The Darkness of the Womb

by Knight, Richard

  The Darkness of

  the Womb

  Richard B. Knight

  The Darkness of the Womb

  By Richard B. Knight

  For more of TDotW, check out the website: http://thedarknessofthewomb.com/

  The first chapter of Knight’s next novel, A Boy and His Corpse, is attached at the conclusion of The Darkness of the Womb

  The Darkness of the Womb is © Richard B. Knight 2013. All rights reserved. Cover by John Dylewski III

  Edited by Veronica Roxby Jorden

  DEDICATION

  To all the family and friends who supported me. I love every last one of you.

  “If it was dark, it was the darkness of the womb.”

  -Lynn White

  Part I

  Reaching Out

  Chapter One

  Aiden Haunt turned over in his cradle.

  He dug his cheek into his pillow and pulled up his blanket to shelter himself from the whistling breeze and hide from the birds circling below him around the Tree of Life.

  From the tree grew a million limbs, and on each rocked cradles. Enormous birds circled the tree and picked up the babies when their mothers were ready to give birth to them. Aiden’s branch was at the very top of the tree, where nothing obstructed his view of the expansive blue sky above him, and nothing could stop the warm, gentle breeze that rocked him.

  Aiden felt his branch dip as a bird landed beside him. He didn’t have to open his eyes to know what it looked like or why it had come. He had envisioned it on the first night in the tree, just after his tiny pupa of a body had sprouted and separated from the shell that became his cradle. He had dreamed of the bird and of his future.

  Wake up, my Lord. It is time, the bird said.

  I’m already up, but go away, Aiden said. He caught a whiff of the creature’s dry feathers. They smelled of mulch. You have no business being here. I’m nobody’s lord and I never will be. Now get out of here. It’s bad enough that—

  “Squawk, squawk, squawk!” The bird opened its beak for the first time. It flapped its wings and shook the thick branch beneath them, rustling the leaves. Aiden covered his ears.

  I said go away! You can’t force me to be something I don’t want to be! Nobody can.

  As I’m sure your dreams have clearly shown, the bird began.

  Did Imagination send you? Aiden balled up his fists beneath the covers and scrunched his tiny nose, his eyes still closed.

  Does it matter? The bird’s voice was deep and rich in Aiden’s head. It sat between his eyes like a migraine.

  Did he? Aiden repeated. He leaned to the right of his cradle. The abrupt motion made the branch moan. If he wanted to, he could send himself hurtling to the earth below. All he had to do was push.

  Fate sent me, the creature said.

  Fate. Aiden flashed his gums at the unwanted guest. There’s no such thing as fate! You can’t make me do anything I don’t want to do, and neither can Imagination. Now go back to him and tell him I said that.

  As I’m sure your dreams have clearly shown, the bird continued, you have no choice in the matter. You are destined to be the Messiah. It has already been decided.

  The truth was he had seen the dreams. They were horrible, every last one of them. Each one was filled with war; endless, meaningless war. All of it would be fought over his name for centuries after he died. Sects would battle over his philosophy. Christianity and Islam would lose steam after a global economic collapse. A world war over resources would force people to find a new, more practical, “god.” And Aiden, with his vision, would be the one who leads the world out of its depression. It would make him a legend, godlike in his foresight and deliberation. But in time, people would distort his image and pervert it to their own beliefs. The last image Aiden always saw in his dreams was a statue of himself crumbling in a seismic bomb blast. Half of his statue’s face always slid off in the dream, smashing on the earth below. And that’s when he would awaken in a panic.

  He couldn’t let that future happen. He wouldn’t.

  Besides, when you’re born, you’ll forget we even had this conversation, the bird continued. By the time you’re an adult, your future will seem as if you had chosen it for yourself. You’ll see. Now, please, stay still. I’m just going to—

  NO! Aiden screamed.

  He rammed his shoulder against the left side of his cradle. It leaned left, and when Aiden opened his eyes for the first time in his existence, he saw the bird. Its underbelly was bathed in grungy white feathers. It had a long, white, meat cleaver of a bill, and dark beady eyes wide with shock. The bird stood about seven feet tall. As it lunged to grab Aiden with its bill, he could see the battlefield of scabs covering its bald head. The bird was too slow. The cradle rolled to the other side of the branch and hit the creature on the side of its pink face. Aiden tumbled out like a log.

  You selfish fool!

  The rushing air tore at Aiden’s plummeting nude body. He spread his arms and whizzed past thick branches, each lined with seven or eight cradles. The network of verdant leaves and stout branches was stunning. Below him, the black vortex that was the ground raced toward him.

  As he fell, two more birds with the same gray feathers and sharp bills looked up. They dropped the babies they had in their clutches and flew toward him. Aiden tilted as they neared and they shot past him, their white undersides brushing his skin. In the sharp maneuver, he missed a branch that would have split open his head.

  Shit, he thought. All he wanted to do was hit one. Why was it so hard? The branches flew past him in droves. He couldn’t line himself up with any of them. It was almost like the branches were shifting out of his way.

  His fall continued for minute after minute. Behind him the sickening cacophony of the birds screeching in unison grew louder.

  If he was going to end his existence, he had to do it soon.

  The light was sparse and lit by lanterns on the ends of branches, making it hard to see. But then, an ideal branch emerged from the darkness. He was close, but so was the screeching.

  The branch was fat and wide. He couldn’t miss it. He closed his eyes and bared his gums. At this speed, his collision would take out all twelve babies sleeping on the branch, but it couldn’t be helped.

  Better twelve now than billions later, he thought. He prepared for the collision and—

  The bird’s claw shot through his right shoulder blade. His neck snapped forward and his arms shot out. He let out a tiny scream, using his lungs for the first time. In one searing tug, he shot skyward again.

  Let me go! Aiden kicked out his legs and clamped his tight eyes against the rushing wind. I made up my mind! I don’t want to be born!

  The future demands otherwise, the bird said, flapping its wings aggressively against gravity.

  But you’re creating fate! This isn’t how it’s supposed to be! Let me end myself!

  The bird didn’t respond and they soared skyward. Two more birds swooped down toward them, their beaks wide with fury.

  Chapter Two

  Jeff Haunt chewed his nails and spat them on the tiled floor. The custodians would have to deal with them later. He sat at his computer and rubbed his hand through his graying hair. He worried about his wife. Her eyes were distant when he kissed her goodbye this morning, and her forehead was on fire. He hoped everything was okay, especially with the baby. These past few months have been hard on her. They’ve been hard on the both of them, really, especially after she lost her job. Their savings dwindled daily.

  At 47, two years younger than his pregnant wife, neither of them was getting any younger, or richer.

  He spent the entirety of his last paycheck on bills and groceries. Today for lunch, he had a banana, a chocola
te pudding, and a thermos to fill up with water at the fountain. His stomach grumbled just thinking about it. There was no more turkey in the fridge, and no more bread, either. Both ran out two days ago along with the mayo.

  If he spread out the money a bit more, and didn’t get a haircut for another week, maybe he could afford a slice of pizza in the cafeteria. He did have a five-dollar bill burning a hole in his wallet. The thick cheese and canned tomato sauce would be like filet minion after all these weeks of whatever’s left in the fridge. But then, he would probably need the money for a gallon of gas.

  He often thought about asking his friend, Steve, if he wouldn’t mind driving him to work a few more days during the week. But that wouldn’t be fair. Besides, he didn’t like letting Steve know how broke he was. Even if Steve did still live at home with his dad and didn’t have to pay a mortgage, it was embarrassing having less money than somebody who was 20 years your junior.

  Haunt groaned. Who was he kidding? He couldn’t buy pizza today. He couldn’t buy pizza for weeks. He swept the idea out of his mind and his stomach grumbled in protest.

  He took off his square glasses and dropped his face into his hands. It was all too much. And—oh, shit—lesson plans were due today and he hadn’t even started them yet. How could this day get any worse? If not for Marigold and the baby that was on the way…

  But that’s right, he did still have Marigold and (God, please) the baby still on the way. With those two people in sight, he had hope. Both were at home, but he wouldn’t see one of them for another five months, and he couldn’t wait for that day to come. He had always wanted to be a father, even back in his early 20s when he first proposed to Marigold at Point Pleasant, New Jersey. He had seen children in her auburn eyes.

  Back then, he wanted at least two kids, a boy and a girl, but they couldn’t get pregnant, no matter how hard they tried. It was for that reason that he didn’t believe Marigold at first when she called him four months ago crying.

  “I’m pregnant, Jeff,” she exclaimed over the phone. “Jeff, you’re going to be a daddy.”

  He checked the number twice just to make sure he hadn’t gotten a wrong number. But he hadn’t and it was the happiest moment of his life, and all the happier because she never gave up hope. For years he believed that a baby just didn’t want to be born in her womb. But that call proved everything wrong, as not only did they not need medical treatment this time after several failed attempts, but they weren’t even trying to get pregnant. Or at least, he hadn’t been.

  The bell at the front of his classroom rang, marking the end of his preparation period.

  A moment later, the door flew open and Haunt jumped in his seat.

  “Yo, that nigga here?” a familiar voice asked.

  Haunt scrambled to put on his glasses. Oh, God, it was Wednesday. How could he forget it was Wednesday?

  Every day in this inner city school in Paterson, NJ, was the worst day of his life. But his D, E, and F days, which were on the tail end of his six day block schedule, were even worse than the worst days of his life. That was when homeroom 712 came to his room at third period. Homeroom 712 made his other classes look like Mormons. He had heard mumblings in the teacher’s lounge that the other middle school in the district was much better than this one, but he doubted it. Why would it be?

  One of the kids who walked in wore a backward Miami Heat hat. He stopped and crunched in his nose. “Son. It’s mad musty in here.”

  “Everyone please take a seat,” Haunt said, standing up. “Please, just give me a—.”

  “Daaaamn, son, what the fuck happened in here?” another student asked. He wore a red doo rag—some of the teachers claimed he was a Blood, even though the school was in Crip territory—and his jeans covered half of his butt.

  “Quadir, watch your language,” Haunt said, but even he was embarrassed at the filthiness of his room now that he really looked at it. From his desk alone, he saw crushed Cheese Doodles and homework papers with footprints on the floor. Spread open text books lined the desks and seats, and one of them straddled a window sill. Usually, he cleaned up during his prep period, but he had been so busy looking for a part-time job that he had completely lost track of time.

  “What we got to do today, Mr. Haunt?” one of his students asked, lowering her wide butt into a seat and squinting. She always squinted.

  He clicked on the interactive whiteboard at the front of the room and it revealed the Do Now assignment for the class.

  “I don’t know why you always callin’ him, Mr. Haunt,” someone said. “His name Jeffrey.”

  “Al-Jahtay, I heard that,” Haunt said.

  “Nigga, you think I care?” Al-Jahtay responded. Haunt still couldn’t understand why his students called him “nigga.” He was as Polish as the sausage and as white as the Irish.

  Haunt brought his mind back to the lesson. He displayed page 22 of their Science textbook on the board.

  “Yo, say that again, ma’fucka.”

  Haunt looked up and the student who said it was out of his seat.

  “Jaylon!” Haunt shouted. “Sit-down.”

  Jaylon weighed about 20 pounds less than the student he shouted at, but he still stood over him with his fists balled up, ready for action.

  “Yeah, sit yo’ bitch ass down,” the bigger student said, still seated. “You be ackin’ like you really gonna do somethin’ wit’ yo’ punk ass.”

  “Haamid, stop provoking him.” Haunt kept his distance. He didn’t want to jump in the middle of another fight and get his glasses broken a second time. He couldn’t afford it.

  “Son, say that again,” Jaylon said, and another student stood up in the corner of the room and pointed at Jaylon.

  “Yo, Haamid, you gon’ take that shit sittin’ down, my nigga? He was talking shit about you on the court too, son. He said you take it in the ass like Mr. Haunt.”

  “Kayson!” Haunt blushed.

  “Yo, son, stay the fuck outta this,” Jaylon said to Kayson. Then Haunt saw everything happen in slow motion. The bigger kid’s fist crashed into Jaylon’s stomach. The slim boy collapsed into a desk and banged his head on the metal bar of a seat where a girl sat. The girl leapt up and cursed him out.

  Jaylon sprung up and threw a fist at the big kid’s face, but the fat bodied boy pushed his desk into Jaylon’s midsection. The other students moved out of the way and said, “Ohhhhhh!”

  “Haamid! Jaylon, Stop it!” Haunt ran over to the wall-mounted gray box and pushed the red button. As some of the boys yelled in Creole and girls cursed and fists flew, he heard the click over the intercom to the main office.

  “Michelle, you have to send somebody up here quick, there’s a—” *Crash*

  Haunt cringed at the sound of shattered glass.

  Chapter Three

  Haunt turned only to find the silent crowd spread apart and reveal the classroom’s only computer on the floor, face down. Its blue backside pointed up like a capsized ship with glass pieces glimmering on the floor like dead bodies, floating in the sea.

  “Mr. Haunt?” the secretary’s voice said from the speaker. Something was off about the way she said his name.

  “Yes, Michelle.”

  “Hold on, Mr. Jaffe wants to speak to you.”

  Haunt’s eyes widened.

  “Mr. Haunt,” Principal Jaffe’s gruff voice said from the speaker. The students picked up their overturned desks and sat in them quietly.

  “Yes, Mr. Jaffe?” he eventually said.

  “What was that noise I heard when Michelle clicked over?”

  “It was a…a computer screen, Mr. Jaffe. It fell on the floor.”

  “And it broke?”

  Haunt exhaled and lowered his head.

  “Yes, Mr. Jaffe. The screen shattered.”

  Principal Jaffe let out an angry sigh over the intercom. Haunt practically felt the hot breath on his face.

  “I’m sending up security,” Jaffe said.

  Haunt’s eyes stayed glued to the speaker.
The principal’s voice came blaring through the P.A. system: “I want the nearest security guard in Mr. Haunt’s room now!” His voice was hard and demanding like a jackhammer on concrete.

  Haunt watched his newly reformed students take out work from their bags as he dragged himself back to his desk. He sat down and rested his chin on his forearms. Why did bad things always have to happen to him? He glared at his students, hating every one of them.

  Mr. Lawson opened the door. His thick frame was covered with laughing skull tattoos from his neck to his forearm. His dark blue uniform, which had short sleeves and revealed his bulging biceps, commanded every eyeball in the room. Lawson zeroed in on the smashed computer, and then on Haunt. His gaze made Haunt perspire.

  “I’m here, Principal Jaffe. Over,” Lawson said into his walkie talkie. His eyes never left Haunt’s face.

  “What’s it look like in there?” Jaffe asked in bits and pieces on the other end of the walkie talkie.

  “Bad. There’s a busted computer on the floor and a textbook hanging out the window.”

  Did he really have to mention that?

  “And what about the kids? How do they look?” Jaffe continued.

  “Well, I see one knucklehead trying to hide that his shirt’s ripped, and another has a bloody nose, so you know the two of them were goin’ at it.”

  “Tell Mr. Haunt that I want to see him in my office immediately,” Jaffe said.

  “You got it,” Lawson said. When Haunt stood up, his legs almost gave out beneath him.

  “Watch his class while he comes down here,” Jaffe said.

  “Yup.”

  As Haunt dragged his feet past him, he heard Lawson whisper, “Boomshakala, bitch. Justice is served.”

  Haunt walked out of his class and stopped at the top of the third floor stairwell. He took out his wallet with trembling hands. He opened it and took out an old picture of his wife. Her beautiful hair was still lush and brown, and there wasn’t a wrinkle in sight. Haunt closed his eyes, and kissed the picture for good luck. He planted one right on her lips.