see if he was gonna snatch it back and laugh. He didn’t. He really let me have one. I’d already smoked a couple of times and knew how to do it without coughing. He was impressed; I could tell.

  The movie switched to two guys and one girl. It wasn’t as nice as the first one, but you could tell the bitch in that one totally deserved it. I noticed Uncle Stan’s breathing, and when I looked over his robe was all open and he was—you know—strokin’ it. I knew I shouldn’t look. I was going to go to the bathroom for a minute. Uncle Stan stopped when he saw me looking at him. I knew he was gonna be mad.

  “It’s okay, Mike. This is just what I was talking about before. It’s okay that we’re doing this. But it’s private. Nobody needs to know our private men things.” He was right. I just had to remember to keep it secret. If Mama knew about the drinking and smokes and videos, there’s no telling what she might do. She might not ever let me see Uncle Stan again.

  That was when he started giving me all the special money. It was coins, but not like regular money. All different shapes and designs on them. He said I could take them to a coin dealer and cash them in for a fortune. By the time I was sixteen I had a big jar full of coins. He gave me some every time I stayed over with him. When I took them to the hobby shop, the guy poured them out onto the glass counter and made a scrunched-up face. He laughed and pointed to the door. I didn’t get him at all.