Death is Not the End, Daddy

by Nate Allen

came to check it out. And from the moment I saw her, I was caught. We married eight months later.

  “I always wanted to be a dad,” I say softly.

  Immediately, she stops dabbing her brush in the middle of the canvas and turns back toward me. She doesn’t say a thing.

  “But, I didn’t realize how that would change us. Not as people necessarily, but as a couple. You are so special to me, Janet, but I haven’t really shown you that in a long time.” I pause. “Do you remember when we were newlyweds?”

  She nods her head.

  “There was just something so organic about it. We didn’t really know what we were doing. We only knew that we loved each other. That hasn’t changed.” I didn’t plan what is happening. I’ve gotten down on one knee. “I don’t have another ring to give you, I only have this symbol. I’m proposing that we be newlyweds again. I want to start over. I want to discover you again, because the beautiful woman I am looking at is the woman I married. You are who I married. Will you start over with me, Janet?”

  Her eyes are wet and leaking. Nearly ten years later and her expression is the same it was the day I proposed. She pulls her ring off her finger and hands it to me.

  “Yes, Matty,” she says with an alive smile. “You are who I married.”

  I slip the ring back onto her finger. It feels new, like the way it did the day I slipped it on her finger for the first time. I stand and hug her, able to just be here. No resentment. No hostile thoughts. Nothing but this moment.

  “You have always been the only one for me,” I whisper. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too.” she says as she squeezes me tighter.

 

  John Doe

 

  I look down at the notes in my hand. Even with the car’s internal light on, they are covered in shadow. Dad’s entry for April 25th, 1981, he wrote that the day I was born was the happiest of his life. There are a few mentions of how much I meant to him. But even so, his entries are a reminder of who I no longer am, just like M dead in the backseat. And that’s why I can’t take anything with me. This property is Teddy’s. He was grown here. The blood from each child still remains in the bears on the shelf in the shed. Everything on this property is cursed. Dad’s notes are not just sheets of paper; they are a way to keep Teddy alive in my life, a way for him to follow me once I leave. I won’t take them with me. I will burn them with Teddy.

  I push in the car cigarette lighter, and glance in the rearview mirror once more. M is a reminder of what I’ll never be again, of what I’m about to burn. I open the driver side door. The light in the car is still bright enough that even as I lean out of it, I can read the notes. I start at the beginning. The more I read them, the emptier they become. Just as I’m a new person, so is he. The man who wrote these notes isn’t my father. This is a sad shell. But, someday I can have him again.

  “Look in the mirror!” it’s Teddy, deep and dark and distorted. My eyes look. I see M now replaced with every other child I’ve killed, like a reel of images constantly changing. “You don’t deserve to have redemption! You are a disease, John! And fifteen children are dead because of you!” It’s suddenly freezing, and feels like Teddy is back in the passenger seat. I’m a new person, but he’s trying to flood back the old. It’s the tingle shooting through me, the chill crawling over me, the dirty feeling trying to seep back through. I’m new, but the shame wearing heavy on me is old. Old and familiar.

  I close my eyes searching for that new feeling, but all I feel is the old. I hear the sounds the children made when I wrapped the bag over their heads. The sounds of the suffocation. The sounds of desperation. Everything is heightened. Teddy’s not just reminding me of the old, he’s making me relive it. I feel their little hands against my arms. I desperately wish I could pull the bags away. But, I can’t. It’s just a memory of what has already happened.

  This wasn’t me! It was Teddy. With every child it was Teddy, because I would have pulled the bag away! I feel their fingers pulling. I hear their little voices pleading. If I would have been in control, I would have let them go.

  A soft pop. I open my eyes. The cigarette lighter is ready. It’s quiet again. Even at my weakest, Teddy isn’t able to control me anymore.

  “It was a lie you told me.” I whisper, as I grab the lighter and step out of the car. “They’re dead because of you, because I let you in.” I walk toward Teddy, who’s tipped over and only feet away from the front of the car. “But, even with all that power I helped grow in you, you are still weak.” I’m standing over Teddy. The notes are in my left hand; the lighter is a dim orange glow in my right. I haven’t been able to imagine this moment. I never thought it would come. But, here it is. Teddy is now the small, defeated object. Not me.

  I press the faded orange tip to the bottom edge of the sheets. They catch fire immediately, peeling back and flaking away. There isn’t even a part of me that wants to put them out. I want to drop them into Teddy’s split open back and watch him burn. And I do.

  But, immediately a smell comes from the flame, like a body that’s rotting. The fire is consuming Teddy, coming out of his back, and burning through his arms and legs. But, the smell is only getting worse. And fear is starting to consume me. Teddy doesn’t feel like he’s dying. He feels like he’s getting stronger. The smell is the smell of rot. Decay. Death. Everything I want to leave. Yet, it’s surrounding me again. I can’t get away!

  The fire is now eating Teddy’s face. But, he’s still growing. I can feel him. The presence of Teddy is tall above me. He’s not this small, burning bear. He’s bigger, so much bigger than I am. He always has been.

  “How do I get free, Jesus?!” I scream. “What do I have to do?!” This isn’t even me screaming. It’s something from within me, who screams when I can’t.

  Know Who I am. His voice isn’t a quiet whisper this time. It’s like thunder, making the ground shake.

  I don’t know Who He is. He’s the Man from the stories mom used to read me from that thick leather book she always had with her. I only remember the stories. I don’t remember Who He is. I wish I could. But, I only remember the stories.

  Silence answers my silence. The silence is all consuming, like nothing else is around me, like this world has been muted. With my eyes closed I hear mom’s voice.

  “This is from the book of John. That’s your name too, because he was a great man, like you will be. I want this to stay with you forever. John 3:16 says, ‘For God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten son, so that whoever believes in Him will not perish but have eternal life.’ That means Jesus died for you, John. He loves you that much. He died for you.”

  She used to say this to me almost every night before she got sick. I only remember it now. And that’s all I remember. Life before Teddy is still a heavy fog. Things are revealed in small pieces. But, I now know Who Jesus is.

  “Jesus.” I say as I open my eyes. “You are the Son of God.”

  I can only hear the quiet crackle of flame at my feet. I look down. Teddy is black, and still burning. He isn’t a tall presence above me. He is ashes at my feet. This is freedom. It’s not just because I’m free from Teddy, but because I know Who Jesus is. Not a stranger. Not a Man from the stories mom used to tell me, but the Son of God.

  Matthew Mills

  This is the kind of hug Janet and I shared when we were young. It’s a living expression that speaks without words. Our hug is a verification of what has been missing between us. And now, what the Lord has returned. I have never stopped loving Janet. I know that. But, I also know that I haven’t loved her like this in a long time, because our hugs haven’t been like this in a long time.

  Her tears have soaked the right shoulder of my shirt. I don’t think they are tears of sadness. I don’t feel sadness in this hug. My few tears haven’t been from sadness, but the overwhelming sense of renewal. I believe she can feel the same thing.

  “Matty?” she whispers.

  “Yeah, baby?” I ans
wer.

  “Something miraculous is going to happen.”

  “It already has.”

  She lets go of me immediately and steps back. Her child-like eyes meet mine. They tell me to continue without her saying a word. Maybe she doesn’t understand what I mean. Or maybe she just wants to hear it, even if she does understand.

  “Something miraculous has already happened.” I say as I smile at her. “This hug with you is miraculous. The life that has returned to your eyes is miraculous. Just think about how earlier today you were a shell. Now, you’re new.” I pause. “The work Jesus has already done in my heart is miraculous. I’m new. I’m new, sweetie, even though everything apart from the Lord is telling me I should be broken. But, I’m not. That’s miraculous.” I pause to brush away tears from both of her eyes. “Getting to feel this close to you again is miraculous. Getting to love you wholeheartedly again is miraculous. I love you with a depth that goes beyond words, Janet. The miraculous has already happened. The proof is in this moment.”

  She didn’t expect this. It’s written all over her face. Her tears are a steady stream running down a speechless display. When she said something miraculous was going to happen, she was talking about Marcy. She thought it was what I needed to hear. Of course I want Marcy back. That will never change. But, my survival doesn’t depend on it. She isn’t my