“No. Yes…no…I don’t know. Honestly, I don’t know. I’m afraid.” I looked the woman dead in the eyes, amazed at the frantic words that just spewed out of my mouth. If I were her, I know what I would be thinking, but she looked so kind with soft, forgiving eyes. They were eyes that had dealt with a crazy toddler for so long that nothing was surprising.
“Do you want me to call someone for you?”
“Yes. Malcolm. Call Malcolm to come and get me please.” I handed over my cell phone that looked like it was stuck on vibrate while wedged between my fingers. It had dents where I had gripped it so hard, unable to actually use the damn thing.
I didn’t enjoy sitting in the park waiting for Malcolm to arrive. The kind moms let their kids run around me and ask me funny questions. They probably thought I was harmless and that it would be a good distraction, but I worried for them. I felt an evil within me, swirling inside, toying with my visions. Whatever was happening to me, I didn’t want anyone else to get hurt. Louise at the coffee shop had only been eighteen.
When Malcolm arrived he took me straight to the car, thanking the women who called him.
“I can see how visibly shaken up you are. What happened?”
“I had more visions. But this time, Malcolm, I’m still awake. Look at me. There’s no way this can be a dream. The man with the ants was in the coffee shop and I think he killed Louise!”
Malcolm looked at me with compassionate doubt. I saw the confusion battling within him. “Should we go back to the coffee shop and check on Louise?”
“You don’t believe me?”
“Sure I do. If what you say actually happened, we have to call someone.”
The thought of going back there seemed worse than going home, but Malcolm was right; we had to go.
I couldn’t believe my eyes when we got there. The cafe was busy, Louise serving customers with that same welcoming smile I had come to expect. She looked at me with puzzled bemusement, like she wanted to remind me that I knew her. I just couldn’t believe she was okay. An hour earlier she was dead; I had seen her body. I felt then like my own was crossing over between worlds. I felt things that seemed real but couldn’t possibly be.
We drove home in silence. I was now convinced something was wrong and Malcolm was now convinced I was crazy.
That night, my behavior was completely erratic. I paced around the house and rearranged things, trying to seek comfort in a familiar setting. Malcolm only watched me, and I knew he was thinking hard—probably searching for the best moment to leave and never come back.
He picked up the landline and went to the bathroom. When he returned he looked remarkably sad.
“Are you okay?” I asked. He looked so pale I wondered if he had seen him—the man.
“I’m okay. I was just chatting with your mom. She and I agree…”
“My mom? What are you talking about? My mom’s dead. Is that meant to be funny, or some kind of trick to test how crazy I really am?”
Malcolm looked down at his feet and sighed. He looked helpless, like he had given up.
The people that came to my house looked friendly enough. They said sweet things to coax me into a protective jacket to keep everyone safe. I fought and screamed and kicked with every ounce of strength I had, but I knew no one believed me. They had decided I was lost already.
I swear I saw tears in Malcolm’s eyes as they dragged me through the door. When I looked back at my home from the sidewalk before being bundled into the ambulance, I saw my delicate wooden house overcome with evil, like a morning haze across a grassy field. Malcolm wasn’t safe there either, and I saw him, the man from my dreams, standing in the kitchen window. This time he was smiling.
I felt incredible, agonizing panic as the drivers took me away. I no longer believed there was a place of safety and sanity for me. This nightmare owned me and would be with me forever.
The ambulance didn’t turn right at the end of the street toward the hospital, but instead took a left, heading toward a dead-end known as Cherry Oak Road. The stagnant street that warned of death had taken me, another victim, of the thirty-first night on the thirty-first moon.
As the ambulance drove down the pretty, tree-lined street, I wondered if things would be different had I just spared those extra ten minutes every day.
The ambulance faded from view after delivering me to my fate, the house that stood closest to the road. My disappearance would soon be told as nothing more than an age-old tale of Cherry Oak Road.
About Laura Callender
As the founder of CWC (Collaborative Writing Challenge), and the newly launched publishing company: CW Publishing House, Laura has mainly focused on developing her concept to bring writers together to produce full-length fiction novels. She gets very little time to write at the moment, but couldn’t resist contributing to this fun anthology. Laura has published one children’s book and has two more on the way. You can connect with Laura using the following links:
LinkedIn: www.linkedin.com/in/lauracallender
Twitter: @CollaborativeWC
Website: www.collaborativewritingchallenge.com
Facebook: www.facebook.com/Collaborativewritingchallenge
Crafted With Daddy
By Cayce Berryman
Mara couldn’t refuse the endless pools of green glistening at her, pleading for another chance. The endless things lost to those eyes had emptied her shed of most of her supplies, and now her daughter wanted to use something else. She tried to hide a smile but gave in when her smart little girl caught the twitch and beamed.
“Thank you,” she squealed happily as she bolted out the door with a rope dangling between her tiny legs, trailing from the wadded mess she clutched in her hand. Mara’s nerves rumbled steadily inside her as she wondered what an eight-year-old wanted markers and a rope for, though Kristy had been inventive lately. While most children her age drew half-decent drawings of their parents, Kristy had found a way to make a dog-like figure out of sticks, glue, and rubber bands. Her detail impressed Mara, each shade of brown placed intuitively in a proper place until the shades blended into a uniform brown mutt shaded by the sun. It was nice to see Kristy interested in something, even if she rarely saw the result of her disappearing supplies. She always received the same excuse when Kristy didn’t return with whatever she had taken with her. “It’s part of the woods now,” she’d say.
“Be careful, sweetie,” she called out as Kristy scampered across the small field and into the woods. Mara always watched the bright-colored shirt dwindle amongst the trees, making sure Kristy followed the rules and didn’t pass the line Mara had made for her a year prior. Mara had tried to sneak out there a few times to see the things she had made, but they were never there. It worried her that Kristy might be walking deeper into the woods than she was allowed, but after a few days of watching out for her highlighter-colored shirts, Mara assumed animals had taken them or torn them up.
Kristy loved the woods, though it had taken two years for her to go near them. It seemed weird to Mara that Kristy’s previous phobia of the woods had turned into an almost intrinsic desire for its presence. Living so close to the woods, Mara eventually let the thought go, thankful for the change. Mara never asked Kristy how she felt about things or why, and tried not to bring it up. Last time she asked her little girl about why she did something, the emerald eyes rounded into frightened, questioning stares that gave Mara nightmares. “Why don’t you want to talk to your dad?” she had asked, and now knew it to be a mistake.
When Kristy reacted the same way with every question regarding her emotions, Mara decided it best to avoid the topic altogether. It made her sick to see her little girl hide in her room for hours after questions like that, and it didn’t make sense. For months, she nearly dragged Kristy to the cemetery to ‘visit’ her daddy, reminding her that his death wasn’t empty like she said it was.
“It’s empty, mommy. Death is empty.”
Words like that hurt Mara. Michael’s murder wasn’t meani
ngless; it had saved their daughter. A previous debt of Michael’s had brought the dangerous man into their world, but Michael didn’t hesitate to protect his family.
Michael’s obsessions always brought danger to their house, and his previous obsession with porn created a rift in their relationship, almost ripping it apart when Michael tried recording others for his own pleasure. Dark times had veiled their household, but Michael had changed, and his previous obsessions disappeared when he caught a glimpse of their first sonogram.
After her birth, Michael obsessed over Kristy, refusing to leave her side from the moment they locked eyes. It had scared Mara a little in the beginning, but Kristy’s bond with her father made the relationship so pure and wonderful, and Mara’s initial nerves dissipated in the mesmerizing green eyes of her little girl.
As usual, Kristy trotted up the hill toward the house as the sun set behind her into the trees. The rope no longer dangled behind her, but the markers remained clutched in her fists. Mara squinted at a red mark across Kristy’s neck and hoped the red marker had caused it.
“You’re leaving with black next time,” she grumbled as a shudder ran down her spine. She fought the urge to run to her, knowing Kristy would panic if she heard the fear in her mommy’s voice. “What’s on your neck, dear?” she asked simply as Kristy skipped into the doorway.
The emerald eyes darted around to meet her own. They seemed flat, tired, and ready for a quick bath and bed. Dirt speckled around her eyes and coated her hands in a thin layer of brown that fell to the floor in soft clumps as she rubbed her hands against her tree-splintered jeans. “Hm?” she asked.
Mara shook her head and knelt beside her daughter, rubbing at the mark that sparked into urgency as it came away wet, revealing an open, raw-skinned burn. “What were you doing today?” she demanded, no longer concerned with hurting her daughter’s feelings.
Kristy frowned and pushed herself away from Mara’s grasp. “Playing,” she defended herself, and crossed her arms over her chest.
She was trying to shut down, but Mara wouldn’t let her. “This is a rash, Kristy. Or a burn. And it’s not…” She sighed and grabbed her forehead. “Just…take a shower, please. I’ll look at that when it’s cleaned up.”
Kristy ran into the restroom and slammed the door behind her. Mara wondered if her daughter could only feel extreme happiness or complete distress because of how quickly they interchanged with each other, but she dropped the thought and concerned herself with the cause of her daughter’s rash. It could have been a rope burn, but Kristy would not have been strong enough to do anything that would cause a heavy burn like that. Her neck felt more than raw, almost fleshy, and the skin had broken enough to spread blood across the front of her neck toward her chin.
Water trickled to life from the shower and shut off a short ten minutes later. Kristy stepped out of the bathroom in her underwear and Mara motioned her over, calming herself this time before inspecting the wound. Her insides churned as Kristy thrust her head upward in a spiteful gesture. The burn barely changed, only lighter now that the dirt had washed away. She struggled to stay angry, knowing she shouldn’t be letting an eight-year-old out of her sight anyway.
“Where’s the rope?”
Kristy shrugged, and Mara asked again, this time growing impatient.
“You better find it and bring it home tomorrow.”
Kristy’s face changed, her little attitude gone. “But, it’s—”
“Don’t care.”
“It’s for daddy!” she screamed.
Tears slid down her cheek, and Mara’s heart sank. Kristy’s mention of her dad made the burn a fading scar in Mara’s eyes, and she tried to control the tears threatening to flood down her heated cheeks. “What?”
Kristy glared through glassy eyes and bolted into her room. She slammed the door, and Mara knew she’d hide in there for hours, so she would be asleep by the time she ever considered emerging.
Mara walked to the back porch and gazed into the darkening shadows of the woods. Now, she found herself curious in the project Kristy had started. Kristy had crafted many things, refusing to show her mom because she claimed they would wake up and live with the other animals in the woods, but this time she felt she needed to know, especially if it was meant for Michael.
A light danced around the branches and disappeared, appearing again like a large firefly making a presence in the trees. Squinting, Mara decided she would overlook the burn, reminding herself Kristy was bound to get hurt eventually. She sighed, shut the door, and walked into her bedroom for the night.
***
Curiosity drove Mara’s thoughts around the room as she tried to consider the things her daughter had been creating, and if Michael was the inspiration for the secrets in the woods. Kristy hadn’t even made an appearance, and she wondered if she was still upset. Figuring out how her daughter’s emotions worked now seemed a futile thing since the strange change occurred a week after Michael died. Even five months later, Kristy’s interests only lay in the woods and the projects in which she engulfed herself. How could Mara say no? She knew she’d have to do something eventually but had decided to wait until she could at least contain her own emotions. At this point, the only thing she managed to control were the tears fighting to break the brims of her eyes at every moment, especially when she saw the glorious velvet-green eyes that glanced at her with the same sincerity Michael’s had.
“Kristy?” she called out, and turned her head when she didn’t receive a response. “Kristy. Come here.” Mara moved from her room, knowing she would probably be waking a sleeping rock, and walked to Kristy’s door, knocking firmly for an answer. “What’s the rule? I will let you have your private space if you answer when I call you.”
Frustrated, Mara broke the promise she made to Kristy a week after Michael’s death and opened the door. Kristy’s moods were hard to decipher in the beginning, and they had agreed to give her ‘private space’ so she could be alone when she wanted to. At first it seemed like a good idea, and Mara hoped the space would help Kristy share more with her mom when she was ready. Now, it was starting to become ridiculous, and Mara felt the urge to be a ‘friend’ during their mourning ebb.
The empty room intensified the frustration exploding in her chest as anger replaced the constant despair she’d felt for months. Among the many simple rules, Kristy’s ultimate rule was to never leave without telling her mom. For months, Kristy had traveled in and out of the woods, building or creating things out of trash and plastic, tape and rubber bands. The routine had strict protocol determined by Mara, and for the first time it had been broken.
She bolted out the back door, eyeing the trees for a flash of bright clothing. Her eyes darted above and around her as she entered the woods, scanning its depths for a sign of her daughter. The moon barely lit the ground below the trees, so she stared into the black areas of the woods for a while and listened. Her heartbeat roared in her ears, and she sprinted along the edge of the woods where she had seen Kristy before from the kitchen window.
“Kristy!” she screamed.
Kristy didn’t answer, but Mara heard the rustle of feet escaping into the yard behind their house. She ran after the sound and sped up with fury igniting beneath her feet as she caught the familiar scurry in Kristy’s legs. She easily caught up with her and spun her around to scream fear into her daughter.
Mara dropped her arms and fell back onto her backside. The silver sheen that glittered in Kristy’s eyes glared down at her in the remaining moonlight. Her hands dripped with a dark liquid, and the same liquid darkened the skin on her neck and streaked down her chest. Kristy smiled, her eyes wide and joyful like an entrancing game she couldn’t escape.
A soft wind encircled them, and Mara searched for words, trying to remember the anger that had driven her forward moments ago. “Kristy,” was all she could whisper into the chilled air, the words like ice on her tongue. Kristy didn’t acknowledge the name, but only turned toward the house to run as she just
had moments before. Mara shoved herself forward to follow, but a tight pull on her heart kept her in place. Another breeze blew, and she turned toward the woods, hoping her real daughter would emerge. A soft, inaudible whisper pleaded with a strangely familiar voice, almost beckoning, and she stepped toward it with a curiosity she had never felt before. Her heart thudded as the whispers grew louder, more familiar, and a sudden scream from her daughter’s bedroom shook her from the trance and sent her sprinting toward the house.
“Kristy!” Mara screamed, racing through her daughter’s doorway without any consideration of the previous vision. Kristy lay on her floor, covered in wet sheets that wrapped around her neck and waist. She kicked and swung her thin arms around her, eyes horror-stricken and desperate. Mara knelt beside her and curled the mass of sweat and cloth into her chest as she called her name in an attempt to wake her. Kristy wept, and Mara looked at her face for the foreign eyes she had seen, but only scared, emerald gems reflected light through the tears spilling from her eyes.
“Mom,” she mumbled through shattered gasps. “Mom.”
“I’m here, baby. Just a dream.” Mara wiped hot tears from the sides of her cheeks and stared intently at the beautiful, green eyes. She couldn’t question what she saw, but nothing could explain it either. Whatever Kristy had seen was all that mattered now, and the strange whispers that now only drifted like wind into the house didn’t let rest the chill driving into Mara’s thoughts. She breathed in her own tears and shuddering cries, hoping to comfort her daughter from the living nightmare they had just experienced.
Shaking the memory of the silver eyes that had overtaken Kristy made sleeping difficult, and the voice she heard only resonated through her ears as fresh as a present memory, shifting with the eyes in her dreams as they scanned Mara’s face with desire and an empty truth. She woke several times throughout the night, peeking through the crack she’d left in Kristy’s doorway to make sure she still lay in bed asleep. “No more woods,” she decided, and closed the door to her daughter’s room.
The Grim Keepers Page 5