HauntedMTL Original – Atonement – Andrew Lafleche
Atonement
It was February 29 again, and I was wondering which member of my family would try to kill me this time. Still, a small part hoped that maybe this year would be different from the past. I mean, it’s been 16 years. I’ve made peace with what I did. It never had anything to do with them anyway. But here I was, lying awake in bed before my alarm and I couldn’t help wondering if when I opened my eyes one of them would be standing above me, ax cocked behind their head, waiting to make sure the last thought that went through my mind would be they got me like they said they would.
I felt Michael stir. He’d be awake any minute. Surely they wouldn’t do it in front of him. They’d have to kill him too. The only guilt he had was that of association with me. He wasn’t even in the picture when it happened. He has nothing to do with this. There’s no way they would do it now.
Not a day goes by where I don’t doubt my decision. That I wish it was me that died instead of him. That at least he died.
“Are you awake?” Michael whispered.
Did I say that out loud?
He rolled over and slid his body up to mine. I could feel his morning passion pressed against my thigh. He kissed my neck gently then nibbled my earlobe. His hands traced my hips.
“Good morning Beautiful,” he said.
I pretended to be asleep. He knew I was awake.
He continued. He slipped a finger under my waistband, paused, and then allowed his hand to follow through. I pressed my head back lightly to expose my neck. He took the invitation.
His two fingers explored my wetness below as our tongues wrestled for dominance above.
That’s when I jumped up.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Did you hear that?”
“Hear what?”
“I think someone’s in the house.”
Michael sighed and fell back onto the bed.
He didn’t say anything.
Maybe he was right. Maybe there wasn’t anybody in the house.
“What’s going on, Jess? You’ve been acting strange all week.”
“Nothing’s going on. I just thought I heard something. I felt something.”
“Yeah,” he chuckled. “That was me inside of you.”
“Don’t be an idiot. I’m being serious.”
“So am I. We were close to doing something we’d done every morning for the last six months, and then this week rolls around and I can barely get a kiss out of you.”
“It’s not like that.”
“Then what’s it like? Because this isn’t the Jessica I fell in love with.”
“Stop being so dramatic.”
I listened for what I thought I heard: the brush of a sleeve across a bare wall; that one creak the floor only makes when someone steps on that exact spot; the breath of a shadow in the corner of the room. Anything.
“You’re distancing yourself from me. There’s a disconnect. It’s not just the sex.” He sat up. “Jessica, I’ve been in situations before that I’ve ignored and it only got worse. I don’t want to do that again. We need to talk about it.”
“What are you saying?”
“The closer we get to our wedding day, the more it feels like you’re running away.”
“Are you kidding?”
“It’s serious.”
If he only knew.
“I don’t remember when it started, but you don’t look at me like you used to.”
He sounded like such a girl.
“There used to be love in your eyes,” he said. “It was enough to just be around you. I never doubted you for a second. Now that we’re a month away it’s like you’re second guessing us; like you’re checking out. Now when I look in your eyes all I see is resentment, like I’m stealing your life from you.”
“There you go again, making it all about you.”
“Jessica, I’m not trying to make it about me. I’m sharing how I feel. I’m scared. I miss you. I miss us, Jess. I love you.”
I hated when he said “I love you” at the end of his thought. It always made me feel I was obligated to say it back.
I placed my feet on the floor. The shock of the cold wood invigorated my legs.
“Please don’t just walk away.”
“I have to get ready for work.”
#
The comforting smell of freshly brewed coffee filled the bathroom mixing with the steam of the hot shower. For a moment I forget to remember the inevitability the day will bring. I turned off the water. What could I do? Tell him? I couldn’t tell him. He’d never believe me. Nobody does. I don’t even believe me.
#
My mug sat beside the coffee pot. There was a bowl of sliced kiwi and strawberries on the table. Michael stood at the stove frying eggs.
“Thanks,” I said.
“Of course. Eat up.”
I thought about stepping behind him and nestling my head into his back, or kissing his neck like he had done to mine this morning; then I saw the note on the fridge:
Thirty days hath September,
April, June and November;
All the rest have thirty-one,
Excepting February alone
Which hath but twenty-eight, in fine,
Till leap year gives it twenty-nine.
“Did you write this?”
“What?”
“The poem. Did you write this here?”
“What do you mean, ‘did I?’ Who else would have?”
“Why’d you do it?”
“Because it’s February 29th. We only get like 20 in a lifetime. It’s a magical day.”
“Well, the people in Scotland believe that if you’re born on a Leap Day, your life will be an everlasting stream of suffering and pain.”
#
How is anyone supposed to know what to do? Seriously. How do you know if the decision you make is the right one? Isn’t it enough to at least have had the courage to make a decision? It has to better than not making a decision, right? Don’t they see that? Can’t he see that I’m distancing myself from him for his own sake? To protect him. If only he knew. Christ. If only he knew, then there’d be no way he would love me. There’s no way he could. I should have never let it get this far to begin with. I don’t even love myself. How am I supposed to love anyone else? I just need to make it through the day. Just one day.
Just today.
#
I didn’t feel my head strike the steering wheel, but it struck. I opened my eyes to a half dozen blank faces staring at me. My foot was pressed on the brake and somehow I was in the middle of a lifeless intersection.
The cracked giant grill of a white SUV glared at me in the rear-view mirror.
I pounded the steering wheel with my fist. Why today?
I stepped out of the car and approached the vehicle behind me.
It was a woman. An Asian woman. She stared straight ahead. There was a young girl seated beside her.
“You have to be kidding me,” I said. “Why did you have to be the goddam stereotype?!”
Neither of them spoke. A black Mustang pulled up beside me. It was a young couple.
“We saw everything,” the girl said. “She was on her phone. She sped past us and straight into you. Do you want our number in case you need a witness in court?”
“Thanks.”
“Are you OK?” the girl asked. “You don’t look too hot. Maybe you should sit down.”
#
“I came as soon as I heard, baby. Are you OK?”
The fluorescent lights forced me to squint. I could barely make out the face, but I knew the voice: Michael. I looked around the room.
“You shouldn’t move your neck like that. They’re worried you might have a fracture.”
“Fracture? From what?”
“From your face hitting the steering wheel. Don’t you remember?”
“I think so.”
“You were rear-ended. Apparently you were coherent for the first couple of minutes after the accident, but then you collapsed in the street.”
“Jesus. Is my car OK?”
“Your car? You could have a broken neck and you’re worried about your car?”
“Don’t lecture me, it was just a question.”
“Sorry. I guess I’m still a little upset about this morning. When I got the call I thought the worst, I was terrified.” He paused. “Your car is a write off. Insurance will get you a new one.”
“Oh. That’s good.”
“Were you on your phone when it happened?”
“I’m not doing this right now. You can stay, but I’m not doing this right now.”
#
In a fog. Michael’s voice was accompanied by others.
“How long has she been out for?”
“She was awake for a couple of minutes when I first arrived, but she’s been asleep ever since.” That was Michael. “Maybe a couple of hours?”
“How was she when she woke up?”
“Honestly,” he said. “She was in a mood.”
“That’s Jessica for you. Once she digs in her heels there’s no talking with her.”
The voice sounded like my dad’s voice.
My dad!
I had to wake up. Why couldn’t I wake up?
“Are Julie and Paige coming?” Michael said.
“Yes, we all came together. They’re talking with the doctor right now. Julie’s worked with him before and you know how Paige is, always trying to network, so she’s stuck to Julie’s hip.”
They laughed.
“Paige has got to be close to finishing nursing school, isn’t she?”
“Final year.”
“That’s great, Stan. You must be proud.”
I imagined my dad grinning ear to ear. He had the smile of a politician.
“And how about you two?” he asked Michael. “Are you all set for the big day?”
“Just a matter of time now. I’m actually looking forward to it being over with. Get on with our lives. I think the pressure is weighing on her.”
“Hang in there, son. Julie was the same way during the month leading up to our wedding day. That was twenty-five years ago now.”
“That’s incredible. You don’t see too much of that anymore.”
“You sure don’t. But here we are, living proof.”
I pictured his big grin again. It’s not that hard to stick together when you and your spouse are both psychopaths. I needed to open my eyes. Why’d Michael have to call them? Why today?
“Do you need to take a leak or anything? Have you left her side since you got here?”
“Thanks. If you don’t mind I’ve been holding it since I got here,” Michael said.
“Take your time, stretch your legs. We’ll be here when she wakes up again.”
#
I felt a presence hovering over me. It descended closer. I felt its breath warm my face.
My body quivered.
“Hi Sweetie,” my dad said. “Daddy’s here now. Everything is going to be OK. Can you believe it’s February 29 again? How does the old poem go? Excepting February alone, which hath but twenty-eight, in fine, till a leap year gives it twenty-nine.”
He kissed my forehead.
“Rest now, little girl. You’re going to need all the strength you can muster.”
#
“Did you get it?” my dad asked.
“Of course,” my mom said. “Where’s Michael?”
“Giving his legs a stretch.”
“Is she awake?”
“It’s hard to tell,” he said. “I whispered in her ear and I thought I noticed a quiver, but I don’t know for sure.” Then he snickered, “She’ll wake up in hell soon enough.”
“I want to be the one that gives it to her.” That was Paige. “I am the nurse after all.”
“All right Sweets, it’s all you,” my dad said.
Paige moved around the bed. She stopped when she reached my side. She cupped my hand. The gentleness of her touch surprised me. She leaned into my face.
“You won’t notice right away,” she said, “but you will soon enough. You’ll be awake. You’ll feel everything. But you won’t be able to move. You’ll be screaming out of your eyes for us to stop and nobody will be able to hear you. You’re going to wish you were dead – but look around Jessica, you’re in the hospital. Their only job is to keep you alive.”
I heard my parents chuckle. I felt a coolness being carried through my veins. It reached down to my toes. It reached to the top of my head. Paige must have injected something into the IV.
“How do we know if it worked?” my dad asked.
“Well,” Paige said, “If she opens her eyes and doesn’t scream it worked.”
I didn’t open my eyes. I felt Paige holding my hand. I tried pulling it away. I couldn’t. She took my pinky finger, straightened it out, and rested something on the tip below the fingernail. I felt pressure. Why couldn’t I pull my hand free? A spike ran up my finger, up my hand, up my arm and into my shoulder, like when you press a tack by accident, my arm wanted to recoil but couldn’t. I wanted to scream but nothing came out. My eyes welled and then shocked open. My family started laughing. The pain tripled. Paige continued to press the needle under my nail. I was losing my breath. Inside I was shaking but I knew it didn’t show.
“What if she passes out?” my mom asked.
She sounded sincerely concerned.
“Just give her a little ephedrine.”
“You girls are sick,” said my dad.
“You’re just jealous I came up with the idea,” Paige said.
“Just wait till it’s my turn.”
#
My finger throbbed. Paige pressed my hand against the bed and snapped the needle. Its crisp crack bounced around the room. It felt like my finger had been sliced in two.
Paige replaced the medical sensor to cover the wound. My fucking sister. My parents. How could they do this to me? What else were they going to do?
A pricking burning scorched my veins. Fire blazed from my fingertip. I thought maybe like in a hot spring if I just didn’t think about it and didn’t move, the pain would go away. I couldn’t move, but not think about it? How could I not think about it? I may as well have been strapped to a bed in the Toy-Box Killer’s torture dungeon the way my psychopathic family was eager to pounce.
Where’s Michael? Why did he leave me with these monsters? MICHAEL!
#
“Paige,” my mom said. “Stand by the door and wait for Michael.”
“No fair,” she said. “I was just getting started.”
“We have to move quick; and we have to take turns. This is the first time we get to do it together. Go wait at the door.”
I watched Paige smirk as she walked across the room.
“Your turn Julie,” my dad said. “What are you going to do?”
“Watch and see.”
I knew the voice. She was a little girl about to poke a cat with a stick she spent hours sharpening in anticipation.
Her bulbous nose nearly touched mine. She kept it angled in arrogance as she calculated what she would say next. The light of the room ignited the tiny hairs above her lip and I knew if I could laugh at her for this it would send her into a rage.
“Hi Jessie,” she said. “I wish I could say ‘momma loves you,’ but, well, we all know that isn’t true.”
I wanted to spit in her face.
“Oh look Stan,” she said. “You can almost see the fear in those little blue eyes of hers.”
My dad moved in for a closer look. He hummed. “Isn’t that cute.”
“OK,” my mom said and pushed him aside. “It’s my turn.”
She flashed a razor in front of my face. It was a razor from my dad’s shave kit. The kind of razor that comes individually wrapped in wax paper, both sides of the blade sharpened to slice with ease.
“Your face isn’t as bloody as I hoped it would be,” my mom said. “But that’s life, isn’t it? I’m just going to have to make the best with what I’ve got, you know, play the cards I’m dealt.”
She used one of her hands to palm my face.
She set down the razor and unbuckled the neck brace.
She stroked my neck.
She wasn’t going to slit my throat, was she? She couldn’t. That would be too easy. She wanted me to suffer. Isn’t that what all these years have been about? To make me suffer for what I did? To make me suffer beyond the hell I put myself through every day? I did what I had to do. I shouldn’t have to pay for it over and over and over again.
Don’t.
Please mom, don’t do this. I’m sorry. I really am. Mommy, please stop.
I felt the sting when the razor pierced my skin. My heart raced. I saw my mom’s eyes shimmer. Her lips tightened to expose her sunken cheeks and hollow bags beneath her eyes. She stared at me.
“Relax Darling,” she said.
The sting dragged along my throat, then stopped.
OK. That’s OK. That wasn’t so bad.
My mom snapped her fingers in front of my face. I hadn’t noticed I’d averted my eyes.
“This is going to hurt,” she said. “But I need you to hang in there, baby. Paige has more to do and Daddy still needs his turn.”
I felt the razor dig into the slit. My mom pressed so hard against my neck I thought she would break it. A crack exploded the room. The pressure gave way. I gasped for air. I tried to reach for my throat, but my arms remained limp by my side.
“Pass me the tracheotomy tube, Hun,” she said.
The room began to fade. I couldn’t hear. I couldn’t breathe. My skin felt blue. There was more pressure on my throat. It was like choking on a chip that was being forced deeper and deeper inside me. The tissue grated like shredding cheese. My lungs burned. I sucked liquid copper. The taste filled my chest. And then I caught my breath. My vision returned. My mom tightened the neck brace and began petting my hair.
“There, there, Sweetie, there, there. Momma fixed you up real nice.” She smiled. “I think I may have dropped the razor inside before I ran the tube down though. Oops. Let me know when it starts to feel like drowning. It should be a little harder with each breath. Each nick of the blade on the inside of your lung will add just a little more blood. How many litres can they hold? It’s been a long time since clinical anatomy. What I do know for sure is: your chest will get heavy. You’ll taste it in your throat. You’ll want to cry out for help but no one will be able to save you. No one will be able to save you like that dying child you abandoned. What do you think his last minutes were like? Do you think he cried out for a mommy that wasn’t there? Do you think his begging landed on deaf ears? You’ll know his pain Jessica. Mark my words. You will know his pain.”
#
“Do you remember when Jessica was just a little girl and we were going to that Mexican restaurant all the time?” my dad said.
“Of course, Mya Riviera,” said my mom.
“It must have been her second birthday. She kept shovelling those tortilla chips into her mouth when all of a sudden she burst out screaming bloody murder.”
“Bone chilling.”
“All the wait staff ran over. All the tables stared. We thought she dipped it in the habanero sauce so we made her drink milk but she kept on screaming; those gumball tears pouring down her face.”
“I ran her to the bathroom and found that chip lodged in the back of her throat, its sharp corners digging in like anchors. She spat up blood.”
“It was terrifying,” my dad said.
My throat was on fire. My chest pooled. The room was closing in.
“Did I take it too far with the razor blade?” my mom asked.
“No, Julie. It was perfect.” He pulled her in for a kiss. “I love you baby.”
“I love you, too, Stan.”
“Get a room,” Paige said.
Everybody laughed. Everybody was always laughing.
“Glad to see your spirits are high,” Michael said.
So stupid. How could he leave me alone with these monsters?
I choked. Blood splashed the inside of the tracheotomy tube. Michael ran to my bedside.
“What’s going on? She’s bleeding out of her tube,” he paused. “Wait, why is there a tube in her throat?”
“She started choking while you were out. They cut a quick trach to keep her breathing. They think maybe a rib impaled one of her lungs when she hit the steering wheel.”
“Jesus.”
“I know. I hate seeing her like this,” my mom said. “I’m torn though.”
“What do you mean?”
“She wasn’t wearing her seat belt.”
“How do you know?”
“There’s no abrasion or bruising across her chest,” my mom said. “There would be if she was wearing her belt.”
“Christ.”
“I don’t know how many times we told her to buckle-up when she was a kid. She just never listened. Life is a cruel teacher.”
“I don’t know Julie. That seems a little harsh. I mean, look at her.”
Michael looked like he was going to cry. He loved me. I knew he did. I just didn’t know why.
“She has her ways,” he said, “and don’t get me wrong, I’m not always a fan of those ways, but she’s a good person. I’d never wish this on her in a million years.”
Paige hugged him. She rubbed his arm and shot me half-cocked smile.
“Oh Michael,” Paige said. “Mom didn’t mean it like that. We all adore Jess. It’s why we’re here. And you, mister. You are just the sweetest, most stand-up guy. She’s lucky to have you.”
“Don’t be silly,” Michael said.
“For serious. I mean, if I’m being honest, it’s crossed my mind a few times that if things didn’t work out between the two of you, I just might have to take a turn.”
Michael squeezed her close. He kissed the top of her head. “OK little sis.”
Everybody laughed, again.
#
I was 18 when I met him. Not Michael, Shelly, and it was love at first sight. My world stopped spinning. It was as if all the pieces had finally fallen into place. I know it sounds cliché, but it was real. I was smitten. He treated me like the only girl in the world. When he looked in my eyes I knew I was the only girl in the world. I wanted to be his forever.
We moved in together right away. Like, within weeks. The first day in the apartment, we were setting up the bedroom and he picked me up against the mattress and made love to me until we fell to the floor. It was amazing. There was always that passion between us. We were consumed with each other. We made meals together. We walked together. We talked even. How many people have a passionate relationship where communication is a cornerstone?
Right from the start we wanted to have children. And right from the start we were pregnant. I still remember the look on his face when I woke him up to tell him the news. Tears filled his eyes. His cheeks puffed an honest smile. He pulled me close and kissed my forehead. He said, ‘I love you, Jessie. I love you so much.’
And I felt sick.
Here I’d found the greatest man in the world and I couldn’t even be sure the baby was his.
#
“Kiss your fiancé then take me to the cafeteria. You’re little sister is famished.”
“Is that so?” Michael said.
“It is,” Paige said.
I swear I saw her bite her bottom lip.
Michael leaned above me. “You heard your sister, Jess,” he said. “We’re going to get the family some food, and you some flowers. You’re in good hands here.”
He kissed my forehead.
Please don’t go Michael. Please. I need you.
“I love you,” he said.
And I knew it would be the last time I heard anyone ever say that to me again.
#
Even with my eyes wide-open, my vision faded in and out. I got lost in a day-terror picturing my sister holding Michael’s arm as they walked down the hall. She was telling some silly story or laughing at everything Michael said even though he wasn’t being funny. They’d pass an empty room in an adjacent hallway and she’d bump him through the open door. Michael would laugh and turn to leave but she’d be advancing. He’d object at first, but he’s a guy, and despite my sister being a bitch, she has always been pretty. She’d press him against the bed and run her hands down the front of his pants. She’d tell him how she knows things weren’t going great in our relationship and how he deserves better and how he doesn’t have to reciprocate she only wants to service him; help him relax a little. His pants would drop to the floor and she’d kneel in front of him knowing there was nothing left of his resolve.
A solid mass struck the side of my face. I was jarred from my daydream as a numb, eye watering nausea settled into the back of my skull.
“Stay with us Jessica,” my dad said.
“Maybe we should give her a few milligrams of ephedrine,” my mom said.
“Yeah. There’s a good chance she’ll pass out on my go.”
The room became brighter. The metronomic sound of my heart on the monitor quickened. I could hear surgical tools being placed in metal pans somewhere outside the room. My eyes darted in every direction consuming my surroundings. The IV bag hung full. The TV remained off. The curtains were pulled back. The room was only my mom, my dad and me.
“Let’s see what you brought,” she said.
“You think you can handle it?”
“Bring it on.”
He shuffled around and said, “I call it ‘The Show Stopper.’”
My mom cocked her head in disbelief as if she wasn’t quite sure what she was looking at.
The finger monitor squeezed my pinky. The razor floated with each breath I took to cut just a little bit more of my insides. But I was right. As long as I didn’t move, which I couldn’t, the pain was present but not intolerable. All I needed was for Michael to walk in while my dad was doing whatever he was about to do and this would all be over. I only had to last a few more minutes. I could last a few more minutes. What’s a few more minutes?
“What have you done to my vibrator?” my mom asked.
“Relax Julie, I figured after this we’ll splurge on some new toys.”
“You’re sick.”
“She doesn’t deserve this?”
“Oh she does, but,” my mom paused. “Are you really going to fuck our daughter?”
“Paige is our only daughter,” my dad said. “Jessica is a whore and deserves a whore’s punishment.”
“So you’re going to punish her by excessive pleasure?”
“See for yourself; tell me if you’d find pleasure in this toy.”
I caught a glimpse of the purple device as he handed it to my mom. It looked like a regular vibrator: a blunt end for insertion, a handle to hold in position, and one of those tickler nubs for clit stimulation. It looked like the one Michael had bought me before he went away on that business trip.
“Turn it on.”
My mom pressed the button and the vibrator sprung to life.
The motor hummed like a tattoo gun. The silicon shook in my mother’s hand. Lengths of shining metal pierced the skin at a hundred miles an hour. The alternating blades looked like teeth ready to devour whatever they were put in.
An angular bit spun from the tip of the purple silicon. This was not a toy. This was a miner’s tool. This device was designed to borough deep into parts unexposed to the light. It would slice clean through me.
“Holy Christ,” my mom said.
“Didn’t know I was so technically inclined, did you?”
“This will kill her.”
“Isn’t that what we want?”
“You’re sick,” she said. “And I love every sick bit of you.”
She turned off the device and handed it back to my dad.
“The best part is,” he said, “if it doesn’t kill her, she’ll never be able to shame this family again.”
“Give me a kiss and I’ll go see if Michael is ready.”
#
I couldn’t bare Shelly finding out the baby wasn’t his. It would have killed him. I knew he’d love me and the child regardless, but every morning I’d see what I’d done; every day I’d see it in the baby’s face. We would have been doomed to live unhappily ever after, because of me. Because of me and my insecurities. So I pushed him away. I broke up with him. I told him I never wanted to see him again. I told him he didn’t owe me anything. I told him: go.
He went to my parents. He begged for advice. Nobody could make heads or tails of the situation. They apologized to him on my behalf. They called me. They showed up at my apartment begging for answers and I turned them all away.
I don’t know how they found out I wasn’t keeping the baby, but they found out. I didn’t abort or anything, I’m not a beast. I carried full term. I just gave him up at birth. I didn’t know he’d be born sick. How could I? Those things happen. I didn’t plan it. I made the decision to give him up before he was born. It wasn’t my fault. I gave him up because I thought he deserved better. I was sorry I failed him from the start and only wanted to give him opportunity. I didn’t think he’d get that with me. I did what I thought was best. I did. I…
Wait. Did she just say she was going to see if Michael was ready?
#
Inside I was thrashing to be free. I kicked. I pushed. I swung and scratched and clawed. Only my body wouldn’t respond.
My dad pulled the sheet. He lifted my gown and stared.
“Looks a lot different from when you were just a little girl,” he said.
My eyes filled with tears.
“Why do you look so sad, honey? Isn’t this a position you’re used to being in? Laying on your back, cunt exposed, eager? This is how they all did it, right?”
He hovered over my body and brought his face to mine. He bit his bottom lip. His hand traced the inside of my thigh.
I felt the warmth of a tear escape my eye and run down my cheek.
Please don’t do this daddy.
He brought his mouth to my ear.
Please daddy, don’t do this.
“I bet you’re dripping with excitement right now,” he said.
That first tear must have broken the levy. Both sides of my face were singed with a stream of water from my eyes.
I felt the sharpness in the base of my throat. My stomach convulsed but I couldn’t vomit. The razor that was forced down by my mom was now being pushed in the opposite direction. The weight in my chest was squeezing the breath from my lungs and forcing the blade back up my throat. It was stuck. The corners anchored into the cartilage. The blade bent with the pressure and dragged along the rigid tissue. The air from the oxygen machine was the opposing force.
I was going to die. Please let me die. Please. I’ve suffered enough. Please. I’m begging.
#
“You can’t put it in dry,” Paige said. “You have to spit on it first.” She paused and turned to Michael. “You’re familiar with that aren’t you?”
“You sound a little jealous Paige.”
“You’ve been sleeping with my sister. You don’t think I enjoyed that did you?”
“And you think I did? I was only doing it for you.”
“Well aren’t you chivalrous?”
“Get over here,” he said.
Paige obliged.
Michael gripped her nape and stared her in the eyes. He grinned my dad’s grin.
“I fucking love you Paige.”
He pulled her face to his own and they kissed like Shelly and I used to.
“Let’s put an end to this and get on with our lives,” Michael said.
“I’ll spit,” said Paige.
She blew me a kiss and smiled.
Andrew Lafleche is an award-winning poet and author of seven books. His work uses a spoken style of language to blend social criticism, philosophical reflection, explicit language, and black comedy. Andrew enlisted in the Army in 2007 and received an honorable discharge in 2014. Visit www.AJLafleche.com or connect with @AndrewLafleche on Twitter for more information.
What if ours weren’t the only reality? What if the past paths converged, if those moments that led to our current circumstances got tangled together with their alternates and we found ourselves caught up in the threads?
Marla returned home after the funeral and wake. She drew the key in the lock and opened the door slowly, the looming dread of coming back to an empty house finally sinking in. Everyone else had gone home with their loved ones. They had all said, “goodbye,” and moved along.
Her daughter Misty and son-in-law Joel had caught a flight to Springfield so he could be at work the next day for the big meeting. Her brother Darcy was on his way back to Montreal. Emmett and Ruth were at home next door, probably washing dishes from the big meal they had helped to provide afterward, seeing as their kitchen light was on. Marla remembered there being food but couldn’t recall what exactly as she hadn’t felt like eating. Sandwiches probably… she’d have to thank them later.
Marla had felt supported up until she turned the key in the lock after the services, but then the realization sank deep in her throat like acid reflux, hanging heavy on her heart – everyone else had other lives to return to except for her. She sighed and stepped through the threshold onto the outdated beige linoleum tile and the braided rag rug that stretched across it. She closed the door behind herself and sighed again. She wiped her shoes reflexively on the mat before just kicking them off to land in a haphazard heap in the entryway.
The still silence of the house enveloped her, its oppressive emptiness palpable – she could feel it on her skin, taste it on her tongue. It was bitter. She sighed and walked purposefully to the living room, the large rust-orange sofa waiting to greet her. She flopped into its empty embrace, dropping her purse at her side as she did so.
A familiar, husky voice greeted her from deeper within the large, empty house. “Where have you been?”
Marla looked up and glanced around. Her husband Frank was standing in the doorway to the kitchen, drying a bowl. Marla gasped, her hand shooting to her mouth. Her clutched appendage took on a life of its own, slowly relinquishing itself of her gaping jaw and extending a first finger to point at the specter.
“Frank?” she spoke hesitantly.
“Yeah,” the man replied, holding the now-dry bowl nestled in the faded blue-and-white-checkered kitchen towel in both hands. “Who else would you expect?”
“But you’re dead,” Marla spat, the words falling limply from her mouth of their own accord.
The 66-year old man looked around confusedly and turned to face Marla, his silver hair sparkling in the light from the kitchen, illuminated from behind like a halo. “What are you talking about? I’m just here washing up after lunch. You were gone so I made myself some soup. Where have you been?”
“No, I just got home from your funeral,” Marla spoke quietly. “You are dead. After the boating accident… You drowned. I went along to the hospital – they pronounced you dead on arrival.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Frank said. “What boating accident?”
“The sailboat… You were going to take me out,” Marla coughed, her brown eyes glossed over with tears.
“We don’t own a sailboat,” Frank said bluntly. “Sure, I’d thought about it – it seems like a cool retirement hobby – but it’s just too expensive. We’ve talked about this, we can’t afford it.”
Marla glanced out the bay window towards the driveway where the small sailboat sat on its trailer, its orange hull reminiscent of the Florida citrus industry, and also of the life jacket Frank should have been wearing when he’d been pulled under. Marla cringed and turned back toward the kitchen. She sighed and spoke again, “But the boat’s out front. The guys at the marina helped to bring it back… after you… drowned.”
Frank had retreated to the kitchen to put away the bowl. Marla followed. She stood in the doorway and studied the man intently. He was unmistakably her husband, there was no denying it even despite her having just witnessed his waxen lifeless body in the coffin at the wake before the burial, though this Frank was a slight bit more overweight than she remembered.
“Well, that’s not possible. Because I’m still here,” Frank grumbled. He turned to face her, his blue eyes edged with worry. “There now, it was probably just a dream. You knew I wanted a boat and your anxiety just formulated the worst-case scenario…”
“See for yourself,” Marla said, her voice lilting with every syllable.
Frank strode into the living room and stared out the bay window. The driveway was vacant save for some bits of Spanish moss strewn over the concrete from the neighboring live oak tree. He turned towards his wife.
“But there’s no boat,” he sighed. “You must have had a bad dream. Did you fall asleep in the car in the garage again?” Concern was written all over his face, deepening every crease and wrinkle. “Is that where you were? The garage?”
Marla glanced again at the boat, plain as day, and turned to face Frank. Her voice grew stubborn. “It’s right here. How can you miss it?” she said, pointing at the orange behemoth.
“Honey, there’s nothing there,” Frank exclaimed, exasperation creeping into his voice.
Marla huffed and strode to the entryway, gathering her shoes from where they waited in their haphazard heap alongside the braided rag run on the worn linoleum floor. She marched out the door as Frank took vigil in its open frame, still staring at her. She stomped out to the boat and slapped her hand on the fiberglass surface with a resounding smack. The boat was warm to the touch, having baked in the Florida sun. She turned back towards the front door.
“See!” she bellowed.
The door stood open, empty. No one was there, watching. Marla sighed again and walked back inside. The vacant house once again enveloped her in its oppressive emptiness. Frank was nowhere to be found.
So I guess it’s goodbye for now. Feel free to check out more of Jennifer Weigel’s work here on Haunted MTL or here on her website.
Today on Nightmarish Nature we’re gonna revisit The Blob and jiggle our way to terror. Why? ‘Cause we’re just jellies – looking at those gelatinous denizens of the deep, as well as some snot-like land-bound monstrosities, and wishing we could ooze on down for some snoozy booze schmoozing action. Or something.
Honestly, I don’t know what exactly it is that jellyfish and slime molds do but whatever it is they do it well, which is why they’re still around despite being among the more ancient organism templates still in common use.
Jellyfish are on the rise.
Yeah, yeah, some species like moon jellies will hang out in huge blooms near the surface feeding, but that’s not what I meant. Jellyfish populations are up. They’re honing in on the open over-fished ocean and making themselves at home. Again.
And, although this makes the sea turtles happy since jellies are a favorite food staple of theirs, not much else is excited about the development. Except for those fish that like to hide out inside of their bells, assuming they don’t accidentally get eaten hanging out in there. But that’s a risk you gotta take when you’re trying to escape predation by surrounding yourself in a bubble of danger that itself wants to eat you. Be eaten or be eaten. Oh, wait…
So what makes jellies so scary?
Jellyfish pack some mighty venom. Despite obvious differences in mobility, they are related to anemones and corals. But not the Man o’ War which looks similar but is actually a community of microorganisms that function together as a whole, not one creature. Not that it matters when you’re on the wrong end of a nematocyst, really. Because regardless what it’s attached to, that stings.
Box jellies are among the most venomous creatures in the world and can move of their own accord rather than just drifting about like many smaller jellyfish do. And even if they aren’t deadly, the venom from many jellyfish species will cause blisters and lesions that can take a long time to heal. So even if they do resemble free-floating plastic grocery bags, you’d do best to steer clear. Because those are some dangerous curves.
But what does this have to do with slime molds?
Absolutely nothing. I honestly don’t know enough about jellyfish or slime molds to devote the whole of a Nightmarish Nature segment to either, so they had to share. Essentially, this bit is what happened when I decided to toast a bagel before coming up with something to write about and spent a tad too much time in contemplation of my breakfast. I guess we’re lucky I didn’t have any cream cheese or clotted cream…
Oh, and also thinking about gelatinous cubes and oozes in the role-playing game sense – because those sort of seem like a weird hybrid between jellies and slime molds, as does The Blob. Any of those amoeba influenced creatures are horrific by their very nature – they don’t even need to be souped up, just ask anyone who’s had dysentery.
And one of the most interesting thing about slime molds is that they can take the shortest path to food even when confronted with very complex barriers. They are maze masterminds and would give the Minotaur more than a run for his money, especially if he had or was food. They have even proven capable of determining the most efficient paths for water lines or railways in metropolitan regions, which is kind of crazy when you really think about it. Check it out in Scientific American here. So, if we assume that this is essentially the model upon which The Blob was built, then it’s kind of a miracle anything got away. And slime molds are coming under closer scrutiny and study as alternative means of creating computer components are being explored.
Jellies are the Wave of the Future.
We are learning that there may be a myriad of uses for jellyfish from foodstuffs to cosmetic products as we rethink how we interact with them. They are even proving useful in cleaning up plastic pollution. I don’t know how I feel about the foodstuff angle for all that they’ve been a part of various recipes for a long time. From what I’ve seen of the jellyfish cookbook recipes, they just don’t look that appealing. But then again I hate boba with a passion, so I’m probably not the best candidate to consider the possibility.
So it seems that jellies are kind of the wave of the future as we find that they can help solve our problems. That’s pretty impressive for some brainless millions of years old critter condiments. Past – present – perpetuity! Who knows what else we’d have found if evolution hadn’t cleaned out the fridge every so often?
Feel free to check out more Nightmarish Nature here.
Continuing our junkyard dawg werewolf story from the previous St. Patrick’s Days… though technically he’s more of a wolfwere but wolfwhatever. Anyway, here are Part 1 from 2022, Part 2 from 2023 and Part 3 from 2024 if you want to catch up.
Yeah I don’t know how you managed to find me after all this time. We haven’t been the easiest to track down, Monty and I, and we like it that way. Though actually, you’ve managed to find me every St. Patrick’s Day since 2022 despite me being someplace else every single time. It’s a little disconcerting, like I’m starting to wonder if I was microchipped way back in the day in 2021 when I was out lollygagging around and blacked out behind that taco hut…
Anyway as I’d mentioned before, that Scratchers was a winner. And I’d already moved in with Monty come last St. Patrick’s Day. Hell, he’d already begun the process of cashing in the Scratchers, and what a process that was. It made my head spin, like too many squirrels chirping at you from three different trees at once. We did get the money eventually though.
Since I saw you last, we were kicked out of Monty’s crap apartment and had gone to live with his parents while we sorted things out. Thank goodness that was short-lived; his mother is a nosy one for sure, and Monty didn’t want to let on he was sitting on a gold mine as he knew they’d want a cut even though they had it made already. She did make a mean brisket though, and it sure beat living with Sal. Just sayin.
Anyway, we finally got a better beater car and headed west. I was livin’ the dream. We were seeing the country, driving out along old Route 66, for the most part. At least until our car broke down just outside of Roswell near the mountains and we decided to just shack it up there. (Boy, Monty sure can pick ‘em. It’s like he has radar for bad cars. Calling them lemons would be generous. At least it’s not high maintenance women who won’t toss you table scraps or let you up on the sofa.)
We found ourselves the perfect little cabin in the woods. And it turns out we were in the heart of Bigfoot Country, depending on who you ask. I wouldn’t know, I’ve never seen one. But it seems that Monty was all into all of those supernatural things: aliens, Bigfoot, even werewolves. And finding out his instincts on me were legit only added fuel to that fire. So now he sees himself as some sort of paranormal investigator.
Whatever. I keep telling him this werewolf gig isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be, and it doesn’t work like in the movies. I wasn’t bitten, and I generally don’t bite unless provoked. He says technically I’m a wolfwere, to which I just reply “Where?” and smile. Whatever. It’s the little things I guess. I just wish everything didn’t come out as a bark most of the time, though Monty’s gotten pretty good at interpreting… As long as he doesn’t get the government involved, and considering his take on the government himself that would seem to be a long stretch. We both prefer the down low.
So here we are, still livin’ the dream. There aren’t all that many rabbits out here but it’s quiet and the locals don’t seem to notice me all that much. And Monty can run around and make like he’s gonna have some kind of sighting of Bigfoot or aliens or the like. As long as the pantry’s stocked it’s no hair off my back. Sure, there are scads of tourists, but they can be fun to mess around with, especially at that time of the month if I happen to catch them out and about.
Speaking of tourists, I even ran into that misspent youth from way back in 2021 at the convenience store; I spotted him at the Quickie Mart along the highway here. I guess he and his girlfriend were apparently on walkabout (or car-about) perhaps making their way to California or something. He even bought me another cookie. Small world. But we all knew that already…
If you enjoyed this werewolf wolfwere wolfwhatever saga, feel free to check out more of Jennifer Weigel’s work here on Haunted MTL or here on her website.