Dark Avenues

by Brian J Smith

  The last time I’d saw it, it scrawled across the wall that night when licorice and fear became my bedfellows. It wasn’t just the symbol itself that scared me but the very reality of its presence. Instead of purple paint, the symbol was drawn in globs of blueberry jelly that resembled a child’s finger painting; everything from the pathway to the door and the horizon looked just as it’d done the day I first saw it.

  5

  I was standing inside of a spacious bedroom with white walls striped with bright pink wallpaper and the same brown carpet I’d seen in the first dream. A pair of twin beds sat against the right side of the room under an arched window framed by elongated blue drapes; dust motes danced in the shafts of sunlight pooling across the floor.

  A tall antique wooden dresser stood on the far left, topped by an array of bright ceramic knickknacks and beauty products. A small brass lamp lie on its side in the middle of the room with a shattered light bulb jutting up from the ribbed golden cap like a thin sliver of bone.

  In the far left corner of the room, a wooden closet door had been flung open with such force that it was left hanging down by a single twisted hinge. A set of footsteps drummed across the other end of the hall, followed by a loud wheezing sound like something you’d hear when sitting on a leather seat.

  I crossed the room on slow hesitant steps and ambled out into the hallway. The noxious mix of licorice and cherry-flavored lollipops filled the house and stung my nostrils. A large picture frame hanging on the wall beside of the bathroom doorway showed a heavyset brunette in a red sweater and black capris kneeling down beside of two young girls both with long chestnut brown hair wearing light purple dresses and white sneakers in front of a faux grassy background.

  Their names were pasted across the front of the photo in colorful adhesive letters that you could peel off at any time and stick them elsewhere. The girl on the left was named Abbi and the pear-shaped girl was named Daisy; the mother’s name was Maureen.

  A strangled cry echoed across the house. I peered into the living room and saw the curtain of colorful plastic beads draped across the open doorway and felt my heart sink toward my feet. I pressed my clammy-white fists against my thighs and dug my fingernails against the middle of my palms until it hurt.

  I held my breath, peered around the corner and into the living room. Maureen was sitting on the edge of an overstuffed blue couch facing a large boxy black television sitting in the far left corner of the room next to the big picture window overlooking the back yard. Shafts of dull gray sunlight painted odd shadows across the same oak paneled walls that bottled the cries of its victims and the same brown carpet that absorbed more blood than an operating room.

  Her long black hair was ruffled and stuck up from the top of her head as if she touched the wrong wire. She wore a long-sleeved green tee shirt and tight black stirrups; sporadic patterns of dirt and mud clung to her bare feet like a bad case of psoriasis.

  She swiped her hand across the coffee table, sending an array of items spilling onto the floor. She rose up from her seat, walked around to the right side of the coffee table, pressed her foot down hard onto the television remote. It cracked, sending a bright red button rolling across the room and out of sight, filling the house with the sound of shattered plastic.

  She walked across the room and stopped in front of a large wooden table with matching chairs sitting in front of the other big picture window overlooking the front porch. The corners of her mouth sagged into a deflated frown bracketed by deeply creased dimples; her puffy swollen eyes were telltale signs of both long contemplation and insomnia.

  The last time I’d seen that particular spot empty was back at the party when Todd removed his teeth with a pair of pliers. Abbi sat on the left side of the table wearing a pair of plaid shorts and a pink tee-shirt with her back facing the hallway; Daisy sat on the facing the hallway, a thin curtain of brown hair shrouding one half of her pale cherub face.

  She’d twisted their arms behind their backs and cinched their wrists together with thick bands of braided white rope. The colorful silk ties wound around their mouths muffled their agonizing cries but did very little for their gut-wrenching sobs. Hot lucid tears and snail trails of viscous green snot slid down their faces, stained their makeshift gags and reflected off of their cheeks like cheap glittery makeup.

  “Now girls.” Maureen said in a soft pleading tone. “You need to be on your best behavior today. When I remove your gags, you have to scream a little louder because if the house can’t hear you then it doesn’t count.”

  Her phrase resonated inside my ears and vibrated against my skull. I didn’t want to believe that she would actually say that to her own children but I was old enough to realize that dreams didn’t really have to make sense and neither did the dialogue. They were what they were and that was that.

  The girls jerked on their restraints, their bodies wriggling like a worms seeking underground shelter. Their muffled screams were greatly emphasized by the pained expressions etched across their faces. She snuck over to Daisy’s chair and raked her hands through her long brown hair in slow and steady brushstrokes.

  Maureen inched her head toward Daisy’s face, pressed her nose against the back of her left cheek and, dragging her face down the sloping curvature of her neck, sniffed the scent of fear wafting off of her skin. The girl flinched and jerked her back, her wide horror-struck eyes glistening with tears. She cupped her left hand around the back of her head, her right hand underneath her chin and held it still before planting a soft kiss onto the crown of her forehead.

  “Don’t fight it, Abbi.” She spoke in a hushed tone. “The more you fight it, the harder it gets for us to cross.”

  Abbi and Daisy stopped sniveling long enough to cast long puzzled glances across the table at each other. They weren’t just scared, but confused as well; this was a side of their mother they never wanted to see. She was supposed to be a role model, a symbol of courage and strength, not the guru of their nightmares.

  “I’m sorry, honey.” She whispered into her ear. “Since your sister ran from me, I’m gonna have to kill you first.”

  They groaned from behind their gags and wrenched at their restraints again, tossing thick tufts of long brown hair across one side of their face. Maureen tore Daisy’s gag off of her face and sauntered into the kitchen, her body rigid as if the weight of their misery would’ve never played a role in weighing her down.

  “Pppplease.” Abbi pleaded, her lips wet and quivering. “Ddddon’t do this. Wwwweeee love you, Mmmmmommy. Ddddaddy loves yo–”

  “If your father had one ounce of love for me,” She added. “then he wouldn’t have traded me for some cheap whore. This house reminded me a long time ago that we girls have to stick together. We are all we’ve got and this house is a part of our family, too.”

  When she reemerged from the kitchen, Maureen carried a thin silver tray across the room and placed it in the middle of the table between them. She stared down at the three red plastic cups sitting in the middle of the tray and sighed with motherly admiration. Her eyes beamed with an eerie incandescent glow that sent cold shivers trailing down my spine; the right corner of her lip curved into a toothy lopsided grin.

  “Wwwwe’ll do anything yyyyyou want, Mom.” Abbi pleaded once more. “Wwwwwhatever it is just ppppplease don’t do this, Mommy. We love you.”

  Daisy’s voice became clear as she nodded, her eyes wide and hopeful. She prayed that someone had heard all of the ruckus from earlier ago and called the authorities; anytime now she would hear the sound of police sirens closing in on them.

  “Please, Mommy.” Abbi begged. “Don’t do this please do please ple–”

  A loud panicked cry rattled inside of her throat, cutting her off in mid-sentence. The cups had been filled to the brim with red punch; a black X was scrawled across one side of the cup in what looked to be the quick scrawl from a black magic marker.

  Although my body was numb with fear, my cheeks flushed. Maureen bowed her head, clasp
ed her hands together and closed her eyes. She cocked her head to the right and perked her left ear toward the ceiling; a sadistic grin spread across her face, hugging the corners of her thick red mouth with faint tiny wrinkles.

  I gazed into the kitchen and felt a tremor of terror pounding through me. A tall glass pitcher with the colorful décor of a smiling blue flower rested on the countertop next to a neon-yellow box, the words RAT-B-GONE stamped in bold black font. The handle of a long wooden spoon jutted out from the left side of a double-sided sink.

  Fear tightened my chest and squeeze a pneumatic wheeze from between my lips. My blood ran cold as I bit down on my bottom lip to keep from screaming. I forced the sour aftertaste back down my throat and felt my stomach churn with disgust.

  “Don’t worry, girls.” She said with a tinge of elation in her voice. “Momma’s gonna hold your hand so you’re not alone. Wouldn’t it be great if we could all go together?”

  She opened her eyes, snatched the tall red plastic cup from the right side of the tray and approached Daisy’s side of the table. Daisy jerked her head back and forth a few times, hoping to knock the cup from her mother’s hand but her efforts proved fruitless. I screamed and took a step toward the living room but I could go no further.

  Abbi let off a loud panicked scream and watched helplessly as Maureen caught Daisy’s head in her hand, tipped it back, poured the poisoned punch down her forcibly pursed lips. When Daisy’s throat flexed like it would if she were drinking, I knew it was too late. Once the cup was empty, Maureen tossed it across the living room and, watching it fly across the room, gave a playful giggle.

  She clapped her hands and backed away from the table, her face twisted with the same mad pleasure beaming in her eyes. Daisy jostled and spewed a chorus of loud choking sounds that tore at the fabric of my sanity; the pained expression on her face was borne from the realization that her mother had killed her and become less of the strong feminine role model she was meant to be. She coughed as twin rivers of blood gushed out of her mouth, spurted from her nostrils in sporadic bursts and splashed down the front of her nightgown.

  Her body clenched, pinching her face together. She snatched a breath, lurched forward in her seat and heaved a river of hot yellow vomit across the table. As she twitched, her eyes rolled inside of their sockets and her head slumped forward, shrouding her face in a curtain of long brown hair.

  “One down,” Maureen cheered with motherly approval. “one more to go.”

  When she grabbed the other cup from the tray, Abbi gave a terrified cry that–

  I blinked and sat straight up in my bed. I was back inside of my bedroom, my chest rising and falling against the gentle rush of the wind tossing my curtains around like rag dolls. I brushed a strand of hair from my clammy forehead, tossed my covers aside and felt the cool summer air caressing my bare legs.

  Thin shafts of moonlight painted odd black shadows across my windowsill before reaching toward the corners of my bedroom. The tree branches outside of my bedroom window stirred lazily in the breeze, tossing more wind than caution. I heard a loud creaking sound from outside my bedroom, a low whine that scraped at the dark suffocating silence.

  My bedroom door eased opened, spreading a carpet of light across my doorway. I held my breath as a tall shadow dissected the light, its elongated arm perched on the edge of my doorknob. I leaped back into bed, quickly threw the covers back across my legs and held them until my knuckles turned white.

  When I saw the bright-yellow Pokémon tee-shirt and matching yellow pants, I let out a great breath. The fear dissipating from my bones, I sat up in bed and loosened my grip but not too much.

  “What are you doing up at this time of the night?” Jared whispered, skulking into my bedroom.

  “I could hear you in the hallway as I was coming out of the bathroom.” He jabbed his thumb over his shoulder. “Did you have a bad dream?”

  He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand and gazed out the moonlit window, his lips pursed with wonder. I tugged the covers tighter against my stomach and tucked my left foot under my right knee.

  No matter how long I stared at him, all I could see was him swiping his jelly-coated fingers across the bathroom wall at Mattie’s Country barn uttering a sly evil laugh. I didn’t mention the symbol to anyone for the rest of the day because we were having so much fun that I didn’t want to ruin it. If I did, my parents would’ve realized I’d either been trying to hog all of their attention or that I’d lost more than a few hours of sleep.

  We’d had so much fun we’d lost track of time. After Mom and I got back from the clothing stores, Dad and Jared greeted us with milkshakes that we’d drank on the way home; we ended up not taking the shortcut back home and therefore passed 1342 Lindley Drive or at least that’s what I saw on the mailbox before I closed my eyes and lowered my head between my knees so I wouldn’t have to look at it. Later that night, Mom and I stayed home while Dad and Jared went back into town and picked up a couple of pizzas and some movies.

  The last time I saw him was around ten-thirty when Dad carried his sleeping body upstairs with me in tow. Now, he looked all giddy and inquisitive.

  “What did he say?”

  “What did who say?”

  “What did Father say?”

  I knew what he was talking about but I wasn’t in the mood.

  “How did you know?”

  “Know what?”

  “How did you know I saw him?”

  The giddiness in his face sunk to an uncomfortable silence.

  “Are you having the same dream?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Listen to me, Jared.” I said, taking his hand. “Are you seeing people going crazy in your dream or what? How are you communicating with him?”

  “I’ve been communicating with him ever since the door opened.” He said, shrugging his left shoulder. “I saw everything you’ve been seeing, Mollie. He wants you to join, too.”

  “I don’t care what he wants.”

  Jerking his hand away from my grasp, he said, “Don’t say that about my father.”

  “Your father is all the way in Colu–”

  “Not he’s not.” He hissed, sliding off the edge of my bed. “He’s right over there. When are you ever going to understand that?”

  He nodded at the window behind me. I was angry that my attempts to shake this off had been for nothing. The more I tried to forget about it, the more it tugged at me like a child seeking attention.

  “Did he mention The Crossing?” He said, resting his hands in his lap.

  “Wha-wha–”

  “I heard you say, ‘I don’t want to cross. I don’t want to go’. I assumed you were talking to Father.”

  I’d never talked in my sleep before the events leading up to this, so why now? All I knew was that I was fed up with it; the word “Father”, that godawful house and all these damn dreams I was having.

  I tossed the covers aside, threw my legs over the side and climbed out of bed. I stood in front of him, braced his shoulders with both hands and crouched down to meet his gaze.

  “Listen to me, Jared.” I whispered. “He’s not your father. I don’t know who he is but he’s not your father. He’s just a figment of your imag–”

  “You’re lying.” He hissed. “He told me him he wants me to follow him through the door again. He said the stars will align again tomorrow night and then we can be together.”

  “He wants to kill you, Jared. He doesn’t care about anyone but himself.”

  He tried to wriggle out of my grasp but I refused to let him go.

  “He doesn’t care about you like I do. If you’d only se–”

  “You’re hurting me, Mollie.”

  I tried to calm him down as best as I could but our voices grew louder and more intense. He squealed and kicked his feet.

  “I’m not hurting you, Jared.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  “He’s not your father, Jared. He’s not yo–”
>
  Footsteps paraded toward my bedroom, quick and unrelenting in their pursuit. A cold chill traced the contours of my spine and pinned my feet to the floor. Before I could open my mouth to tell him to quiet down, Mom and Dad came bursting into my bedroom with a mix of disgust and grogginess etched across their faces.

  Mom hurried across the room, leaned over my bed and pulled Jared from my grasp. Dad flipped on my desk lamp, drowning the far left corner of my room in a carpet of golden ambient light and jabbed his finger in my face until the sight of lowered me onto the edge of my bed.

  “What the hell is going on in here?”

  “He was tal–”

  Raising his head from Mom’s right shoulder, Jared whined, “She said bad things about my father that isn’t true.”

  “I didn’t say anything like that.” I pleaded, raking my hand through my hair.

  “Yes, you did.”

  Crocodile tears streaming down his face, he buried his face against the front of Mom’s nightgown. She cradled him and patted the middle of his back.

  “I don’t care who said it.” Dad said in a resounding voice. “We’re gonna stop all of this foolishness and go back to bed.”

  There was so much I wanted to say but I couldn’t speak through the ball of anger bunched up inside of my throat. Tears brimming in my eyes, I laced my arms across my chest and stared down at the floor.

  As he corralled Mom and Jared out of my bedroom, Dad killed the light switch and plunged my room back into a tangle of moonlight and shadows. He stood outside of my room, his lethargic face sunk with disappointment, stared down at the floor and back up at me.

  “We’ll deal with this in the morning.”

  My face blushed at the sight of my father’s disapproving look, but I was sure there would be more to come. After he shut the door, I slid back under the covers and laid down.