by J. E. Taylor
The foul aroma of a thousand spilt sodas assaults my nostrils, the rancid decaying carpet causing me to crinkle my nose. Each step I take toward the stage makes me quiver, but I must reach the exit. A rusty creak shatters the silence of the darkened theater as a sliver of light passes by me. I spin around.
A dark form lurks in the doorway, backlit by the brightness of the lobby. He utters my name, sending his hideous breath in my direction, a reminder of rotting eggs.
My lungs constrict. Oh God, he found me.
My heart pounds wildly and I reach a door that leads beneath the stage. I slam it and flip the lock. The bellow of rage fills the room as he repeatedly strikes the door. I am entombed in darkness, and each strike sends me further into the blackness.
Then silence. I hold my breath—waiting, listening. The only sound I hear is the frantic beat of my heart.
A crack of light invades the darkness. Another door. I bolt, throwing my weight against it, but I’m not strong enough. The door swings open.
I stagger into the far corner, my breath coming in ragged rasps.
A low chuckle emanates from him as he prowls closer. I can see the twisted metal form that he carries and I gasp. He reaches for me and I let out a shrill cry...
...I sit upright in bed, my hand covering the scream. It’s too late; the light flips on in the hallway.
“Are you alright?” My husband steps into the room.
I nod, swallowing and offering a pitiful smile. “Nightmare.”
He smiles. “You’ve been reading too many horror stories.”
“It was a bad one.”
“I could tell. The neighbors must think I’m killing you.” He grins. “Either that or you’re having one hell of an orgasm.”
I blush as the dream dissipates.
He slowly approaches the bed, un-tucking his shirt.
I giggle like a school girl, anticipating his touch.
His hands drift over my feet and clamp down on my ankles, violently yanking me to the foot of the bed. “You didn’t tell me you were pregnant.”
My smile freezes as I look in his eyes. Rage gazes back at me.
“The doctor called. He asked what pharmacy he should have your prescription sent to. I got a hell of a surprise when I picked it up for you. Prenatal vitamins?” He grabs the front of my shirt, yanking me to his face. “Who have you been sleeping with?”
“Nobody!” I scream, momentarily infuriated by his accusation.
“It isn’t mine.” His voice is barely a whisper.
The calmness of his voice brings the terror back. “Of course it is.”
“You’ve been a bad girl.” He punches me in the stomach, knocking me to the floor. “You need to be taught a lesson.” He unbuckles his belt.
I have never seen him like this; he means to kill me. I’m pregnant! The scream is only in my head. I watch, horrified, as he yanks the belt out of the loops and swings it at me. The sting that flares in my cheek catches me off guard. My hand flutters to the side of my face.
“Please don’t.” I try to scramble backwards. The belt hits my arm this time, causing me to yelp in pain. I finally find my feet as he cocks his arm back for a third whipping.
“No one makes a fool out of me! No one!” He advances, swinging the belt as hard as he can.
It connects with my stomach, doubling me over. I drop to the floor. Before I can catch my breath, he kicks me. The moan that escapes my lips fills the room.
“I’m sterile, you bitch!” He reaches down grabbing a handful of my hair, yanking me to my feet.
Blood flows from my mouth. “I didn’t sleep with anyone else.” The tears fill my eyes, blinding me before they spill over.
He drops the belt and jerks my head back. “Don’t lie to me.” He growls in my face.
“I haven’t been screwing around!” I shake in his grasp.
“Liar.” He smacks me across my face and drags me to the bed, ripping at my clothes.
I almost get away, but he slams his fist into the bridge of my nose. Stars fill my eyes and the soft fabric of the bed engulfs me as I fall, dazed. My underwear is torn from my body and then the bed springs creak. My husband mutters under his breath as he crosses to the closet.
I blink, desperately trying to get my vision to clear. Wincing, I touch my face and when I pull my hand back, there is blood on my fingertips. He broke my nose.
My husband rips the paper framing the hanger, tossing it to the ground and gaining my attention. He rapidly untwists the twine of the hanger, creating a crude instrument meant for destruction.
In my dazed state, understanding of his intention eludes me until he turns and smiles in my direction.
“You’re not gonna have another man’s child.” He is on me before I can react.
I scream as he pries my legs apart, kneeling on my thighs and pinning me to the bed.
I swing to hit him, but he is faster, catching my wrist and sharply twisting it. The pain comes with the sick snap of the bone.
He drops the hanger and slaps me twice, letting go of my broken limb.
I yank my arm back to my chest, cradling it as the tears streak my face. I lunge for the discarded hanger, feeling the metal in my grip as I whip it across his face. He falls back, freeing my legs, and I kick, connecting with his stomach and knocking him off the bed.
I flee but everything is sluggish again. I reach the top of the stairs, losing my balance and pin wheeling, landing...
... in an alley. I shake my head to clear it. My arm is in a cast, and fog engulfs me.
A dead end. Nowhere to go. I back against the brick wall, feeling the rough surface with my good hand, and watch the thick fog swirl in front of me.
Footsteps approach. Its foul, rotting breath is accompanied by a low visceral growl that shatters through the mist.
I am frantic.
The beast has come for me and I realize with horror that it is carrying a twisted coathanger.
I scream...
...and sit up in bed.
My husband flips on the light on the nightstand, looking at me with sleepy surprise. “You okay?” He rubs my back with eyes full of concern.
I look at the familiar surroundings and burst into tears.
He sits up and pulls me into his arms.
I flinch, glancing at the cast on my arm. The understanding that I am no longer pregnant slams into my consciousness and the sobs begin to rip from my chest.
“It wasn’t your fault,” he reminds me. “You fell down the stairs.”
He kisses my temple, holding me until I stop crying.
“Did I kick you again?”
He laughs a little as darkness flares in his eyes. “I don’t know. I didn’t wake up until you screamed. Try to get some sleep.” He flips the light off.
I stare in the dark, listening to his breathing slow to even rhythms as sleep finds him.
I don’t remember what happened.
Was it the fall?
Was it?
Eventually, I drift into a restless sleep.
The End
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Pollywogs and Water Moccasins
My first glimpse of our new house was a field of grass as tall as the Kansas wheat fields we passed a few days ago on our cross-country journey. I ran into the thick of the long, silky stalks and sat down, swallowed completely from view by the green reeds.
“Jamie,” Mom called.
I stood up, barely visible in the field. “Yeah?”
“You and your brother should go see the stream in back,” she called, carrying Jackie, my little sister, toward the new house.
A stream? The thought excited me and I turned in Mark’s direction. His eyes caught mine and then he was off like a shot through the tall weeds. I bolted after him, my heart pumping with the thrill of a new landscape. I skidded to a halt as I rounded the side of the two-story colonial and beheld our mammoth backyard. It was almost as big
as the field across from the postage stamp of a yard we had out West. Tall reeds of grass stretched to the wood line, waving a welcome. The trickling of the brook reached my ears and I followed the sound, finding my brother kneeling at the side of a small pond just inside the canopy of the woods.
Pollywogs played in the stagnant water—big ones, little ones, fat ones, and skinny ones in all stages of metamorphosis.
I dropped to my knees next to Mark and reached in, carefully palming one of the larger blobs and balancing the slick carcass as I pulled it from the water, inspecting all sides of the odd, squirming amphibian before trading it a moment later with a larger, squishy one that had both a tail and the beginnings of little frog legs. Awe encompassed me, and I glanced at my brother, who wore the same expression of intrigue thrumming through my bones. The dry hills of northern California didn’t harbor anything like these creatures.
A rustle in the grass caught our attention and I scooted a fraction closer to Mark. The tall reeds parted and Jackie toddled through the grass, executing a fast getaway from the preoccupied eye of our parents. Mark and I exchanged another glance.
He rolled his eyes, which made me laugh.
Jackie crawled to the edge of the pond next to us. Reaching in, she grabbed a handful of the mini-pollywogs, squeezing her hand into a tight little fist. The runny remains dripped from both sides of her hand, black and slimy.
My stomach did a slow roll and I recoiled away in revulsion.
“Uh-o,” she said and opened her hand. She reached in the water for more.
It was as if we were timed jack-in-the-boxes; both my brother and I popped to our feet and yelled, “MOM!” in unison.
My mother made her way through the long grass. Her face scrunched in disgust as Jackie turned, proudly displaying the contents of her hands. Mom squatted and took Jackie’s wrists, dunking her hands into the water to wash them off.
Jackie clearly thought it was a game and squealed with delight, catching more doomed pollywogs in her chubby hands.
“For crying out loud,” my mother muttered under her breath, reaching her arm around Jackie’s waist. Hoisting her onto her hip, she headed toward the house with Jackie’s piercing scream shattering the happy sounds of the new neighborhood.
“Want to go across the street and see if we can play?” Mark pointed to the neighbor’s house and the heated game of whiffle ball already underway.
I shook my head, still staring at the pollywogs. Baseball wasn’t my thing.
“Mind if I go?”
“No.” I watched him trot away.
The lawn mower droned in the front yard as my father began the difficult task of chopping down the field of grass surrounding our new house. I could still hear Jackie crying inside the house, where I’m sure my mother sequestered her into the playpen before continuing to unpack.
Which left me alone by the pond, and the distant call of the stream pulled me in that direction. I set out on an adventure, first slipping my shoes off, placing them on a dry rock, away from the destructive jaws of the lawn mower, and sloshed through the marsh.
The stale pond smell drifted around me as I navigated the woods toward the sound of running water. I broke through the underbrush, finding the bank of a small stream I crossed in two leaping steps. On the opposite bank, I scanned both twisting sides of the meandering stream before stepping in the middle of the brook. My toes tingled from the cold water; I carefully avoided the slippery algae covered rocks, sticking to the sandy bottom center. The current caressed my ankles, barely deep enough to reach my calves, and I headed upstream until I found a low bank clear of underbrush and stepped out of the cool water.
I meandered upstream for a couple hundred yards, stopping every so often to squat down and inspect a minnow or pick up a loose rock to see if there was anything underneath. Each hidden creature, from crawfish to minnows, was carefully examined and replaced where I found them before I continued the journey.
Around a bend, I spied the stream flowing through a drain pipe, large enough for me to walk through if I leaned over. A pungent algae and decay smell drifted from the pipe and I crinkled my nose. Ducking to peer through the murky darkness inside, I saw light bleeding from the opposite end, but even though there was an obvious end to the pipe, I didn’t want to see the source of that awful smell. Instead, I climbed the embankment and crossed the dirt road bordering our property. I glanced at my dad’s mower chopping a sea of grass near the road before I climbed down the opposite bank. It was steeper than I thought and I skidded down into the muck.
My feet sank into the cool mud, squishing between my toes. A sucking noise filled the air as I pulled my foot from the sludge. Giggling, I stepped into the cool stream, but after a few paces, I decided I liked the feel of the mud squishing through my toes better so I trudged through the muddy muck bordering the water.
The waterway widened as I made my way upstream.
A rock plinked off the rocks at the far edge of the stream and I jumped, my heart lurching in my chest and my eyes widening at the sudden interruption to my quiet journey. Inching farther upstream, I peered around the bend. A group of five boys around my age were pelting rocks into the stream.
“Did you get it?” one yelled.
“No, there it goes!” A boy pointed and another round of rocks hurled into the water.
I approached unnoticed and glanced in the direction of the rock assault. A thick black snake dodged the projectiles. With a quick inspection and an internal snake catalog flipping through my thoughts, I concluded that this particular snake wasn’t poisonous.
The injustice of their actions set me into motion and I leapt into the middle of the water, blocking the path of their pitches. “What are you doing?” I snapped.
“There’s a snake in the water,” the skinniest boy yelled, pointing frantically behind me.
“Get out of the way!” another one yelled.
“You’re killing it!” I hollered at them.
“Get out of the way or we’ll throw these at you.” The biggest boy in the group picked up a rock but the rest of the boys hesitated, giving the large kid a glance like he was shy some cards.
“No.” I shook my head, staring him down even though he was easily twice my size.
He pitched his rock in my direction and it nicked my shin, splashing in the water next to me but I refused to move.
Ignoring the rock assault as if it never happened, Skinny pointed again. “Are you stupid? There is a snake behind you!”
“I know,” I said and turned, plucking the thing from the water before another rock could be pelted in its direction. The snake wrapped its tail around my forearm and I nestled it to my chest, stroking its head with my index finger. I turned back to the group of boys.
Collectively, they stepped back with their jaws slack. Every set of eyes bulged, staring at the snake on my arm and then at my defiant face. Even the boy who threw the rock was dumbfounded. The tension in his arms disappeared and they dropped to his side. The rock he picked up fell harmless out of his grasp.
“It won’t bite.” I put my hand in front of the snake’s face and the small tongue shot out, feeling the texture of my palm, tickling me. “See?”
“That’s a w-w-water m-m-moccasin,” Skinny stuttered and stepped farther away.
“They’re poisonous,” the rock thrower whispered. His eyes looked like they were about to shoot out of their sockets at any moment.
“This isn’t poisonous,” I informed the group and stepped closer. “This here’s a garter snake. When we were in California, my brother used to bring home snakes this big.” I spread my arms as wide as they could go. In truth, some of the snakes he brought home were twice the size of my little arm span. I pulled the snake back to my chest and gently rubbed the top of its head.
For each step I took toward the group of boys, they stepped away. “What? Yer afraid of a little snake?” I asked.
Each and every one of them nodded and I laughed.
“Aren’t you?�
��
I cocked my head and raised my eyebrows, glancing from the snake snug around my arm to the boy who had asked the question. Maybe the kid was daft; you never know these days. Still, I couldn’t stop the sarcastic “Ya think?” that slipped from my lips. I held my arm up a little and gave them a fake shiver followed by a chuckle and then resumed petting the snake.
“But you’re a girl,” Daft boy pointed out. He sneezed and wiped the snot that shot from his nose on his sleeve.
“No duh.” I rolled my eyes and smiled. After a few moments of dull stares, I shrugged and glanced at the snake. “So what if I’m a girl.”
“I don’t know any girls around here who aren’t afraid of snakes,” Rock-chucker ventured.
I smiled. “Well, ya do now.”
I turned and climbed up the opposite bank of the stream and could hear the hushed whispers as the boys grouped together, discussing the new girl in the neighborhood. The reverent tones touched my ears and I smiled, hiking the short walk home with the snake nestled against my chest.
“Stupid boys,” I said, setting the snake down at the edge of the woods near the pond in our backyard, watching as it slid into the marsh, blending with the black roots.
After it disappeared from sight, I strolled into our new home, wondering where my next adventure would take me.
The End
Flight Plan
I approached the idling helicopter, escorted through the safe zone by the pilot like I had been all the other times I’ve used the corporate ride. The wind whipped across the East River, blowing my hair, strands slapping at the corners of my eyes from the upstream created by the rotors.
The pilot opened the door for me and both of us stopped, jaws askew, staring at the scene inside the cabin.
“Harry!” The woman gasped, pushing the shoulders of the man buried under her silky skirt.
Harry pulled away from between her legs, wiping his mouth on his sleeve as he looked between the pilot and me. A small smirk appeared on his lips as he shuffled into the seat opposite the woman. She, on the other hand, was glowing like a stoplight and frantically trying to right her rumpled clothing.