What Goes Around

by Rollins, Jack

  The window shatters and the heavy couch is smashed to shards of wood, metal, and navy blue fabric in the middle of the back yard.

  The commotion pulls the Deputy’s attention from his slaughtered sister and the Sheriff. He turns his bloodshot eyes towards the destroyed window, and sees the family screaming in terror and Elijah Harker in all his hellborne glory. The monster sees him as well, recognition twitching in his jaundiced, uneven eyes. It bawls a noise that sounds as if it’s truly emitting from the throats of a thousand demons, which forces the family to cover their ears and crowd in the direction of the back door.

  Still on his knees in the dirt, Deputy Dingo fires a shot into the air. His brash tactic works, gaining everyone’s attention before the family bursts through the back door to the old farmhouse. The spring-loaded screen door slams back into place, but the sound is muffled under everyone’s screams. As they scramble past the scattered remnants of their broken couch, Elijah Harker takes one of his unnatural steps across the living room in pursuit. With the monster’s second step, it is at the back door. Rather than open it, Elijah slaps it off its hinges.

  It soars through the air until it clips Dad’s shoulders and knocks him into Mom, and both of them go down. Alison and Junior stop and help their parents up so they can continue their escape. Dad requires more assistance; he seems dazed, and blood trickles from a fresh wound at the back of his head. Alison and Mom support Dad’s weight and Junior leads them through the back yard towards Deputy Dingo. The lawman stands, spits a mouthful of blood like it was tobacco juice, and waves them in his direction.

  The family crowd behind Deputy Dingo. Bolstered by their presence, he swaggers towards Elijah Harker with his .357 leading the way. The enormous atrocity opens a wide slouched mouth and wails like a cave of dying rabbits. The mouth is lined with rows of jagged, broken teeth, and spits slimy black spittle as it shrieks. The family reacts to the hellish sound as they had before and cowers with their hands slapped over their ears. Deputy Dingo reacts by compressing the trigger several times.

  The .357 in Deputy Dingo’s grip barks and spits; six bullets bite into Elijah. As the bullets hit the monster, small scraps of burnt flesh and tattered flannel fall from wounds in his stomach to chest, but not a single one explodes out his back as Deputy Dingo expects them to. Also, despite piercing his pancreas, liver, lungs and heart, Elijah Harker doesn’t slow his steps. Before Deputy Dingo has a chance to ponder why his marksmanship has failed him, Elijah is upon him, wrapping one giant fist around his throat and squeezing.

  Deputy Dingo doesn’t die easy, and even as his life is choked away, he presses the muzzle of his .357 to the monster’s head. Elijah constricts his grip and lifts, tugging the Deputy into the air by his neck like a one-man gallows. As his world erupts into dozens of brilliant colors, Dingo compresses the trigger. Warm chunks of bone and bits of brain spackle the lawman’s face and he hears the family behind him wail at the horrific spectacle. Bobby manages to blink a few times, working enough of the gore from his eyes to see that his bullet blew away almost a fifth of Elijah’s malformed head, but the monster’s yellow eyes are glowing with hateful malevolence and still staring deep into his dying soul.

  Even with the fresh gash across the back of his cranium, Dad knows the Deputy isn’t in a fight he can win, and he needs to get his family to safety. His family continues screaming, but he shoves them all away from the dying Deputy and inadvertently into the circle of monoliths, dead folk, and the once-menacing Jethro, now paralyzed and bearing witness to it all. Dad knows he can’t fight the monster, and he doesn’t know for sure if they can even outrun it for long, and his eyes, darting between the murder happening in front of them and the dirt road somewhere off in the darkness, tell Jethro so.

  Headlights bounce at the edge of Jethro’s vison and he remembers the tow truck Sheriff Rourke had promised would be out to drag away his car. Dad and the rest of the family miss them because, at the same moment, Elijah Harker decides he is done toying with his prey. The charred abomination begins pulling the stuffing out of the lawman as if he was a ragdoll, jamming its massive fists into Bobby’s stomach and yanking out handfuls of internal organs. He squeezes them between his meaty fingers before throwing them at the ground and going back for more.

  One by one, the gruesome scene becomes too much for them. They turn from it and see instead the disfigured corpses surrounding them. More screams from the family, screams until their voices crack and sanities splinter. Dad looks at the corpses in turn, starting with the armless and pummeled Dolly Dingo, then on to the jawless Sheriff Rourke with his ribs poking through his crushed torso, and, finally, on to Jethro. By some miraculous stroke of luck, Dad makes eye contact with Jethro and sees his eyes twitch.

  For the briefest of moments Jethro thinks Dad might toss him over his shoulder and carry him to safety, maybe even to a goddamned doctor who could fix his busted neck. As Jethro’s thoughts race, his eyes twitch a second time, and this time Dad – panicked beyond comprehension – looks in the direction Jethro’s eyes seem to be signaling, and he sees the headlights bouncing up the road. Jethro figures Dad sees the glow of some merciful god dancing through the trees in those lights, because once he sees them he is dragging Mom, Alison, and Junior in their direction, out of Jethro’s sight.

  Jethro is left alone as Elijah Harker drops a thoroughly gutted Deputy Dingo against the slab between Dolly Dingo and Sheriff Rourke, and then turns to him. Jethro prays his eyes don’t twitch involuntarily again, and then a single tear slips down his cheek, warm salty damnation. He begins to mentally unload his sins, confessing to a god who has never listened, while Elijah reaches back and removes the Sheriff’s severed jawbone from his pocket. Elijah takes one strange twitchy teleporting step and Jethro smells petrol, decay, and blood.

  Elijah draws his arm back and slams it forward.

  The second before the severed jawbone is driven through his face and into his brain, Jethro thinks Elijah Harker will catch the family and complete his foul ritual. And he worries with his dying thought that no one will see the evil committed here tonight because it has all been hidden under the cursed moonlight.

  Something Old, Something New, Something Cursed, Something Blue by Sarah Dale

  Mary wasn’t sure when the blue sun-bird in the picture had first spoken. Royal had gotten the print for her as a gift after he’d given her that first black eye, when they were still newlyweds. She’d been less than two months pregnant at the time, and the morning sickness had been awful. Late one morning, she’d been busily ironing when she’d had to stop suddenly and run for the bathroom. He’d stepped in and seen one of his pristine white dress shirts crumpled on the floor and had flown into a rage.

  It was a beautiful picture. It was just a framed print, of course, but the original was painted by Prymachenko, an artist from Ukraine, Mary’s home. The creature was bright blue, in flight over a red-orange field of flowers. The sun-bird’s voice was low and strong in Mary’s mind. She was sure the bird had spoken first. It was only later the motanka doll had joined the conversations.

  They sat together on the shelf above her vanity in her dressing room. It was the only room in the house Royal didn’t often come into. It was technically a walk-in closet. He had his own. With so many clothes, he needed the larger of the two, and hers was decidedly smaller. She would retreat there late at night after Royal and the baby had gone to sleep, or sometimes during the day when he was at work. The bird and doll didn’t always speak early on, but recently it seemed they spoke nearly every time she was nearby. She thought it might have something to do with the time between Royal’s rages getting shorter and shorter.

  She sat there now, staring vacantly at her reflection in the vanity mirror. Royal was in the living room, eating his dinner and watching basketball. Baby Leo was asleep. She’d come into the master bathroom to care for her hand. The fingers were terribly swollen. She’d soaked them in cold water for as long as she could stand and had then carefully wrapped both the w
rist and the two smallest fingers with ace bandages.

  You need a doctor, the sun-bird intoned sadly.

  Mary shook her head and whispered, “No, maybe tomorrow. He’s settled for the night and the baby is asleep. It can wait.”

  You should go tonight, the sun-bird insisted. The ribs are broken too. You could puncture a lung.

  The motanka doll chimed in then. She needs to be careful. She can’t be caught. She should stay until he leaves tomorrow. It isn’t safe tonight.

  The motanka doll didn’t have a face, just blank white fabric under dark braids. She wore a bright red dress Mary’s mama had sent her as a wedding gift. Her parents hadn’t been able to attend the ceremony on such short notice, but they’d sent lovely things from home.

  Home. Northern Ukraine. It had felt so stifling there, no place for a beautiful, bright, vivacious girl. Coming here had seemed like a dream come true. Some of the girls had called it being a mail-order bride, but Mary had thought of it as an adventure. Royal was handsome and charismatic. He had a successful business and a beautiful home.

  At first, she’d been grateful for his rules and instructions. Everything had seemed difficult to navigate, once she’d arrived in the States. She’d believed herself fluent in English, but she’d never heard anything that sounded like the accent in New Orleans. She’d set herself the task of listening and learning as quickly as possible. She had always been a fast learner; it had seemed like a wonderful way to prove she was the right girl for him.

  Then she’d gotten pregnant and everything had happened so quickly.

  What was it for tonight? The bird directed her question at the motanka doll. Five broken bones for olives? He’s escalating and you know it. She has to get out of here.

  The doll sighed. Tak…yes, but it’s so dangerous when he’s at home!

  Even when he’s at work he comes home to check on her. No time is safe, the sun-bird responded angrily.

  The argument went on and Mary’s attention faded from the present. She slipped back to earlier in the evening when she’d been making his dinner. When had he told her about the olives? She tried to remember. She always tried to remember, but it was hard. There were so many things, and sometimes they changed. She thought she’d done everything perfectly tonight. The chicken was roasted beautifully with just the right amount of rosemary. The potatoes were thinly and uniformly sliced. What was it about the olives?

  ***

  She stared blurrily at the olives. The cutting board was inches from her nose, her cheek pressed hard against the cold marble counter. She’d remembered checking them all for pits, cutting them each carefully across…

  A sunburst of agony flashed through Mary’s brain. Her vision blazed with color and she thought she heard something crack. She stayed perfectly silent. That was best, she’d learned. Cries of pain just inspired him, and scared the baby. She could hear little Leo in the next room, playing with his big plastic blocks. He was sitting up now, almost ready to crawl.

  Royal had her face pinned against the countertop, her left arm twisted up behind her back.

  “What did I tell you about putting olives in the salad?”

  His voice held that tone: patient, amused, but with the undercurrent of cruelty she knew too well. He leaned harder into her back, pressing her ribs into the corner of the countertop. For a second the pain in her ribs distracted her from the pain in her wrist. Her shoulder was on fire, her cheek throbbed. She could feel his erection pressing into her hip.

  “No pits,” she whispered, mostly into the counter, “no pits and…” Oh, that was it. Her brain clicked at last. “And slice them the long way?” Black stars arced in front of her eyes. She fought to stay conscious. “I’m sorry,” she said, voice barely audible. “I forgot to slice them the long way.”

  Royal let her arm down and turned her to face him, keeping hold of her wrist. She would have staggered, but he still had her pinned against the countertop. His beautiful face looked pleased, like a teacher with a difficult student who had finally produced a correct answer. “See?” He smiled, revealing perfectly white teeth behind sensual lips. “That’s my good girl.” He laid his cheek against hers, his lips brushing her skin. She struggled to stay still, to not recoil.

  He slid his hand up from her wrist to her fingers and whispered in her ear, “So you don’t forget again.” With one quick movement, he bent the fingers of her left hand backwards.

  The cracks of her finger bones breaking sounded loud in the quiet kitchen.

  ***

  She flashed back to the present and found herself in Leo’s room. Mary shook her head. It was getting harder to keep track of when and where she was anymore. She wondered, and not for the first time, if one of Royal’s beatings had damaged something in her head.

  She had evidently gone in to retrieve the diaper bag, as it was now slung over her right shoulder. It was such a nice bag. She remembered picking it out of the catalog. They hadn’t known yet if they were having a boy or a girl, so she’d chosen purple. There were compartments for everything, so many that sometimes she’d forget what was in each one. She adjusted it so it wasn’t squashing the motanka doll which was tucked securely into the pocket of her cardigan.

  Come, the doll whispered.

  Mary left Leo sleeping in his crib and returned to her dressing room. She set the bag down and sat on the bench next to the basket of clean baby clothes she’d brought in before dinner. It was a good thing she had done it earlier. She wasn’t sure she would’ve been able to manage a full laundry basket with broken fingers.

  She folded one-handed as well as she could, and laid the onesies and pants sets out on the bench next to her in preparation for going back in the bag. She stroked his little Simba jammies meditatively. He grew so fast, it seemed that each time she repacked his bag it was with the next size up in little clothes.

  Her mind drifted on the soothing scent of Leo’s clean laundry. She used a special detergent for the baby’s clothes so they smelled different from Royal’s. Leo didn’t care if she misplaced a sock here or there, but Royal…

  Mary…

  A lost sock. Where did they go? It didn’t make sense. You put a pair of socks in the washer, by the time they came out of the dryer, one was gone. It was ominous, like so many things seemed to be in Royal’s big house.

  He got so angry if things weren’t just right. There was a particular way he wanted the rugs vacuumed, so all the lines went the same way and the fringe didn’t tangle. There was a certain way he wanted the bedspread on the bed, and the screens on the many electronics in the house had to be perfectly dust free.

  Mary!

  The anxiety built in her, the constant, gnawing fear of knowing he was watching, the way in which he was always just around the corner, lurking…

  “Mary!”

  She jumped. Royal was standing in the doorway. He looked drunk. And angry.

  “What’s the matter? Can I get you something?” she said, trying not to stutter.

  “Damn refs. Can’t call a fucking game to save themselves. Fucking rat bastards.” That was one of Royal’s insults of choice, for men at least. Women he didn’t like were sluts or whores. She laid the last of Leo’s little jackets into the open bag and waited silently.

  He stared at her.

  She was still wearing her cardigan. Most of the blouses Royal picked out for her to wear were thin, silky things, but she was always cold. He didn’t like it when she put the bulky sweater on, so she tried to only wear it when he was occupied with something else. He was eyeing it now with displeasure. She must have set the motanka doll back on the shelf, because it no longer occupied her sweater pocket. She didn’t remember doing it. She tried to slip it off but the sleeve snagged on her bandaged hand.

  He beckoned her over. She rose reluctantly and went to him.

  ***

  An hour later, Royal was asleep. Mary staggered from the edge of the bed to the bathroom. Her good hand shook so badly she could hardly turn on the shower. The
blood ran down her legs and swirled around the drain. She stayed there until the water ran cold.

  She walked unsteadily from the shower to her closet, a towel loosely draped around her chest. She was so cold. She couldn’t even muster up the energy to shiver. Blood continued to run down her legs, and she instinctively dropped the towel so it wouldn’t soil the rug.

  Do it now, came the voice of the sun-bird. You have to do it now.

  Yes, came the doll’s agreement. Do it now.

  She carefully slid the business card from its hiding place behind the picture frame. Standing naked on the towel, she switched her phone on and texted the number on the card. She typed in the one word the woman had printed there: “PHARMACY”

  ***

  “She’s made the call, my lady.”

  “Good, do you have everything you need to find her?”

  “Yes. She gave me the address the last time we spoke.”

  “Excellent, Brielle. We have a place made ready for her. Go now.”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  Laelia eased back onto her pillows. The house was quiet for once. With so many sheltering here now, there was often activity at all hours. Laelia loved her girls, and she believed in their mission here, but it was lovely to have a moment to herself. If what she suspected was true, if this girl’s husband was the kind of monster she believed him to be, it may be some time before she had any peace and quiet again.

  She turned and inhaled the fragrance of the bouquet one of the children had picked for her that morning.

  The time was right. They were ready for this challenge.