She looked at the cover.
She knew this book. It was Hermann Hesse’s Narcissus and Goldmund . Sam read this book over and over. He always said it was the only book he’d want to take on a desert island because it was the only book he’d come across that was worth reading more than once. And he had read it several times. She’d tried it once, and fought for it, but could never finish it. Sam had said he wanted to read it again and she took that as her out, telling him she’d finish it after he was done with it, but she’d conveniently forgotten to pick it back up again when he was done.
What the hell was a little kid that age doing with a book like that?
She flipped through it. The edition looked like the one Sam had. Looked a lot like it, right down to the wear on the cover. She opened the book and looked at the title page, where she found what she had dreaded: Sam never personalized his books, but he’d written his name inside his copy of Narcissus and Goldmund, on the title page, and there it was.
She dropped the book and backed away, as if it would jump up again and bite her on the ankle or something.
“Fuck. This.”
She didn’t even care anymore about finding someone to take out her anger on, she just wanted to get the fuck out of here and not look back. She didn’t know how that would be done, considering the last time she’d wound up in the woods behind the building, but if she found a place to lay low until daytime, she would take off then. That way, even if she somehow got turned around from the front of the building and found herself back in the woods again, she’d be able to see, at least, and she’d charge through until she came out the other side.
Unless, of course, the woods kept her going in circles until it got dark again.
Don’t care, she thought, just need to get out of here.
She was headed back around the other side of the stairs again, toward the girls’ side of the building. She didn’t know the way, but she’d find it. She felt her determination at a record high, like she could just stalk from one end of the building to the other, stomping past whatever barrier was set in her path.
The way was dark, of course. Like she would expect anything else. She turned on the flashlight app on her phone and let it guide her. It wasn’t as if the way was pitch black anyway, it just wasn’t lit. It couldn’t be more than, what, a hundred feet? A hundred and fifty? She didn’t know if the hall led straight there or if there were turns. But she wore her juggernaut attitude like armor.
A scream sounded in the building, so loud and piercing, it felt like razorblades scraping the inside of her ears. By the time she reached the foyer on the girl’s side, she looked right, then left, wondering where the scream had come from. The foyer was empty. She thought about the scream again, but when she saw the front door, she went toward it instead. The handle turned, but the door wouldn’t budge. It didn’t even clang in the doorframe like a locked door should; it just didn’t move at all, like the whole thing had been welded shut.
She went toward the hall and a few yards down thought she heard something moving to her left. The first door she found led to the cafeteria. Mandy went inside. The lights were on, the place was empty.
She went toward the service area, wanting to ask if anyone was there, if anyone was hurt, but, again, the idea of breaking the silence made her stomach do a barrel roll. She looked over the counter, but there was no one there.
She turned around to look at the dining room again. Suddenly the scream sounded again, but this time it was right behind her and she whipped around to see and move back, but still there was nothing there. She stared at the wall ahead of her, white tile, slightly discolored from years of grease and food.
The smell of rot invaded her nose and burned in her lungs. Like someone had forgot to change the trash after dinner for nearly a month. It was sticky and sweet and made her eyes water.
She noticed something vague in her peripheral vision, a shadow, above and to the right. She wanted to look, but she didn’t want to see. Whatever it was might not want to be looked at. Maybe that scream was its warning to stay away, and here she was, right in front of it.
She could see it there, hanging on the wall above her. She’d seen it earlier, that black shape moving across the ceiling and the top of the wall. She guessed no one else had seen it, and given all that had happened tonight, she’d forgotten about it. Whatever the thing was, it didn’t need to knock her around and scratch her up to inflict harm. If she got out of here, she’d never be the same anyway. She would probably sleep with the lights on for a long time, if she managed to sleep at all.
She backed up slowly toward the dining area, trying to keep from seeing too much of the creature on the ceiling. But she couldn’t help making out some of it anyway; its presence was so strong. It was a black she’d never imagined and she thought if she actually looked at it straight on, that blackness would suck her in, right up into it, and she’d be forever lost in the darkness, wandering, trying to find her way out, but never succeeding.
She could feel death in her bones. Someone had died in this room, and they hadn’t gone easily. Mandy imagined a murder. There were enough deadly weapons in a kitchen, it could have been a slaughter. She wondered how many had died, and that shape up there suggested many. She wondered who had done the killing but at that she had no idea, nor why. Who killed a cafeteria worker?
As Mandy backed away and crossed back into the hall, she decided the history of this building was no longer her concern. And anyway, given what bullshit she had been fed already--ghosts that are just unspent energy, or wrongdoers suffering eternal service for their sins--she thought if she could just get out of here and go home, never have to come back here again, she could, eventually, put it behind her and try like hell to never think of this place again.
First she had to get out, though. She remembered one way out, but she sure as hell wasn’t going down that hallway and into the gym again. If she even found it again. The whole episode seemed out of place here; this wasn’t a school. So while she didn’t necessarily doubt it really happened--she had been there and Mandy wasn’t one to imagine things--she tried to chalk it up to the building playing tricks on her. It had trapped her on the third floor earlier, who knew what else it could do.
She didn’t want to find out. She walked up the hall again, back toward the foyer and the bench. On second thought, maybe she could break into Mr. Winters’s--or whoever’s!--office and use that phone. The boys’ side had been a bust and she still needed to call a cab.
She didn’t know how to pick a lock, but maybe she could break in with a little shoulder power? She would find out. She spied the door and was heading for it when her phone rang.
Elated, she pulled it from her pocket. Holy shit, she thought. It was Sam.
She answered and put the phone to her ear, saying, “Hello? Hello? Sam! Thank God, please please come get me, I don’t care about everything that happened.”
“Hey,” he said. “What are you doing?”
“I’m at the Mertland Home,” Mandy said. “I got a job here, but today was my first and last day, I have to get the fuck out of here; these people are crazy, will you please, for the love of God, pick me up?”
“Just driving home. Got Katie here. She texted me and asked for a ride, she said she wanted to come over and see if you wanted to do something tonight, since she’s off work.”
“What? Katie’s there, too? Um . . . Ok, I guess. She knew I was working tonight, though. But, whatever, just come here, please.”
Mandy felt it was kind of strange Sam would call after so many weeks of silence, and that he’d have Katie with him.
“What are you talking about?” Sam said. “You know I have Katie’s number; we were talking last summer when we put together that surprise party for you.”
Mandy tried to think back. She remembered the party. But she hadn’t said anything just now about Sam having Katie’s number. What was he talking about?
“No,” he said, “we weren’t texting back and forth.
She knows she lives in the middle of our home and my work, she just asked if I’d pick her up, what the fuck, Man?”
He sounded like he was getting irritated, but Mandy didn’t know why. She wasn’t saying anything to him. In fact, she got the feeling she was being watched and was afraid to say anything and break the silence.
“Jesus Christ,” Sam said. He sounded on the verge of screaming now. What the hell, Mandy thought. “No, I’m not fucking her, are you out of your fucking mind? I love you, you know that. And Katie is your best friend. Use your fucking head!”
Then, as if speaking away from the phone, “She thinks we just got done fucking, that’s why you’re in the car with me. This girl is out of her fucking head sometimes, you talk to her!”
The phone changed hands and Mandy heard Katie’s voice next.
“Man, what the fuck, dude? You really think either of us would do that? He picked me up so we could do something, you and I!” There was a pause. Then Katie said, “You gave me his number. Just in case, you said. I don’t know what just in case is, but when we put together that party for you last year, it didn’t seem to be a problem. Now all of the sudden I’m fucking your boyfriend?”
Mandy stood in the dark hallway. She had moved over to the wall and was leaning against it. Tears spilled from her eyes, but she made no sound.
“Alright,” Katie said, “fuck this, man, look I didn’t touch your boyfriend, and I’m not even doing this right now. Here,” she said, presumably to Sam, “you deal with your girlfriend. And, you know what, just take me home, will you? She’s obviously not in the mood to be hanging out with me tonight.”
“No,” Mandy had said, “that’s good thinking, get almost here then have to turn around and take her back so you two have more time to make kissy faces at each other and so you can get in her shower and try to wash the stink of her pussy off you!”
She remembered having said that that night. She couldn’t have said why she was saying it, she knew in her heart she hadn’t believed it, it had been anger talking. She didn’t even know why she had been so angry, it had all just exploded out of nowhere and took over, ruining everything.
She and Sam had fought many times before, it was one of the things they were best at. And some of those fights had been pretty bad. The police had been called once before. Sam had slammed the storm door so hard on his way out that it shattered the glass. The landlord had charged him to have it replaced and that was $60 they couldn’t afford at the time.
But the memory of this conversation was coming back.
Sam had screamed in frustration and said, “Are you seriously fucking being real right now? You are out of your motherfucking mind, do you realize that? Just stop for one second and listen to yourself, and maybe you’ll see how crazy you sound right now. You know what, Katie, fuck it, I’m not taking you home yet, because now she thinks I’m going to your place to wash you off me.”
Mandy didn’t want to listen to this anymore; she knew how it had ended and she didn’t want to hear anymore.
“Cuz she’s fucking insane, I don’t know why,” Sam had said to Katie.
Mandy could vaguely hear the sounds of squealing tires coming through the phone. Sam turning the car around, maybe. Or just beginning to drive a little recklessly. Sam had a temper too, and sometimes when they fought, she feared he would get out of control and do something he would regret. She never thought he would hit her, but she felt many times like it would have given him great pleasure to do so.
“Let me tell you something,” he was saying. “No, shut up! Shut up, Mandy, and you fucking listen to me. Just shut your fucking mouth and listen to me or I swear to God!”
A short pause.
“Motherfuck. Yes, dumbass, that’s exactly what, listen to me or I fuck your best friend some more. Holy Christ, you don’t even hear yourself anymore, you are completely off the deep end. What the holy hell kind of bullshit has to go through your fucking head to make you take that kind of leap where your friend wants to do something with you tonight, so that means I’m fucking her? I love you, but you’re being stupid, so just shut the fuck up and listen to me!”
But she never got to hear what he was going to say.
Katie screamed. Sam yelled, “Fuck!” Tires squealed again and she heard, muffled over the phone and through the sound of her own panicked sobs, something big and metallic crash and crumple. Glass shattered, but that was nothing over the sound of the brakes squealing and then the sudden, heartbreaking silence. All sound from the other end of the phone just stopped.
And Mandy feared, that night and now, in the dark of the Mertland Childrens' Home, what that silence meant.
The Old Woman
Beatrice Abigail Keeper (nee Mertland) hated her husband for what he had done. He had worked the rest of his life to make amends but as she had tried to get through his thick head, the loss of two of her own beloved children was not paid for in the betterment of other childrens’ lives, no matter how badly they needed the help. And, as far as she was concerned, naming the place after her was just the final nail in the coffin around her heart.
What he did in opening the Home was a good thing for the community, and the people of Angel Hill looked upon him all the more favorably because of it, but at the end of the day his tempter, his righteousness, his ear attuned to the voice of God still left two fewer plates to fill at the dinner table every night. As the years passed, it left a void in her heart that grew for every birthday that went by silently empty of celebration.
She put on her brave face in public and stood by her husband’s side. No one ever asked her of the “terrible tragedy” that had led to the loss of her children; it just wasn’t the sort of thing that was talked about in polite society. But she knew that when her back was turned, the stories flew. Who knew what they believed, but she knew none of them had come close to the truth. They couldn’t have. It was, simply, impossible that anyone knew what had really happened the night her twins were cast out.
And while Jacob never said he was sorry for what happened, never begged forgiveness from his wife or from God, he opened the Mertland Childrens’ Home as a silent atonement.
He asked that God bless the endeavor in the names of all the children who would ever have need of its services and that the Home be made a sanctuary to protect the children from harm. And the place had been a success. She had lost count of the number of Angel Hill’s lost children who had been in and out of its doors, but one thing she’d never lost count of was the number of adults who had come here to “help”.
When Jacob died, Beatrice had been ashamed at the relief she’d felt. Her husband of forty years was in the ground and the only tears she cried that day were for the memory of her lost children, gone nearly twenty years by then.
After some time, she felt bad that she didn’t grieve more for her husband, so she decided if she couldn’t cry for him, she would make some small token in an attempt to honor him. She would take up a position at the childrens’ home he’d put so much of himself into. For so many years, Beatrice had avoided the place, showing up only for public relations matters where her husband was involved but otherwise wanting nothing to do with it.
But once she started working there, she fell in love with the kids and with the responsibilities or a caregiver. It was only when she had decided that her time there was up that her husband’s words came back to her.
The Home had been established to protect the children, all of them. And while those within its confines were well tended to, sheltered, fed, etc, there were children aplenty out in the world still.
Bea had seen kids come and go by the thousands in all her long time in the Home, but she’d seen only a few adults. Those who came never left. If there weren’t enough children to demand the assistance, new positions were created. Cook, nurse, laundry worker, groundskeeper. They came, but they never left, because only by keeping them here were the children of Angel Hill safe from them. And if the number of kids grew, there was no shortage of people
in town whom the Home could reach out to, to lure inside its walls.
God, she hated this place again. She hated her husband more than ever these past several decades and she prayed every night to be released, but every day when the sun rose and the children woke, there she was, bound to do what she’d set foot in the building to do: care for them.
And in the silent hours of the night when the world is darkest and even the slightest creak of a board sounds like a tree snapping in two, she knew why she was here. Because although her husband Jacob had been the one to punish their children when he found them together in bed, Bea had stood by, had watched it happen, and had let him do what he felt best for their souls.
And for her silence and her accessory to the fact, she knew this was her lot in life until God or whatever forces were at work here deemed otherwise. She spent her time while the children slept, alone in a room far from everyone else, crying in the dark.
Tuesday
When she had finished crying, Mandy looked up from her hands and saw she wasn’t in the hallway anymore. Not the first floor hallway, anyway. She looked around, but didn’t recognize the walls. Was she still in the Home? The ceiling was stained wood with beams laid out in a grid all along the length. Pictures hung along the walls, large framed portraits. She saw benches here and there along the hall, back against the walls on either side. They had cushions.
She saw two staircases, one maybe ten feet behind her, with stairs leading up or down, with a window, which filtered in bright sunlight. Another staircase was further ahead.
Mandy was on her knees. Her phone was on the floor in front of her. She picked it up, but the screen was blank. She tapped it and got the home screen. She went into the recent calls, but the one she’d just received from Sam wasn’t listed.
The Ghosts of Mertland (An Angel Hill novel) Page 15