Blackwater

by Paul McParland

  As the dust from the reopening of this ancient room settled, Karen could see the room and its contents more clearly. The bed was now visibly unmade and lumpy. Very lumpy.

  Karen stared at the humped figure that lay partially covered by a thin rotting duvet.

  In the musty dark, Karen could not make out more than a shape but she knew what and who she was looking at.

  Karen brought her head out from the crevice and tried to steady her heart rate. She wiped the sweat that beaded on her forehead and arms.

  After a few hard swallows, Karen pulled more plasterboard out from the ruined wall. She threw the chunks behind her, not bothered by the mess.

  When a large enough hole had been made, Karen climbed inside the hidden room. She passed the flashlight over the walls of the interior. The faded wallpaper and flecked paint made it hard to decipher whether the room had ever been nice. Karen suspected it had been sufficient for the sequestering of a young country girl for secret assaults.

  Karen passed the light back and forth as she crossed the room. She didn't want to focus it on the figure in the bed. She wanted to maintain her mettle until the last. If she stayed strong far enough, she might maintain it completely.

  Her foot hit something. It was the edge of the bed.

  Karen closed her eyes. She fought the tears. She turned herself and the light to the bed, keeping her eyes shut.

  Karen breathed calmly a few more times and let her eyes open, half fighting them.

  On the pathetic bed before her, lay the crumpled decaying body of a woman. There was no way of indentifying her as she had decomposed so badly, but Karen knew it was her. She knew she had finally found Emma.

  Looking down at the poor girl, Karen felt a pang of guilt. The young woman had grown up in a time where she was considered only worthy of one thing; especially by a patriarchal and entitled businessman like Henry Clark.

  She had probably dreamed of meeting a successful, kind man who would take her away from her harsh beginnings and give her the life she deserved. She may have even have thought that when she met Clark. Karen was sure of it. She knew Clark told Emma what she wanted to hear.

  Clark was several wives and several murders deep at this point. He was a collected, charming gentleman to many, but Henry Clark was also a devious, conniving malevolence. Karen could only imagine how he had told Emma of the life they would live once he had told his wife he had fallen in love with Emma. How he had to be kind to her and understanding of her feelings before leaving her.

  63

  The police arrived not long after Karen made the call. She had simply said she found a body in her house. There hadn’t been many questions after that.

  Karen escorted the two detectives inside and showed them to the basement door.

  “She’s in there...”

  “Ma’am there’s a hole in the wall.” Detective Joyce offered.

  “Yes.” Karen said, a little worried by the man’s obvious statement.

  “What I mean, ma’am, is – how did the hole get there?” Joyce smirked.

  “Oh!” Karen laughed. It was something so obvious she had overlooked it. She quickly had to think of an excuse; saying “I believed her ghost was telling me to check the walls for secret passageways and compartments” was not a legitimate reason for discovering a body.

  “There was this god-awful smell....it had been bothering us for days and I finally found it when I followed it to the basement. There was a small hole in the wall here and when I put my face up to it, the smell became stronger. I picked at the hole until I could see inside. That's when I saw the body...” Karen sniffed.

  She wiped a handkerchief at her nose. She had thought of this act; it upset women when they found decomposing bodies in their walls.

  “Thank you, ma’am. You’ve been very helpful. We can take it from here.” The other detective said. Detective Krasinski was a less awkward man. Karen wondered why he was not the one who did all the talking.

  “Yes...” Karen added simply and retreated into the kitchen.

  “What the hell is going on?” James said as he marched into the house. Officers stared at him as he stormed past them.

  “Sir, are you Mr. Dawson?” A uniformed officer with a bushy mustache approached James.

  “Yes!” he shouted. “Now tell me what the hell is going on!”

  At this, the two detectives strolled over to the man. “Mr. Dawson, please stay calm. I am Detective Joyce. This is Detective Krasinski. Your wife discovered a body hidden in a basement wall.”

  This stopped James in his tracks and halted his blustering attitude, his mouth agape. “A...body...?” James’ hand hovered over his forehead. His wide eyes searched for answers.

  “I understand this may come as a shock, sir. We assure you, however, that there is no suspicion on you or your wife. The body we found was of a significant age...we believe it may have been in the wall since ...well....since Henry Clark’s time, sir.” Joyce said, in a stuttering attempt to explain the discovery.

  “The wall?” James muttered. “How did Kar---my wife find it?”

  “The smell, sir.” Krasinski interjected. His face was pallid and emotionless.

  Karen appeared at the doorway to the kitchen, cigarette in hand.

  Again, James thought annoyed. Those damn cigarettes.

  She peered from behind the two detectives. She caught James’ eye and held her finger to her lips. James comprehended.

  “Ah yes. I had noticed it recently...” James nodded affirmatively. “I thought an animal had gotten stuck under the house or in the wall...I never would have imagined this though...”

  “I'm sure, Mr. Dawson. We will be finished shortly. The evidence team have collected everything. We are just finalizing particulars for the paperwork.” Joyce said. “There will be a cleanup crew and repairmen back tomorrow morning to fix everything for you.”

  “Thank you, Detectives.” James said and shook Joyce and Krasinski’s hands. He hurried into the kitchen.

  “What the---”, he began but Karen covered his mouth with her hand.

  “Shh!” she whispered. Her face was against his cheek and her mouth at his ear. “Emma led me to her remains!”

  James pulled back to look at Karen. She smiled up at him.

  “Emma? Sophie’s invisible friend?” James arched his eyebrows.

  “Emma, yes. She's the ghost that's been haunting us! She wanted my help to find her body. Her spirit is free! It will out Henry Clark as her killer and she will be at rest.” Karen beamed.

  James stumbled to the kitchen table and dropped into a seat. He noticed an ashtray on the edge of the table. It was overflowing with cigarette stubs. She had obviously been smoking all day.

  Karen followed him, clutching at his shirt sleeve as she continued. “He had taken her as a mistress. He hid her in a secret room but when she wanted him to leave his wife, he killed her!”

  “Not this haunted house thing again, babe?” James had his head in his hands. “I told you – there was nothing going on!”

  “Then explain tonight!” Karen stood up from the table, her pleasant demeanor now gone. “Explain how I knew I would find a body in the walls of this house! There was no smell!”

  “Seriously?” James looked directly at her now. Sober. “There was actually a ghost in the house?”

  “Yes!” Karen moaned. “That's what I’ve been trying to tell you!”

  James let out a long sigh. “Fuck...”

  “But it’s over now!” Karen grinned. She took James’ face in her hands and smiled at him. “The house is empty now; Emma is at peace.” Karen danced across the kitchen, holding her arms out as she twirled.

  “Where are the kids?” James asked, sitting up. He had just remembered them.

  “Don’t worry. They’re at their friends! I called Jackie and asked her if she would take the kids for a few hours. She picked them up. We can get them when the cops have left.”

  James nodded inattentively.

  64 />
  The late night air was crisp and James and Karen sat by the open French doors staring out onto their lake and its blanket of stars.

  A half empty bottle of red sat between them. A candle flared a subtle hue upon the table.

  “I wish I could take it all back...” James said suddenly.

  Karen looked at him. Her eyes twinkled in the candlelight. The lines of age that formed in the last twelve years had smoothed in the light. James saw the teenage girl he had fallen in love with. He felt sad.

  “Wade & Wilson, the affair...I wish it never happened!” A tear ran down his stubbled cheek. “I was greedy!” he continued. “I threw away a respectable job where I did good in the world, for money. I let it corrupt me and then I almost ruined my marriage! You shouldn’t have taken me back. I don’t deserve it!”

  Karen reached across and caressed her husband’s face. The shy, retiring boy had returned to her.

  “‘We’ll always have Paris...’” she said softly.

  James cheek moistened and Karen wiped his tears with her thumb.

  He brought his hands up and took her outstretched hand in his. He stood and led her out of the French doors onto the patio. James took her right hand and placed his other arm around her. He pulled her in with a sudden yank that made her scream with delight.

  James leant in slowly and pressed his lips against her soft cheek. He breathed in, savoring her scent. It was not a perfume; it was her natural musk that only James could smell. It was home.

  He sang in her ear, only a whisper.

  “You must remember this; a kiss is still a kiss, a sigh is just a sigh. The fundamental things apply as time goes---”

  “GET OUT NOW!!”

  The two lovers tripped and fell onto the green outside.

  The ear piercing scream continued from inside the house.

  James staggered to his feet and ran in, following the terrible noise.

  The TV’s static lit up the darkened living room but instead of static noise, a screeching female voice told the James that they would all die if they didn't leave.

  Karen spilled in behind James who was standing transfixed by the paranormal television screen.

  She pulled the cord out of the wall socket. This time, however, the TV’s picture and sound did not spiral and die. It continued to blur everything else out with its obnoxious intrusion upon the senses.

  “GETOUTGETOUTGETOUT!”

  And then, as quickly as it started, the TV turned off.

  Karen turned to face James and discovered Marcus and Sophie standing at the door.

  Sophie was wearing a pink, fluffy one-piece. She held on to Marcus’ loose shorts and t-shirt peeking from behind his legs. The voice filled her large doe eyes with fear.

  “That TV again?” Marcus said, feigning a stern demeanor but Karen could see it shook him.

  “It’s okay now.” Karen tried saying reassuringly. She didn't feel it though. “The TV is just broken. Go up to bed, you've got school early in the morning!”

  Karen approached the two children. She was distraught and felt unsteady.

  She placed a hand on their backs and pushed them up to their rooms.

  At the top of the stairs, Karen said, “Go on, Marcus. I’ll be up in a sec...” She followed the young girl into her small room.

  The child snuggled under the covers again. Her little face stuck above the plump duvet. It nestled in the comfort of the large pillows.

  Karen kissed her forehead.

  “You okay?” Karen asked.

  The child nodded unsurely, “I'm scared, Mommy...what’s wrong with the TV?”

  “I dunno, baby. We’ll get it fixed, I promise.”

  She kissed the child’s head again and left for the door. She turned on the unicorn nightlight by the door.

  “Love you, sweetie!” she said before closing the door.

  “Love you too, Mommy!”

  In the attic, Karen found Marcus in bed reading a comic.

  “Put it down!” Karen ordered, attempting to look authoritative but she smiled.

  “There’s nothing wrong with the TV, is there?” He said, not returning his mother’s smile.

  “Don’t worry, honey. Mom and Dad will sort it out.”

  Marcus did not look impressed. “I'm not a baby! You can’t just reassure me like Sophie. I understand this isn’t normal!”

  “I can’t tell you ‘cos I don’t know what it is...but I'm trying to find out. That’s what I'm doing in the library every day!”

  “Okay...” Marcus said, satisfied. “Involve me in stuff though; I'm not a little kid!”

  “You’ll always be my lil’ boy!” Karen smothered him in kisses. Marcus snorted and playfully tried to push her away.

  65

  Karen gently closed the attic door and tip-toed down the staircase where she was met by James.

  “The kids settled again?” he asked. He placed a gentle hand on her arm.

  “Yea...Marcus knows...I’m telling you...he knows there’s something up!” she whispered.

  “Marcus doesn’t know anything....we don’t really know!” James waved his hand. “Come on, Kay. Let’s go to bed.”

  James took Karen’s hand and gently led her the few steps to their bedroom door. He placed her in front of the bed and unbuttoned her blouse. Her soft white skin appeared. Her bra was a dirty off-white yellow. It was the bra only a woman of a decade’s marriage wears. James knelt down and placed his face between her adequate breasts.

  Karen looked down. The man looked up at her. It was Henry Clark.

  She pulled away and looked back again, and James face had returned.

  “Are you fuckin’ crazy?! We’ve had ghosts and rotting corpses in a secret room! And a poltergeist TV! And you’re horny!?! What the fuck?!”

  “Come on, Kay…” he whispered still trying to undress her.

  Karen batted his hand.

  “I’m serious! Why are you not more freaked out?”

  “If you were any decent wife you’d give me what I want!” James voice was menacing and graveled.

  James moved towards the Karen again, forcing her to retreat towards the head of the bed.

  “Stay away from me!” Karen’s voice was weak. She could not put any force into it; no authority.

  “This is not a discussion, Karen…”

  James climbed onto the mattress and inched ever closer.

  Karen made a feeble attempt to hit James but he easily caught her flailing hand.

  She cried out. It was merely a whimper.

  James took hold of Karen’s shoulders and dragged her towards his end of the bed.

  “The service of a husband is an honorable profession for a young lady…” James’ voice had deepened. Karen felt it infect her bones and felt she would never be happy again.

  Her husband smiled but it was Henry Clark leering at her.

  Karen screamed and pushed backwards, kicking Clark in the face. She scurried back on the bed and cowered in its corner.

  A pair of hands appeared on the edge of the bed, clawing at its covers. James bloodied face popped up. He looked dazed.

  “I'm sorry, babe. Did I hurt you?” His voice came in a nasal tone.

  Oh God, have I broken his nose?

  “Oh my God, James! I'm so sorry! I...I thought you were Clark!” Karen knew it sounded crazy and wouldn’t be comforting to her now battered husband.

  James had his thumb and forefinger either side of the bridge of his nose. He was wiggling it.

  “It’s okay, Karen.” All sincerity from his voice was missing. He spoke as if on the phone to the bank.

  “Don’t be like that, James! I really thought I saw something...come back...”

  “I have to go to the hospital. Go to sleep.” James grabbed a jacket hanging from the back of the door with one hand, still clutching in his nose in the other.

  Karen threw her head back on the pillow forcefully. Her fists trembled at her sides.

  Why is this still happening?!
<
br />   66

  Karen lay spread eagled on bed. She didn't bother pulling the duvet around her. She flailed; eyes closed, and found the switch on the bed side lamp. She flicked it and the light behind her eyelids went out.

  Eventually, when Karen’s embarrassment and confusion weren’t enough to keep her awake, sleep took her.

  When the repeated nightmare of waking began, Karen knew she was entering the depths of REM. She had ineffectually tried before to draw herself to consciousness. She knew better now. Karen let herself be led to its conclusion.

  The dream started as always; her waking and finding herself drawn outside. As she exited the house, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. There was no light from the lake, no fog descended upon the town.

  As Karen reached the bridge, a figure on a bike approached. It was an old man, his gray hair long and streaked with grease and sweat. Karen drew level with him and reeled in horror as she realized it was a vision of Henry Clark; a bizarre, ghoulish masquerading Clark.

  His wild eyes locked onto Karen and he snickered. It was a terrifying sound. It made Karen sick.

  Karen was relieved when the grinning creature passed her and was out of earshot.

  She reached the diner after the bridge. A thick deposit of dirt coated it. Cars with doors ajar sat abandoned at hazardous angles outside. The derelict diner looked like Ike had abandoned it for decades.

  Upon reaching the limits of Blackwater town, the sign that usually greeted visitors with the smiling family, had been vandalized. The father now appeared to be a red-eyed fiend. His mouth was a snarl of blood stained teeth as he devoured his wife and children.

  Next to this read: “Welcome to Blackwater, where the rich eat their young.”

  On Main Street, the children’s playground in front of the Clark statue was a perverted version of itself. Blood splattered the swings and roundabouts and nooses hung from the monkeybars.