It did not seem to matter how much I slept I was still exhausted every day. The nightly disturbances were to blame but I wondered. I hadn’t felt this tired since I was pregnant with the girls. It was always a possibility and I would have to find out before this went on too much longer. I had considered taking a sleeping pill but I was afraid I would sleep through one of Mom’s episodes and if I was pregnant, I did not want to take any unnecessary medication.
“Tell me it is not my place if you’d like, Clara, but this is all new for you and with your mother waking you up every night there’s hardly any wonder you are so tired. I would not worry too much. I bet you will feel a million times better if we can get your mother to sleep through the night.” Amber’s voice was reassuring and I took her words gratefully.
“I bet you are right. We will see what the doctor has to say though, just in case it is something else. I will pick up Mom’s new pills while I am out as well.”
“They should be ready by then. Call me if you need anything else, even at night, Clara. You are new to this and I am here to support you in any way I can. Honestly, call me anytime.” Amber said with a final smile as she gathered up her things to leave. “You need support too. I know you have your husband but if you need anything explained or just an ear, do not hesitate to call.”
“Thank you, Amber, you are an angel. Be careful out there, we need people like you in this world.” I smiled as she gave a final wave and then I was alone for five more minutes.
Penelope finished up with Mom’s bath and they joined me in the living room. I was watching old re-runs of Bewitched when they came into the living room. Penelope then went out to make Mom some lunch and I watched Mom settle down.
“Oh this is one of my favorite shows.” Betty said.
“I know Mom. I used to love watching this with you. It is such a great show.”
“It was one of the best parts of your childhood for me, watching these old programs with you.” My Mom said with a nostalgic smile. “You were so excited about watching grownup programs with me. I bet they’re very different now for you though, as an adult. You get the jokes that would have gone over your head back then.”
“Yes, you are right. I had no idea Samantha and Darren were so very amorous, you know. But it is nice, learning about them again. Even some of the ones that were on so often hold a different meaning for me now. It was wonderful back then to watch all of this with you though. I miss those days.” I replied.
“Well, we can have it for a little while longer. At least until I forget everything I expect.” Mom spoke with a sad tone that seemed to say she accepted her fate but did not like it.
I had wondered if Mom realized what was happening to her, if somewhere in her mind the real her was trapped and struggling to get out sometimes. That notion terrified me for her and for others with her disease. Being trapped inside of your own body with no way to communicate is just too terrifying a notion.
There was so much about her disease that I did not understand. I was heartbroken that the strong nurse I had grown up with, the independent intelligent woman that had been such a good nurse was turning into a forgetful old woman of 64. She was still young to have the disease but age did not seem to really matter to the disease. This was one of her lucid moments and I was worried, like her, that we’d have fewer of these as the days passed.
It might be the last time I would get to ask her who my father was. I had often tried to ask her about the man when I was a child but she would get upset, stop speaking to me for a week sometimes, and would sink into a depression that I simply could not understand. Surely she had loved my father, or at least so I thought as a child. Now I wondered.
My mother’s severe reaction to such a simple question eventually led me to stop asking. I could not stand being ignored and not being spoken to. Now, as an adult the haunted look my question evoked raised even more questions. Had my father been married, or worse, was I the product of something evil? My mother’s reaction was one of fear and trauma, something bad had happened to my mother and my questions brought it back to her.
She would just have to face that now to tell me the truth. I had to know who the man was. I had a right to know. I looked over at her, prepared to demand an answer finally, but saw she was asleep. She needed her rest and I had to be at the doctor soon. It would wait a little while longer but not too much longer.
I had seized onto the idea suddenly, and now it would not leave me alone. What if the man had had genetic problems that I could be passing onto my children? What if he had had other hereditary problems, mental problems or other problems? What if I had siblings? I deserved to know if I had siblings or not.
I drove myself to the doctor after Penelope brought Mom her lunch and continued to wonder about the question. I was building up the scenario in my head and it was getting quite dramatic when the nurse finally called me back to the office. I let the question and the fake scenario fall away as the nurse first weighed me and then took me into a room. There she began to ask me routine questions before leaving. The doctor then came into the room and without once looking up started to ask another set of questions. Neither one actually asked me what the problem was or why I had come in, just went through a checklist then walked out.
The nurse eventually came back and drew some blood then disappeared again. I was a bundle of nerves when the doctor came back in twenty minutes later. I wanted to get up and walk out of the office after sitting there so long with barely a word spoken to me other than to ask me curt questions before each walked away. Now this cold man was coming back in to tell me whether I was pregnant or not. I think it was time to find a new doctor.
“Your pregnancy test came back negative, Mrs. Slade, but your vitamin B-12 levels are down. If you’d like we can start you on a birth control course and a course of B-12 shots.” The doctor hadn’t even looked at me yet, instead he was staring at a tablet, flicking through screens.
“No, that will not be necessary. Also, I will be finding a doctor that actually has time for his patients and can look them in the eye. If you’d be so kind please have my records ready when the new office calls.”
I walked out of the office, paid the receptionist, and then left the office. I was not going back into that office. I do not know why I had put with the man for so long. My patience was worn far too thin to look over it now and I would be looking for a new doctor when I found the time. Stopping by the pharmacy I spoke with the pharmacist to find that Mom’s pills were ready and to find out that the shots were the best way to supplement my vitamin levels but he recommended a sublingual liquid I could take until I could get to a new doctor. The pharmacist also recommended a doctor and I left the pharmacy far happier than when I had gone in.
On the drive home I decided that tomorrow would be a better day to ask my Mom about my father. We’d be alone and there would be no interruptions. It would be a much better time to ask about the man that left that look in her eyes and this time I would not take silence for an answer.
The next day I set up the table for our lunch, fixed our favorite kind of salad, grilled chicken Caesar salad, and sat Mom down with some garlic toast and a glass of sparkling water. She was lucid today and we’d spent the first half of the day watching old television programs she loved. I downloaded a bunch of them from Amazon and we had quite a bit to watch.
“Oh this looks lovely, Clara. I wish you hadn’t gone to so much trouble.” Mom said as she took her first bite and gave a hum of enjoyment.
“You love it Mom and so do I. It was no trouble at all.” I told her as I ate my own salad.
I let her have her meal in peace but my own nerves were ratcheting up for the conversation that was coming. Would she go silent again as usual? I had been around 12 years old the last time I asked; surely, she had had time to get over her hurt to answer me truthfully now without theatrics?
I looked over at her and took her hand as she put her fork down and pushed her bowl away.
“Momma, I love yo
u and I always will but I have to ask you something. Before it is too late you have to tell me.”
Mom tensed and pulled her hand away, clasping both of her own hands together nervously. I guess she knew what I wanted to know.
“We are running out of time Mom. I hate to do this but you have to tell me the truth about my father. I deserve to know.” I rushed through the words, wanting to get them out before I lost my nerve. “This time you do not get to stop talking to me or ignore me, you have to tell me the truth before you lose that information.”
“No, Clara. I do not have to tell you and you can’t make me. It is just too painful to recall.” Mom began wringing the napkin into submission as she spoke, the fragile paper tearing to shreds under her fingers.
I lost my patience, I was not pleased about it but something just snapped and I slammed my hand down onto the table with enough force to rattle the dishes.
“Mom, you have to tell me.” I said as I stood up, my anger growing. “I have a right to know.”
Mom began to wail then, her hands going over her ears as if to shut out my words. Her body began to tremble and instantly I regretted my aggression.
“Mom, please, calm down. I just need to know who he is not what happened or how it happened, or any of the details but I need to know.”
Mom only wailed louder and then ran off to her room. I regretted my actions, my insistence, and ran after my mother, wanting only to comfort her now. I held Mom after curling up on the bed with her. Mom’s body was wracked by great deep sobs and she just kept repeating the word "no" over and over again.
I brushed at her hair with my hand, wanting only to soothe her now. I should have known better, I told myself. I felt like a horrible daughter at that point for upsetting her so much but I just wanted to know who the man was. Surely that was not wrong of me?
Mom’s reaction left me with only one conclusion though. Something terrible had happened. Either to my father or to my mother and from this reaction I would have to say it was my mother. I did not know any of her family; maybe they’d done something to her? Or maybe the father had taken advantage of Mom? Maybe I was the product of rape?
But how could my mother love me so much if that were true? Wouldn’t she hate me?
I got up after she fell asleep and went into the bathroom.
I looked just like my mother had at my age, the only real photos I had ever seen of her coming from soon after I was born. Mom had had my blonde hair and green eyes, my upturned nose and heart-shaped face. We’d both had high cheekbones that gave us a pretty face but Mom’s eyes had somehow always been more womanly, more seductive I thought. I was pretty enough, I supposed, but Mom had been beautiful and still was.
I did not see anything in me that could have been from my father. Maybe that had made it easier for my mother to live with me? I could not imagine hating a child, not after bearing two of my own, but the product of rape? Would I be able to love such a child? How had my mother, if that is what had happened to her?
The girls came home later that day and I almost had a nervous breakdown when they wouldn’t stop screaming at each other and their invisible friend. Apparently he wanted them to draw but they did not want to.
“Girls, what have I taught you? Compromise!” I insisted.
They agreed, their faces sullen, but they picked up pieces of paper and began to write, acting like they were listening to what the invisible friend told them. I thought it was sweet that they both listened and wrote at the same time. They must be taking their cues from each other. My girls were fascinating creatures and watching them sometimes revealed the most amazing things.
For instance, Twilla did not speak until she was three. She would look at Lindy and Lindy would watch Twilla, as though Twilla were actually speaking. Then Lindy would turn to me or her father and tell us what Twilla wanted. For others it could prove freaky but I knew it had more to do with Lindy looking for nonverbal cues than anything that others might consider psychic. My girls had their own way of communicating and it was fascinating.
Mom slept for the rest of the day, waking only to take her pills when it was time. I put the girls to bed early and cleaned up the watercolor-covered papers left on their craft table in their room. I gasped as I looked at the papers. The girls had written the same words over and over.
“The Shadow Man is coming.” The words were written in red paint and the paint had run, making the words look like dried dripping blood. I looked over at my sleeping daughters and felt a shiver go down my spine.
There was something terrifying in this little display, something that made me very afraid. I took the papers down to Wes but he dismissed it.
“The girl’s favorite color this week is red, honey. That is all it is.”
Wes and I sat up talking quietly in the living room and I explained to him what had happened. We’d discussed the matter before but he had always left it up to me to handle the question. He knew it was only something I could ask her, after all.
“I have to admit, I am just as curious Clara, and I believe you have a right to know either way. If your mother was raped it may be hard to get the answer from her but you are right to ask. You have so many unanswered questions that need to be answered before she gets worse. Just try to be gentler next time.” Wes kissed me on the top of head as we rested on the couch together.
“What did the doctor say?” He asked quietly, his question hopeful.
“Do you want another child?” I asked, surprised.
“We are getting to a point where we should think about it again, I believe. We are getting older and we are stable financially. I kind of miss having a baby around, don’t you?” Wes said, murmuring into my neck as his hands began to roam under my shirt.
“We will have to start trying then, baby, because I am not pregnant now. We could change that though.” I said urging him to explore more by pushing my body up into his hands.
“Is it the best time for it?” Wes pondered, and I knew what he was thinking about.
“With Momma here you mean? No, it might not be the best time but when is that? After she has gone and I am heartbroken? Or now when she would have a chance to meet them and I would have something to comfort me? No, I think we should start trying. Tonight.” My words had been serious but I giggled as Wes jumped up from the couch and picked me up to carry me up the stairs.
“Your wish is my command, madam. Let impregnation commence.” We both giggled as the sun finally went down for the day and our clothes disappeared, our bodies comforting each other as the day ended. Later, when the house was quiet and the moon was high, I thought I heard a man laughing but dismissed it as part of a dream. I turned to Wes, needing his comforting presence to ease the fear that had shot through me. Asleep and deep within a dream I did not see the shadow of a man leap from the doorway of my daughters’ room to stand by the bed, staring down at me as he watched me sleep, his laughter bubbling out into the air.
Chapter Five
Somewhere in Georgia, 1982
Betty Taylor drove through Georgia, keeping an eye on the sky and the crawling traffic in front of her. She had driven straight into a raging storm and the rain was pouring down so fast the wipers could not keep up. She wanted to pull off of the road, onto the emergency lane and stop, but it was full of cars at three in the afternoon. She was not going to be able to get off the road until an exit finally showed up and she hadn’t seen one for miles.
Pushing a hand through her blonde hair, now kinked up because of the storm, Betty wished she had tied it up earlier. Applying her foot softly to the brake Betty slowed the car once more, seeing only more cars ahead of her. After twenty more minutes she finally spotted an exit and took it.
The storm was letting up by now but she still needed a break. An hour of pouring rain and tense driving had left her wanting a cup of coffee and stillness. She pulled into a roadside diner and ran in, shaking out the droplets of rain from her hair. It was still raining but nowhere near as bad as it had been.
“Yes please!” Betty said gratefully as she sat down at the booth.
“That was some rain we had. Are you travelling?” The waitress asked as she poured the coffee into a white mug. Her name tag said Denise.
“I am heading down to Florida; I am starting a new job tomorrow. That rain has slowed me down some.”
“Do you want a menu or would you like a piece of pie or cake? Anything with the coffee?” Denise asked, reaching for a menu from a table behind her.
“I saw pecan pie on the way in, some of that might be nice.” Betty answered, pouring milk into her coffee. Testing it she found it was not too strong and held off on the sugar. She only put sugar in when the coffee was too strong.
Betty looked out of the window as she waited, thinking about the day so far. She had left her home in Charlotte, North Carolina around five hours ago. Another hour or two and she would be in Florida. Saint Augustine was just another hour or two from there. Two to four more hours of driving, that would get her there later than she had planned but she would just have to deal with it.
Betty was finally on her way to Florida, something she had been dreaming about for years now. Her parents were gone, her siblings, an older sister and an older brother, were married off and spread across the country, there was nothing holding her in North Carolina anymore. She had applied for a job in a hospital in Florida and had been offered the job immediately.
A little over a month ago she had gone down for an interview and had accepted the offer on the spot. She had found a house that she could afford on her salary, and close to the beach, rented out the house her mother had left her, and finished out her notice at the hospital she had been working at for so long now.
Thriller: Horror: Spirit Doll (Mystery Suspense Thrillers) (Haunted Paranormal Short Story) Page 21