The First Culling

by Michael Eicherly

  Linda looks beneath the sink cabinet. She shuffles through the bottles of shampoo, soap bars, toilet paper, curling irons, and other feminine needs. She grabs a pint bottle of Vodka, places three pills in her hand, and drinks. She starts to convulse for a moment, then holds back her vomit. Linda walks to her bed, and turns down the covers. She lays down and thinks about her father’s funeral, about Frank, his mistress, and the sex he’s having. She likes sex to. She likes it very much. Everyone says how beautiful she is. If fact, she looks better than any other woman in the neighborhood, and there are over six-hundred homes. Then her kids. Her kids, the reason for her existence. She says a quick prayer. “Father, please look after this family. Don’t let us fall apart. Not like Mother’s, not like my brother’s. Please, Father, don’t let this happen to us. You know I have always loved and obeyed you. In the name of your Son and his blood shed on the cross. Amen.”

  Linda opens her nightstand table and takes out a Ron L. Hubbard book. The title is ‘Stress’. Linda opens the book very gently. She takes a deep breath, then wipes her eyes. This is where I’ll stay the rest of the day, she thinks. This is where I can stay forever.

  The automatic garage door opens, as Frank and the kids are sitting at the dining table. When Linda is upstairs, Frank does his best Rodney Dangerfield impersonation. Rachel looks at Frank and begins shaking her bare-legged feet. Frank looks down at her manicured black toenails and smiles. Frank is his favorite of all Cindy’s friends.

  “Well, look at what we have here? Look who’s decided to grace us with his ungodly presence. Or maybe we should charge him by the hour. From what I’ve heard, this is the way you get it.” Frank Says.

  Cindy’s face now turns to dismay. She heard Frank’s tone. Shit will soon hit the fan. Maybe worse. It always happens on Saturday mornings when Steven stumbles in like one of the ‘Rat Pack,’ stinking of stale beer and French perfume.

  "Hey, well look who graces us with is presence? Mr.-king shit’. Frank looks at Steven, smirks, finishes his beer, then pounds his fist on the table.

  “Hey, asshole, where you been? Oh, let me guess, you scored too many touchdowns last night, you were to tired, got stoned, and just couldn’t find your way home. Better yet, phones don’t exist in your world. Not at a keg party. No way, dude.”

  Steven looks at Cindy, Matthew, and Grandma. Grandma walks up to Steven. She kisses him on his forehead. Grandma, as always, will intervene to lighten the situation. “Hey there, Grannie. Alright, Russian pancakes. My favorite.”

  “You’re not getting any,” says Frank. “And you look like shit. Didn’t I tell you not to come and go as you please. This isn’t a damn hotel, boy! Get your shit together. If you think I’m fucking around, try me. Wait until your eighteenth, you’re gone.” Frank finishes the rest of his beer as he glares at Steven, he crushes the can then throws it at Steven, just missing his head.

  “You’re out of here!” exclaims Frank.

  Steven places his hands over his face trying not to laugh out loud. Last time he laughed as his father, he ended face down in the pool. Linda gave CPR, bringing him back.

  “Dad. Relax, I was with Kim last night.” Grandma places a breakfast platter in front of Steve. Grandma looks at Frank, smirks then looks at the girls. She orders them to clean up, as she exits to her bedroom. Grandma takes refuge in her bedroom, and always keeps the door locked. She skillfully knits slippers, table clothes, and bedspreads by hand. They say they are gifts for the children when they marry.

  “Relax, he says, fuckin’ relax? Even Friday it’s the same crap with you, son. Worst part is disrespect. You forget who pays the bills around here, buddy boy. Who pays for the gas and insurance for that 68 Camaro SS?”

  Steven quickly begins eating. The faster he eats, the faster he can get out of there. Rachel looks downward, nervously shoveling her foot. Matthew stands up and runs out the front door. Cindy takes a few plates and Rachel follows. Cindy asks Frank about IOWA Hawkeyes and Clemson. Not a word spoken. Frank’s just warming up. Cindy knows this, the whole neighborhood will soon hear it. She hopes Frank does not hit Steven in the face again, or even worse crack one of his ribs again. Then Steven will stand in front of Frank breathing heavily, eyes front, fist clutched, and red faced.

  "This is my house! Yells Frank. I pay the fuckin’ bills around here! What part of house and mine does this asshole not understand?’

  Steven drops his fork down, then stands up quickly. He looks at Frank with hate in his eyes. He thinks about moving, he thinks about the job offer at the lumber yard, with Mr. McCormick. He thinks about Kim. Forget school, forget football, forget this blasted house.

  “Remember, boy, who bought you the Camaro for. You know I’ve had offers on it already.”Why does such an ungrateful son drive a beautiful car." All original they say. Best part is Steve, I own the pink slip. The fuckin car is mine." Steven looks at Rachel. He decides he must hold his ground. She will talk Monday. And I have a reputation to uphold.

  Frank stands up and throws an upper cut right in Steven’s abdomen. Frank’s face is red with anger. Eyes are piercing, dilated black. His right fist begins shaking. Steven lays on the floor gasping of air.

  “You want a piece of me. Uh, you little shit. Why don’t we take it to the back yard? Handle this real men.”

  Linda, first sitting on the stairway, listening; now runs downstairs. She runs so fast, her bathrobe flares from behind. Linda forgets she is topless, her breast and vaginal area partially showing.

  “Stop this! Damn you, I’ve had enough of this. I won’t tolerate this behavior in my house. Enough, damn it, enough. Frank, enough!”

  “I just lost my appetite,” Steven says. Steven takes two steps backwards, eyes fixated on Frank. He turns and runs down the hall, through the laundry area, out the garage door.

  “Later, asshole!” Yells Frank.

  Linda looks at Frank and places her hand over her heart. She glares at Frank. Looks as if she’s ready to take a butter knife and jab it into his ear.

  “Why do you always do this Frank?”

  “Do what?”

  “Driving him away. He’s a good boy and stays from trouble.”

  "No. He’s not a good boy, and I always catch him fuckin things up. A good boy, shit; all that littler fucker does, drive my car, spend my money, and work on getting Kim pregnant. I say we sell him to El Salvador before its’ too late.

  "Why do you always do this, Frank? Why? You know he’s in love. He’s no different than you when you were his age. We did the same things he’s doing now.

  “Yeah, and look at us, a fuckin disaster.”

  “What do mean push him away?” I’m a good father. He’s the rebellious one. Linda, I spend more time with the kids than you."

  “That’s bullshit Frank.”

  "No, No, listen. I have my comfort zone, you have yours. Mine is ballgames, some gambling, having with a few guys at the pubs. Frank walks to the wet bar to make whisky highball. Franks looks over Linda with disgust. In his mind, he is starting to think he can do better than her

  “Linda, cut the shit. He’s an ungrateful, cocky little shit. He doesn’t work, he is never home, his grades are average. God only knows where his money comes from.”

  “Frank, you are pushing him away. Can’t you see that?”

  “Not now, Linda.”

  “You complain about your son drinking, yet you drink a fifth every other day.”

  “Well at least I don’t lay around in that disgusting robe all day, taking bills, and drinking vodka. Take a good look at yourself baby. Oh, and nice job hiding the booze and the pills.”

  Linda throws Frank’s breakfast plate against the dining area wall. The shattering plates slashes Cindy in the forehead, Blood hits the floor by her foot. As Cindy looks to the floor, the blood dissipates through the tile

  she sees the blood vanish in the hardwood floor. Cindy will not say one word.

  “Shut the fuck up. Damn it! Who do you think you’re talking too? Huh. Throwing
plates and glass now? This, is my house! I pay the fuckin’ bills round here.” Frank begins pacing back and forth in the dining room area as he rants on and on about his success and everyone else’s failures.

  Franks walks to the refrigerator and grabs another beer. He opens the beer, takes a drink, sighs with satisfaction, then looks over to everyone.

  “You know, Linda, when I come to think of it, you’ve done nothing for twenty-five years. Nothing but sit on your ass, visit doctor feel good, and waste my money.”

  The room is completely silent now as Frank sits in his favorite La-Z-Boy. He grabs the remote for the television. An advertisement with a Vietnamese man going on about how he makes money buying homes in America. His secret costs only $199.00 for three monthly payments. Frank looks at Linda and takes a drink of beer.

  “I’m so tired of this house,” says Frank. “I work my ass off supporting everyone. What do I get in return? Nothing. I get no respect. Even asshole Bob says I can do better.” Linda looks over at Frank and starts crying. Rachel has a look about her of total disbelief. Cindy has her hands in her face and totally ashamed by her family’s behavior.

  “You girls clean up the dishes. Ok? I’ve had all I can take for now.” Linda tries to make amends with Frank. She remembers what she read in Hubbard’s book as well as the Bible. She loves Frank. She has fought too hard to let this family be destroyed. Especially by lack of communication and respect for each other. Linda will get this family back in church. She and Frank will go to Nice for vacation.

  “Frank, you want me upstairs?” Linda’s voice is soft and sensual.

  “No!” says Frank sternly.

  Linda turns away and slowly walks upstairs. As Linda slowly walks up the stairs, she pulls up her silk robe. Frank bought her the pink and red rose with matching slippers. It was from Victoria Secret. All of Linda’s sleep and lounge clothes is from there. Frank looks at her, and sees her smooth milky thighs, her perfectly shaped buttock, and outline of her breast. She looks beautiful to Frank. He adores her bedhead and running eyeliner. Best of all, he can smell her Ralph Lauren Perfume. Damn that smell drives him wild. Door shuts in the background.

  Linda quietly grabs her erotica book, and playboy movie. and lays back on her bed. She will no doubt pray again. Most of all, she will never give up on Frank. She wants Frank now and will have him. She removes an old small black book that sits in her pillowcase. The cover is written in Old Irish. Her mother gave it to her as a marital aide. It has been on the woman’s side of the family for over nine-hundred years.

  Linda takes a Vicodin, then opens a bottle of wine. He lights four yellow candles in the room, draws the blinds, and begins to chant. She sprays perfume over the bed sheets and thinks about making love to Frank. Not the usual love making, but wild, dirty, filthy uninhibited sex. She wants him inside her mouth more than ever now. And she will prove it when he enters the bedroom. She places a black sheet on the floor. Yes, this is good, Linda think to herself. this is where I will kneel down. I will place this special occasion, black, silk sheet in front of the television. I will wear loop earrings and stiletto heels. I will wear my up.

  When he stands in front of me, I will blindfold myself. There he can watch his most favorite erotic movie from the 1970s. I will not stop loving my husband until, he moans, and cries no more. I will not stop until the black silk is drenched with our love. I will not stop until I hear his body collapse on the floor.

  I will not stop until we lay in bed together. We will eat take out and stay undressed until Monday morning. This is my husband Frank. He belongs to me for all eternity.

  A knock on the door is heard outside the master bedroom.

  “Honey, baby it’s me. I’m sorry, you know I’m an asshole sometimes. I am wrong. You look so beautiful, and I must have you now. So, open up this fuckin door and let’s get it on.”

  Chapter Eight

  The Night Before

  Tara is in a restless sleep. She hears voices of ancient souls that awake her. She recognizes who they are. They see her, fondle her. They tell her it’s time to go home. They tell her when she’s home, they can make love with her. They tell her who her enemies are. They tell her that she’s special. That her grandfather wanted this program for her. It’s because they love her. They tell her since the time she was fourteen, she has potential. A kind of potential her father inherited. They tell her that Frank wants you, he wants you as his partner and lover. They tell her he is waiting at her home. All you have to do, is get rid of Linda. They tell her many things. Things she not-dare repeat to her psychologist. They tell her the neighbor up the street wants Cindy. He watches her while she sleeps. He feeds on her dreams and wants to show her pleasures of the world. Things that will make her money. Things that will lead to stardom, even Hollywood. Things that are to be kept secret between them. Tara is intrigued. She claims she can communicate with them, with her mind. Your mother needs you. A visitor sits on your home waiting for you.

  She hears her mother’s voice and wakes immediately. She looks at the clock reading 3:00 am. 3:00 am again? she thinks. It’s always 3:00 am. Why do they always wake me at 3:00 am? Her hands tingle, so do the balls of her feet. Her muscles ache, and her bones feel if they are on fire. Her brain feels like she inhaled three balloons of nitrous oxide. All she can do is shake off the pain and pray. She tries to pray, however, like always; finds it difficult. The voices she hears become louder, more forceful more demeaning. Sometimes at home she sleeps with her Bible. She learned this from a friend, who attends an all Christian in Costa Mesa. the voices touch her body. The rub her private areas and tell her to masturbate. They teach her the pleasures of older men like Frank. She learned this can be comforting When she prays, she tells her psychologist that evil voices mock her. Not only her, but God. Her psychologist responded by prescribing Doxepin 50 mg.

  Tara shakes off the pain throughout her body. Her spine cracks as she stretches. She sits up, sweating profusely. It is raining outside. A broken tree branch scrapes on Cindy’s window, taunting, teasing her. The other girls are asleep. Cindy is snoring, her body twitches. She smiles with satisfaction.

  Tara has too vomit again but won’t. She will wait until she’s home. After that, use her mother’s ‘energy reader.’ She keeps it in a redwood box, neatly tucked under her bed. On the box, displays an ancient Hindu symbol. She was told that some people wear the symbol around neck for protection Once, a train in Taiwan. The only survivors were people who wore this symbol. She will walk around the house using the charm, it tells her when the evil spirits are Then, she may be finally able to sleep. Another voice in her head speaks about Frank.

  I would not do this, Thinks Tara. But is it really a bad thing?

  Everyone thinks the worst of me. Fact is, I have only had sex once. It was done without love but with violence and toxins.

  I always vomits when I wake. We’re your friends, they say. Nobody loves you like we can, Tara. Look at your mother, they say. She doesn’t love you. Tara. Go home now. She looks at her pink gown, then smells her armpits. Thinking how gross she feels, she rolls of the wet dress and pulls a white tank top over her. Then she slips on her favorite pair of Levi 501s with the handmade bleach spots; don’t forget the little tears above the left knee. It’s sexy, she hears. They continue taunting to her. Tara looks around Cindy’s room and sees a picture of her, Tara, and Rachel on the bookshelf. Tara picks up the picture and rubs her index finger over their smiling faces. She looks over Rachel and Cindy. She won’t say a word to wake them. The rain is pouring so loud outside, it sounds like millions of quarters are being dropped by God on the pavement. The thunder sounds like a garbage can hitting the bedroom window, then lightning so powerful the room goes white for a split second. Tara rubs her hands over her arms and shakes. She looks out the window and sees a tree branch scraping at the window. It looks like a human arm and long finger scraping, then gently tapping the window pane. She stares at it closely. The scraping noise and finger tapping sounds escalate in her
head. Tara looks at the window and whispers to herself. She swears in her head that she hears a voice laughing outside the window. Tara knows who it is. She’s heard this voice in her sleep a thousand times before. The voice of an old decrepit man. She never knew who he is or was. All she knew was he touched her. Touched her in places that no man ever touched before. And it made her feel sick. Now after the story of Old Man Harris, she feels completely ill. Tara finishes dressing, then looks over Cindy and Rachel. They appear to be sound asleep. Tara walk out the bedroom door looking at her friends again. She fears this might be the last time she sees them. She always feels this way when she leaves the sleepover.

  Tara leaves the front exit door and walks down the driveway. The rain is pouring so hard she can barely see in front of her. She looks down shining cul-de-sac and thinks she sees a big, pink, full-figured man for a moment. Huge shoulders, barely any neck, slouched downward. She shakes her head and the figure is gone. She walks down the sidewalk looking back and forth, then quickly turns around. The thunder claps so loud, she thinks her ears might explode, then the white lightning flashes again. Her heart starts accelerating as she feels faint. She decides to make a run for it. Run as fast as she can until she makes it home. It’s only one block away. If she concentrates, she’ll make it. She runs and hears footsteps behind her. It’s the sound of big feet. Similar to that of a large animal. The sounds are similar to that of huge slabs of meat being thrown on the sidewalk. She stops and looks back for a second. The sounds get more prevalent as she runs even faster. She can feel the skin on her bare feet begin to tear. She pays no attention. It’s not the first time these devils have taken blood from her. The stomping feet from behind her get closer. “Leave me alone!!!” Tara yells at the top her lungs, hoping someone may hear. Tara finally is in front of her front door. She drops the keys, then struggles picking them up. As she leans over, she feels a sharp needle-like pain penetrate her heart. She tries again, with no success. She looks towards the street, hearing the sounds of footsteps walking slowly towards her. “Shit!” she says, as she trembles and continues struggling. She finally places the key in the lock, opens the door, and then slams it behind her.