Today I let my alarm beep for two hours. A new world record. I laid in bed with a full bladder and a severe case of crotch rotch. You know that perfect equilibrium of musk and stank that men accumulates, by not bathing. I laid there in my filth, just listening to that inferno nuclear war-like, warning of a ringtone.
Yep, two hours is my limit. The trifecta of stank, having to piss, and the migraine that baked to the sound of my alarm ringing got me out of bed. I almost broke my phone into pieces. Would have too if I didn't have to run to the toilet. Afterwards I took what had to be my first shower in weeks. Just like I did the last time I cleaned myself, I fell to my knees and wept. I didn’t have to look up. Through the steam and shower curtain I could feel her tiny eyes watching me. Always watching. I stood up and screamed. “Say something, God damn it!”
Of course, like always only silence was returned. I turned the shower off and numbly stepped out. I almost slipped on the wet, dirty linoleum. I braced myself with the sink. I reached over and grabbed the cleanest looking towel from a hanging shelf. The small Asian girl didn’t move as my arm had to pass through her head to grab the towel. As always I got the cold chills, like placing a wet arm through a deep freezer. Her eyes followed me as I left the bathroom. I changed into red jogging pants and a green sweater. My last two remaining pieces of clean clothes. I looked around my filthy home. It was just a matter of time before I lose this palatial house. I haven’t paid my mortgage in the last six months.
I thought back to my wife walking through the empty rooms, waving her arms around, planning where she would hang this painting, where she would place the credenza. The other couples at the open house were giving us the evil eye. No matter we laughed. We knew this house would be ours. After all, we were putting down half the asking price for the six bedroom Victorian style three story. It was once so full of warmth and happiness. Now it was silent as a tomb. And just as filled with dead things.
I opened the refrigerator, the old woman with the half burned face was waiting inside. No matter how many times I see the old bat I still yelped and jumped out of my socks. “God damnit!” I grunted as I reached for one of the cartons of milk that was only lightly expired. I slammed the refrigerator door on her.
I glanced at the wall clock. It was almost 3 P.M. My wife would soon make her appearance. I sighed as I made a bowl of Frosted Flakes. I flicked a few moldy pieces out of my bowl and ate. I thought about my finances. My savings has been depleted for a week now. For the first time in my adult life, I had no income coming.
My mother had carefully suggested that I finally file my insurance claim. I turned to the refrigerator. The unsigned document hung by a small magnet. The magnet was a circle picture of my two boys. Taken on a field trip to the Smithsonian. They both smiled at me from the picture. Those faces had so much hope and dreams in them. I picked the magnet up, letting the document fall and spread out on the floor. I cupped their tiny faces in my palm and placed it over my heart. I opened my hand and looked at their faces again.
Tears welled in my eyes. I knew that when I look up I will see their grotesque, swollen and knotted faces staring at me. I sighed and placed the magnet back. I picked the document up and walked past my two sons, as they stood hand and hand in front of the dining table. Blood had already starting to pool around their feet. I walked back to my bedroom. The little girl who always waits in my bathroom had actually stepped out into the hallway. Our eyes locked. Well I should say my eyes locked into her eye. Her left one was hanging by a bloody vein. It gently swayed in a breeze that didn’t exist. “This is a first. Will you always wait in the hallway? Because that would just be great for my bowel movements!”
Expecting no answer as usual, and not getting one I closed my bedroom door and slumped back into bed. At the foot of my bed stood Angry Black. Well that is what I call him. I know that is racist but I didn’t know how else to refer to him. It wasn’t like he would ever tell me his name. And I have had people stand next to him, I have tried to take his picture and video record him. Nothing. No one can see him and his picture cannot be taken. So Angry Black is his name. Out of all the apparitions, he was the only one who showed any emotions. It was Angry Black that I communicated with the most. I would tell him about my nightmares and discuss the intricate difference between malt and rye.
Angry Black as always, stood there seething at me silently. He was tall with a bald head and a goatee. I can tell in life he was considered very handsome. He was also the most put together apparition. With only a lightning bolt crack running down the front of his head. You can barely see his brain. His mouth was pulled back in an angry sneer.
I looked at him thoughtfully. “What are you saying to me now Angry Black? Are you cursing at me for answering my phone? For taking my eyes off the road for a split second?” Do you curse at me for taking away your loved ones? Which is it? The Asian child in my hallway? The old lady in the kitchen? The tall blond lady in my garage? Or maybe you hate me because your loved ones is still alive. But you’re stuck here with me.” I reached for the glass on the small table next to the bed. I practically inhaled the last of my scotch.
I cursed. I would have to leave the house to buy more drinks. Maybe even get some food and laundry detergent this time. I instantly remembered my money issue. The issue being I don’t have any more. I placed the empty glass down and picked up the insurance paper. I have read it over a thousand times. Still, my eyes go to the same paragraph, ‘By signing this agreement, you are hereby absolving B.M.W. of any responsibility and fault to include any future judgment and/or settlements’ I picked a pen up. I hovered over the signature line. I dropped the pen and cursed again.
“Absolve!” I rolled my eyes. I looked at Angry Black. He was pointing at me this time. “I should be in jail, Angry Black.” My mother made sure that didn’t happen. Even after I cried into her lap like a child and blubbered how my carelessness took 7 innocent lives. She slapped me and told me that no son of hers will ever go to jail. She used the lawyers from our company. They went after the car manufactures, the emergency responders even the families of the victims. All to ensure that no Hamilton will ever have to spend not even 1 day, answering for their crimes.
It was three o’clock now. Time to see my wife. I left the bedroom. Angry Black silently stabbed daggers into me with his eyes. I walked downstairs. The winding staircase presented the double doors of the front entrance. She was standing there of course. Her hair was greasy with blood. The impact of the crash dented the front of her face. A jagged tooth was pushed out through one of her cheeks. “Hi baby.” I quietly greeted her. As she always did she had her hands folded over her chest. As if she was hiding some great secret from me. I sat on the stairs and watched her. She swayed back and forth on the balls of her feet. Much like she would do in life. Especially if music was playing. No matter what she was doing, she would sway to any music subconsciously.
I reached into my pocket and pulled my phone out. I thumbed through an app and selected it to play music downstairs. Radiohead started to pulsate out from the tiny speakers in the corner of the walls. It was her favorite band. Even if she could smile in response her face was warped and bloody. Pieces of her tongue littered her neck. I cried again. “Glenda, I don’t think I can take it anymore. I know a price must be paid. I know what I have done. I deserve this and more. I am too much of a coward to end it. If I know you would be waiting for me on the other side with the kids, I would…” I paused. In my other pocket just like always was the small snub nose pistol that I inherited from my grandfather.
I have had the barrel against my head, in my mouth, and under my chin too many times. I pulled it out. “Just nod or shake your head. Wink to me. Give me any indications that this is what you want!” I pleaded. She swayed silently holding her hands against her chest. I dropped the gun. As always nothing. Soon she would disappear. She was the only one who appeared and disappeared in regular intervals. Even her deformed and bloody form was my only sliver of happiness each day. She started to fade away.
I ran to her. My hand passed through her shoulders. “Glenda! Please! Give me some indication. Talk to me! I would willing go to hell right now if I could be with you and the boys!” I screamed in frustration at her silence. A trickle of blood and teeth fragments drippled down her sideways mouth. I dropped my hands to my side and sighed. She stop swaying back and forth. I froze. This was a new movement from her. Just like the Asian girl in the bathroom, something different was happening today! “Glenda! What is it! Show me! Tell me! Please!” She opened her hands. I gasped as I looked down.
She held a bloody bean in her hand. No. No, God, no! Tiny black stalks of eyes protruded from its tiny head. I backed away. She looked up at me, extended both hands out as if presenting a gift to me. I screamed. She took a step forward. I backed into the steps my hands brushing the cold steel of the gun. I pointed it at her as she took another step towards me. The small form in her hands twitched. I killed 8 people! There are prolific serial killers who haven’t taken as many lives as I have. I pointed the gun at her. “God damnit! Stay away from me Glenda!” Why wasn't she disappearing as she usually does?
I squeezed three shots off. The glass on the doors broke as the bullets passed through her. She continued to approach me. She leaned down towards me as if I was to pick up the small chunk of our child. No! I screamed again.
This time I didn’t hesitate, I didn’t overthink it, I didn’t try to fight. Everything I ever heard about suicide is bullshit. I felt everything. The hot bullet erupting in my ear. My brain separating as the bullet dug a path though my head. My eyes still functioned as I watched my brain matter and blood seep from the tiny hole. I lay at her feet. She didn’t disappear, she didn’t move. She waited. Now, I too watch. The gun held in my hand still smoking. Blood and sinew cascaded from the side of my head. My mother screaming at me to say something, to say anything, to leave her in peace. I ignore her of course. I watch. I wait.
The End
Submitted August 16, 2016 at 03:37AM by Xerede http://ift.tt/2bvqZSo DarkTales
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