9 Tales Told in the Dark 11

by 9 Tales Told in the Dark

  I stood there in the hallway, with the bitter taste of ashes in my mouth, for several minutes, contemplating my next move. What was I supposed to do? Just runaway, leave this godforsaken place and forget about the profit I could make by selling Livia´s values? Or pull myself together, grope my way into the living room and collect the bag, my crowbar and my flashlight, thus reducing the probability of me getting caught – not that I cared very much any longer, I was simply too occupied in dealing with my feelings of horror, and the agonizing feeling of guilt which was growing in my stomach. I took a deep breath, inhaled slowly through my nose, exhaled abruptly through my mouth, and then began moving calmly into the living room, with my right hand constantly placed on the wall, so that I could feel my way through the darkness.

  I entered the living room, and I immediately became aware of the frigidity which had the room in its grasp. I felt goosebumps appearing and the hair standing up on my arms and my neck, as a result of the frostiness. Slowly, slowly I made my way through the room. When I had dragged her body from the middle of the living room – were I had finally killed her – to the sofa where she was now positioned, I had left a slithering trail of blood behind me – as from a gigantic, wounded slug – and when I stepped in it now I nearly slipped and fell, but I managed to stay upright. The first thing I found was my flashlight and my crowbar, both items placed on the coffee table. The crowbar I left lying there, but the flashlight I grabbed with stiff and cold fingers, and I held it tight in my grip, for fear of losing it. I immediately flicked it on and let is bleak ray scan the room. Once again fear struck me with a ferocious blow. The corpse was still placed on the couch, though I could have sworn that I had placed her in a more upright position, so that it almost looked as if she was sitting casually. But now she was almost lying down, with her bashed head placed on one of the armrests. It is okay, it is okay, I repeated to myself. Maybe she just fell over? Remember that she no longer has any working muscles. But who switched of the TV?! And who made the creaking fucking sounds? Yet, as disturbing as that was, it was not the thing that worried me the most. The thing that once again made me wonder what vicious, malevolent forces were at work here, in this apartment on this hideous night, was the fact that my bag had obviously been moved during the short period of time that I had spent in Livia´s bedroom the second time, checking if I had left any valuables behind. I had apparently been clumsy and placed my bag in the pool of blood, but I was certain that I had placed it closer to the coffee table, and not so close to the very couch, were it now stood. Now – maybe I would have been able to persuade myself into thinking that I had simply misjudged the position where I had place my bag, had there not been a smeared trail of blood between my bag and the coffee table. A smeared trail of blood, indicating that someone had dragged my now rather heavy and ungainly bag across the floor, so that it was now placed nigh to the armrest of the couch. Immediately my body became as cold as the room itself. What in God´s name is happening in here? I can that I did not place it… there. Why would I? So close to her?

  I was no longer sure that I even wanted the bag, since it now appeared tainted, or even infected with whatever forces were at work here. I bit my dry lips and forced myself into calming down. Pick up the fucking bag! Think about what you have had to go through during this robbery! Do you want to leave this place empty-handed?

  I certainly did not. I took a deep breath, a breath that had a foul, loathsome smell of decay all over it, and moved over to the couch. The beam of my flashlight was flickering violently, since my hands were not very steady, as I crouched down next to the armrest, and grabbed the handles of the bag. My face was now on the same height, and not more than a few inches away, from Livia´s gruesome face which rested on the armrest; and the charnel stench was almost too much to handle. I carefully started to pull the bag towards me, but it seemed to be stuck in something and did not move an inch. I stooped, leaned even closer to the armrest and Livia´s disgusting body, in order to find the obstruction, and the terrifying event that then occurred was so trifle as to almost pass me by unnoticed. But the second which followed, I understood the meaning of what I had seen, and a flood of indescribable horror gushed over me. Livia blinked. Her very eyes were so lifeless, so hollow, and yet her eyelids were moving up and down. No one could have survived the injuries that I had inflicted upon her, and yet she was showing signs of life. It is impossible! It cannot be that she is still alive! It is unthinkable! It is… It is some post mortem reaction, that is all. Her eye lids are to heavy to stay… open. Of course. It has got to be that way. That might have been rational, if you ignored the fact that not only had her eyelids shut themselves, but they had also opened again.

  For a brief movement I almost wanted to throw myself into Livia´s arms and express my immense sorrow and ruefulness, but fortunately I did not. It did not take more than a mere moment for me to realize that the thing before me on the couch was moving; yet far living. The harsh, wheezing sound of her malfunctioning lungs pushed me over the edge of sanity, along with the guttural, insidious sound extruding from somewhere deep inside of her, a sound that no living human could ever utter. A sound that had to be coming from something, or someone, else. In an instance, before my very eyes, her body decayed violently, as if ten years of entombed had elapsed in single second. Her hair lost its luster and glow and became thin and grayish, her skin became moldy and rotten, the nails turned long and yellow, her cheeks collapsed into her mouth and I could hear the patter of teeth falling from the gums, like pennies hitting the ground, her body became emaciated – to the very extent as to where you could almost spot the contours of her ribs through her shirt – her tongue became black and the stench in the room abruptly turned even more horridly repugnant, as if she had been lying dead in there for decades. All this took place before my wide open, intimidated eyes. And then it all stopped, the hellish, guttural sound coming from inside her ceased, and the putrid smell hanging thick in the air was all that was left. I did not even dare to move. I could not comprehend what I had just witnessed and sat paralyzed in awe, in shock and in terror. And then she suddenly lashed out, fiercely reaching after me with her meagre, bony, festering fingers and long nails. I could feel her bloodless hand groping after my face and threw myself backwards, away from her, in sudden fright – the very touch of her demon hand was more than my already weakened mind could take – but in my clumsy attempt to escape the being that were endeavoring to catch me I dropped the flashlight. And it broke, once again leaving the room in complete darkness, and abandoned me to my doom.

  I sat stiff on the floor, paralyzed and in the ruthless grip of agony, and the only thing I could think of was the last thing I had seen before the light went out – the hideous being on the sofa before me, which possessed the physical appearance of someone long dead, and yet it was moving rapidly, reaching after me. I did not for a moment pretend to be oblivious about the demons intention – it was clearly after revenge. Vengeance. After all, I had unrightfully claimed Livia´s young and aspirant life. For a brief second I actually considered just sitting there, giving up the struggle and surrender to her wrath, such were my feelings of shame, of affliction and of mourning. But I lack the mental capacity to just plunge into certain death, and could not induce myself to her cold embrace. With thoughts such as these I once again sat in obscurity and shadows. But the darkness was in one peculiar way relieving, since it also meant that I did not have to behold the unspeakable vision of abhorrence that I knew were no more than a few feet away, tough I knew that the monstrosity was still there. I heard her, could not stop the sounds from reaching me. Her bones were creaking and cracking; and her emaciated skin made abhorrent sounds as it was stretched out to its utter limits, over her twitching, contorted limbs – like a rubber band stretched to the point of snapping – and once again she gave off that harsh, guttural sound. For some reason – perhaps because of my impending doom – I managed to discard my helpless, crippled state, and decided to try to head for the door. Very cautiou
sly, and while keeping the breathing to a minimum, I started to move backwards, dragging my body across the floor. I did not want to stand up until I had reached the entrance to the living room, from where I could make one final, desperate run for the door. My heart was close to bursting, and I dearly hoped that the dead woman did not have remarkably good hearing or vision, since that would mean the end for me. To my surprise, it seemed that the guess had been accurate.

  Occupied as I was with breathing softly, moving quietly and dealing with my fears, I still could not help but perceive that the vile sounds had ceased. Despite all the glistering fortunes I had acquired that night, I could still not afford the luxury of hope, but something inside me told me that I might have a chance of getting out of this somber fantasy. From what I could make out by listening to the lurking creature´s sound, it seemed disoriented and confused. Perhaps it could not see very well in the gloom, and perhaps I was moving to quietly for it to perceive my sounds. Maybe I had a chance of escaping!

  But as I said, I did not dare to hope. And still something inside of me asked me if I even wanted to survive? I had brutally murdered the only woman I had truly loved – if such a thing existed – just for a stupid, worthless robbery. I had used her life to pay for my expenses!

  I forced myself into pushing away such thoughts. I had to get out! Suddenly I felt the firmness of the wall to my back, and I knew that I had the hallway down on my right, and at the end of it the front door, and behind it – freedom. Or at least it would be known as freedom to any other man, a man who´s shoulders did not carry the weight of a gruesome murder! To my left I had an unspeakable creature from the depths of dementia. Gently I stood up, pushing my back lightly towards the wall and trying not to breathe at all. I closed my eyes, preparing myself for the rush that I would go through with just a mere second later.

  Then my faith was decided, and my doom sealed!

  A sharp sound rang through the room, probably caused by a sudden movement from the demon, and in fright I instantly threw myself backwards, hitting the wall hard. Oh, how I cursed my stupidity in that damn moment! I threw myself backward, right upon the light switch, and my weight was of course enough to flick on the lights!

  The second later the room bathed in bright, shining light which was burning my eyes, and lightening up every corner, every angle, and every bloodstained detail. And the demon.

  The horror which then gushed mercilessly through my body was more than I thought that any human could handle! There, right next to the living room table, was the contorted, twisted body of that which had once been Livia, moving around with twitching, disturbing movements, like a dying, trampled-on insect, with half fits body crushed. Her arms and legs were bent at the elbows and knees, and at her shoulders and hips, in impossible, sickly disturbing angles – as if her bones were utterly shattered – and the sight made me want to puke. She was crawling around like some abnormal crab with her contorted limbs, dripping blood from her wide open, monstrous gap.

  I could literally feel my skin adapting a pale, bloodless shade, and I pressed my eye lids together, so that I would not have to see the abomination in front of me. With staggering steps I tried to make it to the front door, but now my hope had vanished. The demon was slowly gaining on me, playing with me like a cat with its prey, since it knew that I could no longer escape. I stopped, opened my eyes, and gazed right upon the beast. For a mere second, I almost thought that I could distinguish something that resembled a smile in her contorted, bashed-in face. But maybe I was mistaken. Then she lashed out for me, smooth like a reptile, with her broken, boneless limbs swaying and bending in unfathomable angles. In a second she was upon me, ran me down and knocked me over. I prayed that my death would be quick, but when she started breaking, shattering and pulling out my bones – one by one – thus making me as deformed as she was, I understood that my demise would be far from painless. I twisted back and forth in indescribable agony and pain, yet the pain was also subordinate to something else.

  Weirdly, the suffering did not bother me that much. I could not fathom a life with the unbearable burden of murder on my mind, and was almost, in one way, happy to die. I felt that the least thing I could do for the only woman I had ever loved, was to make sure that she got her retribution. I closed my eyes and submitted myself to her wrath, and to throes worthy of hell.

  THE END.

  THE MAZE by Douglas Kolacki

  All my life, my memories have chased me. Now I've spent weeks waiting for them to catch up--weeks of idling in the dark, breathing paint fumes since I nailed down the windows, shuttered them over and brushed the glass tar-black. The living room picture window and the kitchen door leading out to the breezeway, I boarded up. The front door I only locked, because this is all about getting the hell out when I'm done. Of course I should have known to wait until the paint had dried before sealing myself in, and in July yet!

  Now I sit in Gramp's old leather recliner with no light except the flickering candles I'd placed around the room--two on the coffee table, one on the unplugged TV in a corner, and one on the mantle--dressed only in gym shorts with sweat trickling down my back, head throbbing from the paint smell. I sleep off the headache only to have it return. A hundred times I've almost opened the front door for a breath of clean air, but I never have. Not knowing the exact rules, I can't risk breaking them.

  I peel myself off the recliner and head through the dining room, grabbing a candle on the way--it sputters and almost goes out--to the kitchen where I'd packed the cupboards with Power Bars and plastic two-dollar bags of trail mix, peanuts and raisins and bits of white yogurt. I grab one of these and tear it open. The chocolate and peanut butter Power bars have gone soft from the heat, the wrappers sticking when I try to pull them off. Should have foreseen that too.

  A hallway runs from the dining room to the back bedroom; Twin and I used to run up and down it when we were little, after Siss moved us out here from Connecticut. I walk it now and sniff the warm jungle air in each room, then back up the hall to my grandparents' old bedroom by the kitchen. Same reek there, too. I hold up the white candle and study the walls, chewing.

  Something is there. The faint outline of a face, a big one that could swallow my whole head, all eyes and wide mouth with too many teeth, everything exaggerated and twisted like a funhouse mirror.

  I shut my eyes, count to sixty, then look again. It's still there. And not only that, another one above and to the right of it, barely discernable as if painted over with thin whitewash.

  A knock sounds at the front door.

  I almost jump out of my gym shorts. Chill! Just some salesman, okay? I sold vacuum cleaners myself once in this town of Erlanger, Kentucky, or at least made some attempt at it before my Navy days. I'm sneaking back through the dining room when the knock sounds again, louder. I stop and hold my breath. Men are talking outside the front door. I can't quite make out their words, but one of them is laughing. I'm wondering what he's laughing about when all at once he shouts for me to open up, they know I'm in here.

  My heart is thumping. I don't recognize any of the voices. I haven't even seen this town since I left the Navy some seventeen years ago, on my way to San Diego. Should I call the police? Then I remember the phone's disconnected.

  After a moment the raucous voices fade, and I hear a car start and drive away.

  I let out my breath and curse. I might have had that phone turned back on, just in case. I swear I didn't think any of this through.

  ###

  I quit my title company word processor job to return to Erlanger and ruin my grandparents' house, the old homestead where I lived during second grade and innumerable weekend visits after Siss found us a two-bedroom apartment in Cincinnati. "Siss" was the one child my parents had before us, the only one they ever thought they'd have, a slender girl with auburn hair that caught the light, who possessed what today might be called a supermodel's poise. It was the gray November of both their existences when we twins surprised them. Too late, it seems; birt
hing us proved too much for Mother's aging body. Dad followed three years later from lung cancer, passing away in the same Danbury, Connecticut hospital where we were born. By this time, Siss was a newly divorced woman of twenty-five, and we passed into her custody.

  Twin--not my exact copy, but red-haired to my brown and an inch taller--is busy with his family back in California; he advised me to sell this place and open a retirement account. Gramp worked at the steel mill that owns the park down the street. It has a magnificent swimming pool big enough to hold the whole neighborhood, where we celebrated the 1976 Bicentennial. It was here where three guys I'd never seen before in my life descended on me with name-calling, ridicule, and shots of spit. Why? What did I do? I never even knew their names. It burned with the lingering pain of someone slashed with knives and left to bleed. Twin was there the whole time--why he never intervened, I don't know. I never brought it up afterward, and neither did he. It seems unbelievable now, but I accepted the whole thing as normal, as if getting harassed and spit on by complete strangers was perfectly good and acceptable.

  Yes, this place should do very well.

  There's a painting I saw during my school years, in a Life Science Library volume called The Mind, published 1969. I later learned it's on permanent display at the Bethlehem Royal Hospital Museum in Kent, England.

  In 1953 a man named William Kurelek showed up at the hospital and asked to be admitted. Nowadays people would call him schizophrenic, but he faltered when trying to put into words what seethed inside his head. But he could paint.