The Grave House

by David Garaby

  Adam chuckled, he liked the new Justin. "Yeah, you know how excited I was about coming here?" They were in the Castilian now, in his temporary room on the first floor. The scene was different, the darkness had lifted and everything in the room was now illuminated by a midday sun.

  "Yeah, you didn't shut up about it this whole time. Now, here we are." A picture above the bed which had gone unnoticed began to shiver. Their attention focused on the naked back of a man in the painting.

  The model's face was turned away. Both Justin and Adam stood up and stared at the painting, "Who do you suppose this guy is," asked Adam.

  "Don't know, but he's got a nice ass."

  "Nice like mine."

  "No, nicer."

  "Asshole," snickered Adam.

  The painting on the wall shivered again, this time they could feel a heat. Adam looked closely at the brush marks on the canvas, they were beginning to sweat, they were beginning to simmer. The naked man in the painting turned his head menacingly slow, Adam felt his pulse race; he froze, it was his own face staring back at him. But the eyes, they were a terrible thing, they were off, they were inverted. The sclera was white and the pupil glowed a horribly fiery color. The man tilted his head slightly, a contemptuous smile formed; as his lips expanded there were long, rotten teeth, black and grey, daggers ready to attack.

  There was a sudden growling coming from behind them; Adam could feel his body immediately tense. "Justin," he whimpered, but now his boyfriend was gone.

  Adam heard a deeper growl, one which carried blood and hatred...He couldn't turn around. No. The man in the painting turned his grimace into an outright hateful laugh and spoke. "She already knows what you taste like," he cackled and pulled a knife from behind him and sliced his neck from left to right. The sounds of gurgling and horrible laughter were deafening.

  Adam closed his eyes and felt a cold touch on his shoulder.

  Come find me, the voice growled.

  Adam turned and saw the hand, it was heavy and reptilian, the claws were aged fury.

  I found you. Come find me, it repeated.

  Adam.

  He could not turn. He didn't want to see the thing that Justin had become

  "My god Justin. I knew you'd turn. I knew you'd turn on me you sonofafuckingbitch—"

  —All of them turn

  "You can't trust a man—you can't trust something like that—"

  But this wasn't a man, was it?

  "Yes, I thought I loved you." Adam screamed.

  Will you come back? Please, come back. Come find me.

  Adam.

  Adam.

  Come find me.

  I am of this world.

  I am of this world.

  Speak to me.

  Sp.

  Not in Dallas

  5:46 AM

  A VENDING MACHINE lit the dim corner of the lobby of the motel. While there was some hesitation, he slid a ten into the machine and eagerly picked out the golden pack of cigarettes. He held them in one hand and his mobile phone on the other. Dr. Hudd stared into a mirror in his small, poorly lit room. The yellow hue made his face look green, reptilian; he stared hard into his pupils scanning his mind.

  "Fuck you," he said to himself, his eyes were raging, red, moist.

  "Fuck you," he sneered, a droplet of spit landed on his telephone.

  He grabbed the side of his head and inhaled deeply before reaching for a lighter from his pocket. He could almost hear his wife, Melinda's, voice, "Well, just kill me now. Take a gun and shoot my head why don't you. You know just because you don't like breathing doesn't mean I don't."

  "Fuck you."

  Hudd tossed the pack of cigarettes on the bed and made a call to his wife.

  "Hellooooo," there was such joy in her voice.

  "Hi honey," he said weakly.

  "Well good morning to you too, Mister Grumpy."

  He laughed.

  "How's your conference in Dallas going?" Melinda asked.

  "It's great. Lots of things to see."

  "Awe, well that's just great, honey. You seemed off when you left. Like something was bothering you."

  "Just tired is all. Tired."

  "Then why didn't you just stay home and rest?"

  "I had to come here. I had to."

  "James?"

  He clenched his face, trying to stop the crying.

  "James!" she said louder. "James what's the matter?"

  "I did something."

  "What? What did you do?"

  Silence.

  "James, what the hell is going on? Uhh, you're, you're starting to scare me a little. What exactly are you doing in Dallas?"

  "I'm not in Dallas," he said quickly.

  "Not in Dallas? But the conference--"

  "--I'm not in Dallas!"

  "What do you mean you're not in Dallas! James you better start talking to me. You're freaking me the hell out. Jesus, are you hurt or something. What's wrong with you?"

  "I'm outside of Diller. In a little motel."

  "Diller," she repeated. "Wh-where the hell is that?"

  "It's in South Texas, you wouldn't know it."

  "Diller," she scoffed. "Well what the hell is down there that warranted such secrecy?"

  "I did something...Before," he stammered, "Before I met you."

  "Before?"

  "Yes," there was a brief silence. "I gave her something. That's how I paid for school. Paid for my house. She paid me very well."

  "Who?"

  "Margo. That fucking Sullivan bitch!"

  "The artist?" she said, "What the hell could you possibly give her?"

  "I stole something and I gave it to her."

  "What did you steal?"

  He was quiet for a moment and then said, "A baby. A baby girl."

  "A baby?"

  "I was outside of cafe one day in 1974. I saw a beautiful baby girl in a stroller. I was drawing her, I imagined she wore a crown and I sketched it with charcoal. The mother stepped away from her for a moment and I don't know what came over me. I picked it up. It was so quiet and the mother was talking to another woman so intently she didn't even notice me slip past her and snatch the baby. I was walking away. I turned the corner of the building when I heard the screaming and quickened my pace. I stole that baby. I stole it."

  Hudd suddenly heard a knock, rose and crept towards the door. He placed his eye on the peephole and saw the blurry silhouette of a man in a green uniform. The man raised a gun and shot a bullet through the peephole into Hudd's right eye.

  The Party.

  February 8, 2014

  "ADAM," SAID THE VOICE, "Are you awake?"

  His mind was still foggy, he tried to shake the dream. He forced himself up, zigzagging erratically to the door and opened it just enough to see Bertha's old eyes.

  "Yes," he spoke from behind the door, exposing his red eyes.

  She forced the door open and saw his face, backed away and crunched her forehead, "Jesus," she said before her frown lines loosened, the lines became a mocking smile, "My, my, not really a morning person, are we?" She wanted to laugh, to snicker in his face, she absolutely loved it. The boy, the statue, the one Margo gawked at and widened her eyes for, look at him; there he was, a common disaster. Something which had blossomed in the spring and been beaten by a summer hurricane. What happened to your glow, little one? What happened to your precious luster? The diamond may be shiny, but its brightness is contingent on both polish and the light. This one, this silly little one, would dim and die in no time. The thought pleased her. She beamed a schoolgirl grin of admiration at his unimpressive state.

  "Bad dreams," he said.

  She grunted, "Listen, Margo and I will be out all morning. We need to take care of some things for the party tonight. You can use the studio to work."

  Adam nodded.

  "Feel free to take a shower, you look like shit," she smiled. He never noticed she had very long teeth, they almost looked gray.

  — 2 —

  LATER TH
AT AFTERNOON Margo tried to slip on a final piece of jewelry. "Bertha, come help me with this bracelet—I can't—I can't get the damn loop in."

  Bertha cupped the crook of her hand carefully, gently sliding her thumb over Margo's wrist. Bertha stretched a light smile, she regarded the bracelet and smiled, "I bought you this one."

  Margo scoffed. "It will have to do." She shook her head, "I hate doing these events."

  "It's not an event, it's a party. It's your birthday party."

  "It's an event. Everything I do is an event."

  "Back on your pedestal I see."

  "I've never been off of it," replied Margo.

  Bertha smirked. "Self-awareness has never been one of your strong suits."

  She pulled her hand away. "What the hell does that mean?"

  Bertha froze, unaware of how to answer.

  "Why did you say that?" Margo's eyes exploded, "What are you saying, Bertha?"

  She leaned forward, "Don't listen to me. I don't know what I'm talking about."

  "No. You certainly do know. Now you open up that mouth of yours and you spill whatever needs to come out."

  "I didn't mean anything by it."

  "No, you did. I know exactly what you mean. You think I'm full of shit. You think I'm a fraud!"

  Bertha shook her head confused, "What?! I never said that."

  "No, that's right, you went around the airport. Couldn't come in for a direct landing, but you still crashed the plane."

  "I don't know what you're getting at, Margo. You need to calm down. There are people waiting for you."

  "I don't give a shit. I don't give a shit..." the voice drifted.

  Bertha stepped closer, touching her shoulder gently, "I didn't mean anything by it. I'm just teasing you. I know you're nervous about the party and the show. But I know it's going to be great," Bertha stood in front of Margo now, she stared into her eyes intensely. "You're great. You know that. You're wonderful." Bertha leaned in and kissed Margo lightly on the lips.

  Margo backed away. "Don't play with me, Bertha. You know me. Don't play with me."

  "We're two rattlers, Margo. Your poison doesn't work on me." She reached for her hand, embraced it warmly.

  Margo grimaced and threw Berta's hand off hers. "If I was going to get you Bertha, it won't be with poison."

  Bertha shook her head playfully "Stop already," she leaned closer. "There-there-there. Calm down."

  Margo tilted her head, teeth beamed. Her eyes spoke for her: "You idiot," they said, "You think this a game." She turned her back, walked towards the door. Before exiting, Margo turned back and said, "You're a snake like me, you say. Well, there's only one way to kill a snake. If I ever want to get you, I'll just cut off your fucking head. I've done it before."

  — 3 —

  ADAM DIDN'T WANT TO be at the party, he made every excuse possible when Margo met him in the studio and obligated him to come. He kept to himself; it would have been a great opportunity to meet new artists and rub elbows with the special guests who flooded the Castilian. But in all honesty, all he wanted to do the whole night was march back up the stairs, lock himself in that cold studio and finish the damned painting. He hated the idea of spending even one more day in this house. He hated the cold feeling he got, the questions that filled his mind. What were they doing in that grave house? Who was that man he saw last night, and why did these damned dreams feel so real? Why did he feel a coldness...a fear?

  From his vicinity outside the main house in the courtyard smoking, Adam could see Margo in the formal dining room. She was in her element, schmoozing with her guests, laughing and speaking with authority. He followed her walk to a corner of the living room. There was a tall, broad shouldered gentleman waiting for her. The man wore a green uniform. Adam had seen them on television, it was a US Border Patrol Agent's uniform. Adam crept to another window hoping to get a better look. They spoke softly, the Border Patrol Agent leaned in, Margo's eyes wide and afraid. He was blonde, with light grey hair on the temples, he was younger, but not by much. He reached for her cheek and stroked it lovingly and leaned in for a kiss. She pushed him away gently and looked around to make sure no one had seen the affection. Margo fixed her hair and made her way back to her guests. The tall man reached for his cell.

  Adam heard mumbling from the other side of the courtyard. There was an older man stumbling down the steps.

  "Fuck you," the man slurred with a cigarette in his mouth. He was a small man without a single hair on his head. Despite his stature he carried himself with a haughty disposition that only the British have mastered. "Fuck you, you fucking fuck. Light, you fuck," He was swerving, muttering as he struggled to light the cigarette.

  Adam removed his lighter, helped the old man keep still until he lit the stick.

  "David Waller," he said and extended his cold hand.

  "Adam Betancourt."

  He inhaled. "So you're the boy Margo has been talking about all night. She tells us you're quite the painter. She loves the attention, you know. Especially when the boys come round. Bet her knickers went into a tizzy when you told her you were writing a report on her."

  Adam half smiled.

  "Tell me son, how has the old girl been treating you? She's quite the pistol, you know. All of these Latina women are. I think it's the indigenous blood."

  "She's an incredible woman. I've been a fan of hers for a very long time."

  "Never really cared for her work myself. I guess it goes over my head. But what do I know, I'm just a doctor."

  "What field are you in?"

  "Gynecology."

  "Ah."

  "And how do you know Margo?"

  "Her husband, Larry, was a good friend of mine. Went to college together. I operated on her a few years back."

  "I see."

  "Funny thing about Margo," he said.

  "What's that?"

  "She had a procedure done a few years ago. Total abdominal hysterectomy. Took it all out. Cancerous."

  "I don't think you're supposed to be telling me this."

  He ignored the comment, he exhaled heavily and rapidly, his face, a furious red color. "The funny thing is. And it's been puzzling me, just puzzling me you know. For a long a long time. I mean. When it happened I didn't put much thought into it. You know. I just figured...well, I didn't figure anything did I. It just kind of occurred to me later. And I never said anything. I never did. Well, there's nothing to do, really."

  "I'm afraid you're not making any sense."

  "Her parts. They don't work."

  "Isn't that why she got them removed?" asked Adam.

  "But that's just it. Funny thing. They never did."

  "I'm not sure I understand what you mean."

  "Well Daniel and the other one, the one who went missing..." his voice drifted and he looked away. He took a deep swig of his flask.

  "Sebastian?" he asked.

  The old man's eyes were darting back and forth. "Sebastian."

  "I thought she only had two children. There's no record of a Sebastian."

  "Shoot," he took a sip from his flask, "We took care of that for her. We took care of a lot of things for her."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Can't have a dead son if there is no record of one now can you?"

  "She pays good. Always has, I bet you know that all too well," he slapped his back and coughed a laugh. "But back to the funny thing. She had her bits and pieces removed, but they never worked in the first place," he paused. "There is no biological way that that woman in there could have conceived any of her children." He drank again. "How do you figure that?" he twisted his mouth as the liquid burned its way down, his eyes were droopy and blood shot. "Never told anyone this," he looked down at the flask. "Never." He stumbled around as he walked back towards the house.

  "Wait a minute. If all you're saying is true, then where did she get her kids from?"

  "Beats the hell out of me. I tried looking for their records in the hospital and I did some research. They a
re nowhere to be found. No birth certificate. No records. No newspaper article of missing children. No nothing. Not in this country anyway."

  "This doesn't make any sense. Why are you telling me this?"

  "Things rarely make sense when you come into this house. I've been coming here for ten years. Seen things," he shook his flask, it was empty. "They don't treat the old lady right. I'm tired of it I guess. Tired of keeping it to myself. When does it end? I can't cover for her forever, you know. It's not right. How can you do that to an old woman?" Before he opened the door he turned around and said, "Ask the mother. She's the one who knows everything."

  "Margo's mother?"

  "Yes, the old lady. They keep her there. I've made a few house calls here. She's always sedated but she's just itching to talk to anyone who will give her the time of day. I've heard some things from her myself when I check up on her."

  "Like what?"

  "Ask her yourself. They keep her on the second floor, last door in the hallway. She's there right now," Dr. Waller pointed towards the second floor, to a window that had been boarded.

  The Old Woman

  THE ROOM WAS at the end of the hall. There were two paintings on each side of the door. The door was locked, but he could see scratches along the keyhole. He knocked on the door lightly and called out "Ma'am."

  Adam pressed his ears against the door, but couldn't hear anything from the other side. He turned to make sure no one was coming and tightened the grip on the doorknob. "Hello," he said. He was about to turn around when he heard the lock open itself, the knock turned slowly, allowing the wide door to open lightly. The room was quite large. The flowers on the dresser were dry. The television set was set on an old black and white movie, mute, this was the only source of light in the room. "Hello?"

  The old woman slowly shifted her head towards the door, "Who's there?"

  Adam closed the door behind him and stepped closer to her. "My name is Adam."

  Her eyes and body trembled, she seemed terribly weak, she bobbed her head, as if she carried the weight of the world in her mind. Years of memories sinking her skull lower and lower.