A Haunting of Words

by Brian Paone et al.

  “It’s my birthday. Where’s my cake?”

  She jumped as the words belted from Jimmy’s mouth through the doorjamb. She took a deep breath and opened the door. Jimmy squatted and laughed.

  “Happy birthday,” she said as she forced her mouth into some semblance of a smile. She wouldn’t get any rest until Jimmy had his cake.

  Linda walked downstairs. She stumbled, grabbed for the banister, and braced herself for impact. A moan escaped as her hand bent against the stairwell. Sharp pain shot through her wrist and she tumbled. Her head bounced against a wood panel. She lay on the steps, half dazed, with her hand on her forehead. She flexed her wrist. Not broken, only a sprain.

  Jimmy stood above her smiling. His stick horse lay strategically across the third step. She pushed herself from the floor with her good hand and staggered up the steps.

  “Here.” She handed the horse to Jimmy before limping into the kitchen.

  She’d have to make an icepack for her wrist. It had already begun to puff and turn purple. She flinched as she laid the cold pack across her throbbing forearm. She stared at olive swirls on the kitchen table and blinked back tears. How had her life come to this? How had she become terrified of her own child? The very child, once a part of her, growing inside her, now a stranger.

  She braced her forehead with her free hand. She wanted to let the pain escape, but she didn’t. She wouldn’t let Jimmy see her cry.

  Jimmy skipped into the kitchen. Linda wiped away her lingering tears before he could see them.

  “Is your arm okay, Mommy?” he asked.

  She rummaged through the cabinets. “It’s fine, just a bump. What kind of cake do you want, sweetie?” she asked as she produced a mixer and cake pans.

  “I want chocolate,” he said.

  Linda reached into the pantry and grabbed a box of cocoa.

  “No … Vanilla—I want vanilla,” he said.

  She sighed, tiptoed, and fumbled in the cabinet. After a moment, she found a small brown bottle with Vanilla printed across a white label. She pulled the drawer, which always seemed to stick, and retrieved a measuring spoon. She poured the fragrant liquid into the spoon.

  Jimmy’s eyes followed her as she carefully measured the vanilla.

  “I want strawberry,” he said, before his mother could start the mixer.

  He lowered his head and pretended to concentrate on a little yellow dump truck he’d been pushing through a flour mountain. Linda leaned against the counter. No need digging around the entire kitchen for his entertainment.

  He watched her from the corner of his eye. His truck stopped and the side of his mouth curled. “I want them all!”

  Linda set the extract on the counter.

  “Jimmy, honey, don’t you think three cakes are too many? You can’t eat all of them. And anyway, that’s a lot of work.”

  He narrowed his eyes at his truck and his grin faded. His fingers wrapped around the metal dump truck and squeezed. He glared at his mother, with the truck clasped in his right hand. Linda gasped and shuffled backward, trapped between Jimmy and the counter.

  The same steel glare had burned into Peter’s lifeless body. His ladder had toppled. Jimmy was with him when the accident happened. The only witness. When she found Peter, Jimmy stood over him, staring with wild eyes.

  “I said I want all three. Make me all three or you’ll be sorry.”

  Her eyes widened. She gaped at Jimmy and the metal truck in his hand. Her hand trembled as she ran her finger over a pink scar above her lip. She quickly gathered the ingredients in her arms, the pain in her wrist now forgotten. Getting pegged in the head with a truck wasn’t what scared her. What she wouldn’t see coming did. She missed Peter but wasn’t ready to join him, not yet.

  She mixed, measured, and baked three cakes. Afterward she set them on the counter to cool. While they cooled, she scrubbed dishes and swept the flour Jimmy had left on the kitchen floor.

  Two hours later, the kitchen was spotless and the cakes decorated. Linda flopped into the chair and dabbed sweat from her brow with her tattered apron. She still had to survive the toy store. She sighed and called Jimmy.

  He ran downstairs, jumping the last two steps, stopped, and stared at his cakes. Tears filled his eyes, and his face turned red.

  “I wanted cupcakes. You’re so stupid!”

  His fist smashed the chocolate cake. Brown chunks splattered the floor. Linda flinched as bits of cake smeared her face. He lifted the strawberry cake above his head and let it drop. When Jimmy finished, a pink and brown pile of slop covered the table, the kitchen now a birthday cake disaster.

  Tears stained her cheeks as she mopped and scrubbed the floor, cleaning the kitchen once again. She dumped the last bit of cake in the trash. Hopefully he’d like the toy store. She’d already upset him. The toy store was her last hope. If he didn’t like it, there would be more than a toy dump truck waiting for her. A lot more.

  Jimmy sulked in his room while Linda showered, washing cake from her face and hair. She poked her head through his door. Hopefully he’d had enough time to relax. He sat on his bed, arms crossed.

  “Ready for the toy store, honey?” she asked.

  “No! This day is stupid, and you’re stupid, with your stupid cake.”

  “You can pick any toy you want.”

  Jimmy jumped from his bed. “Anything? Promise?”

  She nodded, a promise she’d soon regret.

  Jimmy sprinted from the car. He ran through each aisle, knocking toys from their shelves. Linda lagged behind, head hung, reshelving toys. She held a bag of little green army men toward Jimmy.

  “How about this?” she asked.

  Jimmy slapped her hand and soldiers scattered across the floor.

  “No! That’s for babies,” he said, then ran.

  Linda searched the aisles, pondering a variety of toys. Each one she presented was either rejected, thrown on the floor, or kicked aside. Jimmy rummaged through a bin of giant rubber balls. They’d been in the store for hours. Linda yawned and leaned against the rack.

  She’d tried everything: puzzles, board games, even an electric scooter. Each time, Jimmy refused, leaving a trail of disregarded toys behind him.

  He ran to the back of the store through a door. The sign read, KEEP OUT.

  “Don’t go back there,” she said.

  He ignored her pleas and scurried into the back, slamming the door behind him. Linda followed. She coughed as dust tickled her throat. The stench of mold drifted into her nose. Boxes of stuffed animals lined the storage room walls, waiting to be shelved.

  She scanned the room. A chill ran up her spine. Rows of dolls encased in plastic sleeves watched her. Their eyes followed her through the room. An overhead light flickered. Linda held her chest and glanced over her shoulder. Something moving around the corner caught her eye.

  “Jimmy?”

  No one, only a toy castle. The peaks rose to her chest. Green and red flags topped the towers. Linda slid her hand over the rough stone walls. Dead peasants littered a long courtyard, and a wooden drawbridge guarded its entrance. Plastic figures, painted precisely, gathered in a circle near the entrance. She held one of the figures and studied it, each line and blemish flawless. The fallen soldier’s face twisted in torment.

  She dropped the soldier. “Ugh.”

  A king peered through his window. He scowled at the kneeling peasants, pleading for their lives. Linda’s heart drummed. She stepped closer. Something strange about the castle, something she couldn’t quite place, shook her. Linda eased her hand to the toy, mesmerized by its grotesque majesty.

  Jimmy ran behind her. She jumped and jerked her hand back. He gazed at the castle with his mouth open.

  “Wow,” he said and stuck his head inside.

  A gold rug, trimmed in red, adorned the stone floors. Pictures of royalty cluttered the walls, and oil lanterns lined the mantle of the fireplace, emanating a warm yellow glow. He opened a door in the hallway. Stairs led deep below into a dung
eon.

  Plastic prisoners lay strewn across the floor, starving. Others were chained against a cold rock wall. They watched Jimmy through the tiny door. Their hollow eyes burning into his. Jimmy laughed, flicked his index finger, and thumped one of the peasants across the dirty dungeon floor.

  “I want this one. I can be King. Look, it has a dungeon.”

  Some of the knights’ limbs were severed. Flesh and tendons hung from their wounds. Linda winced. One of the peasant’s head lay in a basket, sliced by the guillotine. Shards of flesh and veins dangled from his neck.

  She shuddered, nauseated by the sight. “I don’t know … It’s pretty graphic.”

  “You said I could pick what I want. I want this … You said!”

  Jimmy spat, a slimy wad landed on her forehead and oozed over her face. She wiped away the saliva with her sleeve. Great, another fit.

  Linda pulled her credit card from her wallet. “Go find a clerk.”

  Jimmy ran from the room with a giant grin on his face. He returned with a skinny, pimple-faced stock boy.

  “When will it be here? I want it now!”

  Jimmy sat by the door and stared out the window. Surely they’d be here soon. The longer the driver took, the longer Jimmy would bug her.

  The delivery truck turned into the driveway, and two plump men stepped from the truck. They hoisted the castle upstairs. Linda handed two five-dollar bills to the gentlemen while Jimmy pieced his castle together.

  He’d be happy for a while at least. Most toys didn’t last through the day. The newness faded in an hour or two, leaving her tormented by Jimmy. She snuck into her room and locked the door. Hopefully the television would drown out the sound of Jimmy and his imaginary battle. Her eyes drifted shut as she thumbed the pages of a book.

  Images of Peter filled her dreams. They walked together, holding hands. Tears spilled from her eyes. Peter pulled her toward Jimmy’s room. When he opened his door, a courtyard appeared. The castle stood before them, no longer a toy. It was beautiful, and it was theirs. He pressed his body against hers and kissed her deeply.

  “Everything’s going to be okay,” he whispered.

  The sound of horses galloping pulled her from his arms. This wasn’t a dream. Sweat beaded on her forehead. She wiped tears from her eyes and glanced at the alarm. 4:20 a.m.

  “He must’ve left the television on,” she mumbled and threw back her blanket.

  Galloping sounded from Jimmy’s room. When Linda reached the door, a green light filtered beneath. She slowly opened the door. A yellow glow radiated inside Jimmy’s closet—his nightlight. Definitely not the green light she’d seen.

  Jimmy sat on the floor, his eyes fixed on the castle. She placed her hand on his shoulder. He sat like a statue, unmoving.

  “What are you doing up this early?” she asked.

  “Just playing with my new castle,” he said, his eyes still planted on his toy.

  “Did you have the television on?”

  He shook his head.

  “It’s too early, honey. Go back to bed.”

  Linda flinched as soon as the words left her mouth. Before, he would have hit her for such a suggestion. She clenched her eyes and waited.

  Instead, Jimmy stood, stiff as a board, turned, and climbed into his bed.

  A week passed and Jimmy hadn’t bugged her once. One glorious week. He kept to his room, with his castle. Noises chattered from beyond his closed bedroom door throughout the night. Every time Linda entered his room, she found nothing, only Jimmy playing. She ignored his infatuation with the castle for a while, enjoying the peace that came with the toy. He was occupied with something besides tormenting her, and that was fine. No interruptions, no little boy barging in demanding this or that.

  Though she loved her newfound peace, she had to admit Jimmy had been acting weird.

  “Jimmy, I’m talking to you,” she shouted.

  His eyes didn’t move, remaining transfixed on his castle.

  She shook her head and stomped from the room. All he did anymore was sit in his room and play with that stupid castle. His face was pale, his eyes bloodshot. He didn’t eat, didn’t sleep. He woke in the middle of the night, and she’d usher him back to bed. She’d had enough.

  “Jimmy, this is the third time, now come down for dinner,” Linda yelled from the kitchen.

  No answer.

  She grabbed a potholder and slammed a pan of lasagna on the counter. Jimmy’s favorite. Surely the smell would entice him from his room. She sat at the table and waited.

  Twenty minutes later, Linda poked the cold lasagna with a fork. Enough was enough. She grabbed a trash bag and stomped upstairs. She would be strong, not back down, no matter what tricks he pulled.

  She snatched two knights from Jimmy’s hands and shoved them into the bag.

  His eyes widened. He clutched her wrist and squeezed. “What are you doing?”

  “This thing is going in the trash,” she said, shoving a handful of horses in the bag.

  Jimmy jumped in front of the castle and spread his arms. “No! You can’t. It’s mine. It’s special.”

  Linda hooked her arms underneath his and lifted him. The toe of his boot slammed into her shins. Pain throbbed in her bone, and she dropped Jimmy on his bed. He buried his face in his pillow and sobbed as she disassembled the castle. First the tower peaks, then the door. He followed her outside, begging her to stop. Piece by piece, she carried the castle to the dumpster.

  Her heart sank into her stomach. She lowered her head and took a deep breath. She was a horrible mother. No, no she wasn’t; it had to be done. She dropped the bag in the Dumpster and slammed the lid.

  Jimmy sat on the floor gazing at the empty space.

  “Why don’t you go ride your bike?” she asked.

  He didn’t move.

  “Fine, I’m going to bed.”

  She slammed his door, leaving him in his room to stare at the wall.

  “To the dungeon, peasant!”

  Linda sprang from her bed. The little brat had dug the damn thing from the trash. She stormed down the hall. That was it, she could take no anymore. This time there would be a spanking.

  The castle sat in the middle of Jimmy’s room, reassembled. Linda’s mouth hung open. No way he’d carried it upstairs himself. Jimmy was nowhere to be found. She tiptoed to the closet and flung open the door. A pile of dirty clothes and a baseball bag sat in the corner, but no Jimmy. Where was he hiding? She snuck to the edge of his bed and knelt.

  A voice spoke. She stiffened and turned her head toward the castle. Unable to decipher what the voice said, she crept to the edge of the mattress and peeked around the bed. Nothing.

  Linda turned to leave. The voice spoke again. A green glow filtered through the castle. Her heart pounded and she stepped closer.

  “Mommy—Mommy, help,” a muffled voice said.

  Her body trembled as she peeked inside the wooden doors.

  “Help me please!”

  Linda wiggled farther inside. Her hand shook as she opened the tiny door in the hallway. When she placed her eye to the opening, a figure appeared.

  Deep inside the dungeon, a plastic Jimmy lifted his arm. “Momma,” he cried.

  She screamed. Her back thudded hard against the wall. She planted her face in her hands and sobbed. Her baby was gone. It was all her fault and Jimmy was gone. Her heart beat into her throat; she swallowed hard. Her only child, her precious, sweet …

  Her tears stopped. Heartbroken sobs turned into hysterical bouts of laughter. Jimmy was gone and he’d been gone for a while now. The little plastic boy locked in the dungeon was not her child, he’d never been.

  Yes … Jimmy was gone and everything was going to be okay.

  I can never leave this place.

  This is where I was living when Jenna and I fell in love. The breakfast bar in the kitchen was where I asked her to move in with me. The sheepskin rug in front of the fireplace was where we celebrated her promotion—first with champagne and then with
our bodies, limbs entwined, like we were one invincible being. The antique bed, with its ornate copper frame, was where we curled up together every night, my knees spooned behind her, my arm draped across her stomach.

  Every inch is filled with her—her and the happiness she brought me before the accident shattered everything and took away the love of my life.

  I came through the door after our first date with a warm sensation low in my belly and a fluttering in my chest I hadn’t experienced before. A mutual friend had set us up, and my expectations were low. But her smile was warm and genuine, her eyes sparkled with mischief, and the stories she told about her human resources job were surprisingly entertaining.

  She agreed to see me again. And then again. Love hit me like a line of cocaine. I craved her like oxygen. She had bewitched and enslaved me, but I loved every moment of my incarceration.

  We would spend hours talking over a glass or two of Merlot, sharing our hopes and dreams, planning our life together. She had moved in after just a few months, and we took our friends’ jokes with good humour, relishing being a lesbian cliché. I was the dreamer, and she was the planner. Together we visited new places, learned new skills, and braved amazing adventures. I loved who I was when I was with her—she made me the best version of myself.

  I see glimpses of her sometimes; flickers, shadows skittering across the wall like beams from the headlights of a passing car. I see her pouring coffee in the mornings, a slow, sleepy smile brightening her face, her blonde hair wild from the pillow. I see her phoning her mum, her head resting on the sofa arm, her slender fingers entwining the cord of the vintage telephone she paid way over the odds for.

  These momentary flashes comfort me, even whilst I doubt their veracity. The first time I caught a glimpse of her after the accident, it didn’t frighten or even unsettle me. I just knew I was home.

  I know I should move on, that it’s not healthy to remain so firmly fixated on someone I lost, but I can’t say goodbye. And while I’m still here, it’s like she’s still here too; I can pretend for a moment the accident didn’t happen.