by Неизвестный
That night, we realized that Booger Man had indeed been playing a game with us all those times that he chased us. He was not nearly as slow as he acted. He stared down in horror at the wasted booze soaking his clothes then, bellowing his rage, took off after Jimmy at an impressive sprint. Jimmy was probably the fastest of all five of us, but he wasn't fast enough. Booger Man caught up to him and grabbed him by the back of the neck, slamming Jimmy into the ground. He pulled his leg back to deliver a kick that would have broken Jimmy's ribs, but he never got that far.
The Roman candle was in my hand, though I have no memory of grabbing it out, and Monica lit the fuse, ducking away at the last second. My aim was spectacular. An orange ball of fire shot from the tube and hit the Booger Man square in the chest, nearly knocking him off his feet. He shrieked and flailed his arms for a second as we watched in astonishment. The flames from the alcohol were initially almost invisible, until the actual cloth caught fire, and then he lit up the night. I still can't believe how quickly he was engulfed. The smell was terrible, as his filthy rags and hair burned. The screams were worse. I've never again heard such anguished sounds from a human being and hope I never do.
I was shocked into immobility. I just stood there and watched him burn, doing nothing to shield my eyes from the sight, or spare my ears that horrible keening. Then he was walking towards me, burning arms outstretched, his eyes already blinded by smoke and flame. He got close enough that I could see the flesh of his face melting and crisping all at once (if you have never seen a person burned alive, I will never be able to adequately describe it for you, but I can say that images of candle wax and bacon still haunt me). He would have had me then, but Jimmy kicked him in the knee, and the Booger Man collapsed in a burning heap. Jimmy rubbed his burning shoe furiously against the ground to put out the flames. Then we all ran, as fast and as far as we could.
***
By the time we reached my backyard, Monica had convinced us all to keep quiet about the whole thing. She said we would go to prison if we told, and since she was by far the smartest of the group, we believed her. To drive her point home, she also reminded us of the bad things that happen to boys in prison, though I'm still not sure how she knew about these things, or if we even fully understood what they were. We all went to bed that night without uttering a word to anyone. The next morning when a jogger found the smoldering remains of Walter Simmons, the investigators quickly declared it an accident. He had clearly passed out with a lit cigarette, and caught fire when the volatile liquor spilled on his clothes. If anyone noticed the spent firecrackers littering the ground, no one mentioned it. The adults, the town, seemed relieved. Five kids had accomplished the one thing that our elders had been unable to do. We had gotten rid of the Booger Man.
Alex moved away a few months into the seventh grade, and we all promised to stay in touch but knew we wouldn't. The rest of us stayed but drifted apart over the years, unable to console each other as we dealt with our personal demons. Even my relationship with Monica changed; we would never again be close like we were as kids. The only thing Monica and I had in common after that was a growing unease with church. Up until that summer, we had been good Catholics, as good as twelve-year-old kids can be, but afterwards we began to drift away. It's not that the events of that night had altered my belief in God. I believed more than ever, and I couldn't stand it. The eyes of Jesus were always upon me during mass, and I felt the burden of his cross, felt myself judged unworthy. The guilt was always strongest in church.
We all grew up. We all went on with our lives. We did what we could to get through the next twenty years without thinking about our crime. It worked too, until last week.
Though Alex moved away years before, our mothers have remained good friends and speak to one another on the phone at least once a week. It was my mother who called me Tuesday morning to tell me that Alex had shot himself the night before. I tried to feel sad about it, but was detached. We hadn't known each other for a long time, and I've always avoided childhood memories that might hurt. I tried to call Monica, but she must have still been irritated with me for mentioning my nightmare.
It is no longer a small, cozy town where we live, but the gossip chain still thrives. Hours after the discovery, I knew about the torn up grave in the graveyard on the edge of town. Everyone I talked to that day wanted to discuss it, how strange it was that the very grave robbed, belonged to that crazy Walter Simmons who had burned to death so many years ago. When asked what I thought had become of the missing body, I'd shrug, though I felt chilled to the bone. I tried to call Monica, and once again was diverted to voicemail. I hung up without leaving a message. This was Wednesday.
The next day they found Todd dead in his apartment, and the day after that, Jimmy. Both were mysteriously burned to death, though nothing around them had been damaged in the fire. The police stated that the coroner was unsure what had befallen the victims, but was sure the instances were related, and they would be investigated as homicides. People were urged to lock their doors, but that was nothing new. The days when we felt safe enough to leave them unlocked had ended along with my childhood. That night, Monica called me.
I was surprised my sister was calling me on a Friday night, and was still a little hurt that she had ignored my other calls, so I let the phone ring right up until the second before the answering machine would kick on before I answered.
"Finally ready to deal with your crazy brother?"
Monica answered my question with a scream. I gripped the receiver tight, yelling her name, but if she heard me, she gave no indication, just kept screaming until I could stand it no longer and I hung up. Picking the phone back up, I punched 911 with numb fingers.
The police got to Monica's before me and refused to let me enter what they called the crime scene. I didn't need to see her to know what had happened. The grief that I was unable to feel for my old childhood friends, washed over me when I realized she was gone. My sister was dead. No matter how far apart we had drifted, my twin was dead. I was the only one left. I left Monica's apartment and went directly to my childhood home. Someone would have to tell my mother.
I spent the next day trying to comfort my parents. I felt awkward with the knowledge that they would no doubt lose their son that night, as well. I knew he would come for me next. Walter was back from the grave and was one kill away from his revenge. The only thing that didn't fit was the date. Alex was out of the loop because he had killed himself Monday, and by then I had been suffering the nightmare for several days. Judging by Monica's reaction when I told her about my dream, I could only assume that we were all having it. The guilt must have been too much for Alex.
The grave had been dug up on Wednesday morning and Todd was found dead Thursday, having been killed the night before. Ditto for Jimmy, found Friday but killed Thursday night. Then poor Monica Friday night. That made one killing each night, with my time being up tonight. It just didn't make sense, though. The Fourth of July wasn't until tomorrow. Why would he finish seeking his revenge the night before the twentieth anniversary of his murder?
I hugged my parents goodbye and stopped by the liquor store to buy provisions I felt were necessary for my last night on earth. With my bottle of rum and a pack of smokes, I sat in my easy chair with the lights dimmed, stared at photos of my children that covered the walls, and waited for the Booger Man to come. The events of the week had had a cumulative effect on me; I could no longer feel horrified about them. I think I was on autopilot. I was more than a little drunk, but felt mostly at ease, with only one regret. I really wanted to hug and kiss my kids one more time, but their mother had custody, and my weekend for visitation was next week. I hoped they would remember me fondly.
The Booger Man, aka Walter Simmons, announced his presence by tapping on my front window. The curtains were open, so I only had to turn my head to see him. I am not a mortician and don't know the first thing about embalming or body preservation, but I could find no logic in which parts of him were still whol
e and what had given way to corruption. He was mostly intact from what I could tell, and as I stared, he twiddled his fingers in a grotesque parody of a wave. He didn't move though, just stood there in the moonlight. We stared at one another across five feet of space and through one pane of glass. Of course, stared probably isn't the correct term, as his eyes were long gone, just deep black sockets. The remains of his face were blackened by fire, and I could clearly see his teeth since his lips had either been burned off, or rotted away. Booger Man was burned bald by the flames, and patches of his skull glowed dully where the moonlight struck. He didn't move.
I started to yell at him through the thin window, wanting to end his unnerving stillness.
"Come on, you bastard! KILL ME! It's what you came for so DO IT ALREADY! I want this over with. We were kids, for God's sake! It was an accident! If you're gonna kill me then just do it!" I began to run out of steam. What was this? Was he trying to draw out my fear?
His lipless mouth cast a permanent, toothy smile. Lifting his hand again he pointed, the long blackened finger ending in a sharp, white tip of exposed bone. I shuddered, remembering how it sounded tapping at the window. He just stood there, smiling and pointing. Then I turned to look where he was pointing, and my heart nearly stopped. The Booger Man was pointing at the pictures on my wall. My Kids. My twelve-year-old twins.
I dropped to my knees and begged then. I cried and pleaded. I curled up on the floor and sobbed. Of course, he wouldn't kill me, even though I was the one who started the fire. I was the only one with children. When I opened my eyes again, the Booger Man was gone.
I stayed on the floor most of the night, and with the dawn came sobriety. I only had one day to stop this. I needed to figure it out. Why had he warned me of his intentions? Was he just trying to compound my pain and punishment? Did he want something from me? I spent much of the morning dredging up memories that I had spent twenty long years trying to bury, searching for some clue telling me how to stop him. When it finally dawned on me, I wept. It was so simple. I knew what I had to do.
***
"That's quite the tale."
"I know it is Father, but it's the truth."
"So what are you going to do?"
"What I should've done twenty years ago. I'm going to the police station to confess. I don't think there is a statute of limitation on murder. I'm the only one who can make this right. Walter Simmons wants justice. I hope that by giving it to him, he will spare my children. It's all I can do."
"I will pray for both you and your children. I don't know that I can believe this incredible story, but it's obvious you do. I hope that by unburdening your guilt, you are able to fix things."
"Yeah, me too."
"Wait! Don't you want me to give you absolution, my son?"
"No Father, I think I'm the only one who can do that now."
I had something to do and atonement had waited long enough.
C.W. LaSart resides in the Midwest with her soul mate, three children, an unattractive bulldog and a neurotic sheepdog. When not busy with the multitude of responsibilities that come with being a Mom, she writes and works part time as a bar wench in an Irish pub. She has been published in Dark Moon Digest.
SENSE DEPRIVED
by
KRISTAL STITTLE
Cadence’s mind floated in the void, filling it with objects. She was making flowers today. They were brightly coloured, composed of greens, yellows, reds, purples, and a colour for which she had no name. It was her favourite colour, but it didn’t exist outside of the void. The men outside would see only a blank space on their monitors when she used that colour. It was her colour. Her special colour that belonged only to her.
Then the buzzer went off, getting louder and louder. Cadence sighed within her mind, erasing the flowers. The buzzing helped her come back to her body. She moved her major joints first, as they were the easiest to feel. Then the minor ones, and lastly her eyelids. Opening her eyes, she continued to see the void, the nothing. She closed them again, waiting for the light.
When the light came, she felt it first on her skin. Even that minor change in temperature was noticeable to Cadence. Peering through her eyelashes, she saw the dull grey of the light. Taking her time, she allowed her eyes to adjust slowly, opening them bit by bit. It didn’t take as long today as it had other times. She hadn’t been in the void for very long at all.
Once her eyes focused on the man hovering above her, she lifted her arm and gave him a thumbs up. He nodded, and the liquid began to drain away from around her. Her body sank with the fluid until it touched the ultra-soft, silk hammock beneath her. Some days, even the feel of the hammock was like sandpaper to her sensitive skin, but since she hadn’t been gone long, today it was fine. Once the fluid was drained off, machines lifted her in the hammock out of the tank. The machines always seemed too loud when coming out, even though they were so muffled she couldn’t hear them when going in.
Once out, the man moved around her, removing her breathing and feeding apparatus and gently wiping the liquid off her skin. Next came the reorientation, which was easy today. Her body still worked. She was finally allowed to sit in a chair, wrapped in a silk housecoat, with her feet up on a large cushy pillow.
“You pulled me out early today,” Cadence whispered. It had been a long time since she had been able to speak any louder.
“Orders from above,” the man told her. He also spoke in a whisper, solely for the sake of Cadence’s sensitive ears. “We had to take all of you out.”
“All of us?” Cadence couldn’t remember a time when all of them had to be out of the void.
The man just shrugged, and then left.
Cadence continued to sit in her room awhile longer, stretching her joints to get her strength back, and wondering why all of them had to be pulled out. When she realized that she was hungry, she got up and went to the kitchen. The linoleum floor felt so hard under her bare feet.
In the kitchen, several of the other women were chatting. They were all curious as to why they had been pulled out. It was strange to see so many of them walking about at the same time, although not all of them were present. Those who had been in their tanks for a long time were still adjusting. Cadence took her place next to Bluegrass and ordered some food from the cook.
“Haven’t seen you in a while.” Bluegrass turned in her seat to face her.
“We keep getting different shifts.”
“Shame. I have so much I want to show you. Here.”
In Cadence’s mind she saw a rolling seascape, but the water was a golden hue. Both above and below the waves, a creature that looked like an otter crossed with a starling darted about.
“It’s lovely,” Cadence told Bluegrass. She then shared a mental image in return of the flowers she had been creating. “I didn’t get a chance to finish them.”
As food was laid out, all the women began eating. They chatted quietly when their mouths weren’t full and used their minds to talk when they were. Cadence was impressed by some of the things the others had created, and sad for those who had recently been creatively blocked. The reason for all of them being out was much debated, but nobody knew anything.
“Do you think the cook knows?” Bluegrass asked Cadence.
“Maybe.”
“I wish we could find out.”
“But we can’t.”
“How do you know? Have you ever tried to enter the mind of a man?”
“No. It’s pointless. It can’t be done.”
“Why? Because they say so? I think it can be done. I want to try.”
Cadence’s eyes went wide. She sent Bluegrass an image of what would happen if she tried.
“I’m not actually going to try, silly,” she laughed in the airy, whispery voice of all the women. “There’s a difference between wanting to do it, and actually doing it.”
“Could all women please return to their rooms?” a man spoke as he entered the space. “All will be explained in time.”
Obeyi
ng the man, the women got up and returned to their chambers. When Cadence reached hers, a man was waiting for her. She removed her robe and lay on her bed, thinking it was the red time again.
“You misunderstand,” the man told her. “We don’t need to do that anymore.”
Cadence sat back up.
“You are to put this on.” He held out a black piece of fabric with many hard bits attached to it.
Cadence obeyed. She could feel the confusion of the other women as they were also told to put on the strange garment. Cadence couldn’t remember the last time she had worn something other than her robe. This was a full body suit, perfectly sized to fit her. The hard parts covered her major joints and long bones, similar to the hard parts over the looser clothes worn by some of the men. The fabric clung to Cadence’s body, almost like the liquid had. She was then instructed to put on gloves that felt the same way, and a pair of boots. Walking in the boots was difficult. She couldn’t properly feel the floor with her feet. She reached out to the other women, and all of them aided each other in learning how to walk with the boots on.
The man left Cadence alone in the room. The women were buzzing with fear and excitement. Cadence closed herself off from them, wanting to sort through her own feelings on the matter. Nothing like this had ever happened before. It was strange, and she wasn’t sure she liked it. She sat on her chair, but the lack of sensation from her skin bothered her. It was like being in the void, except she was in a place where her body was used to feeling things.
“Proceed to the master chamber,” a voice spoke over the intercom.
Rising from her chair, Cadence left her room and followed the hallways to the master chamber. She had been in there only a handful of times before, and those were mostly when she was a child. All of the other women gathered in the chamber, even those who were still weak due to an exceptionally long time in the void. They were instructed to form a line and place one hand on the shoulder of the woman in front of them. A man then walked down the line and placed a device upon each of their faces. A pane of glass covered Cadence’s eyes, and it was tinted so dark that she couldn’t see in the room’s dim light. Things were also placed over her ears so that she could barely hear, and something like her breathing apparatus for the void was pulled snugly over her mouth and nose.
