Death is Not the End, Daddy

by Nate Allen

didn’t scare me. I felt safe, just like I do now—but I shouldn’t feel safe. This place belongs to him.

  “We’ve been through a lot, John.” I can hear him again, quiet and calm. This is what he wants. He’s luring me in again, becoming that quiet voice that he introduced himself with.

  “Why did you ever come to me?” I don’t know what else to say.

  “Do you really think you’re going to leave here, John?”

  “There is a light you’ve tried to explain away. But, it’s still here. And you can’t control me like you did.”

  “Maybe not!” My arm is yanked outward as the children’s voices appear out of nowhere. “But, we can make you go crazy, John!” My other arm is yanked outward. I see flashes of bright color surrounding me. I feel sharp pinches in my ankles, but when I look down, there are just hints of fresh blood starting to bleed through my jeans. Little hands are grabbing my legs, but they feel powerful. When they pull, I nearly fall to the ground. Pain is in my chest, heavy and sharp. It feels like knives stabbing.

  “The best way to kill you, John, is slowly.” Teddy’s voice is still quiet and calm.

  “It watched! It laughed! It waited!” now the children’s voices are everywhere around me. “You want answers why this happened, John?! Why you?! Because you’re weak! You built a home for the father, and now he watches your pain with glee! We will bleed you dry! We will eat you alive! Your last moments will be filled with fear! And then after you die, we will follow you into the dark!”

  I think I have fallen to the ground. But, I can’t tell. Pain is covering my body. I feel the wet of blood in many new spots. My mind is full of terror. Their voices only seem to dig deeper into me. I can’t move my hands to block my face. I’m frozen. I answered my own question. My last moments are fear—

  “Beautiful boy,” this voice is crisp and clear, completely separate from the ones surrounding me. “Open your eyes.”

  I do. But, I’m not outside anymore. I’m in my childhood bedroom. It’s bedtime. My nightlight is on.

  “Jesus loves you. And so do I, my beautiful boy.” Mom’s fingers are caressing my cheek. Her smile is wide. Her eyes are blue and beautiful. Dad is watching me from the doorway, arms crossed, smiling too.

  My eyes are open to the outside again. It feels clean, like when I first left the car. But, it’s different from that. I feel loved.

  Matthew Mills

  Janet’s face is a canvass of worry. She was waiting outside for me, eyes wet with tears. She told me she wanted me to be okay. I told her a lie. Now, I’m staring up the stairs as her arms wrap around me tightly.

  “I miss her, but I know something miraculous is going to happen. He visited me, Matty,” just one of the many nicknames she has given me. “Me. A girl no one has ever wanted. He lifted me up from a place of unbearable sadness, and told me everything is going to be okay. I feel like I need to remind you of what you have told me over and over again. You didn’t get that sad when we lost our second baby, and I couldn’t understand why. Now, I do. You tried to tell me He had a reason for it, that He has a plan for everything. You tried to give me back my light when I only wanted to hide in the dark. I love you so much for that, Matty. So now I need to tell you the same thing. He has a reason for this. Don’t give up, like I almost did. Trust Him. Please, Matty.”

  When we kiss after she cries, I taste the tears on her lips. She is saying everything I wanted to hear before Marcy was taken. It would have meant so much to me. Now, it doesn’t mean much at all. She can say all of these things because of Who she saw. I can’t just sit quietly with her, and wait to see what happens. Her tears taste bitter on my lips, instead of sweet and salty. I can’t be the husband she wants me to be. I don’t want to be.

  She is above the situation. Having seen Jesus just today, she is able to look at this situation with eyes that no one else can. I haven’t seen Jesus since I was six years old. Trying to remember that encounter is nearly impossible. I remember being awakened by the call of my name, and walking down the dark hall. I remember feeling no fear and finally seeing a man wrapped in incredible light. But, I remember nothing more. It’s like remembering a dream. It has no effect anymore.

  “I’ll be okay,” I answer quietly. I just want to get away. The words she said are making me feel sick.

  “I love you,” she whispers.

  “Me too.” I let go of her and step down the basement stairs. I can feel her watching me with a mixture of worry and bewilderment. She flicks the basement lights on as my feet touch the floor. Now, I hear her stepping firmly up the other stairs.

  The word Ms. Brands whispered is bobbing in my mind, sinking deeper and deeper with every passing moment. I’m stepping toward my small office in the far corner of the hall. Shadow lies across the walls, forming shapes from the mess around, to make it seem like things are surrounding me.

  “Find me, daddy.” the whisper comes from the shadow. It’s M’s voice. “Bring me home. Please.” Soft and polite, like when she was scared to stay overnight at her first slumber party, and she called me when everyone was asleep. Bring me home, daddy. Please. And I did. And we had our own little slumber party, turning the living room into a fort. She loved it, as did I.

  I want so badly to hear that door open, and to hear her little voice call for me. I keep trying to convince myself that I am accepting this. But I’m not. That pain I felt earlier is returning. My face feels broken across the top half. Tears are streaming out of my healthy eye, but the swollen one is a pocket they are leaking out of.

  I’m both numb and broken, like a man who has fallen from a great height but isn’t dead. He just lies there, aware that he can no longer move, aware that his life is going to be an uphill struggle he isn’t sure he wants to face.

  I am this man. Metaphorically and internally.

  John Doe

  The shirt beneath my trench coat is stained with blood in spots, and my pants are nearly all red from the ankles down. The children tried to kill me. Tried, but couldn’t. Just like Teddy earlier today, something prevented it.

  I used to close my eyes and see one thing: the shed, as dad pushed his piece inside me. I cried for him to stop, but he would only grunt and go faster. I could feel his force shake the table he had me against. And then when it was over, he turned me around, and said, “our little secret,” and opened the door.

  But, the more exposure I have to this reality of light inside me, I remember someone completely different. Dad wasn’t the man who held me helpless against the table, and did what he did to me. He kept me safe, guarding the doorway as mom read a story. And, without him saying a word, when mom said I was loved, I knew it came from both of them.

  The feeling that started after seeing mom on the bench today has only evolved into something more defined. It was clean. Now, it’s something more. It’s not just a feeling, but a desire. I don’t just want freedom, I want answers. Everything began on that day. Had it never happened, I wouldn’t be this man, facing a darkness that I used to call friend. I would be free.

  But, what does it mean to be free? No matter how far I distance myself from here, the memory of it will live on. I am not free to leave. Not until I feel it coursing through my veins. Not until all of the dirty inside feels washed out, because it’s still there. Dad’s piece is a memory that still slips inside me when I become afraid. The children still surround me when fear crawls on top of me. And Teddy still watches me fidget and fight. I am not free. Not yet, but I will be.

  The children gave me an answer. They said that I was weak. Of course I was weak. I was barely twelve. Mom was dying. And dad was supposed to keep me safe. Instead, he led me right into Teddy’s welcome. Teddy used to be just a bear I shared my bed with. By the time I was twelve years old, he found himself on the floor more than on my bed. And then dad invited me into the shed, and everything changed. That day, Teddy was lying on the center of my mattress. I hadn’t put him there.

  The shed is on full display. No longer hiding b
ehind the deck, it is making sounds. I can hear dad’s voice rolling from the door as it opens: I need help with a little project, kiddo. The darkness of the inside looks red. Not like a red light, but like a room filled with thick blood.

  “There is power in blood, John.” It’s Teddy. I know his voice almost better than my own. “You want freedom? I’ll make a deal. Stick M’s skin with a needle, withdraw her blood, and put it in a vial. Add it to the collection, John. Then, you are free.”

  I feel strange. I’m lying down, but moving. I can see my hands and feet dragging back and forth, trying to make a snow angel in the dirt.

  “No!” I’m screaming. Or I’m not screaming. I can’t tell. It’s quiet outside, but loud within. I can only hear the beating of my heart. It’s rapid and only growing. “It’s a trick, Teddy! I know what you are trying to do!” The dragging has become a flail. My arms are senseless. It’s like I’m seizing, without the foam or uncontrollable flail of my head. My head is calm, watching the rest of me go wild.

  I close my eyes. My heart beat is all I hear. Thud. Pause. Thud. Pause. Now, I hear a door opening. I open my eyes. My hands are under M’s legs, about to lift her from the seat. She’s dead only because breath no longer slips from her mouth. Otherwise, she is still very much alive. She died with