“Huh,” the insect said.
My heart raced as if trying to catch up with the thoughts in my head.
“This is usually the part where I would eat you— but…”
My throat made an involuntary gurgling sound and I realized I’d regained the use of my voice.
“I uh… don’t taste good?” I managed to squeak out.
What a stupid thing to say.
“No, it’s not that,” she said. “You just seem really sweet. I’m not sure that I want to eat you.”
Her head morphed back into the beautiful woman I’d met at the bar, and my heart slowed down just a little.
“I don’t think I will,” she said, staring down at me from her mounted position on my lap.
“Oh, that’s uhh… really great,” I gasped, not knowing what else to say.
The logical half of my brain was screaming at me to shove her off of my lap and run as fast as I could in the opposite direction. But the lonely, desperate half was telling me that there was a beautiful woman sitting naked on my lap, and what’s more, she actually seemed to like me. And, that if I offended her, she might decide to eat me after all. So I figured I’d better at least try to make conversation.
“So uh…” my voice sounded dusty and hoarse, “are you a m-monster?”
“What?” She seemed taken aback. “You think I’m a monster just because I eat people? Do you think cats are monsters because they eat mice, or people are monsters for eating chickens?”
“Uhh…”
“Of course you don’t,” she said. “Although, the chickens probably think of you as monsters. Then again, chickens are assholes. Who cares what they think?”
“Oh…okay?”
The room fell silent as we stared at each other for a moment.
“So—”
“You were about to ask me if I wanted go again, right?” she said, interrupting.
“Um, yeah.”
She grinned devilishly and my mind once again melted away. My last thought before my consciousness gave way was that I was lucky she’d interrupted me before I asked what she did for a living again.
18
Daniel
When I was young I wanted to become a psychiatrist. My college years, however, proved that I had a greater aptitude for smoking weed and playing video games than reading medical textbooks, and when I went up for medical school I couldn’t get in.
I stayed in college a few more years, racking up debt and adding another major to my degree so I wouldn’t have to go to grad school. Eventually, I ended up as a social worker. I did that job for seven years before I became a teacher, and I’ve got quite a few stories from that time in my life, some strange and some sad. This one is both.
I’ve reconstructed below an interview with Daniel ————, a seven-year-old boy who shot his father to death after the father murdered Daniel’s mother. The case has stuck with me for many years, and I’d like to share it with you now.
***
tape clicks on
ME: It’s nice to see you again Daniel.
At this point in the interview Daniel is looking at the floor.
ME: Do you know why I’m here?
DANIEL: ….
ME: I want to talk about what happened to your father. Do you remember the story you told detectives?
DANIEL: Yes, sir.
I can hear rustling on the audio tape as I reach into my coat pocket for a candy, handing it to Daniel.
DANIEL: Thank you, sir.
ME: You’re welcome, Daniel. You’re a very polite young man.
Daniel looks up for a moment before looking at the floor again.
DANIEL: Do you think I’m good, sir?
ME: Yes, Daniel. I think you’re good.
DANIEL: Thank you.
ME: Can you tell me what happened that night, Daniel?
Daniel paused. He rocked uneasily back and forth in his chair.
DANIEL: My dad came home from the bar. He was yelling.
ME: How do you know he came from the bar?
DANIEL: He smelled.
I can hear scribbling as I make a note in my pad.
ME: And then what happened?
DANIEL: He….
ME: It’s okay, Daniel. Just take a deep breath. This is the last time you’ll have to talk about it.
Daniel’s shoulders slump, and he digs his foot into the carpet.
DANIEL: He started hitting my mom.
ME: And then?
DANIEL: Then he stopped. My mom was crying, so I gave her Joseph.
ME: Who is Joseph?
DANIEL: He’s my teddy bear. He always makes me feel better when I’m crying. I thought he would make my mom feel better too.
ME: Did he make her feel better?
Daniel nods his head a bit.
DANIEL: I think so. She smiled, but…
ME: But what?
DANIEL: It was the sad kind of smile.
I can hear my pen scribbling against the notepad again. I wince as I’m listening. This is the part I don’t like to hear.
ME: What happened then, Daniel?
There is a long pause as Daniel stares at the ground. He doesn’t want to say it, and I don’t blame him. I hear my own voice again, soft, cajoling, and I feel a twinge of guilt for making him relive those moments.
ME: It’s okay, Daniel. It’s the last time, I promise.
Daniel’s voice is small and wavering as he answers.
DANIEL: He got his gun.
ME: And then?
DANIEL: He… he shot my mom.
ME: And after that, you ran to your room?
DANIEL: No.
ME: No?
DANIEL: I mean yes. But first I had to grab Joseph.
ME: You had to grab your teddy bear?
DANIEL: Yes. I didn’t want to leave him alone with my dad. He’d be scared.
I clear my throat.
ME: I see. And then?
DANIEL: I ran into my room and locked my door. My dad tried to get in. He hit the door. It was really loud, and Joseph was really scared.
ME: How did he get in?
DANIEL: He broke the door. It was really loud.
ME: And then?
DANIEL: He pointed the gun at me.
ME: And?
DANIEL: I asked him not to shoot Joseph, but I don’t think he heard me.
ME: Why’s that?
DANIEL: Because he pulled the trigger anyway.
ME: But he didn’t shoot you.
DANIEL: No. The gun didn’t work. He threw it on the floor.
ME: Then what?
DANIEL: He tried to get me. But he fell. He smashed his nose.
I could hear clothes rustling as I leaned forward.
ME: What happened to the gun, Daniel?
DANIEL: It started floating.
ME: Are you sure?
DANIEL: Yes.
ME: What happened then?
DANIEL: I heard my mom whisper in my ear. She told me to close my eyes.
ME: And did you?
DANIEL: Yes.
ME: And?
DANIEL: The gun went off.
ME: Did you see what happened to your dad?
DANIEL: No. I kept my eyes closed. Like my mom told me.
ME: Did anything else happen?
DANIEL: No. The police came and put a blanket on me and took me somewhere. I don’t really remember that part.
ME: You’re sure that’s what happened?
DANIEL: Yes.
ME: Thank you for your time, Daniel. I promise that’s the last time you’ll have to tell that story.
DANIEL: Thank you. I don’t like to tell that story.
ME: I need to go make my report now; I’m going to leave you here with your aunt and uncle, okay?
DANIEL: Okay.
There’s the sound of a chair being pushed back as I stand up to go.
DANIEL: Mr. Robbins?
ME: Yes, Daniel?
DANIEL: I think about it a lot. Right before
I go to sleep.
ME: Well, we can arrange for a counselor to talk—
DANIEL: It’s okay. When I can’t sleep my mom comes. I can’t see her, but she tells me to close my eyes, and I fall asleep.
ME: That’s good, Daniel. Tell her I said hi.
DANIEL: I will.
***
The recording shuts off there. We did arrange for a counselor for Daniel, of course. As far as I know he never changed his testimony.
There was never any real question of who shot Daniel’s dad. The statements of the neighbors who heard the conflict very clearly indicated a series of shots followed by silence from the mother, a series of loud bangs as the father broke down the door, and finally three more shots, which corresponded with death of the father. No one else was in the house, and ballistics showed that the shots were fired from six feet away. Daniel was the only choice, and officially, he’s the one who shot his father.
Yet I stayed up for a long time that night, wondering if Daniel had it right. I didn’t really believe that his mother had come back as a ghost to save him. But in Daniel’s version of reality, his mother wasn’t just a battered woman who died a pointless and violent death, she was a hero who defied death to save her son. In Daniel’s version he wasn’t scared, he was protecting his teddy bear, Joseoph. I think, after all he’d been through, that he deserved to remember the story that way.
Finally, around three in the morning, I gave up thinking about it. I was only tying myself in knots. But of course, the sleep would not come. I had just about resigned myself to getting up early and starting the next day, when I heard a soft whisper in my ears, telling me to close my eyes.
I slept well that night.
19
The Tokyo Subway Demon
This story is a retelling of something that happened to me when I was seven years old. As the years have gone by and I’ve grown up, I’ve realized that the story cannot possibly be true, yet I still cannot shake the feeling, deep down, that it is.
It happened in Tokyo, in the subway station. I don’t remember which one. I was standing with my father when I saw the demon, a monstrously tall and furry creature with leathery black wings and an anteater’s snout. I must have stared at him for close to ten minutes before he finally spoke, in a soft mutter that was clearly intended for his ears only.
“This human is creeping me out,” he said. “It almost looks like it’s looking right at me.”
“I am looking right at you,” I said.
The demon nearly jumped out of his skin. “You can see me?” he asked.
“Yes. Can’t everybody?”
“Not unless they’re in the fifth dimension.”
“Am I in the fifth dimension?” I asked.
“Your mind must have slipped over here by mistake. What were you thinking about before you saw me?”
I thought for a moment, and then smiled.
“Trains.”
“Oh, well trains are the link between our dimensions. I guess your mind must have just wandered over here. Either that or you’re going crazy.”
“I hope I’m not going crazy,” I said.
“Being crazy is a good thing in the fifth dimension,” the demon replied.
I laughed.
“Do you have subway lines in the fifth dimension?” I asked.
“Of course,” he said. “How else would we get to work?”
“You’ve got wings!” I said.
“Yes, but who wants to fly? Taking the train is so much faster, and if I fly to work then I’m all sweaty when I get there.”
“So what do you use your wings for?” I asked.
“I put them over my head when it rains.”
“Can I see?” I asked.
“Sure,” the demon said. My hair blew back as he swooped his enormous wings over his head.
I laughed again.
“You’re funny,” I said.
The demon laughed too, but then his expression changed.
“Are you okay?” I asked. “You seem sad.”
“Yes, yes,” the demon replied, not looking at me but at something behind me. “Say, would you like to see a magic trick?”
“Okay.”
The demon reached up and tugged a big rainbow handkerchief out of his snout. He must have pulled out twenty feet before the handkerchief finally stopped.
I laughed, but stopped when I realized I wasn’t holding my dad’s hand anymore.
I looked around and saw the subway station had disappeared, replaced by flowing green meadows that were full of old trains.
“I can’t see the subway station anymore,” I said.
“That’s okay,” said the demon. “Sometimes it’s better to see what isn’t there instead of what is.”
“What do you mean?”
“Sometimes when I’m bored or sad, my mind slips off to the third dimension, and I see people like you.”
“That’s funny,” I said, laughing. “Can you go to other dimensions, too?”
But the demon didn’t answer, he was looking up at the sky.
“It’s starting to rain,” he said, whooshing his wings up over his head.
Warm droplets of water began to hit my face.
“Can I get under your wings with you?” I asked.
“Not now,” he replied. “You’ve got to go home.”
The world began to shimmer and flow together like different shades of green and golden paint, spinning around faster and faster in circles until everything was bright white light. I started to feel a little sick, and I closed my eyes. The world stopped spinning, but warm droplets of water still fell on my face.
I opened my eyes and saw my mom crying over me, but I didn’t see my dad.
“Where’s dad?” I asked her. “Did he bring me home?”
“Yes, honey,” she said, although she didn’t look at me when she said it. “He brought you home and then he had to go away.”
“Oh,” I replied. “When will he be back?”
“I don’t know,” she said.
My dad never did come back, and it was years before I found out the truth—he had killed himself that day. That morning he had written a note to my mother explaining that he intended to bring me along and step in front of the train with me. My mother found it when she got home from work and called the police, but it was too late to stop my father. The witnesses say that just before he jumped I pulled away from his hand and ran off, fainting right after. But one of the witnesses, a little boy around my age, said that he saw something take my hand and lead me away from the speeding train.
He said it was a monstrously tall and furry creature, with leathery black wings and an anteater’s snout.
20
Birthing a Monster
In the eighth month of her pregnancy, my wife suffered a complication that required emergency surgery. When she woke up and I told her the surgery had been successful, her reaction was nothing short of terrifying.
She didn’t seem happy, didn’t utter any words of relief, she just slowly reached down to her belly; her eyes widened for a moment, and then she began to cry.
The tears were silent, but the expression on her face made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I had to repress a shudder as I asked her what was wrong, but she ignored me.
Instead of answering she began to scream; her whole body shaking as she thrashed and wailed; tearing out tufts of her hair and throwing them on the ground. I kept asking her what was wrong but she wouldn’t answer.
All of a sudden she went completely silent. She raised one hand. She paused for a moment—our eyes locked—and she brought her hand down with all her strength, plunging her long fingernails into her stomach. She tore at her stomach with such fevered ferocity that I was sure she would rip it open.
I grabbed hold of her wrists and with great effort I managed to wrestle them down next to her sides. I had to use the restraints on the rails of the bed; once I did her whole body suddenly went limp, as if she was too weak to move.
>
I sat down beside her bed; I could hear my voice shaking as I tried desperately to calm her down.
“It’s alright, honey. It was just a small complication after all. Soon we’ll have a beautiful baby boy. Our son. It’ll all be worth it then.”
She slowly turned her head towards me. Her eyes were dead, devoid of humanity. She began whispering, her head rolling limply to one shoulder. I leaned in close to hear what she was saying. It was just one sentence, repeated over and over.
Get it out of me.
She refused to speak at all for the next week. Sometimes she would just lay there, totally limp and motionless. Other times she would scream and pull at her restraints until her wrists bled. I tried calming her down, telling her that this was a good thing. I brought her baby clothes and her favorite foods, but nothing I did could reach her. Finally, after a week, she went into contractions.
As soon as the baby came out, it was clear that something had gone horribly wrong. The stench was unbearable; a sick, nauseatingly sweet smell—but the baby was worse. Its head was overly large, its eyes bulging and bloodshot, and the skin was black and ragged; sloughing off in my hands when I touched it.
It was a miracle that my wife survived the birth. I tell myself that we’re lucky for that, even if our son was born dead. She seems to be relieved that the pregnancy is over, but I just keep going over everything horrible that’s happened in my head. It tore my heart out when she gave birth to our third stillborn son, and it was even worse when I had to force-feed her those pills so that I could perform the surgery to put him back inside of her.
I know that if we’re going to hold our marriage together through this tragedy we’ll both need something to look forward to. I think I’ll go tell her I’m ready to try again; maybe it will cheer her up.
21
Dreams of Death
Every night when I go to sleep I watch somebody die.
For a long time I thought it was only nightmares, until I watched my sixth-grade teacher Ms. Harden die of a heart attack in her sleep, and the next day discovered that she really had died. I’ve seen a few other people I know die since then, but usually it’s strangers.
Death and Candy Page 7