Shackled

by Ray Garton

  Finally, he lifted his head slowly and his big, sad, frightened eyes met hers.

  "Really?" he asked.

  "Yes, really."

  "I don't have any friends."

  "Well, you do now. And you can — "

  A hand clutched Lacey's arm and a firm voice said, "No talking. Come to a different table."

  The hand led her to another table where she ate her meal in silence. But she kept looking over at Samuel and smiling at him, just to let him know that he was not alone, that he had someone there who cared ... that he had a friend.

  PART FOUR

  Samuel:

  Nightmares,

  Awake and Asleep

  1

  Dad had always told Samuel that god would protect him from evil, that if he prayed to Jesus, Satan would have no power over him.

  Could it be that maybe he wasn't praying correctly?

  As Samuel lay in the dark of his small, black room, eyes wide but seeing nothing but blackness, he remembered a conversation he'd once had with his dad. In fact, as he remembered it here in this black nothingness, he could hear Dad's deep, reassuring voice, could even smell his aftershave lotion and feel Dad's big hand on his shoulder.

  "Sometimes, when we pray for things," Dad had said, "we don't always get them right away. And sometimes, it seems like god has just abandoned us altogether, even though he hasn't ... and won’t."

  "Why?"

  "We won't know until we get to Heaven and ask god himself. Sometimes it's so we can learn something. Other times ...” He'd look puzzled for a moment, then shrugged. "Well, only god knows."

  "Why doesn't Jesus help us when bad things happen to us?"

  "Well, for one thing, we have to have faith in him."

  "What's faith?"

  "That's our belief. Faith is believing in god and his son Jesus no matter what anyone tells us or shows us or makes us do. Because what counts is in here," Dad said, placing a hand on his big chest. "And in here," he said, touching his fingertips to his forehead. "People can do a lot of bad things to you, but they can never take away your faith, because god knows what's inside you. And when bad things happen to people whose faith remains strong, Jesus sheds a whoooole lotta tears, because he's been human and he knows what it's like to suffer."

  "But ... what is faith? Really?"

  "Faith is praying to god when it feels like he's not listening."

  That's what I have to do, Samuel thought. I have to have faith. I have to keep praying even if he doesn't seem to listen.

  But what about the Jesus who had come to his room three times so far (and, Samuel suspected, would return again, just like the clown and the Santa Claus and the old woman)? Samuel knew that Santa had helpers who appeared in department stores every Christmas so kids could sit on their laps and tell him what they wanted for Christmas, but Dad had told him that they were all Santa's helpers, and not the real Santa Claus. Did Jesus have helpers, too?

  Samuel frowned in the darkness and thought, He wouldn't do those things to me if he were Jesus' helper. Those things are bad ... I think. Well, they can't be good, that's for sure.

  He felt a little sick just thinking about the things the Jesus man had done to him ... as well as the clown and the Santa Claus and the old woman. They were bad things, horrible things that Samuel didn't think he could ever bring himself to tell anyone about, even if he had to. Besides ... would anyone believe him? He couldn't believe it himself, most of the time. He kept expecting to wake up from some horrible nightmare.

  He remembered something his dad had told him to do whenever he felt he was being tempted or was being pushed into something he felt was wrong.

  "Just say, 'Get behind me, Satan!' And when you say it, mean it!"

  Maybe that would help. Maybe the next time one of them came in and wanted him to do one of those awful things that he thought was so repulsive, he would say that. And he would mean it ...

  2

  The man who had picked him up at the curb and said he would take Samuel home had been nice enough at first, but, at the same time, a little ... odd. He was losing his hair on top and was a little chubby, and he'd had such a friendly smile that Samuel had been inclined to trust him at first. He wore a heavy denim jacket over a flannel, plaid shirt and blue jeans with tan work boots operating the car's pedals and he looked like the kind of man who might go to Dad's church, except he was white; only a few white people went to Dad's church.

  But there was a small cross hanging from the rearview mirror in the man's car ... hanging upside down. Samuel had been thinking about that ever since he'd first noticed it.

  It hadn't taken Samuel long, though, to realize that the man was not taking him home; at least, not to his home. Samuel had little concept of distance, so he wasn't sure how far they'd gone before they stopped in front of a house with peeling paint and a dead lawn.

  "C'mon," the man said, "c'mon inside and we'll call your parents."

  The man helped him out of the car and up the front walk, then inside the house. He seated him in a worn chair with cigarette burns and cat scratches on its brown upholstery, then he stepped back to remove his jacket and toss it onto the equally worn sofa. "You sit here, and I'll call your parents."

  The man disappeared.

  When he returned, Samuel asked immediately, "Mister, why do you have that cross hanging upside down in your car? The one on the mirror, I mean."

  "Oh, well ... the chain broke, and I just haven't fixed it yet."

  That explanation made sense to Samuel, because, after all, who would have a cross hanging upside down from the mirror in their car?

  "Your parents won't be able to come get you for a while," the man said, "but your knee probably needs some attention."

  Samuel felt something touch his foot and looked down to see an enormously fat, sleepy-eyed gray cat looking up at him. The cat gave him a curious meow as it sniffed the soles of his boots to see where he had been.

  "That's Bernie, my cat," the man said. "Oh, and my name's Dennis." He held out his hand and they shook. "And your name is ...?"

  "Samuel."

  "That's right. Samuel. It's been so long, I forgot. Well, Samuel, would you like something hot to drink? You must be cold. I can put a kettle on the stove while you get those soaking clothes off. We'll wrap you up in a blanket, you can have a cup of cocoa and then a nice hot bath so you can soak that sore knee, okay?"

  "Mom and Dad'll be here soon?"

  "Well, not right away, but as soon as they can make it." The man stood, then leaned forward. "Let me carry you to the bedroom so you don't have to walk on that knee. You can get those clothes off in there."

  He lifted Samuel easily into his arms and they started down a narrow, dingy hall. As Dennis walked, Samuel noticed that his big hand was rubbing back and forth slowly over Samuel's bottom and it made the boy frown. Then he was placed on a bed, sat up on the edge, and just looked up as the man grinned down at him.

  "Now, you get those wet clothes off and wrap yourself in that blanket right over there." He pointed to a blanket folded on a chair, almost as if it were waiting patiently for Samuel. "I'll go fix that cocoa." He started out, then turned back, still grinning. "Do you like it with marshmallows?"

  Samuel nodded blankly.

  "Marshmallows it is!" Then he was gone.

  Samuel removed his clothes, wrapped up in the blanket, then seated himself on the chair.

  He heard Dennis rattling around in the kitchen, then, a few moments later, heard his voice talking quietly. He assumed he was on the telephone but could only make out a few of the things he said.

  "... should probably come get this one soon ... father is a pastor ... be some heavy-duty searching, y'know? ... not my problem, that's yours ... just get over here and take ...”

  He heard the receiver clatter in its cradle.

  Dear god, Samuel prayed silently, bowing his head slightly and closing his long and thickly lashed eyes, please make Mom and Dad hurry here, because I don't feel ... right,
here. Maybe this is a nice man — please, let him be a nice man — but maybe he isn't. Please, god, keep me safe and take me home to Mom and Dad soon. In Jesus' name, amen.

  When he opened his eyes and lifted his head, he jumped with surprise because Dennis was standing before him with that same grin, holding a steaming white cup on a saucer.

  "Hot cocoa a la Dennis." He laughed, holding it out to the boy.

  Samuel took it and began to sip carefully. It was hot.

  Dennis sat on the foot of the bed. "I'll run a hot bath for you, and when you're done with that you can slide into it and relax, warm up, get some of the pain out of that knee. Do you like bubbles in your bath?"

  Samuel sipped and nodded slowly.

  "You know, I even have some bath toys you can play with if you like. But first, you finish your cocoa. You go ahead and finish it."

  Samuel sipped the cocoa and it was good because, just as Dennis had said, he was cold. But he had to sip slowly because it was very hot. And all the while, Dennis sat on the edge of the bed, legs spread wide, elbows on his thighs, and hands clasped together between his legs as he leaned forward and grinned at Samuel. Tiny beads of sweat formed a glistening mustache above his upper lip. Occasionally, Dennis reached down and wriggled his fingers over his bulging crotch as if he were scratching it.

  Finally, Samuel became so uncomfortable that he held the cup and saucer out to Dennis and said, "I've had enough, thank you."

  "Well, tell you what." Dennis got up quickly and put the cup and saucer on a nightstand. "We'll put it right here in case you change your mind while I'm gone. I'll start your bath. It won't take long." He hurried, out of the room clumsily, tossing one more look over his shoulder at Samuel.

  The boy sucked both lips between his teeth, frowning. He was afraid, Something was wrong. The man was changing somehow.

  He prayed some more, silently but more desperately this time.

  Dennis returned to the room in what felt like seconds. Time seemed to fly by so fast here.

  "Well, the bath is ready, sport," Dennis said. "C'mon, let's get you warmed up with some nice hot bubbles — " Then, immediately, he added, in what was nearly a whisper, "Nice hot slippery bubbles." He picked Samuel up in his arms and carried him out of the bedroom.

  In the bathroom, Dennis put him down and said, "Okay, drop that blanket and climb in, partner."

  Samuel hesitated, looking up at him as he held the blanket tightly around his small body.

  "Go ahead. Don't be shy. No reason to be shy here, my friend," Dennis said with another laugh, reaching down to pull the blanket away from him. "Well, what a healthy-looking boy you are. You're gonna be tall, handsome young man. Okay, now." He reached down and picked him up again, but this time he moved slowly, passing his hands over Samuel's flesh before lowering him into the tub. "Therrre you go. Now," he said, picking up a bar of soap from the edge of the tub, "let's get you clean."

  Samuel's eyes widened in shock. "I can wash myself," he said a little desperately.

  "Oh, no, no, you've been in the rain and cold and you've hurt yourself. You should just lie back and relax there, buddy, okay?" He grinned again. The perspiration had spread to his forehead now and his lips were trembling ever so slightly, breath coming a little faster as he leaned forward and began to run the bar of soap over Samuel's body slowly ... so slowly ... fingers touching Samuel's skin ...

  The boy shuddered and when Dennis's hand moved there — down there — he sat up and said, "No, please, no, don't do that."

  He saw that enormous cat sitting behind Dennis.

  "Oh, I think you should just lay back there, kiddo. See my cat, here? Bernie? You know what happens when he gets thrown into a tub of water? He just ... well, he goes nuts. Crazy. Claws come out, legs start flailin', and he just skins up whoever happens to be nearby. You wouldn't want me to throw him in that tub with you, now, would you?"

  Still grinning, and sweating even more.

  "So you just lay back and let me do what I have to do, now, okay?" Dennis asked, his voice now wet and trembling, just like his lips, eyes saucered as they darted up and down Samuel's little body. "You just do that, now, okay? Yeah, atta boy, buddy, atta boy ...”

  That night, he'd had to sleep in Dennis's bed, with both of them naked, but he didn't sleep much because of the way Dennis kept rubbing up against him and making those wet, panting noises.

  Once he finally got to sleep, it seemed he was awakened abruptly just seconds later by two men, one of whom was leaning toward him with a shot, a needle, the kind doctors used. Samuel hated those, despised them, feared them, and was about to cry out when the needle went into his arm. A few moments later there was nothing ... absolutely nothing ...

  3

  ... and he'd awakened here, naked beneath the covers, in this tiny black room with a single red lamp shining in the corner and where, directly across from where he lay, was a rather large crucifix hanging upside down with the head of Christ removed. To his right was a framed picture of Jesus; it was exactly like one of the pictures in Dad's church, the one on the wall in the foyer, except that its face had been painted to look like a circus clown. To his left was another picture of Jesus — one he'd seen before as well — depicting a white-robed Christ seated on a rock and smiling, surrounded, by children ... but with long fangs curving from his upper teeth, fangs red and dripping with blood, and with one thing added, one horrible thing: a child lying dead and bloody at Jesus' feet

  Samuel began to cry as he looked at the pictures and the crucifix across from him, all bathed in the bloodlike light, until the door opened ...

  ... and Jesus walked in.

  4

  Samuel had been taken from the blackness of his room only twice since he'd been there. Once was when he was taken to that young woman's room on two leashes. The young woman herself was so kind, so-understanding, telling him that everything was okay the way she did, treating him as if he weren't being made to do something horrible. He hoped and prayed he would see her again, be able to talk to her.

  But before that, he'd been taken someplace where something even worse had happened to him, something he'd never imagined in his most vivid and horrifying wake-up-screaming nightmares.

  Two men had come to his room wearing those familiar black leather masks and had put on his collar, attached the two chain leashes, and led him down the blood-colored corridors, into an elevator, and through damp darkness into a room.

  The room was very big — so dark that Samuel could not tell how big — and black and lit with a sickening kind of reddish-purple. When he saw the enormous upside-down crucifix with the golden upright man sporting the enormous erection on it, Samuel began to make small whimpering sounds in his throat and his stomach began to gurgle and roil.

  There were a lot of people in the room wearing black robes and hoods and one of them approached him.

  "There's something we want you to do, Samuel," the black figure said in a quiet male voice. "Come with me."

  Still leashed to the two men, Samuel followed them to a long rectangular box. It was made of dark, shiny wood. Dad had given several funerals, so Samuel knew that dead people were put in those boxes and then buried in the ground.

  "Do you know what that is?" the man with the quiet voice asked.

  Samuel didn't respond, just stared at the box.

  "This is a casket. Dead people are buried in boxes like this. I want you to get inside it. But first ...” He turned around and someone handed him a piece of cloth. " ... put on these." He handed Samuel a pair of undershorts.

  Samuel put them on.

  The two steel chain leashes were unhooked from his collar.

  "And ...” He turned again and the person handed him another piece of cloth, this one black. " ... this." He placed a hood over Samuel's head. The material was thin so he could breathe, but there were no holes so he couldn't see. Around his neck was a band of elastic so that it fit snugly.

  "Now," the man said quietly, his voice seeming to catch in h
is throat, "you will go in the box until we let you out."

  Seeing only blackness, Samuel heard the squeak of the lid, felt himself lifted and then lowered into the box, then heard the lid squeak again, followed by the metallic chitch of a lock.

  He lay still in the box, lost in the blackness in which the hood had plunged him. But ... there was something ...

  ... something moving beneath him.

  He held perfectly still in spite of the movement ... except, it wasn't quite movement ...

  No, it was something else, more of a ... squirming, a massive, writhing squirming made up of innumerable tiny pieces.

  In the silence of the casket, he could hear what he was feeling. It was the slightest of sounds, but so awful.

  It was a soft, clittering, whispering sound. And it was coming from beneath him.

  Samuel made his first sound in the casket, a strangled, gurgling sound as his mind worked, thought, and moved backward involuntarily to conjure an unbidden, and very unwelcome, memory.

  He'd had a cat once. It was a perfectly white cat, except for two black splotches between its nose and upper lip, which looked like a mustache, a very dignified mustache, which led Samuel to give the cat a dignified name: Mr. Collins.

  It was an indoor cat, but one day Mr. Collins escaped through the front door when a visitor came and rushed outside. The next time Samuel saw Mr. Collins, the cat was lying beside the road on its left side, its right side a gaping cavity filled with tiny, yellowish-white worms that squirmed together in a sick sort of dance as they seemed to cling like glue to the dead, reddish-pink flesh of Samuel's pet and friend.

  He thought of that cat now as he felt tiny, squirming things crawl up over his arms and legs ... felt them squirm rapidly and in groups over his flat abdomen: ... over his chest ... over his hands and fingers ...

  ... and all the while, Samuel was blind to the creatures, unable to see them or what they were doing.