Wake the Wicked

by Christian Baloga

  Grace nearly stopped in her tracks, confused. There're no other houses on this road. It's the Victorian, then woods, nothing more. What's he doing up there then? There wasn't any garbage up there. Why the hell would there be? Now, she had to know what he was up to.

  The man hiked farther down the road until he reached the end, to a thick-forested wall. Grace was afraid he’d turn back her way, so she dropped down again. This time, her whole body lay flat, her hair flirting with dust and pebbles.

  He kept going, tunneling into the woods. She looked to the right, at the Victorian. If there was anyone home and they saw her, she could imagine what they were thinking. Look at the redheaded girl on the ground. Isn't she the nurse from the hospital? They hire anybody these days . . .

  Grace trekked past the house and followed the man down a leafy path in the forest. Her feet crunched with every step, quieting only when landing on stone. Here and there, spider webs caught her off guard. They snatched at her face and pulled her hair. She remained placid.

  Moments later, Grace saw what her gut led her to. Between the trees and brush stood a two-story house. Ivy crept up the left corner of the house, near the front door. The weathered siding left the exterior cracked and pitted like the mud-split ground of Death Valley. There was no grassy front yard or flower garden. The yard lay covered in leaves and brush, like the rest of the forest.

  The man stepped up a few concrete steps leading to the door. Above him, a triangle section of brick left the wall exposed, where a patio cover once stretched out. Without entering a key, he turned the knob and the door tottered open, squeaking like a family of scared mice. Grace hid behind thick pines. She peeked through the bare spaces left between the pine. No matter how hard she tried to hide, though, her hair was as vivid through the pine as a blood red sun.

  Grace could barely make out what the man was doing. The blue-green pine needles shifted in the wind, making it impossible to get a good look. She leaned over. She could see him standing still under the open door. What was he doing? Did he hear her?

  Without looking at where her hand was going, Grace grabbed a needled branch for support. It picked at her skin, startling her. She released and lost her balance. She tipped over, face first, and crashed into the dry leaves below, making a horrible thunking and crunching sound.

  At first she lay still, hoping by chance he didn't hear her. But whom was she kidding? The people down the street living in the Victorian probably heard her.

  She shot up from the ground and, without looking back, hightailed it out of the woods, over the dirt road, and straight to her house. The whole way she spoke a mantra to herself, "Embarrassing, awkward, embarrassing, embarrassing, awkward."

  Grace climbed the steps to her house and turned the knob. It wouldn't budge. She didn't lock it; she knew she hadn't. She twisted with more force. It turned a little, but wouldn't budge. It felt to her like . . . like somebody was holding the other end. She stepped back, and as she did, the door opened and a terrible scream burst out from inside.

  A skinny blonde wearing bright red lip-gloss raced out the door. Grace screeched. Her heart raced.

  "Aubrey!" Grace yelled, throwing up her hands to cover her face. "You almost gave me a heart attack. I've told you before, people can die from fright! It's not funny."

  Aubrey laughed so hard she hunched on her stomach. "You fall for it every time! Every time!" She held out her hands and gave Grace a hug. Aubrey’s eyes were glossed with tears of joy.

  Grace returned with a soft hug.

  "Whoa there, not too tight now. You know I'm claustrophobic," she joshed.

  "I was scared before you popped out," Grace explained, unamused.

  "Yeah, yeah, sure, sure."

  "I was . . ." Graced thought for a second if it was a good idea to tell Aubrey about the man. Then, feeling no harm could possibly come of it, she continued. "I was following the homeless man; you know, the one walking around picking up garbage. And I followed him into the woods. To his house. And he caught me. So I ran back. And you magnified things a little."

  Aubrey's laughing slowed to a puttering halt and she asked Grace, "You followed a homeless man back to his house?" Aubrey began laughing again, harder this time. She stomped her feet on the ground like a horse. "Homeless—man's—house."

  Grace stood there on the lawn with her arms crossed and her face stern. For a moment she let loose a spitting chuckle, then pleaded, "Come on, you knew what I meant. Stop being mean."

  Everything led to a burst of laughter, and it took a while before Aubrey was able to calm down and be serious.

  "I want to see where the smelly man lives." Aubrey smirked. "Please, I really do wanna see. You can't leave me out of something like this. Now that would be mean."

  Grace thought for a moment. Taking Aubrey, the girl who was as nimble as a dump truck, could be dangerous. But Grace was as curious about the man roaming her street as Aubrey was. Although knowing Aubrey, if I don’t take her, she’ll follow him and go to his house alone and ask to stay for supper.

  Grace bit her lip. After seeing the outside of the man’s house, she couldn't imagine how the inside looked. After all, how else would she be able to help him if she didn't know his living conditions? "Alright, but we have to wait until tomorrow, when he heads out for his morning garbage run."

  "What time?"

  "Whenever we see him walk westward." Grace pointed at the road on the left side where she'd seen him earlier that day.

  * * *

  "I’m wearing gloves. You have a gas mask I can borrow?"

  "Uh, wait a sec, you don't think we're breaking in, right?" It was something Grace hadn't thought about when she initiated the story yesterday. She couldn't allow Aubrey to go in, at least not by herself.

  Aubrey laughed off the question. "He's a hobo; who knows what he has? I heard malaria is bad this year. Dad said helicopters came by spraying the area."

  "Malaria is only transmittable through blood, and we don't plan to share needles with the guy, so I think we'll be fine."

  "Speak for yourself. If he's got something good we might become real good friends."

  Grace and Aubrey sat, waiting on the porch. Grace's eyes darted over the eReader's screen, left to right, left to right. Meanwhile, Aubrey stretched out on a wicker sofa, smoking a cigarette, trying to see how many rings of smoke she could puff out at one time.

  Grace tilted her head toward the sound of distant shuffling. "It's him," Grace whispered. "Now don't stare."

  A minute later, the man was in full view, scouring the roadside for garbage.

  "Shit, he gets dirtier every time I see him. And forget malaria; looks like he's got rabies."

  Shut up, Grace lipped, and pretended to continue reading.

  The man staggered by without his eyes meandering above the brush and pavement.

  "So, we taking your car?" Aubrey asked, stomping out the cigarette across the cement walkway.

  "No, we're going to walk. If by chance he comes back, we can get outta there and still keep our anonymity." Grace began walking down the driveway to the road.

  “Ah, man,” Aubrey said, disappointed. She shrugged and stomped down after her sister.

  When they reached the end of the dirt road, Grace noticed something she hadn't seen the day before; no trespassing signs. They lined every other tree. Although it was clear, prowling on other people's property without permission was dangerous, the signs did make her hesitate a little more.

  "Oh Grace?" Aubrey singsonged as she looked back at Grace, who stood at the end of the road rereading one of the signs as if she overlooked the part about specific instances where one could trespass. "What's the hold up?"

  "Follow the path."

  Moments later, Aubrey screeched out of revulsion and began spinning her arms in the air.

  Grace looked back and watched her sister as she clawed at her own face, as she tried to release herself of the sticky spider webs. Then she whispered in a spitfire tone, "Your impulsive behavior is going
to get us caught."

  Not a minute later, Grace and Aubrey came upon the house.

  "So this is it? What a fucking pigsty." Aubrey walked up the porch steps, twisted the handle, and let it go. The door creaked open by itself. Without even looking back at Grace, she walked in.

  Grace almost lost her breath at the sight of her sister walking into a stranger's house all by herself. She gave the forest a once over, then followed Aubrey inside. Dirt blanketed a wooden floor and the living room had two pieces of furniture in it, a plastic lawn chair and a long table scattered with newspapers.

  Grace picked the nearest one up. The headline read, "Missing Pa. Child's Family Turns to Psychics for Help."

  "Hey, Grace, come in here," Aubrey yelled from another room.

  Grace walked into the kitchen where it smelled of decay. It was the same earthy stench from yesterday, when the screen door mysteriously swung open. Aubrey lifted a bag from a small table in the center of the room. Its contents clanked within.

  "That's his bag," Grace said. Her head darted up in thought. She stared at ivy creeping in from tiny spaces between the windowsills and said, "He might be back sooner than we thought." She choked on her own words.

  Meanwhile, Aubrey had opened the fridge. "Holy shit." Grace took a step forward, toward the fridge. Aubrey held out a hand, stopping her from nearing. "Don't come any closer."

  "What is it? What's inside?"

  Aubrey swallowed hard and slammed it shut. "A head. Human."

  Then, they heard the unmistakable creak of the front door. Aubrey grabbed Grace's arm. They looked at each other, wide eyed and doomed. Their eyes bulleted around the room. There wasn’t another way out. The main entrance was it.

  Across the kitchen, Grace spotted two empty cabinets below the sink. They were both open. She took Aubrey's arm and pushed her down. "In," she whispered. She obeyed. Grace rolled in the other side and closed both doors. Small holes, rotted by moisture and time, allowed them to peek into the kitchen.

  Seconds later, they saw the man shuffle in, bringing with him a cloud of dust. Grace and Aubrey clasped their hands together and held their breath.

  The man almost fell onto the kitchen table. He held on, like he'd come back from running a marathon. And as he caught his breath, he walked over to a wood-burning stove where a deep pot of liquid boiled over the sides. He stuck his hand in his pants pocket, opened the top of the steaming pot with the other hand, and dropped in what appeared to be a small bird.

  Aubrey saw Grace putting a hand across her mouth in disgust, but they continued watching. It was getting hotter inside the cabinet. Aubrey fidgeted. She needed to get out of dark quarters soon or she'd freak. She felt the little space closing in on her little by little.

  The man stirred a ladle latched onto the pot's inside. He braced himself on the stove's edge and hovered over the steamy contents. He closed his eyes and breathed in.

  Grace felt Aubrey getting increasingly tense and fidgety. She tried to make eye intact with her, to let her know somehow things were going to be okay. But Aubrey gazed forward, her gaze unmoving.

  Grace felt something crawl up her arm, the arm holding onto Aubrey. Grace didn't move; she couldn't move. She didn’t want to let go. Aubrey needed her. The creature tickled the tiny hairs of her neck, and moments later she felt a prick on her cheek. Whatever it was, it bit her, and she couldn't do anything about it. She clenched her teeth and inhaled a deep breath.

  The man wobbled toward them, soup bowl in hand. He sat at the kitchen table, his back toward them, no more than three feet away. If either of them were to make even the slightest tap, he'd surely hear it. The earthy stench was at its strongest now, and Grace wondered if this man had been at her door yesterday.

  They couldn't see his front, but they heard him lick and slurp down his meal. It brought shivers down Grace's spine and made her stomach swell.

  The creature on Grace’s face began to crawl again, this time closer to her eye. She couldn't stand it anymore. She let go of Aubrey and slapped the against into her skin. She felt the small mass on her face drop away.

  What unfolded next, though, was too much for Grace to handle. Aubrey burst through the cabinet door. It broke off the hinges and smashed against the back of the seat where the man sat fingering his soup.

  "Sick fuck!" Aubrey yelled and bolted out the kitchen.

  Startled, the man jumped out of his chair. His head poked out toward the running girl. He licked the rest of the juice off the spoon and trampled after her.

  Grace waited until she heard the front door squeak to a close, then she crawled out from the cabinet and began walking through the house, past the kitchen table, past a shadowy hallway on the right, and into the living room. She looked out every window she passed but saw nothing. All was quiet; too quiet. As she turned the doorknob, she heard footsteps coming from behind.

  It was the man. He shuffled toward her, arms outstretched in front of him like a hungry zombie, his eyes wide open. Up close, his face was twisted and sinister. Liquid from his supper dripped down his face, smearing the black soot around his mouth. In the dimly lit room, it looked as if he had no eyes, only dingy black holes.

  As if in slow motion, Grace watched helplessly as he snatched her shoulder. He groaned. Saliva sprayed at her from his mouth. She removed his hand. Immediately, she knew she was stronger than he and shoved him backward with all her strength.

  He lost balance and cracked his head on the wall. His body slumped to the floor at once. Grace caught a twinkle of light in his face. He did have eyes after all, and they locked with hers.

  Grace jolted out of the man's house. Aubrey was her first and only concern while sprinting back to her house. Had she escaped? Was she still in the man's house? Did she get lost coming back to the house in a panic?

  When she returned to her home, she rattled the doorknob. It was locked. "Aubrey, open up!" She banged her fists on the door and prodded the doorbell with her fist. "Aubrey!"

  A moment later, Aubrey opened the door. "Hey, sorry I left ya back there," she said, oddly calm. "I was having a panic attack in that mouse hole of a cabinet."

  "Did you call the police?" Grace interrupted.

  "No, why would I call the police? It's not illegal to eat birds." She paused. "Oh, you mean for the head in the fridge, right?"

  "Uh, yeah, don't you get it? He's the one abducting the kids. The head was probably his latest victim!"

  "Hold up, wait a minute." Aubrey smirked. "Uh, you're gonna kill me for this, but . . ."

  "Don't even tell me you’re joking!"

  "Alright," Aubrey said, lighting a cigarette. "I won't tell you then."

  "Aubrey, I could've hurt him. Killed him even. I was on the way out and he grabbed my shoulder and I pushed him against the wall. What if I killed him?"

  "One less mooch abusing the system."

  "That's not fair. You don't know his situation. He's far from abusing the system. We don't even know him."

  "Bet you I'm right. Ask him."

  "I'd never. It's none of my business and it's not yours either."

  "Why're you defending this good-for-nothin' hobo anyway?"

  "I'm worried. I think I hurt him. He hit his head hard."

  "So maybe you should call an ambulance or, better yet, the police and turn yourself in. You'll lose your job, Aubrey. If you killed him, you'll lose everything. It's a fucking hobo. Nobody cares if he's dead. The world will keep spinning."

  Aubrey has a point, she thought. Is it worth losing my job, my house, my freedom, my life, for a hobo? Just this once, I’m going to side with my sister on something my heart is telling me is irrevocably wrong. But on the whole of things, Aubrey is right. Nobody will care what happens to a hobo. The world will continue to spin and the sun will continue to rise and set. Nobody will even know.

  For the rest of the day, they both sat in the living room watching movies, thinking and rehashing their day.

  A dark figure brushed against the window from outside.
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  "I think I'm going to head to bed," Grace said to Aubrey, who lay on the couch, her eyes twitching open and close. "My eyes are playing tricks on me."

  Without saying a word, Aubrey gave her a thumbs up.

  * * *

  The next morning, the TV blaring downstairs awakened Grace. At first, she thought Aubrey must've fallen asleep with it on, but the smell in the air told a different story. Something was cooking. It had a sweet smell to it. It made Grace's stomach rumble with hunger.

  She walked barefoot down the fuzzy carpeted steps. Aubrey never makes breakfast, she thought. What wonderful surprise! She probably felt bad about how upset I was yesterday.

  Once at the bottom of the steps, she paused, closed her eyes, and wafted the sweat smell toward her face. Above the TV, she heard sizzling from the stove. Bacon? she thought. No, it was something close to bacon, though. For an instant, it reminded her of the smell her hand made after she'd burnt it on the iron a couple weeks ago.

  Grace turned the corner and followed the heavenly scent toward the kitchen. Red spatters dotted the floor. It shook up her thoughts and she forgot about the delicious smell at once. She bent down and slipped her finger over one of the blotches. It was immediate. Grace knew what this was. It had consistency of blood. It was blood.

  And what she saw next took away her breath and left her cold on the floor. The succulent smell of food twisted to a sour stench of mold. She looked around the kitchen. It was festooned with unthinkable red, from ceiling to wall to countertop.

  On the other side of the room, a man crouched over the stove. He turned around. It was the hobo covered in blood. The dark red against white skin reminded Grace, in a sinister way, of Aubrey's lip-gloss. He held out a sizzling pan of meat and tilted his head at her, as if offering breakfast.