The Key to Everything

by Alex Kimmell

  You laugh courteously and turn back down the driveway to the street. “Good then. We’ll see you tomorrow. Have a nice night.”

  Up in the sky you see the red and green flashing lights from the wings of a jetliner way up there somewhere. A few wispy clouds are blocking the moon, but light still comes through. Not much need for the streetlights tonight, but they’re all lit up anyway.

  Reaching the sidewalk, you feel a sudden urge to go check the backyard. Maybe there are some more crazy squirrels around. The kitchen light is on; through the window it illuminates the avocado tree, and a few feet around it as well. It smells like a summer night, with fresh cut grass, barbeques, and down the street someone is smoking a clove cigarette. And of course the ever-present skunk scent of kids toking out, thinking that their parents have no idea what they’re doing. You can wait a little while longer for the teenage years.

  Smiling to yourself, you circle around the tree. Looking down, you can just make out the scrapes and scratches made by the poor squirrel as it fought and lost in the end. You kneel down and reach out to touch the tree. Your skin presses against the bark. It feels warm and soft, like the flesh of a lover fresh after sex. At your feet you see a piece of metal just barely exposed in the torn-up dirt between the roots. You reach down and grab it. It’s in the ground too far to pull out easily, so you start digging. It doesn’t take long to free it. It’s too dark to really see what it is, but somehow you already know, don’t you?

  Picking it up and walking toward the light, you can make out the details. It’s old and covered in flaked brown rust. No one’s made this kind of thing in over a hundred years. It has a flat circle on one end with an engraving that looks like it might have been a wave at some point, but it’s been rubbed down from years of use. There is a round shaft about an inch and a half long. It feels heavier than it looks, probably made of lead. The other end has strange teeth, two rows, angled in like a shark’s. No longer sharp, they look worn down, covered in scratch marks.

  * * *

  Opening your third beer of the night, you grab Emily’s empty glass and pour her another drink. The boys are lying down on the couch watching the same movie they watched this morning. You can pretty much recite it by heart by now, but somehow that makes it easier to tune it into white noise in the background. Emily is in the dining room putting your wedding china in the display case. She looks tired, but you’ve always liked the way her body looks in sweatpants and one of your old t-shirts.

  “Never thought I’d say this,” you say, handing her the drink you just made, “but Iron Maiden never looks this good when I wear that shirt.”

  She wipes her forehead with the back of her hand and takes the glass. “Thanks. I think I’m ready to be done for the night.” She slumps back at the head of the dining room table and leans over the edge of the chair.

  “Really?” You sit down next to her. “I was trying to conserve just a tiny bit of energy.”

  Taking a drink from her glass, she folds her arms and lays her head down. “Is there ever a time when you’re not horny?”

  You kiss the back of her neck and stand up, stretching. “I’m gonna go check on the boyos. See if they’re finally ready for bed.” Walking toward the living room, you say back over your shoulder, “And nope. I’m a guy. There is never a time when I’m not horny.”

  Jason is snoring quietly on the couch, but Jeremy is still wide-eyed and enthralled by the fish talking to the bird talking to the lobster who is singing an off-key song about seaweed. “Hey Jer. Bedtime, kiddo.” You sit on the arm of the couch next to him and run your fingers through his curly hair.

  “No, Daddy.” The little boy tightens the quilt around him and digs deeper into the cushions of the couch. “This is the goodest part. The fishes are gonna not sink from the boat. Remember?” His eyes flick up to you quickly and then dart back to the screen in hopes of not missing anything important.

  “Jeremy…you’ve seen this movie like a billion times. And Jason’s already asleep.” You move to stand between the couch and the TV.

  “Please please please Daddy?” He starts to wiggle his whole body around and scrunch up his face into a mush of wrinkles. Man, this kid has got you wrapped around his little finger already. You’re going to be in a lot of trouble in a few more years.

  You throw your hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay. I’m going to bring your brother to bed, and when I get back, it’s bedtime. No more arguing, okay?”

  He smiles up at you not so innocently, having secured his minor victory. “Thanks, Dad.” He turns his attention back to the brightly colored animated animals flickering around the screen. Bending down, you grab up Jason, and his limp body drapes over your shoulder. It’s amazing how big he is already. Seems like ten minutes ago you were still carrying him around everywhere in the backpack.

  Emily sits down next to Jeremy on the couch and turns to watch you carrying your son up the stairs. “Ahh…the rare and miraculous boneless child.” She blows you a kiss and wraps her arm around your youngest. He leans his head into her, and you can see him sigh. There is nothing in the world like a little kid being put to sleep by his Mommy.

  As soon as you get the covers pulled up and turn for the door, Jason kicks them off with his feet and curls up into his pillow. Shaking your head, you start down the stairs to finish your beer. About halfway down, you stop. Not even realizing it, your hand has dipped into your pocket and wrapped its fingers around the strange metal key. Funny, you don’t remember putting it in there. It feels warm to the touch. Almost uncomfortably hot, actually. But you don’t let go. You don’t want to. Not sure what to do next, you feel a little dizzy. The room isn’t spinning as much as flattening out, stretching. The ceiling starts to press down while the floor rises to meet it. The stairs slowly level out into a solid stretch of wood growing darker by the second, turning from a light cedar to a dark mahogany to red, blood red.

  You feel pressure in your ears, like you’re going too deep underwater. Your eyes are hot and your vision is doubled. Your nose starts to run. Slowly at first, and then you feel the warm fluid rushing down to your upper lip. It tastes salty and metallic. Like blood. You try to raise your hand to wipe it off, but you can’t let go of the key. You don’t want to let go of the key. You need to hold onto the key. You grip it tighter. The smooth, round shaft feels good against your first three fingers. But the teeth at the end dig into your ring finger and pinky. You can feel it cutting into the skin, starting to push its way into your muscles. It feels good. You feel yourself getting excited despite the pain. You feel an erection growing. You feel it pushing against the fabric of your underwear and into the teeth of your zipper.

  This is new. This is beautiful and terrifying. You’ve never felt anything like this before. You are eleven years old in the back of your parents’ garage looking at dad’s dirty foreign magazines, seeing photos of naked people doing strange and wonderful grownup things for the first time. But the man and the woman in the scene are not posing for the cameraman. They move. Grinding their hips into each other moaning and kissing. You see him moving in and out of her. The woman looks at you from the page and winks. Her hair teased up high and tight with loads of hairspray. Powder-blue eyeshadow running with sweat, and deep streaks of blush accentuating her cheekbones. You feel your blood flowing away from your head and arms. It’s an unfamiliar river flowing faster and stronger. The damn is about to burst. The man and woman on the page start screaming, and you shout out along with them, “The Key!”

  “Keep it down, Auden,” Emily whispers as she carries Jeremy past you on the stairs. “I finally got him to go to sleep.” Suddenly you can breathe again. You look around, and the high ceilings are back up where they should be. The stairs are all in place. Sweat drips down the back of your neck, and your heart races.

  Shaking, you lean against the wall. You close your eyes and go to wipe your nose with your left hand. There is nothing there, but you can still taste the blood. Then you feel the pain in your right hand.
You pull it free from your pocket and open the clenched fist. The old rusty key is somehow still there, with its teeth stuck deep into your last two fingers.

  You race down toward the bathroom, nervously glancing back up at the stairs as you turn the corner. Seeing yourself in the mirror, you look pale and shaken. Your eyes are bloodshot, and your nose looks red as if you had a cold. You turn on warm water and stick your hand under the flow to pull the key’s teeth out of your fingers and wash the dirt off. It comes out slow and painfully, but there is no blood. You grab some rubbing alcohol from the medicine cabinet just to be sure. You don’t want to risk an infection because of the dirt and rust. By the time you take the cap off and pour, there are no cuts left to clean. Your fingers have completely healed.

  Resting your weight on the counter, you look down at the water running in the sink. Not quite certain of what just happened, you splash some water on your face and look into your eyes. You try to find some explanation for it. It was so real. It couldn’t have been a hallucination, could it? You haven’t smoked any weed today. You’ve only had two and a half beers. Can’t be a flashback because you never did acid with the gang in college. You haven’t had mushrooms in fifteen years. The pot you and Emily had last week wasn’t that strong. More like ragweed made of stems and seeds anyway.

  You hear the upstairs hall light switch flick and Emily come down the stairs. “Where’d you go, babe?” she asks from the living room.

  After a beat to compose yourself, you say, “Just be a minute. I’m in the bathroom.” You dry off on the towel, check yourself out in the mirror one last time, take a deep breath, and head out to your wife. She’s sitting on the couch with the remote, flipping through the cable guide.

  “What happened to you? We just got finished potty training Jeremy. Now I’ve got to worry about you?” She says as she looks down at a spreading wetness on the crotch of your pants.

  “Oh shit.” Turning around to head up to your room and change. “I’ll be right back.”

  As you run up the stairs the sneaking feeling that there are hands reaching out to grab you from behind creeps up your spine. You run faster. Haven’t felt that way since you were a kid when you thought monsters were real.

  You close the bedroom door and take your pants off and throw them into the hamper. Your boxer shorts are stuck to your skin and you see something all over the inside of your jeans. You peel your shorts off and it’s all over your lower stomach, thighs and penis. You switch your focus from looking down at yourself to your reflection in the full-length mirror next to the closet. You can’t understand it. But you can see it, so it must be real. You reach down to put your finger into the thick, sticky substance. It holds onto your hand, not letting you pull away to take a closer look. It’s so cold. Your fingers lose their ability to bend. Twisting your arm, it finally comes away, pulling a long black strand behind. You lean forward to take a closer look, and that’s when you hear Emily scream.

  -3-

  Auden: You Turn

  You are in the warm tub while Emily sits on the edge, cleaning you off with a wet washcloth. The water is murky brown mixed with swirls of red spinning around as she gently wipes you down. You lay your head back and close your eyes, finally able to slow your breathing down. Emily stops, and you look at her with her head down, shaking from side to side.

  “I don’t understand.” She drops the washcloth into the tub. “What the hell was that?”

  Your hands touch on the edge of the tub. “I don’t know, Em. But I’ll go see a doctor first thing tomorrow, okay?”

  She takes your hand and kisses the palm. “Why were you yelling about a key?”

  “What?”

  “When I was carrying Jeremy up the stairs, I thought I heard you yell something about a key.” Emily leans back and looks down at her hands. “You kinda freaked me out.”

  “Me too.” You sit up in the tub, ashamed that you’ve scared your wife, but just as confused as she is.

  “And what was that stuff all over you?” She looks back into your eyes. “Did you come in your pants?” With a disgusted look on her face, she stands up to get you a towel. “I mean, I’m as kinky as the next gal, but that’s just gross, honey.”

  “I don’t know what happened.” You stand up and wrap the towel around your waist. “I don’t think so. Plus, there was something else. Like dirt…or mud.” Glancing at the mirror, you can sort of make out your reflection through the steam. Then quietly you say, “And all that blood.”

  Emily whispers and looks down at her feet. “Yeah.”

  After a few quiet uncomfortable seconds, she wraps her arms around you and squeezes, maybe more tightly than she ever has. “It must be the stress and the exertion from the move.”

  “Yeah.” You sound unconvinced. “That must be it.”

  * * *

  Sitting in the exam room at St. Michael’s Hospital, you wait for the ER doctor to finally get back to you with the test results. You flip channels on the little black-and-white television, not finding anything that can take your mind off what happened last night. The stairs, the squirrel and the key...you haven’t thought about your dad’s old dirty magazines in years.

  The curtain slides open and the doctor comes back in, looking down at your chart. “Mr. Quilton.” He scratches his barely visible beard he’s been trying to grow so he doesn’t look like a twelve year old. You want to tell him it isn’t helping, but you’d rather get the results of your tests so you can go home. “Everything seems to check out okay.” He looks up from the chart, and you breathe just a little more relaxed.

  “I sense a “but” coming up here…”

  “No…no. Your urine is clean, and the x-rays all look just fine.” He sits down on the stool next to the bed, fiddling with his stethoscope. “We could run a kidney-function test, and I can refer you to an urologist, if you’d like, for a more thorough exam than I can give you here. But I really don’t think you’ll find anything out of the ordinary.” He rests the chart on his lap. “You seem perfectly healthy from what I can see.”

  “Seeing a specialist will make my insurance company throw a hissy fit. No thanks.” You stand up and reach for your pants, folded on the chair next to you. “I think I’ll go home and hold down the couch for a little while.” You reach out to shake his hand. “Thanks a lot, Dr. Matheson. I appreciate your time.”

  Shaking your hand, he stands up from the stool. “Just to be safe, Mr. Quilton, no heavy lifting for a week. And try not to overexert yourself.” He walks out of the stall and grabs a chart for his next patient. “Enjoy the rest of the weekend. And welcome to the neighborhood.”

  * * *

  You pull the old truck into the drive next to Emily’s new SUV and turn the engine off. The boys are running around the backyard, shouting. With both hands on the wheel, you lean your head back and close your eyes, just breathing for a minute. The windows are rolled down a bit to air out the car. The breeze feels nice on your head. It grows quiet, and you can tell the boys went back inside the house. Trees are swaying, with creaking limbs and rustling leaves.

  You move your eyes in circles, watching the remnants of the bright sunlight dance around the inside of your eyelids. The wind picks up, cooling the sweat on the back of your neck. The shape of the sunlight starts to change. It starts to move. The woman from the magazine is moaning. You feel your fingers gripping the steering wheel. The man is not there with you this time. There is someone else. You know him from somewhere. She moans louder, only this time it is not a moan of passion. She is in pain. The man is laughing as blood pours out of her nose. The man looks directly at you, and his mouth moves with no sound, shaping two words. You read his lips, glad to be unable to hear his voice.

  “The key.”

  There is a loud knocking on the window and you jump up, hitting your head on the roof of the truck.

  “Hey neighbor.” Gene is smiling down at you. “I just can’t stop sneaking up on, you can I?”

  You look at your hands and pr
y your fingers from the hot steering wheel, knuckles still white with strain. Shaking the cobwebs from your head, you unlatch your seatbelt and try to open the door. It’s still locked. You fumble with the mechanism and finally get it open.

  “Uh…Hi Gene. What’s up?” You climb out of the truck and notice he is holding a tray full of corn wrapped in foil.

  Looking a bit concerned, Gene asks, “Are you alright? You don’t look so good.” He rests the tray of corn on the roof of the truck and puts his hand on your shoulder.

  “I’m okay.” Your smile is a bit shaky as you nod your head. “Just been having a rough time with the move is all. I think I forgot about our barbeque though. Sorry, man. I’m usually not this flaky or creepy. Really.”

  “No worries at all.” He grabs up the corn with one hand and takes your arm with the other. “Let’s get you inside. I’m sure you’ll feel better in some air conditioning. Here, let me help.”

  You reach in your pocket to get your keys, but it won’t fit in the lock. Puzzled, you take a glance down and see that it’s not the house key in your hand.

  “I don’t think that’s going to open the door, Auden.” Gene says. “That looks more like a key to a sunken treasure than this place.” His eyes widen as his tongue quickly darts across his lips.

  “Huh. Yeah. I must have grabbed the wrong one.” Reaching back in your pocket, you find the house keys and open the door.

  Jason and Jeremy stand up on the couch, looking over, and yell in unison, “Daddy!”

  “Are you Santa?” Jeremy asks.

  “No.” Gene laughs gently. “I’m Gene Harmon. I live across the street. And I think I found something that belongs to you.” He bends down to look eye-to-eye with the little boy. “You’re probably going to need this, since you’re going to big boy school in a few weeks.” He puts the corn tray down, reaches into his shirt pocket and pulls out a Spongebob eraser.