Gleefully Macabre Tales

by Jeff Strand

  Now he was terrified. He was going to get caught—he knew it. Stephanie would tell. Or Dad would peek out through the curtain and see that his keys were gone.

  He slid his hands along the wall, trying to find a light switch. Failing that, he proceeded up the stairs in the dark, wincing as each step creaked beneath his feet. How come things always made noise when he was trying to be quiet?

  He reached the top of the stairs and once again felt around for a light switch. There had to be one around here somewhere. Dad didn’t just wander around here in the dark, did he?

  Abbey walked forward with his hands straight out in front of him so he wouldn’t crash into anything. After a couple of steps, he touched a bed.

  It felt wet.

  The white stuff?

  Stephanie was right, he thought. This is where Dad does those things. But why doesn’t he just use his own bed?

  He continued to feel along the bed, and then felt something soft.

  Somebody’s leg.

  He sucked in a scream.

  Oh my God she’s still up here asleep I’m gonna get in trouble Dad’s gonna kill me oh my God…

  Abbey pulled his hand away and stood there in silence, praying the lady wouldn’t wake up. He had to calm himself down. If he took off running for the stairs, he’d wake her up for sure.

  He just needed a few seconds to catch his breath, and everything would be all right.

  But something was wrong.

  The lady wasn’t breathing.

  He held his own breath and listened close. Nothing.

  He reached out and touched her leg again. But this time it didn’t feel like a leg. It wasn’t smooth. It was wet and rough. Abbey began to back away, until he hit a string dangling from the ceiling. He pulled it to turn on the light.

  It was definitely a woman lying on the bed. But the sheets were soaked with blood. And the woman had chunks torn out of her body—dozens of them. There was even blood on the floor. Fortunately, Abbey hadn’t stepped in any of it.

  But then he threw up.

  He shut off the light so he wouldn’t have to look at the horrible sight, then half-walked, half-ran back to the staircase, trying to choke back a scream.

  Despite his fear and panic, Abbey managed to keep from tumbling down the stairs as he went down them, moving faster than before but not quickly enough that the noise would alert Dad. Stephanie, maybe, but not Dad.

  Then Dad spoke: "Abbey?"

  Abbey was at the bottom of the stairs, right in front of the door. He couldn’t hear the water running any more.

  "Abbey!"

  Dad’s voice sounded like it was coming from the bathroom. Abbey hurriedly opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. The bathroom door was closed.

  "Yeah, Dad?"

  "Get in here!"

  Abbey quickly snapped the padlock back into place and re-locked it. He was dead. Maybe as dead as that woman up there. Slowly, he began to walk toward the bathroom, shoving the keys into his pocket.

  But his right hand was covered with blood! He couldn’t go in there! It was too late to enter his bedroom and wipe it off on an old shirt or something.

  He stopped outside the bathroom door. "What?"

  "I said get in here."

  Feeling like he was about to throw up again, Abbey used his left hand to turn the doorknob and pushed open the door. He walked into the bathroom, keeping his bloody hand behind his back in what he hoped looked like a natural position. Dad was peeking out from behind the curtain.

  "Did you forget something?"

  "I don’t think so." Abbey’s voice was trembling.

  "When you go to the bathroom, you flush the toilet, all right? How many times do I have to tell you? Your sister and I don’t want to look at an unflushed toilet every time we come in here, and you’re more than old enough to remember. So flush it."

  Abbey nodded, and then stepped over and flushed. Dad gave him a strange look. "What’s wrong with you?"

  "Nothing."

  "That’s a lie. Don’t lie to me. Something’s wrong with you. Why’s your hand behind your back?"

  Abbey shrugged.

  "What have you got behind your back?"

  "Nothing."

  "Let me see your hand."

  There was no way around this. Abbey held up his blood-covered hand and began to cry.

  "What happened?"

  Suddenly, he realized a way out. "I—I was using one of the knives in the kitchen and I cut myself."

  "Well then it serves you right. You know not to play with knives. Wash your hand off and have Stephanie put a Band-Aid on it."

  "I can do it."

  "Whatever. I hope you learned your lesson."

  "Yes, sir."

  Dad turned the shower back on, and Abbey immediately went to the sink and turned on the faucet. As he held his hand under the stream of warm water, he put the keys back in Dad’s pocket. He scrubbed some soap on his fingers, but traces of blood still remained under his fingernails. It didn’t matter. He took a Band-Aid down from the medicine cabinet and stuck it to his palm. If he was lucky, Dad wouldn’t ask to see the cut.

  But, then again, that wasn’t the real problem.

  He’d left a big pool of puke next to where his Dad had murdered a woman.

  And even if he managed to get back up there and clean the mess up, what was he supposed to do about the fact that Dad was a killer?

  ««—»»

  Dad sometimes took them out for ice cream if they behaved while he ran his errands. Today was one of those days, but Abbey just couldn’t enjoy the treat. As he sat in the booth, chin smeared with chocolate, Dad set down his root beer float and stared across the table at him.

  "What’s the problem, son?"

  "Hmmm?"

  "You’re acting like I’m going to smack you or something. What’s wrong?"

  "Nothing."

  "Don’t tell me nothing. Stephanie, what’s wrong with your brother?"

  Stephanie shrugged and averted her eyes.

  "Okay," said Dad, folding his arms over his chest, "there’s something going on that I don’t know about. I want to know what it is, right now."

  "Nothing," Abbey insisted.

  "Abbey, regardless of what you’d like to believe, I’m not completely stupid. Now, all day you’ve been scared to look me in the eye, I can see you flinch whenever I make a move, so what’s wrong? What did you do that you’re worried about getting in trouble for?"

  Abbey felt tears begin to well up in his eyes. No! You can’t cry! If you act like a baby, you’ll get yourself in big trouble! God, he was scared. He was only seven, how was he supposed to deal with something like this?

  "Look me in the eye."

  Abbey did so, silently praying that no tears would spill. Dad stared at him for a long moment, and then stood up. "Let’s go home now," he said.

  ««—»»

  "All right, kids," said Dad as they walked through the front door. "In the basement."

  Abbey had to fight back a scream. Couldn’t Dad wait until tomorrow to go into the attic?

  It occurred to Abbey that faking an upset stomach might buy him some time, but faking it was unnecessary because his stomach already felt like it was being wrung out like a wet cloth. He wrapped his arms around his belly and moaned softly. "Dad, my stomach hurts."

  "There’s Pepto-Bismol in the medicine cabinet."

  "Could you get it?"

  "I could, but you’re old enough. Hurry up—I have work to do."

  "What kind of work?"

  "Work that’s none of your business, and you know that already. Now stop playing around."

  "Can’t we just stay up here a little longer?"

  Dad chuckled, but there was no humor in it. "You’ll never learn, will you? We’re going to have this argument every single night for the rest of our lives. Get down in the basement."

  Stephanie hurried down there, but Abbey refused to move. No matter how much trouble he got in now, it couldn’t possibly b
e worse than if Dad went into the attic before he had a chance to clean up. "No," he said.

  "What?"

  "No. I’m not going down there."

  "Young man, you are getting yourself in more trouble than you know what to do with. You march down those steps, right now, or I’ll throw you down there myself."

  Abbey backed up. "No."

  Suddenly Dad grabbed Abbey’s arm, holding tight enough that it hurt. He yanked Abbey over to the basement door and down onto the first step, then slammed the door shut. Abbey began pounding wildly against the door with both fists. "Let me out!" he screamed. "Let me out of here, you shithead!"

  The door opened. Dad looked more furious than Abbey had ever seen him. "What did you call me?"

  No sense lying about it. "A shithead."

  "Where did you learn that word?"

  "I don’t know."

  "Did Stephanie teach you?"

  Abbey shook his head, and then lunged forward to make a break for it. Dad caught him by the collar and pulled him back onto the top stair. "If I ever hear that kind of talk from you ever again, I’ll smack you senseless. Got it?"

  "Got it, shithead."

  The slap almost knocked Abbey down the stairs. It stung like crazy, but that didn’t matter. All that mattered was keeping Dad from going up into the attic. Maybe this would get him so mad that he’d forget about it.

  But then Dad slammed the door once again, and there was nothing more Abbey could do. He sat down on the steps and began to cry.

  ««—»»

  That kid was going to snap out of this phase real quick. Craig unlocked the door to the attic and headed up the stairs, trying to decide upon a severe enough punishment. Probably a week down in the basement would straighten him out. And if it turned out that Stephanie was teaching him to swear, she’d stay right down there with him. It was just ridiculous how—

  He stopped. The smell was wrong. Not the scent of death, but the scent of…vomit? He flipped on the light, saw the mess, and sighed deeply. Abbey had been up here. He’d seen everything. No wonder he was acting so strangely.

  And now Craig was going to have to deal with him.

  He went back down the stairs, heart pounding. Eventually he had known something like this was going to happen, but that didn’t make things easier.

  ««—»»

  The basement door opened again. Abbey wiped the tears from his eyes as Dad looked down at him.

  "Are you all right, son?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "I’m sorry I hit you. I shouldn’t have done it. Do you want to come upstairs with me so we can talk about this?"

  "No, sir."

  "That wasn’t supposed to be a question. Come on." Dad reached out his hand to help Abbey to his feet.

  "I don’t want to go back up there."

  "Well, sometimes we have to do things we don’t want to. I’ll explain everything, and we’ll both feel a lot better."

  He’s going to kill me.

  Abbey had learned the secret, and now Dad was going to see that nobody else found out. He was going to die just like that woman. Or maybe his death would be even worse.

  He let Dad take his hand and got to his feet. As he stepped through the doorframe, Dad closed the basement door, and then put his hand firmly on Abbey’s shoulder and led him down the hallway towards the attic door, which was hanging open.

  Right in front of the door Abbey hesitated. "Please don’t make me go up there."

  "Abbey, you were snooping around where you shouldn’t have. Where you absolutely knew you shouldn’t have. And you got caught, so what happens next is out of your hands. You gave up your freedom when you invaded my privacy. Now get up there."

  "I’m scared."

  "You should be."

  "You go first."

  "She’s not going to bite you."

  "I don’t care. I want you to go first."

  Dad removed his hand from Abbey’s shoulder, and then went up the first three steps. He glanced over his shoulder and saw that Abbey hadn’t moved. "Come on, hurry up."

  Abbey slammed the door and quickly snapped the padlock shut just as Dad kicked the door from the other side. The door shook on its hinges. It wouldn’t take long for him to break out.

  "Abbey! You open this door right now! If you don’t, I’ll kill you! You hear me?"

  There wasn’t time to run over to his room. If Abbey wanted to get away, he was going to have to leave all his possessions behind. He’d have to leave Stephanie, too, not that she would have come along even if she had the chance.

  Tears flowing freely, Abbey dashed into the living room, out the front door, and onto the driveway, where he mounted his bicycle. He pedaled down the street as fast as he could, not thinking about where he was going, not thinking about how he was going to survive on his own, only thinking about getting away before Dad came after him.

  ««—»»

  The door flew open, shaking in its frame, as the jamb plate that held the padlock broke from the wood. Craig ran to the front door and peered outside. No sign of Abbey. He went back to the basement door, unlocked it, and called for Stephanie.

  "Hurry up," he said to her as she approached the steps. "We’re going after your brother."

  ««—»»

  Abbey had gone less than half a mile when his front tire struck a large rock, flipping the bike and sending him hurtling into the air. He landed on his chin and his teeth smacked together on the side of his mouth, drawing blood. He lay there for a moment, and then rolled over on his back, eyes filled with tears. His arm hurt, both of his legs hurt, and his chin hurt so bad that he thought he might have tore it right off. He touched it and his fingertip came away bloody.

  He wasn’t going to cry though.

  Seconds later, his resolve broke, and he began sobbing. Sobbing so loudly that he barely heard the car as it drove up next to him. Dad and Stephanie got out, and Dad quickly bent down over him.

  "Abbey, are you okay? Can you hear me?"

  "Yuh-yes," Abbey managed to reply.

  "How many fingers am I holding up?" Dad held up his index, middle, and ring finger.

  "Three."

  "Good, you’re fine. Just a little banged up. Well, a lot banged up, but you’ll heal."

  Dad and Stephanie helped him to his feet, and Abbey didn’t struggle as they put him into the car, even though he wasn’t sure Dad really was going to give him a chance to heal.

  ««—»»

  The dead lady hadn’t been moved. Stephanie was down in the basement, with no complaints, of course. Dad didn’t even feel the need to lock it with just her down there. Abbey stood trembling as Dad put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Dad’s other hand held a magazine, folded in half so Abbey couldn’t see the cover. Abbey was still in a great deal of pain, but Dad had promised to fix him up as soon as they took care of this business.

  "I was trying to shield you from this," Dad said, softly. "I was trying to shield you from everything like this, because I was afraid you’d end up like me. And your grandfather. Stephanie won’t turn out this way, but I had to protect her from it to keep her from telling you things you weren’t supposed to know."

  Abbey was silent. His chin was so badly swollen that he probably couldn’t have spoken even if he wanted to.

  "I know Stephanie got into the magazines in my room. What did she tell you?"

  Abbey shrugged.

  "I know it’s hard to talk about. I’ll explain everything to you, starting tonight. And then I’ll explain what makes us different. You see, to do what Stephanie told you about is easy for most people, but not for us. I don’t know why, it just turned out that way."

  He removed his hand from Abbey’s shoulder, then gave him the magazine. Abbey unfolded it and glanced at the cover, which showed a naked lady lying on a bed.

  "Open it."

  Abbey hesitated, but then opened it to a page in the middle. It showed a man and a woman, doing exactly what Stephanie had described. Abbey felt sick.

&n
bsp; "You don’t have the feelings now," said Dad, "but pretty soon you will. And they’ll be different from the feelings that most other people have. If you want to do that—" he tapped on the picture in the magazine—"you’ll have to do this first." He pointed to the dead lady.

  Abbey dropped the magazine and shook his head. "No…" he said, his jaw aching with the effort of speaking just that one word.

  "I’m sorry. That’s the way it is. Your mother and I were happy for a few years together, but we only did the thing in the magazine to make you and Stephanie. One day I couldn’t take it any more."

  "You killed her?" Abbey was incredulous. He no longer cared about the pain in his jaw.

  "Someday you’ll understand. You can’t tell any of this to Stephanie, though, because she won’t. You have to promise me. Absolutely none of this is to be mentioned to your sister, do you hear me?"