by Pete Kahle
Then Iris turned, and behind her eyes Abby saw nothing. No consciousness. No life. Abby wanted to back away, but she moved too slowly. Iris pushed Abby against the wall, growling low and guttural sounds. Her mouth opened wide, and Abby saw her blood drenched teeth. Then Iris’s head moved toward Abby’s neck.
Abby screamed and slapped Iris’s face. She had been expecting Iris to sink her bloody teeth into her neck, but there was nothing.
“What’s happening?” Iris said. “Where did this mess come from?”
Abby tried to explain what had happened, but Iris wouldn’t hear it. It wasn’t until she saw her teeth that Iris realized the extent of her sleepwalking.
“I’m scared,” she said. “What if I’ve been doing this all the time, and we just haven’t noticed?”
“That would make sense considering how much weight you’ve gained.”
“Hey! You said I looked good.”
Abby shrugged. It was too late for niceties. “We could set up cameras,” Abby suggested. “Then we would know how often it happens.”
Iris let out a tired sigh. “I’d hate to have cameras in my house. It makes me sound so desperate and insane.”
“We could put locks on the kitchen cabinets. On the refrigerator too. Then even if you sleepwalk, you wouldn’t be able to eat anything.”
“Even that makes me sad. It sounds so crazy. As if I don’t have enough control over myself to not do—” Iris paused. “I don’t know what I was going to say. I guess not do something as insane as this.” She motioned at the mess on the kitchen floor.
The kernels had rolled into the living room. Abby suspected she and Iris would find them for months, maybe years. Each time they found one beneath the couch or behind an end table, they would remember this night, the night Iris had cut her lips and gums without waking. Abby wondered how long it would have gone on if she hadn’t been there.
They decided to do both of Abby’s suggestions. They set up cameras in the house—one in front of Iris’s bedroom door, another in the corner of the kitchen, at an angle where the doorway, cabinets, and refrigerator were visible.
The locks and chains had been for Iris’s bicycles. She locked the bikes in the garage and wrapped a chain around the refrigerator. All the dry food went into the pantry where the door was secured tightly with another bike lock.
“This should keep me out!” Iris said proudly, but Abby detected sadness in Iris’s voice.
“You should go to a doctor too,” Abby said. “Maybe you just need some kind of sleep aid.”
“I’m not going to get doped up,” Iris said. “This is fine.” She motioned at her work—the cameras, the locks. Abby wondered what nighttime Iris would do when she found the food locked away. Would she simply go back to bed?
Abby slept through the first night, not hearing Iris rise from her own sleep and walk throughout the house. When they watched the video the next day, they saw Iris leaving her bedroom, taking long, labored steps. They saw her enter the kitchen, but not eating anything. She was only wandering, occasionally running into things like the corners of the countertops and the dining room table.
She did this for about an hour and then returned to her bed, moving in that same labored manner, as though each step was a great effort. Her head lulled back as she walked, her arms hung at her sides, and her shoulders slumped forward, as though too heavy to lift.
“You look like a zombie,” Abby said.
“That’s not reassuring,” Iris said. Then she laughed. “I really do look like I’m in Dawn of the Dead or something. I wish these cameras had sound. Maybe I’m making zombie noises too.”
“I think I would wake up for that,” Abby said. “I’ve been wondering where those bruises on your arm come from, and I guess I know where now. Weren’t you suspicious?”
Iris looked down at her arms. There were a few fresh bruises present. “I just thought I was clumsy. At least I didn’t eat anything.”
The next night, while Abby slept, Iris wandered from her room again. This time she awoke a little later, around 4:13 in the morning.
Abby awoke a little after that from the noise.
They watched the video later to confirm what Abby had seen. She hadn’t believed it at first. But no, the video on Iris’s computer couldn’t lie. Abby watched it over and over, replaying the last forty-five seconds.
This is what happened: Iris left her bedroom, walking in the same hulking, undead stagger. It seemed she had little control over her body. Her torso jutted forward and the rest of her hung limply, as though a force had wrapped itself around her midsection and pulled her forward.
Abby had not seen this until she watched the video. When Abby came in, she found her sister in the kitchen. A narrow strip of light shone on the floor. Abby heard the groaning first. Then she heard the slamming.
The door to the refrigerator was opened only a few itches. The locks they had used to seal the door shut allowed only so much of an opening. This did not stop Iris. She had somehow wedged one arm into the refrigerator, but was struggling to pull her arm back out. She groaned loudly and—to Abby’s horror—shoveled food into her mouth despite being stuck. Each time Iris pulled, the refrigerator lifted and then slammed into the wall behind it.
“Stop it!” Abby screamed. Grabbing her sister by the waist, Abby pulled hard. Iris’s head flailed wildly, slinging slop from her open mouth. A chunk of something soft and wet hit Abby’s cheek. She guessed it was chewed turkey breast.
Abby thought she felt something bite her, but her eyes were squeezed shut. When she opened them, she thought she saw Iris’s head turned too far to one side. Then it righted itself. It happened so quickly, Abby didn’t know if she had imagined it or not.
The arm wedged inside the refrigerator loosened and the two women fell backward in a heap. Abby had time enough to see that her sister’s arm didn’t fit quite correctly at the shoulder. Then Iris’s screams filled the kitchen.
“What’s happened to me?” Iris yelled between sobs. “I think my arm is broken. And cut.”
The struggle had rubbed the skin on Iris’s arm raw.
“We have to go to the hospital now!” Abby said.
Iris shook her head and whimpered. Then she said, “What if there’s something really wrong with me?” She looked at Abby, her eyes wide with fear. “I don’t want to know.”
Abby couldn’t force Iris to admit what was happening, but eventually, she convinced Iris to go to the hospital. Her shoulder was only dislocated. They wrapped it and put it in a sling quickly enough, but the bruises and scrapes did not go unnoticed.
“Is there something we need to talk about?” a nurse asked Iris quietly when the doctor left.
“No,” Iris said, looking into Abby’s eyes as she said it.
“Nothing unusual?” the nurse asked.
“No. Everything’s normal.”
Iris went to work with her arm in a sling the next day, and Abby went to visit their dad.
Their father was the only person who knew them both and the only person Abby thought she could talk to about it. He was family after all.
“Night eating?” he asked.
He was in his late sixties and healthy with a full head of hair. When Abby showed up on his doorstep, he pulled her into an enormous hug and kissed her check. Now they sat at his table drinking coffee. Abby had started at the beginning, telling her father about her first night in Iris’s apartment up to the previous night.
“My god,” he said, putting his cup down. He gazed out their kitchen window, looking out at his manicured backyard. He kept an impressive vegetable garden. As children, Iris and Abby watered the tomatoes and zucchini in the summer. Those were good years for Abby.
“She won’t get help?” he asked.
“I asked her again this morning, and she said she made an appointment with her doctor a week from now. She said it was the soonest they could see her, but I think she’s putting it off. I doubt she’ll show up. In fact, she’s terrified of what’s hap
pening, but hoping it’ll go away on its own.”
“She takes after your mother,” he said, “but I guess she couldn’t take after me.”
Abby looked up at this. Their dad rarely mentioned the fact that he was not actually Iris’s birth father. She had been born before their parents met, and Iris’s real father was someone their mom said was “not worth mentioning.”
But their father loved Iris as his own. Abby had never doubted that.
He leaned back in his chair now. He made a small “hmmph” sound accompanied by a furrowed brow.
“What is it?” Abby asked.
“It’s nothing,” he said. He shook his head. “I was just thinking of your mom. When she died, she said some strange things to me.”
“What kind of things?” Abby rarely spoke of her mother’s death.
She had died two years earlier of breast cancer. Abby hadn’t been in the country. She was off on one of her last adventures in Europe with her friends. This was a fact she regretted even now.
Their mother died quietly in a hospital bed. Iris slept beside her when it happened. Their dad stood at her side, holding her frail hand.
“It’s nothing,” he said. “Your mom, I’m sorry to say, was on a lot of medication. She said things that didn’t make sense. I had to filter most of it to find meaning in any of what she was saying.” He seemed to have stumbled upon a memory and a faint smile appeared on his lips. Then he chuckled. “It’s really nothing at all.”
“Even so,” Abby said. “You should tell me. I’d like to know. Has this happened before? Did Iris sleep walk when we were younger? Maybe there’s a trigger to it. Maybe there’s something Mom did before to stop this.”
“No,” he said. He reached out and took Abby’s hand. “If it had been something like that I would remember. Iris was only one when I met your mother.” He paused, and his face grew somber. “You must promise never to tell Iris what I tell you now. It’ll haunt her if you do. Do you promise?”
Abby nodded. “Of course.”
“Your mother said some things she did not mean. One of them was that Iris was not her baby.”
“What?” Abby dropped her coffee cup on the table. “Then who’s Iris’s mom?”
“I asked her that very question, though I doubted her ability to answer me coherently. She was mostly gone by then, staying conscious for only a few moments at a time. When she finally did answer me, she said Iris didn’t have a mother.” Then he laughed. “I told you it was just the drugs talking.”
He stood. “You don’t need to hear such sad things.” He kissed her on the cheek, and Abby took it as a sign to leave.
When Abby arrived home, she found Iris sitting at the kitchen table staring into space. Something was wrong with her, Abby could tell. The skin on her face hung too loosely and seemed grayer than the fleshy pink it normally was. Her hair appeared to have more gray in it too. That was impossible, Abby reminded herself. How could someone’s hair become gray in one day?
“Iris?”
Iris glanced up and seemed startled, as though she hadn’t noticed Abby entering the room. “Oh. Hi.”
“Rough day?”
Iris shook her head. “Not really. Rough night.” She tried to smile, but it was weak and not genuine.
“I’m feeling really sick,” Iris said.
“What hurts?”
Iris shrugged. “Tired,” she said. “Nauseous.”
“You just need rest.”
Iris’s eyes grew wide. “I don’t think I want to rest yet.”
Abby understood Iris’s hesitation.
“What if I sit by you? I won’t let you get up,” Abby said.
“Would you?”
Abby nodded. “It’s my turn to take care of you. I owe you that much.”
Iris fell asleep almost immediately. While she slept, Abby examined her sister’s face for signs of change. Something was different about Iris. Lines appeared where there were no lines a few weeks ago. When Abby had first moved in, Iris’s face was plump, pleasantly round. Now it seemed as though she had lost too much weight and too rapidly. The skin on her face resembled an empty sack covering bones.
“You really need to go to the doctor,” Abby whispered and decided she would take Iris in the morning despite any protests.
To stay awake, Abby drank cup after cup of coffee. By her sixth cup of coffee, Abby doubted she would ever fall asleep again.
That’s good, she thought. I’ll stay awake for Iris.
The last thing she remembered before waking to see Iris’s empty bed was the clock displaying 3:13. When she awoke, it was 3:42, and Iris was already in the kitchen.
Abby rushed up, intent on stopping her sister before any damaged could be done.
“Iris,” she shouted, moving from the bedroom, down the hall, and into the kitchen. “Wake up!”
She hadn’t seen her sister yet, but she heard the scraping noises from the kitchen. Abby dreaded turning on the lights.
Iris was on the floor beside the pantry. They had tightened the locks during the day, so nighttime Iris couldn’t wedge an arm between the crack of the door. Instead, Iris was leaning over, her mouth on the corner of the cabinet, chewing and snarling on the wood of the pantry.
What startled Abby most about this was how wide her sister’s mouth had become. It was as though Iris’s lower jaw no longer connected to the top of her skull, and yet, she chewed—up and down, over and over.
“Stop it!” Abby pushed Iris away from the cabinet and instantly regretted it.
Iris stood and moved toward Abby with her jaw hanging six inches from her head. The skin on her face was completely gray now. Her eyes had rolled up, showing only veined whites.
Abby did not recognize this thing as her sister, though in her mind, she knew it was. “Please, Iris, wake up,” she said.
The thing that was Iris moved forward onto Abby. As she had in the videos, Iris’s midsection moved forward first as though an invisible rope led her.
“What’s happened to you?” Abby cried as the weight of her sister fell on her. She felt unusually heavy. Abby tried pushing free off with her knees, but the weight was too much. The thing on top of her tilted its head backward, but only the top of its mouth went back. The jaw still hung down over her neck. Abby cried out as she saw the gaping hole leading into Iris’s throat. Then Abby she saw three small fingers reach out of darkness.
Abby screamed again, and, using her arms and her knees, she kicked Iris backwards. The thing stumbled across the room and landed on the table. Abby had backed herself into a corner, unsure of what to do. In the back of her mind, a voice was telling her, run away. But she couldn’t do that. This was her sister. She had promised to stay with Iris. To take care of her.
The thing pulled itself off the table. The top of its head flopped forward and now it resembled something closer to a human.
It took a step, making a strange whining sound. Then the skin over its body pulsed. The whining grew louder. Abby screamed at this but did not move.
Then it fell on the floor.
It lay still for several seconds, and Abby cautiously moved forward. She edged closer to the body of her sister.
“Iris,” she whispered. She put her hands on the shoulders of thing lying on the floor. Its skin felt cold. Abby gasped as it began to shiver and then convulsed. A ripping sound came from within Iris’s body. The noise was like the ripping of heavy cloth. There was movement beneath the head, and then the head fell backwards again. Abby saw small, bloody hands clawing their way out of Iris’s throat.
She watched in silence as a fleshy creature made its way out of Iris’s body and onto the floor of the kitchen. The thing was about eighteen inches long and had a small patch of dark hair on its head. As it moved, it wheezed and sniffled. A ropey umbilical cord trailed behind it to Iris’s body.
At that moment, Abby felt the full impact of what she had seen. She screamed until her throat was raw. She pulled what was left of Iris’s body toward her and wept,
calling her sister’s name.
The thing in the center of the kitchen floor seemed to have no interest in her and continued its trek, pulling itself along with its arms like a toddler learning to crawl. When it reached the end of the umbilical cord, it turned and used its small, sharp teeth to chew through its last connection to Iris’s body.
Abby must have passed out clutching her sister’s corpse. When she awoke, a baby cried somewhere in the house.
Iris’s body lay across her. Abby moved it off her lap, whimpering as she did. She didn’t want to turn the body. The broken face of her sister would drive her to madness.
Abby followed the sounds of the baby’s cries to the living room. The thing that had crawled out of her sister was lying in a makeshift bed. It must have pulled a few throw blankets from the couch and wrapped itself in them. Now it cried, looking up at Abby with normal blue baby eyes. With its tiny hands—hands that had only a few hours before reached from Iris’s throat—it reached toward Abby as though beckoning.
“What are you?” Abby asked as the thing cooed.
Abby called her father, not knowing what else to do.
“Dad,” she said.
“Abby?” he sounded alarmed. He must have heard the distress in Abby’s voice. “What’s wrong?”
“Iris is dead.”
“What?”
“In the night--” Abby began to sob. She cleared her throat and said, “In the night, something came out of her and she died.”
“What?”
“It’s like a baby, but not a normal baby.”
“Was she pregnant?”
“No,” Abby said, and she heard herself laughing, thinking if only it were just that. “No. It came out of her throat. It crawled out of her and shed her like a cicada molting.”
“My god,” he said. There was a long silence. “That’s what she meant.”
“What?”
“Stay where you are. I’m coming over.”