by A. R. Wise
She nodded and locked her car. “Yeah, sorry, I was just thinking. You didn’t need to come, Paul, honestly. I feel bad that you had to leave your friend for this.”
“Shush. Like I said, you’re my girl, whether you like it or not.”
She grimaced as she headed down the concrete walkway to her apartment building. “That sounds kind of creepy.”
“Yeah, I guess it does. Maybe you’ve been right all along, I am a creep.”
She paused on the walkway and looked up at her apartment. “I’m too tired to fight anymore. I just want to go to bed. I just want this day to be over.”
“Good news,” said Paul as he looked at his watch. “It’s tomorrow already. Fresh start.”
“Is it really that late?” Alma could see between the concrete stairs into the darkness beyond. How easy would it be to hide in the shadows and wait, ready to reach through the slats and grab a victim’s ankle? She let Paul go up first.
“I’ll help you get to sleep,” said Paul.
“You’re not coming in.”
He was frustrated with her insistence. “Like hell I’m not. At the very least I’m going in to make sure it’s safe before you kick me out.”
“I didn’t ask you to come, Paul.” She walked up past him, embarrassed that a moment before she’d allowed herself to rely on him for security. “I just want to go to bed. Go home, Paul.”
He shook his head and followed her up.
The bugs swarmed around her face as she forced her key into the cantankerous deadbolt. It stuck frequently, leaving her stranded, trying to force the key in while the bugs swirled around her head. This time the lock opened easily, but the door was stuck in its frame. She had to slam it with her shoulder to get in.
Paul tried to follow, but she pushed him back.
“Seriously, Paul. I appreciate you coming here, but I don’t want you in my apartment.” It wasn’t as clean as his, and she avoided turning on the living room light to keep him from seeing the mess.
He tried to look in over her shoulder, oblivious to the mess and hoping to make sure there wasn’t a man lurking in the dark. “Just let me have a look around.”
She put her hand on his chest and pushed him back the one step he’d dared to take into the apartment. He looked hurt by the gesture, but relented and moved back. “Go home,” she said, and it felt like she was breaking up with him again.
Alma closed the door on Paul.
She couldn’t help but cry, and covered her mouth to keep him from hearing through the door. She put her back against the door and slid down until she was sitting on the tile entryway. She pulled her knees up to her chest and cried as she curled up. She started to hum to calm herself, and then looked down the hall at her bedroom.
The bedroom light was on.
The hallway from the apartment’s entrance led straight to the master bedroom on the other side. The living room was to the right, with a porch that looked out onto the parking lot, and the kitchen was to her left. The bathroom was down the hall to the left, with a guest room on the right filled with junk she’d never gotten around to unpacking. Straight ahead, down the carpeted hall that led away from the tiled entryway that she sat on, was the closed door of her bedroom, and light shone from beneath it.
Her father could be in there.
She remembered one night, before her brother disappeared, when she came home to find the light on in her bedroom. She was six, and had been playing at a friend’s house. There were several bizarre details about that night that stuck in her mind, like how the taste of chocolate raspberries that her friend’s mother had made for them was still in her mouth when she came home. She recalled an odd smell that she couldn’t identify in her house, similar to what the home smelled like when the oven was set to self clean. There was a spider in the corner, and she walked to the side of the hall away from it, beside her brother’s door, on her way to her room. She recalled the feel of the carpet between her toes, and the trail of wetness that went from the bathroom all the way to her room.
Alma didn’t suspect anything at the time, and casually strolled to her room, more frightened of the spider than anything else. She ran the last few steps and was relieved when she opened her door and escaped into her room. That’s where her father was waiting.
He was nude, wet from the shower, and sprawled out on her twin bed, over the Animaniacs bedspread. He sat bolt upright when she walked in and just stared at her, as if terrified. His eyes were wide, and the whites were nearly awash in red, drowning his black pupils in crimson.
“You,” he said and then stared at her.
“Daddy?” she was terrified of him for the first time in her life. He was supposed to be away, on a business trip in Missouri. “What’s wrong?”
He stayed in the same position, staring at her, and didn’t bother to cover himself. His hair hung in long black, wet strands to his shoulders. He smelled strongly of soap, as if he’d lathered and never rinsed.
“Would you miss me?” he asked finally and then, after a pause, added, “If I were in heaven?”
“What? Of course, I would.”
He stared at her, expressionless and silent, for a terrifying moment. Then he said, “Liar,” before falling back on the bed.
Alma left to go sleep in her brother’s room, but she couldn’t recall anything else from that night. In fact, she didn’t remember much about her brother at all these days.
She stared down the hallway of her apartment. The door at the end of the hall beckoned her, and she wondered if the floor would be wet between her room and the bathroom.
Alma considered sleeping on the tile entryway. She almost laid down and curled up within the small area, as if it could somehow protect her, but recognized how ridiculous she was being. She stood up, kicked off her loafers, and walked to the kitchen to get a knife from the drawer. Then she took out her cell phone and dialed 9-1, prepared to dial the final digit.
She walked down the hall and didn’t breathe the entire way. When she got to the door, she listened against it for any sign of life on the other side.
Finally, she swung the door open to reveal absolutely nothing to be afraid of. She gasped and was nearly relieved, but searched the closet first. Then she walked to the spare bedroom, bathroom, and kitchen pantry to make sure she’d checked everywhere. She was safe. Her father wasn’t in the apartment.
She tucked her phone back into her purse in an attempt to keep from losing it, which she often did. Then she closed her eyes and felt an overwhelming exhaustion.
Alma returned to her bedroom and set the kitchen knife on her nightstand, beside the alarm clock. The red numbers displayed the time, 12:14.
She fell back onto her pillows and set her hands over her eyes, exhausted and thankful for a new day. Perhaps this day would go better than the last.
As she tried to relax, she couldn’t help but do the math in her head. It was 12:14. One plus two is three. 314.
She turned the clock away from her.
CHAPTER 5 - Recurring Nightmare
Widowsfield
March 14th, 1996
“I don’t know what’s wrong,” said Anna as she looked out of the library window. “Maybe there’s a low pressure system coming through or something.”
The school’s library looked out onto the field that separated Ozark Hills High from its sister school, Widowsfield Elementary. There was a gym class playing soccer and Anna looked for her ex-boyfriend, Clint, who had broken up with her two weeks ago because he wanted to be single for a while. His bachelorhood lasted two days before he started dating the captain of the swim team, Clarissa Belmont.
“Oh yeah, sure thing, Banana,” said Jamie. Anna despised that nickname. “You’re staring out the window at the football field because you’re a budding meteorologist and not because Clint’s out there. How stupid do you think I am?”
“I’m serious, I’ve got a headache and my dad said that weather patterns can cause them.”
Jamie gave a sideways gl
ance away from her Social Studies book as she frowned. “Sure.”
“Don’t be a bitch. I’m not stuck on Clint. He can go fuck himself for all I care.”
Jamie folded the book cover’s inside flap, made from a brown paper bag from the grocery store, over her page and then closed the book. “Then what’s up? For real. You’ve been in the dumps since the dickhead dumped you. That’s not like you, Banana. You’re the most fun girl I’ve ever hung out with, but you’ve been a total downer lately.”
Anna scribbled her black pen in one of the spots on her book cover that had previously been adorned with Clint’s initials enshrined in a heart. She’d blackened out the picture, and now the paper bag cover was dangerously thinned. She didn’t doubt that her pen marks had managed to cut through the cover to deface the textbook, but she continued to scribble the circles anyhow.
“I’m not going to lie, I mean, I was pretty pissed at him, but it’s not like we haven’t done this before. You know? We’re always, like, breaking up and getting back together again. It’s sort of our thing. It’s like I have this need to be heartbroken or something.”
“Then why do you keep going back to him?”
Anna sighed and shook her head. She knew that Jaime hated Clint, and had since grade school. In fact, most of Anna’s friends disapproved of her relationship with the stoner. She was an Honor Roll Student, a member of the Mathletes, and all but guaranteed a scholarship to a major university. Clint, on the other hand, was the epitome of the ‘C’ student.
“I don’t know. Maybe I’ve got a self-destructive personality or something.”
“Yeah, ya’ think?”
“Give me a break, Jamie.” Anna set her pen down and put her head on her book. She worried that the fresh pen ink would stain her forehead, so she moved the book aside and then set her head down on the cold table.
“I’m just sick of you doing the same thing to yourself over and over. I’m sick of seeing you down like this.”
“I told you, I’m not upset about Clint. Honestly. I’ve just got a really bad headache right now. I don’t know why.”
“I think I’ve got some aspirin in my locker. I can get you some after school if you want.”
Anna nodded with her head still on the table. “That’d be great, thanks. What time is it?”
Jaime glanced back at the oversized clock above the library’s main desk. “Not quite a quarter past.”
Anna groaned and then sat up with her arms draped over her head as she arched her back over the edge of the seat. “This day’s dragging on forever.”
Jaime tapped her pencil on her book and looked like she was about to say something, but then decided not to. She set her chin on her hand and stared off at nothing.
“What?” asked Anna. Jaime looked surprised, as if she didn’t know what Anna was asking about. “You were about to say something. What was it?”
“It’s just that, well, I guess I just want to know why you do it. Why do you keep making the same mistake over and over again? You and Cunt, I mean Clit, I mean Clint,” She smirked at her own joke. “You guys are a bad match.”
“I guess I just hope he’ll change; that the next time it’ll be different.”
“You know what the definition of insanity is, right? Doing the same thing over and over again and expecting something to change.”
“Then call me crazy, I guess,” said Anna. “Maybe I’ll just take up drinking to calm me down.”
Jaime rolled her eyes. “Alcohol’s not the solution.”
“Chemically speaking, any alcoholic beverage is a solution since the alcohol is mixed up with other stuff.”
“Well shit,” said Jaime as she started to scribble numbers onto her book’s cover. “Break out the Boone’s Farm then. Time to get the party started.” They both laughed before Jaime mocked her friend. “You’re such a nerd, ‘Chemically speaking, blah, blah, blah.’”
“It’s true,” said Anna. “What are you writing?” She leaned over the table to look at Jaime’s book.
Jaime looked down at her scrawling.
3.141592653
“Is that pi?”
“Yeah. We were supposed to memorize ten digits of it for Mr. Trager for pi day.”
Anna settled back in her chair and snickered. “Sure, for the test this morning. Why are you still writing it?”
Jaime paused for just a moment. “I don’t know. There’s something calming about it. Is that crazy?”
“A little bit, yeah.”
Anna watched Jaime write the sequence over and over, oddly transfixed. Then Jaime wrote the final digit as a 4 instead of a 3 in one line. “You got that one wrong.”
Jaime didn’t stop writing and didn’t look up. “There’s no such thing as a perfect circle. There’s chaos in all of it.” Jaime looked up at the ceiling and then at the window before she asked, “Do you hear that?”
“What?” Anna thought her friend’s statement carried an undercurrent of malice. Then she looked down at her own book and saw that she was continuing to draw spirals in the spot where Clint’s initials used to be. Her marking had worn well past the paper cover and was digging into the book itself. She dropped the pen and it spun in a circle on the table as if the tip was tied down, with the other end rolling awkwardly around.
Anna heard the chatter of teeth and put her hand over her lower jaw. The noise seemed to be coming from her own head, as if she were shivering but didn’t know it. Her jaw wasn’t moving, but the chatter continued.
“It’s time,” said Jaime. “It’s starting over again.”
“I know.” Anna stood up and walked to the window that looked out onto the field. She put her right hand on the glass, her fingers splayed wide, and savored the cold sensation. Dogs howled in the distance and Anna took her hand away, letting her fingertips linger for a moment.
The chatter continued.
“How many times have we done this?” asked Jaime.
Anna knew exactly what she meant, but at the same moment didn’t understand at all. It was as if she had wandered into a dream where she was certain everything made sense, but could never have explained it if asked to. She watched Clint on the field and wondered if he would die immediately, or if they would let him live this time.
“Too many to count,” said Anna. She looked at the large white clock on the wall above the center desk in the library.
3:14
Her hands were shaking.
The chatter stopped.
“What’s going on?” Jaime stood up, and her pencil stayed upright as if a ghost were holding it in place. They both stared at it and the pencil slowly tilted. It finally set down as if time around them was moving at a different pace than they were.
“Anna?” said Jaime as she stared out the window. A thick fog was descending over the field, rolling across their view as if a wave of water had broken free and was about to wash away the students. It sparkled with green light and billowed over the lush grass. It was beautiful to watch as the puffs of fog spread across the horizon. The bright blue sky was eaten away, like vestiges of white paper succumbing to flame. “We’re lost.”
Anna looked at her friend and nodded. “I know why.”
Jaime rushed around the table to stand beside her. Anna felt dizzy and confused. “Why?” asked Jaime. “Tell me what you know.”
“I forgot all of it, but now I understand.” Anna looked out the window and watched as the gym students were enveloped in the thick fog. “It’s like I heard him, or understood him, just for a minute.”
“Heard who?”
“The one the kids call The Skeleton Man. He hates the name. He thinks giving something a name is the first attempt to control it.”
“What the hell is going on? Why do I feel like I’ve done this before? What’s happening?” asked Jaime.
“He thinks we’re too old.” She put her hand back on the window and looked across the field at the Middle School that was quickly disappearing amid the haze. “He wants the children. He thi
nks we already know how to hate, and he only wants the innocent ones.”
“Anna, you’re scaring me.”
Anna watched the shapes in the fog advance. The silhouettes of children ran across the field from their school, and the barking of dogs grew louder. Soon, the soccer players were attacked and chaos erupted in the library. Teachers and students rushed to the window and time returned to normal as everyone panicked.
Jaime moved closer to Anna and ignored the massacre outside. “Why are we doing it again? Why do I know what’s going to happen? I’ve never felt this way before.”
“He checked on us this time,” said Anna.
“What do you mean?”
The librarian yelled for everyone to get away from the window after an explosion of green light shook the walls. One of the students, a sophomore boy whose name Anna never learned, was stuck inside of the window and couldn’t move away. His face had been pressed against the glass when the explosion occurred, and now his head was hanging halfway outside. The glass wasn’t broken, but the boy’s head was on the other side of it, as if he’d passed through a pane of water instead of glass. Anna saw the boy’s eyes search frantically around him before he tried to jerk back. The movement caused his skin, which was fused to the glass, to rip. Blood coursed down the window on both sides as the other students screamed.
Jaime and Anna ignored the bloody scene; they’d seen it countless times before. Jaime pulled Anna between two book shelves, away from the screaming mass, to speak in private. “What do you mean he checked on us?”
“I don’t know, I can’t explain how I know. I’m not sure what’s going on. I just, for a minute, I could hear him in my head. I knew his thoughts. He’s looking for a girl he lost. She was an innocent, and he needs her to help him stop this from happening again.”
“I don’t understand any of that,” said Jaime.
“I don’t either, but I know he’s going to keep doing this over and over until he finds her.”
“Then what?” asked Jaime.
“I don’t know. For some reason he thinks that if he has her, then he can make this perfect.” She drew a circle in the air with the tip of her finger. “He’ll complete the circle. Until then we’ll keep dying. This will keep happening over and over.”