Three Truths and Other Unsettling Tales

by Thomas O

  The three proceeded to the cabin. By the time they got there, Calvin had already grown noticeably weaker. Hooper helped him into the single-room dwelling. He stumbled in and fell onto the bed, sweating and breathing heavily. Sitting on the bed next to him, Tabitha ran her fingers through his hair to comfort him.

  “Look after him, I hope it won’t be too long,” came Hooper’s voice as he exited and closed the door behind him. A few seconds later, the sound of his tires rolling over the rocks and gravel echoed through the cabin. The sound grew fainter, and they were alone.

  Calvin writhed as he felt the bug move around his brain again. Tabitha reflexively covered her ears and cringed when she heard it. To her, it sounded like an angry bee stuck inside a plastic bag, only lower pitched. “Does it hurt?” she asked.

  “Actually, no.” Calvin pondered for a moment, then added, “It’s a very uncomfortable feeling, but it doesn’t really hurt.”

  Tabitha laid herself next to Calvin and placed her arm across his chest. She closed her eyes and rested.

  Some time later she awoke to hear Calvin whispering to himself. “My mother is Norma. She was kind to me when I was growing up. I have a brother named Tim. He used to pick on me when we were little but I know he loved me.”

  He repeated the same phrase several times before Tabitha interrupted. “What are you saying, babe?” she said in a whisper.

  Tabitha’s words came as a surprise and he stopped his spiel mid-sentence. “I was able to remember a few things after all. I don’t want to lose them again. I can already feel them fading.”

  “It’s like you’re moving those things from your long term memory to your short term memory.”

  Calvin gave a genuine smile. “That’s why I love you, Tab, because you get me.”

  He laid his head back down and closed his eyes, continuing his words. “My mother is Norma, she loved me. My brother is Tim. He used to pick on me when we were little but I know he loved me. My father is...” There was a long pause. “My father is... God damn it!”

  “Your father is Clyde. You two weren’t really that close, but he was a good man. You told me that one of your best memories of him was the time he took you to the Dodgers game on opening day and you sat right behind third base.”

  “I don’t remember that at all.” Calvin covered his face with his hand.

  “You caught a foul ball. You still have it on your dresser at home.”

  Calvin nodded and then resumed his whispering. “My mother is Norma. She was always good to me. My brother is Tim, he picked on me but loved me. My father is Clyde, he took me to a baseball game and I caught a foul ball.

  Tabitha held Calvin closer as he continued to repeat facts about his childhood. Her eyes watered as she said a little prayer that Calvin would never forget her, then she drifted off back to sleep.

  BZZZZZ – The buzzing was loud enough to wake Tabitha, and she jerked up. Calvin was holding both hands to his head so hard that his fingers were white from the pressure. He sprang up from the bed and ran across the room. He pulled his head back and then slammed it against the wall. “Get out of my fucking head!” he screamed.

  Tabitha jumped up after Calvin and grabbed him. “Calvin! Stop!” she said as she pushed herself between the man and the wall. “No more,” she cried, “that won’t do anything except hurt you.”

  Calvin held her close and cried on her shoulder. She supported his weight and helped him walk back to the bed where he collapsed. He caught his breath and spoke, “This thing, it’s perfect.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that if I designed evil bugs instead of bridges, this is exactly what I’d aspire to.” His deep, rhythmic breathing continued. “Think about it. It can sting without its victim even feeling it. There’s no way to remove the larvae without killing the host. It slowly incapacitates its victims so that when it’s time for it to emerge, there won’t be a fight. And wow, it must release some sort of endorphin or natural painkiller, because I feel fucking great right now.” He gave a maniacal laugh which made him sound like he was feeling anything but great.

  “We’re going to get this thing out of you, Calvin.”

  “I doubt that. Your dad hasn’t checked back yet, and it’s starting to get dark. I don’t think a plane is going to land here after sunset.”

  “It won’t be dark for long. I bet a plane will be here first thing in the morning,” Tabitha said as she turned on a battery powered lantern that was on the table.

  “I think my brain will be mush before then. I can’t fight it.” He gave another high-pitched laugh. “Just let it happen.”

  “Let what happen? Let it erase who you are?”

  “Yeah, that. And let it kill me.”

  She walked back to him and grabbed him by the shoulders. “Listen to me, this bug is not going to kill you!”

  “Well what do you think will happen when it emerges? Do you think that’s something I can survive? I can feel it when it moves. It’s heavy now, like an iron ball bouncing around my head. I don’t know how it’s going to come out, but I know it’s not going to be pretty.”

  “Keep your spirits up, okay?

  Calvin laid on his back, smiling. “It will probably take the path of least resistance. Maybe through my eye socket, or through my ear. Maybe through the sinuses and out my mouth.” He stared at the ceiling. “My mother’s name is... My mother’s name is...”

  “Norma.”

  “Yeah, Norma.”

  “Your father is Clyde and your brother is Tim.”

  “If you say so.”

  Tabitha sat up and faced him. “Don’t give up! Your life is worth fighting for. I’ll show you.” She slowly moved her hand towards the fly of his pants, where she rubbed it against a slowly growing bulge.

  Tabitha saw that his eyes showed a little sparkle. He grinned and spoke, “My girlfriend’s name is Tabitha. I love her. She’s worth fighting for.”

  “I love you too,” she said as she lowered his zipper. Calvin closed his eyes and relaxed.

  More time passed. Tabitha, snuggled up next to Calvin, felt him nudge her. She raised her head and looked at Calvin. “It’s happening,” he said.

  She saw that Calvin’s left eye was bulging outward. “Oh my God, Calvin!” she shrieked. “What should I do?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t see,” he said.

  His eye bulged further outward as he let out a horrible scream. Suddenly, a volcano of blood and vitreous fluid splattered over Tabitha as the contents of Calvin’s eye erupted from his head. In revulsion, she screamed and jumped away as a black and yellow bug unfurled itself from within the crater where Calvin’s eye had been. The bug, which seemed almost too big to have emerged from an eye socket, shook fluid off of itself with a mighty vibration that sounded like a thousand angry bees. It spread out its legs and crawled across Calvin’s face.

  Tabitha looked around in desperation for an object she could use to smash the six-legged bastard. In the corner she spotted a fireplace poker. It was her best bet. She bounded across the room and retrieved the weapon, intent on using it to smash the newly spawned creature.

  The bug perched itself over Calvin’s mouth as Tabitha approached. She brought the poker up over her head, but knew she’d be unable to bring it down as long as that thing was on Calvin’s face. She hesitated, unsure what to do, when the thing launched itself off of Calvin and flew toward her. She dodged the bug as it glanced off of her cheek, leaving a trail of Calvin’s blood smeared over her face.

  Off balance, she dropped the poker. The bug flew up to the rafters and buzzed its wings, while the sound reverberated off the walls and made it impossible to tell its exact location.

  Tabitha glanced at Calvin, whose shallow breaths were coming at increasingly longer intervals. She turned her attention to the rafters. “Okay you son of a bitch.” Reaching into her jeans pocket, she pulled out a hair-tie and used it to clear her hair from her face. She bent at the knees and retrieved the poker. “I’m down he
re.”

  From the corner of her eye, she saw a black and yellow blur as the bug zipped down from the rafters and closed in on her. She thought back to her youth, when her father taught her how to swing a baseball bat. She never really cared for the game, but the lesson stuck with her. She stepped into her swing and barely missed the bug as it angrily flew by. Her momentum threw her off balance and she fell to her knee. The bug flew across the room and then zipped back around to make a second pass. She dove to the ground as it buzzed right over her head.

  Grasping the poker tightly, she got back to her feet and readied herself for another pass, but the bug had disappeared somewhere in the cabin. She moved in a circle as she looked for the creature, but the dim light of the single lantern meant that the bug could be hidden almost anywhere. Her mind was racing. Does this thing even need to find a mate before it plants an egg? she wondered.

  She paused to consider her options, and at that moment, she felt an almost imperceptible tickle on the back of her neck. Her free hand shot up and pushed the bug away. It flew back up to the rafters, buzzing angrily. Tabitha, in a panic, felt for an entry wound on the back of her neck, but breathed a quick sigh when she found that her skin was intact.

  The bug had no intention of stopping, and again it flew down and headed directly at her. She had just enough time to step to the side and swing the poker. This time she connected, and with the most satisfying smash ever, the bug exploded into a mess of goo, wings, and legs. The insect’s stinger shot out across the room and stuck into the wall with a dull thud.

  Tabitha dropped the poker and ran over to Calvin, who was struggling to breathe. “We did it babe! We got it!” She grabbed his hand. “Your name is Calvin Roberts. Your mother is Norma. You had a happy childhood and a good life,” She said, wiping the tears from her face.

  Calvin squeezed her hand in acknowledgment.

  “And you have a girlfriend who loves you,” she said.

  He squeezed her hand for the last time, and then took his final breath.

  Magda

  As a child, I lived with my parents in Biltfort Manor, a home that dates back to 1897. It’s probably the nicest house you’ll ever see. I could go on and on about how beautiful it is, but the splendor of the home isn’t important to this story. What you really need to know is that there’s a feature on the grounds that, as far as I know, isn’t replicated anywhere else. You see, a few years after the manor was built, the Biltfort family started a tradition that still carries on to this day – they planted their Christmas tree outside the manor house when Christmas was over. The trick to doing this successfully is that you have to get a tree with its root ball still intact. This first tree, the "1901" tree, is rooted right next to the house. About twenty feet away from that tree is – you guessed it – the "1902" tree. As the years went by, each new tree was planted a little bit further along. The effect is that as someone pulls off the main highway, they'll follow a line of evenly spaced pine trees that get older and grander as they get closer to the manor. Some of the trees are quite huge. The Biltforts owned the manor through two generations, finally selling it in 1952. The new owners fell in love with the Christmas tree tradition and continued on with it. My family bought the home in the late 70s, and we too kept up with the tradition.

  I loved staring out the car window at the line of trees every time my parents and I drove up to the house. Each one had its own history and unique personality. When I was feeling bored, I’d go outside and run alongside them. Sometimes, I’d even use a stopwatch to see how long it took me to make it to the farthest tree and back (three and a half minutes, by the way). It was during one of those runs that I first noticed something was amiss – there was an extra-large gap between two of the trees. It was as if another tree should’ve been between them, but wasn’t. Most people probably wouldn’t have given a second thought to the apparently missing tree, but to me it was a mystery in my very own front yard, and I dwelled on it all day long, wondering what possibly could’ve happened to it.

  Fueled by my curiosity, I counted the number of trees between the house and the missing pine – I got fifty-seven, which meant that “1958” was unaccounted for. I pointed it out to my father later that evening. He took a walk with me before sunset and confirmed that yes, a tree did in fact appear to be absent.

  "I wonder what happened to it," I said as I stood in the exact spot where it should've been.

  "I dunno, Champ. Maybe it got sick and died."

  I laughed at that. "Trees don't get sick!"

  "Sure they do. Lots of things can make a tree sick. Or maybe it even got hit by lightning."

  “Well I want to know for sure!” I demanded. At that same moment, I felt a sudden chill pass through my body. It started at my feet and worked its way up. I shuddered, not knowing why I was doing so.

  My father didn’t seem to notice. “I don’t think we’ll ever know for sure, Charlie. Sometimes that’s just how it is.” The sun was starting to set, so together we walked back to the manor house.

  The mystery bothered me for months, right up until Christmas Eve, when the dead man came to visit me - and that’s where this story really begins. It was late, several hours after my parents and I had enjoyed our Christmas Eve feast. I was trying to fall asleep when I noticed, by the pale green light of my digital clock, that someone was standing at the foot of my bed. I had no idea how he’d gotten inside.

  My heart nearly tore out of my chest. I feigned sleep in hope that the man wouldn’t hurt me, but he wasn’t deceived. “You can get out of bed,” he said with a drawl.

  My eyes peeked open, but my body didn’t move.

  “Get up!” he insisted as he violently pulled my comforter from the bed with his dirty hands. I sat up shakily, all while planning to run off to my parents’ bedroom once the opportunity presented itself.

  “Don’t think about goin’ runnin’ to your parents now,” the man said. He wasn’t very tall, but his dark, stabbing eyes peered past his greasy long hair and made him more menacing than any giant could’ve been. “Yeah, that’s right. I’m in your head. I know exactly what you’re thinkin’.” He grabbed my shirt and lifted me to my feet. “What do you want for Christmas?” he asked.

  Fear drove away my ability to speak.

  “Fine, don’t tell me,” the man said with a laugh. “I already know what you asked for.”

  I reflexively ran through my Christmas list in my mind... an Atari, a basketball, a race track...

  “Boy, you ain’t gettin’ an Atari from me,” he twanged. “But you want to know about that missing Christmas tree out front, don’t you?”

  Still holding onto my shirt, the man walked me out of the room. He didn’t even flinch as I screamed out for my parents. They didn’t respond, which didn’t seem to surprise him at all. I later figured that he’d used some sort of charm that kept them asleep, though I know they would’ve fought tooth-and-nail to save me if they could’ve.

  We made it outside to the front of the manor, where an unfamiliar car was parked. I can’t tell you the make or model, but it was a shiny white muscle car straight from the 1970s. He left me standing there as he went around to the driver’s side and stepped in.

  He looked over at me through the side window. “Get in,” he demanded. The passenger door opened on its own.

  I shook my head slowly as I backed away. Only a minute earlier I’d been resting snug in my bed, yet there I stood in the cold outdoors being given directions by a psychopath. Everything was happening so fast.

  “Boy,” the man drawled, “if I have to get back out of this car to collect you I’m going to cut your fuckin’ tongue out.”

  I took another step backwards and slipped on slush and gravel, landing square on my ass. I heard his door open as I stood up and tried to run, but in only a few seconds he was upon me. He reached into his waistband and pulled out a switchblade that opened with a single, fluid movement. “Now you’ve pissed me off, kid!” He said as he jammed his fingers into my mouth and pin
ched my tongue. I shook my head ferociously, trying to free myself. He made a fist with his other hand and punched the side of my head. “I’m just gonna keep clockin’ you if you don’t relax,” he spat out.

  I was stunned into obedience. The man pinched his fingers down hard and pulled my tongue out past my lips, further than I ever realized it could extend. The knife glinted in the moonlight as he raised it up and started slicing into the side of my exposed tongue like it was a piece of veal. If you’ve ever bitten your tongue before, multiply that pain by a thousand and you’ll know how I felt in that moment. Just as I thought I was about to lose my tongue forever, the man stopped mid-slice and threw the knife to the ground in anger. It sizzled as it landed in the snow.

  “God damn it!” he screamed. “Just look what you made me do.” The blood ran freely from my mouth. The man reached into his back pocket and threw an oily rag at my face. “Clean yourself up!” It was clear the man had lost control and was regretting it.

  I ran a trembling finger up to the incision on my tongue. Considering how much it hurt, I was surprised to find that my tongue was still mostly attached. The man walked back to the car and let himself in. He didn’t have to say another word, he just stared at me with a venomous glare that dared me to take another step away. I obediently stepped inside and closed the passenger-side door. The low rumble of the idling engine suddenly became much louder. I heard the dirt and gravel kick out from underneath the rear tires as I was pushed back into the seat by the force of the car accelerating.

  “Don’t be gettin’ blood on my upholstery,” the man said as he stared straight ahead.

  “Thuck you ath-hole,” I shot back defiantly as the tears from my eyes ran down and mixed with the blood from my mouth. Nonetheless, I made sure to sop up all the blood with the rag.

  The car vibrated as a thick fog enveloped us, and the road that we’d been driving on began to slowly transform from a modern asphalt highway into a rutty byway that I didn’t recognize. I got the feeling that wherever we were going, it wasn’t a place that was accessible to just any driver.