by Coleman Luck
But it wasn’t.
Because it could never be.
Why was she in this place, the room she hated, so full of lying memories? Like soft fingers running through her hair, her mother’s fingers. Her mother sitting on the bed, listening and loving while little Amanda babbled on about the vastly important nothings of childhood. And when sleep was about to come, looking up into her mother’s face. How beautiful she had been in the Time Before Time. Hearing her whisper-sing a lullaby, while Amanda, the child long vanished, hugged the bear and the dog. How she hated those memories! She had told herself so often that they weren’t real until finally none of them were real. If they had happened at all, it was to another child, a different Amanda.
So what was real? Sorrow was real. Night after night, tiptoeing to stand outside her mother’s bedroom, hearing the sobs coming from behind the closed door. How could her mother sob that way and go on living? Fear. That was real too. Maybe she was dying in there, slipping away one horrible sob at a time. Terrified, Amanda had listened…and listened…until the sobbing faded into silence. And then, like a little shadow, she had cracked open the door and slipped into the room. Over to the bed. Standing breathlessly now. A careful examination in the darkness. Yes, breathing. The blanket was going up and down, which meant her mother was still alive.
Thank you, God. Thank You, thank You, thank You. I’ll be good from now on. Just don’t take her away.
Then, tiptoeing back to the room with the pink walls and the white curtains where her own sobbing would begin. That’s when she had discovered that the bear and the dog were a hiding place for tears. So much sorrow—more than she should ever know.
As she lay in the vision room, once more Amanda was little Amanda, pouring out her heart to the furry creatures in her arms. Words on top of words. Mixed up. Jumbled. The heartaches of two worlds.
Alex, where are you?
Tori, I never got to say good-bye.
Daddy, why did you leave us?
Mommy, why did you stop running your fingers through my hair?
Alone, so alone. Walking through a wilderness carrying a baby. Such a burden across so many miles. Alone, so alone. Walking through her house after her father had gone. Hearing sobs behind closed doors. Yes, Alex had sobbed too, though he never would admit it. Burdens on top of burdens. Trying to carry the people she loved. Child mother to a child whose name she didn’t know. Child mother to her mother and brother and sister, willing to give up her own childhood as a gift of love. Wanting to carry them, but unable to do it, because the weight of their sorrow was too much to bear.
Stumbling…falling…sobbing beneath the load.
And through it all, who had been there for little Amanda? No one but the furry animals. No one but the bear and the dog. Had no one ever cared about her sorrow? Had no one ever stood outside her door and listened to the sounds of her broken heart? Was she so worthless? Was that why her father had left her?
Tears. And the echo of tears.
But then a strange memory began to seep in around the edges of her weeping. Alone? Had she really been alone? Was there something that she had forgotten? A silvery shadow at the back of her mind? No one had ever taught Amanda to pray. No one had ever said there would be anyone listening. But she had done it anyway, night after night. And as the words tumbled out a strange warmth had quieted her sorrow. She had decided that the warmth was God. At first it had brought great comfort, so she had poured out everything in a jumble of mixed-up words and heartaches. But as the nights passed the jumble distilled into one begging, burning cry.
Please, please, please bring him back to us. Make him love us again. Make him love me.
But in the warmth there was only silence. And finally one night she had decided that warmth was not enough. She wanted her father back right now! Was that too much to ask? Just one little thing?
More silence.
And silence.
And silence.
In spite of all her prayers, her tears, and pleading promises, her father had not returned. Then one day the news had come that he had married someone else. That night there was no sobbing in Amanda’s room. And there were no prayers either. Why keep mumbling words into empty darkness? It was like talking to stuffed animals. And that’s what Amanda had decided she had been doing all along, praying to the bear and the dog. In her anger she had banished them to the floor, vowing never to pray again. From that night on, the warmth had turned to emptiness.
But now, in the vision—this odd, soft vision—she felt the warmth return. And there was something in it. No, not something…Someone. And she heard a voice whisper, “Amanda…little child…look at me.”
It was the same voice that had spoken to her in the city. She strained to see, but no one was visible. “Where are you?”
The words came again, “Amanda…little child…look at me.”
“I’m looking, but I can’t see you.”
“I’m standing in the past, in a room of many sorrows. Do you know this room?”
“I know where I am right now and I hate it. Why am I here?”
“Because you have never left.”
Instantly her mouth went dry and fear raced through her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“In this room there are wounds that have never stopped bleeding.”
Suddenly the darkness deepened and there was a damp, suffocating odor. What is that smell? Amanda began trembling.
Sweat.
It was the smell of sweat.
And it brought terror. She tried to jump up, to run away…but she couldn’t move. She began struggling, but the blankets seemed to tighten around her. “Help! Let me out. Somebody help me!”
Silence.
And silence.
And silence.
The silence before something. The silence of an abyss. The silence of the Time When There Was No Time. The silence between Then and Now. The silence of things Never To Be Remembered. The silence of a door after it is shut. More silence than a child should ever have to bear. And then, in the silence, sobbing, echoing through the years as though life itself were sobbing away. As Amanda sobbed, the warmth encircled her and the air shimmered with crimson mist. In it stood the outline of a man whose face she couldn’t see, but the warmth of love was flowing from him.
“I’m standing in the past and you must stand with me.”
“I don’t want to.”
“If you don’t, you will die.”
“But remembering hurts so bad.”
“Little child, give me your hand.”
“I’m…afraid.”
“Don’t be afraid. I will never leave you.”
Slowly she lifted her hand and felt a strong, warm hand take hold.
“Where are we going?”
“Through it all…to Sorrow’s End.”
Gagging…
Suffocating…
Screaming…
Crushing…
Searing…
Burning…
Sobbing…
Sobbing-sobbing…
And all in total silence.
Shhhhh…not a sound.
Not ever!
Killing words.
Secret words.
Drowning under waves of secrets and silence. Gone. Everything gone.
Dying…shriveling…vanishing…
But then in the silent darkness Amanda felt the strong hand holding hers and heard the voice whisper, “Stand up, child.”
“I can’t.” The words came from her mind not her lips. The weight on her was too heavy for her to breathe, and the smell of sweat was choking her.
“Stand up, child.”
“I said, I can’t!” Angry now! She was angry. Wanting to sleep. Wanting to forget forever.
“Stand up!” It wasn’t a request. It was a command.
So odd. Suddenly Amanda stood up. The hand lifted her to her feet. “Now turn and see and don’t be afraid.”
Turning, she looked down at her bed. “W
hat is that?”
Covering it from top to bottom was a thick pool of oily blackness that slowly oozed back and forth like a feeding amoeba. Out of the pool rose a reeking haze. As she watched, the pool receded until she could see her own head lying on the pillow. Her eyes were open, but they were frozen as though she had gone blind.
“What’s happening? What’s that all over me?”
And then the amoeba congealed into a man. He was lying on her bed and her body was under him. In that moment Amanda remembered all that she had tried so hard to forget. From out of the deepest part of her, it came up in a desperate wail. The terror. The horror. The pain. The shame. The self-loathing. The loss. The Fear. The Fear. The Fear. Night after night. Lying awake in the silence. Waiting in terror.
The door opens. The door closes. Softly, so softly.
She closes her eyes, trying to die, willing herself outside her body into a place without feeling. But she does feel. Crushing weight. Hurting. Burning. Drowning. On and on. And always, the soft, hideous voice whispering…grinding lies into her ear.
Her fault.
Hers.
Not his.
Warning. Whining. Threatening. Pleading. Wheedling. Killing. Murdering! Yes, murdering! Choking away the last little pieces of childhood that had been left to her. The end of little Amanda.
The door opens. And the door closes. Softly, so softly.
And she sobs herself to sleep hoping that tomorrow will never come.
But morning always does come. And with it shame. A breakfast of self-loathing at the kitchen table. From her mother, jittering talk. From her brother sullen silence. From her sister breathless babbling about plastic dolls with perfect female bodies. And him! Him looking at her. Her mother’s brother who had come to stay with them six months after her father had left. Looking and looking and looking.
Don’t look back or you will die.
All she can do is stare down at her untouched food, trying to make herself deaf to the jittering jumble of “Why-aren’t-you-eating? You-never-eat. Don’t-you-feel-well? You-need-to-eat. You-can’t-go-to-school-without eating.” Sticking a spoonful into her mouth. Wanting to vomit. Like eating garbage. Like being garbage. The food, so ugly on the plate. Pieces of her own face reflecting on the shiny surface around the eggy goo. So ugly. That’s why her father had left. Who could love such an ugly girl broken all into pieces?
Only him!
That’s what he had said to her.
That’s exactly what he had said in the grinding whispers.
Night after night!
In the vision Amanda shrieked and leaped onto his back. She pounded, tearing, pulling his hair, trying to rip his eyeballs out—to choke him—to feel him die in agony and go to hell forever. But no matter what she did, he didn’t seem to feel it. So she tried harder until all her strength was exhausted and she slid into a sobbing heap on the floor. How many times she had imagined tearing him into bloody pieces. But it meant nothing. Because she was weak and he was strong. She was alone with no one to protect her. Without a father who loved her enough to stay!
Long after the door had closed for the last time, the memory had scorched her heart. And it was more than she could bear. Only one answer. Lose herself within herself. Close off. Shut down. Lock tight. And never, ever open the Room of Darkness, the room of rage and pain and sorrow with pink walls and white fluffy curtains.
But now it was open.
And she was helpless in it. As Amanda lay choking and gasping, she felt someone kneel beside her and gently lift her in his arms. He was crying too. So strange. No one had ever cried like that. She could feel within him an eternity of sorrow as though all the tears that had ever been shed had been stored in a single broken heart. And he was crying with her; no one had ever cried with her before.
She was not alone. Amanda buried her face against his chest and for a long time they cried together.
Finally, when quiet came, he said. “Daughter, I want you to understand. Look with me once more.”
Lifting her to her feet, she faced the bed. The man, her mother’s brother, was rising. As he stood up, she looked into his face, and just as within the awful city, she found that she could see beneath his skin. With the double vision, she saw the hideous thing that lived inside him. Sleek. Soft. Putrefied. Rotting. Eyes that were empty circles bleeding drops of death. Torn lips. A jaw hanging open in a silent scream. Yes, all of this and something more. Weakness! The thing that lived within him was weak, disgusting, pitiful, no longer a man, a slave, trembling with fear.
But what was he afraid of?
The one who was standing beside her whispered, “Look down at yourself.” She looked. A strange radiance was coming from the bed. It was glowing from inside little Amanda. Beneath her skin was a soft white light. The thing in the man saw it and was terrified.
“He’s afraid of what’s inside me.”
Unable to stand the light any longer, he rushed from the room.
“He was afraid and he hated me.”
“The power that controls him hates all children.”
“Why?”
“Because a child knows things and never questions.”
“Like what?”
“What did you know when you prayed?”
“I guess that there was someone listening.”
“And why did you stop?”
Amanda didn’t answer.
“Look down at yourself again.”
The soft light was fading.
“What’s happening? Why is it going away?” As she watched, a second face appeared beneath the face of little Amanda. No longer was it the face of a child. Its eyes were old and in them was anger and sorrow and pain. “Why do I look like that?”
“The disease that was in him has entered you. This is what the Dark One wants for every child. Death before they’re born, and if not that, hate and bitterness in their souls. That’s what you are seeing.”
“Is that what I look like inside right now?”
“You’re older.”
“So you mean it’s worse?”
Silence.
“No, that isn’t me! That’s not what I look like! I don’t believe it! I’m leaving. You can’t keep me in here.” She rushed to the door. But when she tried the knob, it wouldn’t open. “Let me out!”
“Amanda, this room is buried in your heart. Long ago you closed and locked it. But you locked yourself inside.”
“That’s not true! That’s a lie! I want out right now!” Then she screamed and pounded until she collapsed against the door.
“I’m so tired. I just want to die and sleep forever.”
“Even if your mind sleeps, your soul lies awake in this room. Amanda, do you really want to leave this terrible place?”
Burying her face in her hands, she sobbed, “Yes.”
“Then you must trust me and do a very hard thing.”
“What is it?”
“You must call him back.”
“What?” She stared in horror.
“Call him back and give him to me.”
“I can’t do that! I can’t bring him back in here.”
“If you don’t, he will keep returning. The hate and rage inside you draws the Evil One. It unlocks the door to your heart.”
Amanda groaned and covered her eyes. Suddenly she had a burning headache. For a long time she didn’t say anything, then she whispered, “If I call him back what are you going to do to him?”
“You must leave that to me.”
“I want you to hurt him. I want him to die and I want to see it.”
“Which do you want more, to hate or to get out of this room?”
“You saw what he did. I have a right to hate him. I have a right to want him dead.”
“Yes, and no one can take that from you. You must give it up on your own.”
“I can’t. I’m going to hate him forever.”
Then she heard a guttural sound and looked over at the bed. Slowly the head of little Amanda turned
toward her, and she saw the face within her face. It was choking with rage, grinding and scraping itself against the inside of her skull. As she watched, its nose and ears began to rub away. Its mouth opened in a scream, but all that came out was an eerie, mewing whine, like the drone of a giant insect.
Amanda covered her ears and shrieked, “Stop it. Stop it. I’ll do anything. Just make that go away.”
“Then call him back…and give him to me.”
“I…don’t know…if I can.” She was gasping and tears were streaming down her cheeks.
“Try!”
“You’ll…be here? You won’t leave me?”
“I’ll be right beside you.”
Instantly she was back on the bed, trapped beneath the covers. The blankets were so tight that she could hardly breathe, but finally she managed to gasp out, “Come…come back…now.” At first she heard nothing. Then as she stared at the door, the knob began to turn. Softly, so softly it opened. And he entered.
Step by step he walked across the floor until he stood above her. Once more she saw the face within the face, and it was smiling. Slowly he bent down and the double face drew close to hers. Then came the whispering…the laughing. She felt his terrible weight begin to crush her. But just before her mind drowned in darkness, she looked straight into his eyes and whispered, “I don’t want to hate you anymore. I give you…to him.”
Instantly the weight was gone. The double eyes, the eyes within the eyes, stared at her. The smile within the smile faded. Slowly the creature rose and came face-to-face with the One in the Mists. It groaned, and from its mouth gushed oozing bile. With a gagging croak it began to sink into the pool of its own darkness. Screaming, it clawed at the bed, trying to reach Amanda, but its arms were shriveling and drying up. Finally only its head stared up at her. And then, with a gurgle of hate, it was gone.
At that moment something happened inside Amanda. It was like an icy shell melting, falling away, and with it, the terrible weight, the crushing heaviness of sorrow that had been on her heart for so long, completely disappeared. It was as though a child buried in a grave had been reborn.