by Brian Hodge
They heard the front door open, followed by the clicking of shoes against the wooden floor.
“Oh, God,” William hissed, his terror filled eyes darting around the room for an escape. “What are we going to do?”
Joseph was already rushing to hide behind the thick curtain, his thin frame instantly vanishing within the azure folds.
William leapt into the wardrobe, closing the door just as Nathan walked into the room.
“I was going to go into town, Anna, and get us some more wine…but I was drawn back to you,” Nathan said.
William managed to get his eye to the crack in the door and peered out into the bedroom. Nathan was sitting on the bed, his hand running lovingly over Anna’s shoulder.
“I knew you would not be gone long, Nathan,” Anna said. “You never are.”
From where William was hiding, he could not see Nathan’s face. Because of the mask, he could not tell if Anna was speaking, but the thought she might be nearly made him wet his pants.
Nathan began to remove his clothes, black pants falling to his pale ankles. He slid onto the bed, his hands running up the folds of his dead wife’s dress and over her leathery chest. His breath quickened in lustful gasps.
“Make love to me, Nathan,” Anna whispered.
Moaning, Nathan pulled his dead wife’s dress upwards, rolling between her bluish-black legs. He thrust himself forward, passionately kissing the mask. William let his eyes drift to Anna’s perpetual smile, his numb mind nearly snapping as he watched her doll-like head shift up and down.
“I love you, Nathan,” Anna said as her husband’s hand ran lovingly over her dark hair.
With a final violent sigh, Nathan lunged forward, eyes clamped shut on his flushed face. Teardrops fell down his cheeks in glistening lines. “I love you, too.”
Joseph ran from his hiding place in the curtains, passed Nathan in a shrieking blur, and fled down the stairs. Nathan leapt from the bed, throwing on his clothes.
“There is another in the wardrobe, Nathan,” Anna whispered.
William felt hot urine spill down his leg and into his shoe.
“What are you doing?” Nathan asked, wrenching open the wardrobe door.
“They are not doing anything, my love,” Anna said. “They are just curious boys.”
For a brief moment, William actually thought the corpse spoke, but realized quickly that Nathan had, in fact, said the words.
Nathan stared down at his wife. “And you let me make love to you while they watched?”
“My mind is not what it used to be, Nathan. When you entered the room I lost touch again, forgetting everything. I told you it happens sometimes. I did not remember until the boy ran by.”
Nathan closed the door and leaned backward, his eyes wet with tears. “Please do not ruin this for me. We just want to be left alone. We aren’t hurting anybody.” His voice fell to the whisper of Anna Wilde, his whole body taking on feminine idiosyncrasies. “You worry too much, Nathan. These boys won’t tell anyone. They are scared.”
William just stared at the old man speechlessly, a soft hiss escaping his open mouth. He had no idea how to reply to something so surreal. He was not sure if he was dealing with a lunatic, or a man possessed by the spirit of his dead wife—either one was ghastly.
“You must promise me you will leave us be,” Nathan continued in his own voice. “I will only let you leave if you promise. I will not be denied the love of my wife.”
“I promise,” William said, wondering if he would survive a fall from a second story window should he choose to jump.
“Let him go,” Nathan said in Anna’s voice. “He is only a baby.”
“Please, sir, let me go,” William pleaded. “I promise we won’t tell anyone. We’ll never come back.”
“What about the other? Will he tell?”
“He may if I don’t get to him in time. I promise you, I will stop him.”
Nathan blinked, eyes screaming with madness. Then, the air rushed from his body as if he was defeated. He moved from the door and threw himself upon his wife, embracing her corpse as he wept.
William rushed down the stairs and toward the back door. The last thing he heard as he exited the house was Nathan’s sobbing.
Later that night, the boys talked from the windows of their bedroom. “I don’t want to tell,” William said, staring at his friend’s face in the candlelight. “He’s not hurting anybody.”
“He’s mad, William,” Joseph said. “Who knows what the man is capable of. We need to tell.”
“You didn’t see him. He was embracing her and weeping when I left. It bothered me. He’s a lonely and sick man.”
“He’s a dangerous man. Who is to say he will not come up here and kill us next? Put us into his house somewhere like some horrifying doll.”
“Is that how people make babies?” William asked.
“I don’t know. I don’t think Anna is going to be making any babies anytime soon.”
They both snickered despite how much the image still pierced into their minds.
“I just realized something, Joseph,” William whispered, his fingernails digging painfully into the flesh of his leg.
“What?”
“Anna told him where I was.”
“He speaks for her, fool. He talks with her voice—he’s mad.”
“No, Joseph. Anna told him I was in the closet. How could she have known unless she really is speaking through him?”
The boys said nothing, both of them knowing their sleep would be plagued by nightmares of Anna Wilde’s eerie doll-like smile.
By the end of the week, neither of the boys had told anyone of their adventure at the Wilde house. Perhaps they feared what Nathan would do to them, or perhaps they did indeed take pity on the poor old man.
It turned out they did not have to tell anyone after all.
Nathan Wilde, possibly fearing the boys would tell what he had done, poisoned himself. The authorities found his body in the bed with his wife’s decayed corpse, his arms clutched around her in a tight embrace, a ghostly smile on his face.
Years later, William was told that Nathan had implanted a tube of some sort between Anna’s legs to aid in intercourse. He listened to the tale with a shudder, remembering vividly the way the old man had plunged himself passionately into his dead wife.
William often thought of Nathan as he grew older. Within time, his revulsion had transformed to pity. He wondered if he would ever love someone as much as Nathan loved Anna, and in that regard, he even felt a pang of jealousy. For Nathan Wilde, even God could not deny him his love for his wife.
Feeling Alive
“Need a ride?” Earl asked, offering the hitchhiker a smile even though he probably could not see it in the dim interior of the ‘74 Chevy.
“Thank you,” the man said, his voice deep and gravelly—the kind of voice of one who has seen a lot of the world.
When the door opened, Earl was able to get a better look at the hitchhiker. He was wearing a denim jacket, buttoned closed over his wiry frame. Old acid washed jeans clung tightly to his bony hips, splatters of oil and dirt covering the legs. A zapata style mustache rested so thin on his lips it appeared to have been painted on with the edge of a magic marker. His eyes were expressive—almost haunted, the sort of eyes that one got after coming home from a particularly brutal war. Three scar lines snaked across his left cheek, nearly touching the corner of his almond-shaped eye.
“I’ve been trying to get a ride for the last two hours,” the hitchhiker said gruffly, his voice seeming to rumble and vibrate. “It just isn’t as easy as it used to be.” The man offered a warm, clammy hand. “My name’s Saint.”
Earl took the hand. “I’m Earl. Did you say Saint? Like in Saint Christopher?”
“Yeah. But it don’t mean anything religious to me. My mother was a religious person. She figured she couldn’t go wrong with a name like Saint. She figured wrong, may she rest in peace. Nice to meet you, Earl. It’s good to see that
there are people around who will still pick up hitchhikers.”
Earl nodded, running his fingers habitually over his shaven head. “Not a problem, my friend. I used to travel the land myself. When I turned eighteen, I pulled a Jack Kerouac. Traveled all over the place for two years. I soaked America in like a sponge. I remember standing on a dark road just like this watching tiredly as one car after another passed me by. I sort of miss those days.”
Saint pulled out a cigarette from his shirt pocket and looked over at Earl. “You mind if I light this?”
“Not at all. Used to smoke myself.”
“Used to? I have no idea how you managed to quit. I’d rather die than give up my cigarettes.”
“I used to feel the same way,” Earl said, inhaling deeply of the second hand smoke that trailed from Saint’s cigarette. “So what you gonna do for the end of the world?”
“Eh?” Saint grunted, blowing smoke from the side of his mouth. He was staring at the yellow line in the center of the road as if it somehow hypnotized him.
“The end of the millennium, my friend. In about twenty minutes that big ol’ ball is going to drop over at Times Square.”
Saint laughed and turned to face his new companion. “You may not smoke cigarettes, Earl, but you must be smoking something. I don’t know what year you’re in, but it’s the year 2000. We went through all that shit last year.”
“That’s what most people think, but technically, the year 2001 is the start of the next millennium.”
Saint nodded, taking another long puff from his cigarette. “Yeah. I think I read about that somewhere.” He exhaled trails of smoke through his nose, his face somber. “Forgot about it. Ain’t nothing going to happen anyway. It’s just another year.”
“I suppose. But you never do know. Do you just hitchhike all over, or do you have a particular destination?”
“I never know where the hell I’m going, man. I just travel all over the place and soak in America. Soak it all up in its blood and glory.” Saint patted his hefty backpack. “Then I record it all in here. When I die, anyone gives a fuck, they can read it with their eyes wide and their open mouth resting on their chest.”
Earl let his eyes fall down to the backpack. “Some shocking stuff in that book, huh?” He smiled lecherously. “Ever meet any women on the road?”
Saint looked over to see if he was being mocked and relaxed when he saw the lust in Earl’s eyes. “Sure I do. Lots of them.”
“You fuck any of them?”
“Sometimes I do.”
Earl nodded, his eyes glistening. “I envy your freedom, my friend. There was a day when I used to travel the world like that. For a time, I lived by my own rules—my own laws.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Then I got locked up for a bit. They say it did me good, but I think it just sucked the fucking life out of me. I don’t think I was crazy anyway. I miss the old days. Life was so exhilarating on the road.”
“It is exhilarating.” Saint looked over at Earl just as an incoming car’s headlights sliced across the interior, and their eyes met. In that brief moment, as if through osmosis, they sensed a kindred soul within each other. “I’ll be doing this until the day I die. Living by your own rules is living by the very nature of your being. Man was not made to live by laws. It’s unnatural. It doesn’t mean shit.”
“See, I think that’s where society is heading. By our very nature, we are nothing but animals. Laws merely hold us in place—sort of put a proverbial cage around us. If all laws ceased to exist at this moment, the world would be a fucking bloodbath. Survival of the fittest. What you do—what I used to do…is acknowledge that.” Earl turned over and studied Saint, seeing him for what he really was. “Man is meant to follow his instincts. I think society is heading to a point where man will eventually see that the laws are meaningless and break the chains—become the predators that we are.”
“What made you stop?” Saint asked. The question hung in the air for a brief moment, both of them knowing exactly what he was really asking, but neither of them sure if it would be safe to take off the mask.
Earl grinned. “I didn’t stop, my friend. I only got more insidious. I’ve found that it’s more fun if you can manipulate the very people you live around. People are sheep—you smile at them the right way, offer a touch in a perfect moment, say whatever the fuck you want them to hear—and they are instantly charmed. It’s an invigorating feeling when they don’t realize the monster is right in their midst. Ever hurt them first?”
Saint closed his eyes as if he had taken a shot of heroin. “Oh yeah. I usually do.” He turned on the interior light above his head and unzipped his backpack, pulling a pearl handled straight razor from within the cluttered papers and dirty clothes. Splatters of blood could be seen on the edges of the blade. “See this? My pride and joy. I’ve used it so much it’s almost like an extension of myself.”
Earl studied the blade and nodded with admiration. “Were you going to kill me with that?”
“Yeah. Probably,” Saint grinned, his eyes dancing with a mixture of controlled rage and glee. “But that was when I thought you were a—what did you call it? A sheep.”
“I was going to kill you too. I don’t think I’ve ever talked about this with anyone before. And on an even fucking stranger note—we’ve only known each for what? Ten minutes? I don’t think I’ve ever felt so opened up with another human being before—when I looked into your eyes, I knew you would understand everything.”
“Call it fate. Call it a New Years Eve present from God, his own bad self. It’s sorta freeing to be honest. Hell, the only time I get to show my true self is just before I cut some bitch with my straight razor. For that moment, however brief it is for them, they get to see me for what I am.” Saint paused for a moment, letting the smoke exit his nostrils in thin, serpent-like streams. “That makes me feel alive. I don’t feel hidden in that moment…or invisible.”
“I remember my first time. She couldn’t have been any more than twenty. She was walking near the river dike and I was just behind her, sort of lost in my own thoughts. She stepped off the dike and went into the woods—a shortcut, I guess. I felt compelled to follow her. Ten minutes later, she was dead. Fucked and strangled.” Earl nodded his head in grim satisfaction, then grinned wickedly. “And not necessarily in that order, if you know what I mean. That’s why I got sent to the Asylum. I pretended like it was a Leprechaun named Ulysses that told me to kill that girl. On some days, I miss the fucking chaos of that place. The mood was so tense you felt like you were in an electrical vacuum. I had to manipulate the shit out of people to get out. “
Saint nodded his head knowingly. “I can’t believe we’re talking about this shit. I’ve spent my whole life in silence, knowing what I was but never saying shit. Then you come along, and I open up like a fucking loose hinged door. What the hell, man?”
“I know what you mean. I thought I would take all this shit to my grave. The only explanation I can give is that it was just meant to be. It seemed so natural, you know?” Earl grinned. “It was like we were put together by the Devil or something. A sort of New Years gift.”
Saint snickered. “You just might be right, Earl. I spent my whole damn life praying to that horned fucker—dedicating a kill here or there to him. It’s only right that I meet someone who understands me on what some whack-ass religious nuts think might be the end of the world. Maybe we’re supposed to help the end come about or something.”
“I see no reason to argue with you, my friend. When I woke up this morning, I knew something was different—something important. I kind of chalked it up to the fact that the new millennium was arriving, but with you here I see things in a different light. I think you’re right. I’m ashamed of myself. Ashamed for letting myself stay docile for so long. I want my old life back. I’m sick of keeping this shit in check. I couldn’t tell you how many times I had to fight the urge to pull back. I think everyone has this. Anyone who’s ever wanted to rip the throat out of the man who just
pulled out in front of you can understand this shit. They feel that instinct.”
Up ahead, a giant billboard was flashing the time as 11:56, the numbers shimmering gaudily in the frigid winter air, an advertisement for a restaurant celebrating its birthday at the end of the New Year. A Lincoln Mercury was parked just underneath the sign, the garish billboard lights reflecting on the roof hypnotically. A man was on the right side of the car angrily turning a tire jack, his hot breath firing above his head in furious clouds.
Earl and Saint turned to face each other—neither of them surprised to see a smile burning across their features with blistering sharpness.
“I’ve never done this with a partner,” Earl said as they pulled right in back of the Mercury. “But I can’t think of a better way to celebrate the next millennium.”
The man turned to face them, his hand over his forehead in a vain attempt to block the blinding light from piercing his eyes. He instantly stood up, a nervous grin on his face as he ran his fingers through his wavy blonde hair apprehensively. Holding his hand out in a friendly gesture, he nodded. They could see the silhouette of a passenger on the right side of the car.
“Should be interesting,” Earl whispered.
“Ain’t you going to use a weapon?” Saint asked, caressing his straight razor like it was a favorite pet.
“Nope. Don’t need one. I’ll get the passenger; you get the other. Watch out for that tire jack.”
Earl and Saint exited the car simultaneously.
Hiding his threatening body language, a skill Earl had learned from years of manipulation, he approached the car. “Howdy!”
Saint went off like a bomb, exploding forward with almost supernatural speed, the straight razor slicing through the air in a dizzying blur. The sound of paper ripping penetrated the silence and a crimson line appeared underneath the shocked man’s chin. The victim’s eyes widened, still blinded by the headlights and he stuck his hands over the cut as if he could possibly hold all that blood. The straight razor whirred through the air once again, piercing deeply into the side of the man’s neck with a soft whisper. Arterial fluids sprayed into Saint’s smile, dotting his face in red splatters. The man fell to the icy ground hard, still gasping as Saint brought his blade down yet again.