by A. R. Braun
Will snapped his neck to the left because a window lurked there. He heard zillions of people screaming, and now he knew why. Crowds of the damned writhed in the flames throwing up black ash and . . . he knew . . . where he was.
He whipped his head over to the right and the same view afforded itself. Double your pleasure, double your fun.
“What the fuck?” Will cried.
The room bore a multitude of vents, pumping out air-conditioning as if possessed. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a snake slithering toward him. Shit, I’ve got vermin! Will tried to get up and found he was bound to the chair with chains that featured metal thorns on the outsides, yet his arms were free.
The cobra slithered up the chair, coiled around his leg and reared up to look him in the face. “Welcome,” it droned in a scratchy voice, “Will Sparrow.”
Oh God, it’s the Devil, just like he appeared to Eve!
“In your life,” Satan continued, “you published futile stories of murder and mayhem, influencing adults and teenagers to shoot each other, and they did.” The Devil cocked his head at him. “You went to the bars afterward and got loaded and laid.” Satan righted his head and moved forward to get in Will’s face, inches from his nose as Satan’s slimy body slithered on his leg. “Now you pay.”
The walls were painted red with no portraits, no dream-catchers, nothing but wall sconces with upside-down cross designs. They held black candles. A metal door slid open with a crash and a couple of the snarkiest-looking demons Will never imagined in his wildest nightmares came through, each pushing a metal cart. The door slammed shut and the brief flash of heat made him sweat. The fiends had three tails; horns down their backs, in their noses and on their tails; hairy, brown, green and red skin; plus red, glowing eyes. They gathered the books off the shelves with their claws and loaded up the carts.
“Oh God,” Will whimpered.
The devil hissed. “There’s no God in this library.” The chief demon got so close he touched his nose. “You’ve got a lot of reading to do.”
“No!” Will cried.
“And I think you know what kind of books they are. Why, Vain Publishing, of course. You’ll get to know them well. You’ll be reading them for the rest of eternity!”
The demons rolled the carts Will’s way, and he screamed, joining the cacophony outside.
Ramonita’s Curse
"Selena, it's five o'clock! Why isn't my dinner on the table, bitch?"
After threatening me, Ray grabbed our black lab, Howler, and threw him out the front door, then slammed it shut. Our five-year-old daughter, Rana, sat with me. I sat frozen, unable to respond. We’d been looking at pictures of my grandmother, Ramonita.
Then he yanked me out of my seat by the hair and clocked me in the face.
Ray had only hit me once before, but he’d felt terrible and promised never to do it again. I wondered why he’d gone back on his word.
White dots flashed before my eyes and then I was lying on the floor with no memory of falling. As I struggled to remain conscious, Ray's huge, muscular frame advanced on me.
He scowled. "Get your cunt ass off the floor and get my goddamn dinner ready!"
I didn't want to get back up. I was in shock and in denial.
With my hands, I examined my face. Metallic, coppery-tasting blood seeped out of my mouth, and my lips had puffed-up to twice their normal size.
He yanked me up by my hair and dragged me into the kitchen. "I told your worthless ass to put my dinner on the table now!"
Ray punched me in my eye, and I crashed into the table, knocking over a vase filled with fresh flowers. The sharp silverware dug into my bare arms and the water from the vase seeped into my dress.
I knew I’d have a black eye. I felt outside of the situation somehow, as if it was happening to someone else.
Fearful of another beating, I quickly rose and attended to dinner. I could smell the stench of my sweat competing with the scent of the enchiladas and cheese sauce.
Rana crept into the kitchen. "Mommy, why is Daddy hurting you?"
"Shut that little cunt up!" Ray cried from the living room.
I breathed hard and tried to stifle my tears. I feared for her with Ray in this mood.
"Honey, just go to your room until I call supper, okay?"
Rana started crying.
I panicked and felt my heart blast like a woodpecker. Breathing hard, I quickly ran through my possible options for escape. I picked her up, carried her to her room, and set her down upon the bed. "Honey, Daddy's having a bad day, and I need you to stay in here until he's feeling better. Can you do that for me?"
She nodded her adorable head. "Um-hmm."
I smiled and stroked her face. "Good girl. Mommy will come get you for dinner."
I shut the door on her and stormed into the living room. No longer could I contain my rage after what he'd said. "How dare you call our daughter that?"
He slowly turned to face me, his eyes following my every movement. I could smell booze on his breath. Then he forked me the evil eye. “You want some more?” He rose.
"You hit me. How could you?"
“I lost my goddamn job! As soon as I got to work this morning, they gave me a box and told me to pack my shit. I’ve been at the bar all day.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Well, you can get another job, can’t you?”
“Around here? We’re out in the middle of the country! That superstore put every Mom-and-Pop store out of business except the factory. What do you want me to do, work for minimum wage at Discount World? How am I supposed to pay the mortgage? It’ll be a foreclosure.”
“That doesn’t give you the right to hit me and call our daughter that.”
Ray grinned like the devil. "Don’t you tell me about my rights; if that dinner isn't on the table in five minutes, I'll cut your hands off!"
All the fight rushed out of me. I nodded. All I could do was put his goddamn dinner on the plate.
I called Rana, and as we dined, I thought back to the previous night. Everyone at the table stayed quiet so this was a good time for reflection.
I remembered we were the living definition of the happy couple, lying in bed together after he'd taken me. As we smoked our cigarettes, he told me his father had beaten him many times when he was little.
I'd kissed his cheek. "I’m sorry you went through that. You didn’t deserve to be beaten."
“No, I didn’t. You know what gets me? These kids today have perfect lives, and that must be fucking nice.”
I remember worrying about Rana at that moment but not saying anything. Perhaps he hadn’t been speaking about her in general, just most kids. I’d felt bad for him and hadn’t wanted to shit on him any more than his father already had.
I caught Rana pulling her plate off the table and feeding the dog out of the corner of my eye. I’d let Howler back in earlier. I’d felt sorry for him as he’d whimpered from outside.
Panic filled me. At five, she didn't know what she was doing. I prayed he wasn't still in a mood, but no one heard.
Ray yanked the child out of her seat.
I panicked. "Ray, no!"
"You stupid little twat! Do you know how expensive food is these days? I'll teach you a lesson, bitch!"
Rana started crying and then keened. "Mommy!"
A mother's protective instinct kicked in. As he yanked her closer to him, I ran and grabbed a meat cleaver. "Let her go, you fucking creep!"
Ray turned to me, snatched my arm, and bent it behind me. He bashed my face into the fridge. I felt as if someone had thrown a brick at my face. I could feel his hot breath on the back of my neck as the scent of the booze wafted over to me again.
"Pull that again and I'll fucking kill you," he said.
I screamed over and over, praying someone passing by on a hike would hear and call the police. He grabbed me by my hair and threw me on the floor. I hit the back of my head on the linoleum, but it didn’t knock me out.
My eyes widened as he gr
abbed Rana’s right hand and bent her fingers the wrong way. I couldn’t believe this was happening.
The sickening sounds of bones snapping followed. That's when I fainted.
When I came to, I lay on the couch in our lavish living room. The last rays of the sun blinded me as it set, shining bleakly through the lavender curtains, and I shielded my eyes with my hand. I clutched the black leather of my davenport with my free hand and tried to open my eyes. At first, everything looked blurry but then came into focus.
Ray held a T-bone steak to my eye. "Got to get the swelling down or I'll be in deep shit."
My mind raced like a person being chased by a serial killer, and I yanked the steak away, rose and threw punches at him with everything in me. "You broke our daughter’s hand, you son of a bitch!"
Ray grabbed my shoulders and threw me onto the coffee table. I went through it and landed on the floor. Shards of glass penetrated my body like a hundred midgets stabbing me with needles.
He breathed hard now. "Look, I fucked up. I duct taped Popsicle sticks to her fingers so they’ll heal, but she can't go to preschool anymore. Call her in sick."
"You bastard!"
Ray shook his head. "I can't take this fucking shit. I'm going out drinking." He grabbed his keys and headed for the door, then stopped. "Oh, and if you get any bright ideas about going to the police, I'll kill her. I’ll draw and quarter the little bitch and stab her heart out. You shut your fucking mouth and calm the fuck down."
With that he left, slamming the door.
I gingerly rose, but not without incredible effort. Every muscle in my body ached from the beatings I’d taken. I yanked the pieces of glass out of my skin, whimpering in pain at every one, and then bawled like never before. I rushed to Rana's room and yanked open the door. She lay bawling.
I ran to her. "Oh my baby! Oh my God!"
"Mommy, it hurts!" She was naked, her fingers twisted up, tied pathetically to the sticks as he’d said. A beet-red face gawked at me. She'd shit and pissed herself.
Speechless, I rushed her to the bathroom and cleaned her up. What else could I do? Then, after false promises about how everything was going to be all right, I pulled her pajamas on her and put her to bed after giving her a few pain relievers.
Scared shitless, I knew if I took her to the ER, he'd kill her.
I traipsed into the bathroom and looked at myself. Yes, a fat lip and a black eye, just like I’d thought. My beauty had flown from me. Hot tears cascaded down my cheeks.
I ran into the living room and put my hand on the phone. I had to get her out of there. 911 would send an ambulance.
I’ll kill her. I’ll draw and quarter the little bitch and stab her heart out.
His words in my mind haunted me worse than ten spirits. I hated myself for my cowardice and for marrying that jerk. Most of all, I hated God for letting this happen.
But if I brought her to the ER, he might not be able to go near her again. The hospital staff members are required to report abuse. I picked up the phone and listened for a dial tone, but the phone was dead. I looked at the cord.
Ray had cut the line.
Tears welled up in my eyes. Ray had never believed in cell phones. He’d said the damn things rotted your brain, and I’d guessed there was some truth to that; I cursed the bastard for ruining our chance for escape, however.
Deciding we had another chance, I thought we could hitchhike to the hospital. Who’d be able to refuse giving a ride to a woman holding her injured daughter? I ran for her room and gathered her up while she bawled and keened, then rushed out to the living room and opened the door with her trembling frame in my arms, running toward my car.
And tripped over tripwire expertly placed on the porch, along with grease.
That bastard!
Suddenly, I was airborne. Rana went flying into the bushes. I landed hard on my elbows and my left leg, feeling as if I'd shattered my elbows and broken my leg. Rana struggled with the branches of the bush.
There was no one in sight from my vantage point, not even a car passing by.
Rana tumbled to the ground, cried even harder and ran over to me. "Mommy, are you okay?"
But I couldn't move. A car went by on the road. It crept, as if cruising. A masculine arm hung out of the passenger side window. I screamed as loudly as I could, determined someone would hear and help us.
Someone heard us, all right: smart-ass teenagers.
A couple of college-aged boys laughed at us.
I scowled. "Can't you see my daughter and I are being brutalized?” I yelled. “Why are you laughing?"
As they drove away, I heard their racial slur.
"Spicks!"
It took all I had to crawl into the house. I put Rana to bed and made it to the couch, where I was in more pain than I'd ever encountered in my life.
I had to go somewhere. This was hell. But I couldn't move.
I remembered a conversation I'd had with my dear mother when I was but a child myself. It haunted me now:
"Selena, listen to me. Someday, you'll marry a man, and you may have nothing but problems. Men are horrible pigs. I ought to know. Your father, God rest his soul, beat me and cheated on me when we were young, just before you were born.
“Men do horrible things. Your father did. But no matter what your future husband does, don't ever, ever call on Ramonita."
"You mean Grandma?"
"Yes."
"But Mama, how can I call Grandma? She's in heaven."
My mother had pointed at me. "You never mind. It is forbidden."
"Why, Mama? Will Grandma come back if I call her?"
"Yes. You will bring a curse. Promise me, my little senorita."
“Tell me why! Please?"
She'd shaken her head.
"Please?" I'd clutched at her frock. "Please, oh please, Mama?"
I remembered she’d furrowed her brow and sighed. "All right, I will relent, but you must never tell anyone. They’ll think you’re loco." She'd looked deep in thought. "Your grandma dabbled in . . .” She’d let out a heavy sigh. “. . . brujeria."
Now the shock hit me at full force. Grandma had been a witch, and according to what my mother said, she had the power to come back.
I remembered today’s date—Halloween—the night the spirits were more abundant on the earth. The veil between the living and the dead was thin. Ray had been planning to take Rana trick-or-treating before his crazy shit had started. His abuse had made Rana and I forget today’s date.
My thoughts raced. I breathed hard and wept again. I knew what I had to do.
"I'm sorry, Mama, so sorry."
I heard Ray pull into the driveway.
"Ramonita," I whispered.
Nothing happened at first except Ray stumbling into the bedroom. He cursed as he bumped into the furniture. A lamp crashed to the floor. Exhausted, I soon fell asleep on the couch.
When I woke in the morning to see the light shining through the curtains at full strength, Ray was gone. I slowly tried to rise and found I could. He hadn’t broken my bones after all. I checked on Rana, and she slept soundly, her soft breathing barely audible.
He’d bought a new phone and had plugged it in. I went to it and called her in sick like a faithful dog, then hung up, steeling myself to call an ambulance.
The phone rang. Rana ran into the living room and answered it. When did she wake up? I sobbed because she looked so pathetic in her pajamas and with those sticks tied to her fingers.
She started crying and handed the phone to me. "It's Daddy. He said ‘Put Mommy on the phone, you worthless fucking cunt’."
I snatched the phone from her. "You piece of shit! You abusive son of a bitch, you won’t get away with this!"
Ray barked into the phone like a monster. "Maybe not, but if you tell anyone, that’ll be the end of that kid." I heard him sigh. "You didn't tell anyone, did you, bitch?"
"Not yet, asshole."
"Good girl. You’d better keep it that way. Just letting you k
now, if my dinner isn’t on the table at five, your fingers are next." He slammed the phone down in my ear.
That did it. I dialed 911. It didn’t go through because Ray still lurked on the line. “Hang up, asshole!”
But he never did. I couldn’t get a dial tone on the phone for an hour, just the sounds from the payphone at the bar.
When I got a dial tone, a thunderstorm blasted us and the power went out. My teeth vibrated. The dial tone didn’t come back on until right before five. I had no choice but to heat up fish fillets and corn in the microwave.
Needless to say, dinner was on the table at five. I willed that bastard to die with all the hate I could muster as he devoured fish fillet after fish fillet. Rana struggled to eat with one hand, and my heart went out to her. I was about to rise to help her when a ladybug got my attention as it banged around the single light bulb over the table. He'd broken the cover when he'd come home. He'd broken just about everything in the house. At least this time he didn't break us. He'd thrown the small TV in the kitchen at the light fixture. The house lay in shambles. He'd yelled about having the worst day ever and how he’d begged for his job back, got thrown out, and had gone to the bar. Glad he’d had a bad day, I was still upset about our house being in ruins. Heirlooms Mama had given me lay in bits and pieces, like my heart.
And that wasn't the worst part.
The light bulb bore an eyeball.
Ray caught me gazing upward. "What are you staring at?"
"Nothing." Panic filled me. I prayed he wouldn't look up.
Of course he looked up. "What the—"
My heart skipped a beat as his fish fillets came to life on his plate, flopping around as if fresh.
He scooted his chair back with stealth and gasped. I was glad to see panic on his face for once.
The kitchen chairs we have aren't solid in the back. Good thing. Howler, suddenly full of rage, shot toward my husband and bit into his ass.
Ray shrieked and shot up, the chair and the dog's mouth clinging on for dear life. Rana gasped.
I laughed as I remembered. Ramonita.
Blood dripped out of his fucking rear all over my linoleum while he shrieked like a little girl. My daughter shot me a furrowed brow, and I picked her up and carried her to her room, then power-walked back into the kitchen because I didn’t want to miss a thing.
