Horrorbook

by A. R. Braun

  Arden choked on his spit, rubbing his eyes again: the same. He rubbed them again: still there.

  You’ve got a spell coming to you.

  “Daddy?” Cynthia asked. His blue-eyed, blond daughter now wore a frown. He could barely see her Thunder Girls jammies. “Gonna eat it?”

  Ames, her green-eyed, black-haired sister, grinned. Arden could see her purple horsey pajamas, but the vision ended at the child’s belly.

  Did Belinda Black do this to me? It can’t be. When I used to cast evil spells, they didn’t work.

  “Daddy!” Ames cried. “You’re not eating your breakfast!”

  Fear weighed him down like cement shoes, but he needed to be strong for them. “It looks . . . delicious, sweethearts! Tell you what, why don’t you go watch TV while Daddy eats this, and I’ll join you in a few minutes.”

  “Thunder Girls!” they cried. With that, they ran out of the room.

  Arden moved the breakfast tray to his dresser and hurriedly donned his clothes. As he looked around the room, his sight now shined in a circle shape instead of a heart, offering less vision.

  He called his wife, Julia, on the phone. Thanks to his financial situation, they’d separated, but he’d gotten custody of the kids because she was a boozer. After bitching about it, she agreed to drive him to the eye doctor. Must not be on one of her benders. He watched for her car out the window and hoped he wouldn’t go insane because of what he’d been stricken with.

  Dr. Rizzo agreed to see him on short notice. Arden stepped into the examining room and, half-blind, sat down in the chair. His voice quivered as he told the eye doctor about his problem.

  When finished with the vision field test, the normally jocund professional wore a frown, taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes.

  Oh Lordess, not more bad news! “W-What’s the verdict, doc?”

  Dr. Rizzo furrowed his brow after putting his glasses back on. “Not good, I’m afraid. You’ve contracted closed-angle glaucoma. Your optic nerve’s severely damaged.”

  “Oh no! No, no, no!” Sniffling, he put his face in his hands, trying not to bawl. He withdrew his palms and met the eye doctor’s eyes. “Can anything be done?” His shaky voice had faltered even more.

  “Well, you spoke of severe pain and came right away, which is a good thing. Usually, the discomfort causes patients to see me before there’s permanent damage.”

  “Thank the Lordess,” Arden blurted.

  “Hold on, I’m not done.” The eye doc’s eyes grew wide. “Lordess?” He shook his head. “Never mind.” He let out a heavy sigh. “In your case—now understand this is medically impossible and I can’t explain it—your eyes are already ruined. Soon, you’ll go completely blind.”

  Arden thought he’d go crazy. He became lightheaded and couldn’t breathe. He tried to keep from throwing up in his own lap.

  The eye doctor put a hand on his shoulder. “Are you all right?”

  Arden gasped, shaking his head. “There’s got to be some kind of surgery.”

  “There isn’t.” Dr. Rizzo sighed again. “I’m sorry.”

  Despair seized him.

  Arden’s black-haired, stacked wife frowned at him when he got into the car. She gasped when he gave her and the children the news. Ames and Cynthia cried.

  He despised her for leaving him. Her old-fashioned perfume made him nauseated. He winced at her thirty-one-year-old pasty face, her lips bearing old school red lipstick.

  “Are you going to be all right?”

  Like she cares. “I don’t know.”

  The girls keened.

  “Will you kids shut up?” Julia cried, and then tore out of the parking lot. “That figures! First you lose your job and then you get sick!”

  Arden turned away. He looked out the window and tuned her and the children out. He reflected on his “friendship” with Belinda Black.

  She’d wanted him to send his manuscript through the mail to collaborate, saying she didn’t trust e-mail programs. Then she never got it done but kept the story. When Van had served the devil, The Satanic Bible said that, to cast an effective spell, the wizard had to have one of the victim’s personal effects. That’s why she’d wanted him to snail mail her the manuscript, so she could hex him.

  That’s why I’m going blind!

  Julia pulled into his driveway and Arden stumbled out of his car. Now his vision was only a small circle.

  Soon, he’d be in total darkness.

  I’ve got to cast a counter spell and fast.

  Knowing he shouldn’t fear evil, Arden moved toward the house, headed for his altar.

  The girls followed him and stopped him, with their mom in tow.

  “I’m sorry you’re going blind, Daddy,” they said, hugging him with all their might.

  “Oh. Thank you, cuties.” Arden stroked their soft hair. His voice shook so badly he could barely talk. “Daddy needs to be alone in the backyard for a while.”

  “What’s wrong?” Ames asked.

  “I don’t feel so hot.”

  Julia hissed. “Me either. I should’ve married someone else.”

  As Arden moved through the house with his arms stuck out to hug the walls, he flinched. That damned lush couldn’t win the custody battle because she drank too much, but she’d get the kids eventually, when he was . . . was. . . . He sighed. That bitch. He stopped at his computer and printed an e-mail from Belinda. That would have to do as a personal article. Then he grabbed the backpack with his ritual tools and headed to the backyard.

  The warm sun caressed him, but he couldn’t enjoy its comfort. He rushed behind the big oak tree and stocked the altar with a white tablecloth; the Holy Bible opened to Proverbs; two white candles; an incense burner; a ritual dagger; a sword; three steel bowls—one holding un-iodized salt, one bearing purified water, and one empty to symbolize wind; a white bell; a keyboard with batteries used as a noise-maker; and a pentacle plate, under which he set the upper corner of Belinda’s picture. He lit the incense and the candles.

  Arden traced a line in the dirt, clockwise, and then he called the quarters, the four angels of the crossroads.

  “By stem, by leaf, by bud!” he cried, sticking the dagger into the earth.

  The sun came out from behind the clouds.

  Arden grabbed the noisemaker and played it, running around the altar deosil. “Waxing, waxing, growing, growing, Jesus’ power is flowing, flowing!” He repeated the chant over and over.

  When Arden saw a white cone of light encompassing the altar in his mind, he stopped and bent down in the northeast quadrant.

  Arden held the athame high. “Oh Jesus Ashtoreth Christi, the Goddess that nourishes me with your breasts, be with me in this sacred place!”

  The wind blew the candles out.

  “Goddamn it!”

  He leaned across the table and lit the candles. How was he supposed to keep them burning with this fucking wind? Why did Wiccans have to worship outside? “Sorry, Christi. Lord Jesus, please restore my sight. This curse is the fault of that black magic bitch, Belinda Black, so bring her evil deed on her—”

  The candles blew out again.

  “Cocksucker!” Arden leaned forward, clicking the lighter. “Fucking Wicca!” He kneeled. “Oh, sorry, Christi. Bring Belinda’s evil deed on her—”

  The clouds blotted out the sun. The wind stirred up so vehemently the table blew over.

  “Motherfucker! Shit, shit, shit!” Arden pulled the table up and left the articles on the ground. Belinda’s picture had flown away.

  “Aw, fuck it! Bring her evil deed on her threefold. Blessed fucking be!”

  Arden kicked the table and stomped on the altar tools. “Fuck a doodle do! Fuckaroo!” He lost it and flipped off the sky. And most of all, fuck you!”

  His vision completely failed. He was in darkness, his worst fear. He fell to his knees and vomited on the grass. His heart beat at an incredible pace.

  Arden screamed.

  He’d ignored Belinda’s picture be
fore it had grown wings, but now one of his last sights haunted him. She’d been grinning, but not when he’d printed it out.

  Arden heard his wife coming his way, asking if he was all right.

  That’s when he passed out.

  Arden regained consciousness. He felt around and realized he lay on the grass.

  “Good Lord,” Julia said. He could feel her kneeling at his feet. “You scared me to death! What’s wrong?”

  Arden sat up in a hurry. “I can’t see!”

  “Oh my God; should I take you to the ER?”

  Arden shook his head. “Just help me get inside. I need to lie down.”

  Julia took his hand, helped him up, and put an arm around his shoulder, moving him onward. “I don’t care what you say. I’m calling a doctor.”

  Once in his bed, the lack of sight scared him so badly he trembled.

  “Hold on,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”

  Julia stomped out of the room. It was amazing how much his hearing had improved now that he couldn’t see. He could hear every step, the cursing under her breath, the children talking in the other room. She came back, placing a cold glass in one hand and what felt like a few pills in his other hand.

  “Here,” she said. “Take these.”

  “W-what are they?”

  “My anxiety medication, one milligram; just take them. They’ll calm you down.”

  Arden did so. It wasn’t like he didn’t need them.

  Julia clomped out of the room.

  It seemed like an eternity, but the drug finally soothed his nerves. Exhausted, he fell into a deep asleep.

  Arden thought he heard a dog, but he didn’t have one. Then he realized it was his own whimpering.

  A rustling came from the closet. He was able to see when he pulled down the sheet. I must be asleep.

  He heard clicking high heels as the shape walked out of the closet. This time, it wasn’t his coat, but Belinda Black, giving him the evil eye and grinning with serrated teeth.

  Oh my Goddess!

  Belinda stuck her tongue out and flashed the goat-horned salute, then disappeared.

  It was so quiet he heard the neighbors’ conversations.

  Two hands came out of the spaces between the bars in the metal headboard. A finger stuck in each ear.

  “Oh my Goddess, what the hell, what the fuck?”

  “It’s Belinda!” the scratchy voice cried from behind him. “Now your hearing and your sense of touch!”

  The fingers pulled out of his ears with a sickening plop. She gripped his arms tautly and yanked them upward, cuffing them to the headboard. Then she dug her nails into his hands, which stung like hell, drawing warm blood that plopped onto his head. Finally, her grip fell away. Arden’s anxiety spun out of control.

  He screamed.

  Arden woke, realizing it had been a dream. Darkness shrouded him again. He could tell he lay in his bed. He gripped the metal rails with his hands, imagining his white knuckles. Belinda wasn’t here now. Or was she?

  He couldn’t handle being blind, couldn’t live like this.

  Beads of sweat broke out all over his body. He gagged, his mind swam, and he felt as if he’d go mad.

  “Arden?” Julia asked. “The doctor will be here soon. What in the devil’s the matter now?”

  “My eyes hurt like hell! What am I going to do? Now I can’t work, I can’t see my kids, I can’t do anything!”

  “Girls, get your shoes on, I’m going to take your dad—”

  All sounds were replaced by a ringing in his ears. Then there was nothing. Julia touched his arm, trying to help him up.

  Oh my Goddess, my hearing’s gone too! I’m in complete and utter darkness of the blackest kind. Damn you, you worthless Wiccan God!

  His hand grew numb. He could feel her touch less and less until he sensed nothing because his flesh became like rubber. The scent of baby shampoo let him know his daughters were probably hugging him, though he couldn’t tell.

  Oh my freaking Goddess! I’m sorry, Belinda! I’ll be your friend! Not my sense of touch, too! Got to get up and pace! Am I up? Am I pacing? I can’t tell! This is the worst darkness of all! Got to kill myself, but I can’t get to a weapon! Someone get me out of this black abyss! Oh no, no Goddess, no! I’m going crazy!

  AAARRRGGGHHH.

  The Woman Wore Black

  Why, at this ungodly hour, would anyone dare to disrupt my rest, my only solace? My mind burned with rage as the doorbell continued to sound in the middle of the night while rain pelted the roof. My sleep was lost to the wind that carried itself away into my weary mind.

  Wiping sleep from my eyes, I reluctantly rose and put on my slippers. The wind whispered like unrequited requests of dead lovers. Tree branches scratched my windowpanes. The house spoke a language all its own, as any homeowner would attest to. Mine talked of anger, even vengeance. Outside the gabled windows, lightning struck and lit up the night.

  Ding-dong.

  I left the bedroom, held onto the banister and started down the stairs.

  Please forgive me and allow me to introduce myself. I’m Winston Carmichael the Third. Ages ago, I acquired Zenith House, my huge estate on Grandview Drive, after I forged my success with hard work and dedication. Staying in college paid off, for I’ve worked as a CPA for some time.

  Halfway down the stairs, the ordeal of my wife’s death came back to haunt me. A year later, I still can’t deal with the loss of the love of my life. Tia was not only respectful of a man’s wishes and boundaries but also knew when to keep quiet as well as when to voice her opinion. A gray area remained where the details of her death should have been.

  Ding-dong.

  “All right, for God’s sake, I’m coming!”

  Rain fell in sheets as if spouting rebuttals against my anger, pounding the roof mercilessly.

  I reached the bottom of the landing and thought about my riches and my ten-bedroom house. At a spry thirty-five, neither baldness nor a paunch subverted me. Many women had stepped up to take my late wife’s place, but never would I love another like I loved Tia.

  The wind shook the house’s very foundation, and I wondered if someone had angered God. The shutters banged against the windows like the undead in those old horror comics, the fiends back from the grave to avenge their murders.

  I met Tia at my first job crunching the numbers after I acquired an associate’s degree. Working side by side, we’d clicked, the girl goofy as I. She’d spilled her coffee and tripped over her words.

  Whoever it was now pounded on the door.

  “Jesus Christ! Hold on!”

  I flicked on the lights in the living room. Shadows crept up behind the furniture like silhouettes of the damned. Though I knew the sound to be coyotes, I could’ve sworn the howling in the distance came from the bowels of hell.

  Scritch, scritch, scritch.

  Why in God’s name would anyone claw at the door? I trembled, not wanting to imagine what ghoul awaited me on the other side. The dark foyer beckoned—a holding room in hell. Though the heater blasted away, I felt a chill upon my soul as I approached the foyer, each step slower, the oak floorboards creaking a little louder—broken spines of old novels, each with a tale to tell.

  Lightning flashed through the windows on both sides of the entry door. Evergreens and willows engaged in battle. I unlatched the locks with shaking fingers. My hand on the icy knob, I hesitated to turn it and yanked my hand away, then peeked through one of the windows to get a look at what crazy creature was disturbing me at this hour.

  While torrents of rain indoctrinated her to an abysmal depth, a trembling woman with long black hair continued to ring the doorbell. A matching long black dress adorned her. The young lady was obviously lost. I had to help her. I jumped as a bolt of lightning rattled the gold rotary dial phone on a pedestal next to the coat rack. I reached for the knob and then stopped cold. It turned of its own self and my heart leapt within me.

  The woman, her skin white as the silk pajamas I
wore, fell through the doorframe and into my arms. Spasms shuddered through her. Her flesh, cold and clammy to the touch, glistened in the light.

  “Good God, are you all right?”

  Her head lolled.

  I hefted her feather-light body and rushed her into the living room, in front of the fireplace, setting her down on the bearskin rug. I struck up the modern hearth, which made the flames erupt, lapping the fireplace walls. The hands on the grandfather clock had stopped at midnight. I glanced at my Rolex and realized my watch had stopped at the same time. October thirty-first had crept in and laid its icy hand upon my shoulder when I’d least expected it.

  The woman finally let me help her to my black leather couch. She’d drained three cups of hot cocoa before I found the strength to inquire of the nature of her trouble, though for some reason unbeknownst to me, I feared to. I’d thrown a couple of woolen blankets around her that my wife had made, untouched by a woman’s skin since she’d lived. Bent over her knees, the stranger rose to a sitting position. She didn’t brush her bangs aside, she rung them out like wet death shrouds in a rain-soaked funeral.

  A barely audible moan slipped through her lips.

  Her breasts peeked out of her dress which hugged the contours of her legs. Arousal endeavored to control me, but I wouldn’t allow it. I didn’t want to scare the frail thing off.

  There was something vaguely familiar about her.

  Lightning struck what must have been inches from my front door. I jumped. The woman didn’t flinch.

  “How on earth did you get caught in this terrible storm?”

  The woman turned her head toward me. She lifted her finger and pointed me out. A chill ran down my spine. Goosebumps rose on my arms. I had to look away, staring at the light gold curtains my late wife had made that surrounded the bow windows overlooking the greensward. When I dared to look her way again, I saw albino toes sinking into the yellow shag carpeting. She stared at the fireplace.

  “I said, what brought you here?”

  Her voice barely above a whisper: “I lost my way.”

  The femininity of her voice pulled at my heartstrings, the first time such a flower had purred to me in so long.