American Nightmare

by George Cotronis

  Then it exploded.

  Face contorting, his father swept his arm up and brought the back of his hand across his mother’s face. She rocked in her seat, worse than he’d ever seen before. A very few times, he’d seen his father slap her, but they had only been quick hits. And he’d apologized immediately after and explained why he’d done it, what she’d done to push him over the edge. This was different.

  He hit her again, and the cloud surrounded his father’s entire body, almost like something Kenneth could reach out and touch, even if he couldn’t see it. If anyone else attacked his mother like this, he’d be on his feet trying to defend her. But this was his father, the one who taught him all the rules, even the one who usually said it was never okay to hit girls. The one who commanded all the respect.

  There was another loud crack, and his mother fell out of her chair. Somewhere through the miasma of that oppressive aura and the sound in his head that was almost like a steam whistle, he could hear his father grunting—almost growling—as he reached down to pick up his mother. But he wasn’t helping her to her feet.

  Kenneth pulled away from the table, slipping out of his seat. He could barely make out his mother saying a weak, “please...” before his father hit her again, leaving a clear welt to the side of one eye that Kenneth could just make out in the confusion. His father muttered things like “stupid” and “worthless”.

  And now amidst the piping in his mind, snatches of phrases in his father’s voice.

  Bitch.

  Never does anything right.

  Pathetic scrap of...

  The words deteriorated into something else. Something that might have been words in a foreign language, but not like any German or French or Spanish he’d ever heard snatches of. His father’s hand came across again; like the cloud was driving him, and he just couldn’t stop. Kenneth heard a pop as his father twisted his mother’s arm. The eye that wasn’t starting to swell shut seemed to look at him, and for a brief moment, Kenneth saw sorrow there more than anything else.

  He couldn’t take any more; he had to get away from the oppressive cloud that threatened to choke him, away from the whole sight of his mother. Kenneth ran up the stairs to his room, feeling like the dirtiest, yellow coward that his father would speak of with disdain when talking about The War. His head throbbed with the sound inside it, and he shut his door quickly and leaped onto his bed.

  The feeling of his father’s rage and those stray words in his voice lessened upstairs, yet the shrill sound of pipes remained, and Kenneth clutched the sides of his head. He rocked back and forth, willing it all to stop, to just go away. He sang “Hound Dog” under his breath, trying to hear the rhythms and guitar in his head, trying to get it to disrupt the horrible sickly feeling, and trying not to hear any of the sounds from downstairs.

  Then there was a loud crash, and suddenly everything dissipated. What he could feel of the cloud of his father’s rage was just...gone. Only a few wisps remained and the sound in his head began to fade to the dull background that he was used to cropping up from time to time. Downstairs everything was quiet, but he thought he could barely hear his father saying, “Mary? Mary?”

  A few moments later, he heard the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs. He knew it was his father’s heavy, slow gate from when he was tired. He got off the bed and readied himself, making sure there were no tears on his face. Strong young men weren’t allowed to cry, especially when his father was in that mood.

  He was standing in the center of his room and waiting as his father expected when the knock came and the door opened. His father stood in the doorway, sweat pouring from his forehead and hair and his skin looking ashen. His eyes were far away, and he was shaking. His breath rattled in his chest, and when Kenneth looked carefully a few muscles seemed to be twitching.

  “Your mother...had a bad fall,” his father said. “While I...while we were arguing, she hit her head. We need to go to the hospital. Come along, Kenneth.”

  ~ ~ ~

  It was the next Saturday that the man from the army came to their door. Kenneth was at the dining room table, reading a few comics and being available in case his mother called out for anything. He hadn’t really been out of the house since the Terrible Night—as he’d come to think of it—except for quick errands. His father was in the basement, working on some project or other. Pop had been floating between there and the den whenever he wasn’t working, not saying much to either of them.

  Kenneth answered dutifully at the knock and saw the man in uniform, accompanied by an older man in a tweed coat and dark pants. The uniformed officer offered a smile that tried to reach his eyes and barely made contact.

  “Hello there,” he said. “You must be Kenneth.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The officer held out his hand like he might for a grown man, and Kenneth shook it firmly as he’d been taught. “Well, I’m Colonel Ericson, and this is Doctor Harper. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Is your father in?”

  Kenneth nodded. “He’s down in the basement. Come on in; I’ll see if I can get him.”

  “Thank you, son.”

  He left them standing in the living room and went to knock on the door to the basement stairs in the dining room. His entire body felt tense as he heard the footsteps coming up the stairs before the door opened a crack.

  “Why are you interrupting me?” The voice was laced with anger, and Kenneth once again felt a shadow of that cloud from the Terrible Night. It seemed to follow his father almost all the time now.

  “I’m sorry, sir. There’s a man from the army here to see you.”

  His father sighed. “Oh. All right then.”

  Kenneth stepped aside and his father walked out to the living room to greet his guests.

  “Well,” his father said in a half-hearted attempt at a friendly tone, “if it isn’t Lieutenant Ericson! How are you doing?”

  The two shook hands, and Ericson offered the same smile that had been given to Kenneth.

  “Doing all right. Though it’s Colonel now.”

  “Oh, a career man all the way still. Well, congratulations.” Kenneth’s father gave a salute that almost seemed mocking. Far from the man who used to talk so seriously about the importance of The War. “And who’s your friend here?”

  The colonel took it in stride. “Thank you. This is Doctor Allen Harper. Doctor Harper, meet Sergeant Kevin Anderson.”

  The two men shook hands and the doctor nodded. “Delighted, Sergeant. I’ve heard many wonderful things about you from the colonel.”

  “Well, former sergeant. And I deny them all.”

  He knew his father was trying to make a joke, but Kenneth just felt something...off about it all.

  “You earned your rank; you never lose that, Sergeant,” Colonel Ericson said. His eyes moved to Kenneth watching the whole thing in the background. “By any chance, is there a place we could speak privately?”

  His father took the hint. “Sure. Come into my den, I had the whole thing soundproofed to keep from stamping feet and prying ears.” He looked back at Kenneth, and while there was a shadow of his pop’s old playful grin, Kenneth sensed a certain menace in his father’s eyes.

  All three men left him to head for the den just off of the living room. Kenneth returned to the table and his comics until they were inside. Then, as quiet as he could be, he moved up the stairs.

  If his father knew that there was a vent that funneled sound straight up to Kenneth’s room, or that his son would occasionally eavesdrop on things he wasn’t supposed to hear, Kenneth would probably receive the tanning of his life. Especially now. But his father had never found out, and Kenneth made sure to keep completely silent every time as he crouched down to the vent.

  “...concerned about what happened with your wife. And it also seems that there have been some issues at your workplace as well. That your mood and mindset have been...erratic.”

  “I served my time and got out,” his father said, “so the army doesn’t get to tel
l me how to live my life anymore.”

  “Of course not. I’m not here to tell a man how to run his home. But even so, you have to admit that what happened was excessive by any standards.”

  There was silence for several moments before his father’s voice came again. “We were having a disagreement, and my wife fell awkwardly. That’s all.”

  The colonel’s voice was cautious. “That’s a version I’ve heard. But I’ve seen ‘falls’ like this before and talked with other soldiers. Combat changes a person, and things happen. I’m not saying a man doesn’t have to maintain order in his home, but even you must admit some things are getting out of hand. The man I knew wouldn’t have let it go this far, and with your workplace issues, we’re concerned there may be some other factors. Would you listen to the doctor for a moment or two?”

  “Fine. Just like the army to take hours out of a man’s day off.”

  The older man’s voice came in now. “I will be as brief as I can, I assure you, Sergeant Anderson. First off, how much do you remember of your time in Arkham before you and your unit were sent to Europe?”

  “Heh, I remember being poked and prodded. You guys took my blood and gave me some kind of vitamins and serum in exchange.”

  “True enough,” the doctor said. “Was the nature of the experiment ever fully explained to you?”

  “You don’t ask questions in the army; you follow orders,” Kenneth’s father said with a bitter note in his voice.

  “Of course. Well, let me give you a brief explanation. How much do you know about DNA?”

  “Not a whole lot.”

  Doctor Harper made a noise that barely registered through the vent. “Very well, I’ll make this simple. Traits and abilities live in the blood. Not just black hair or blue eyes, but also hand-eye coordination, intelligence, the potential to draw or paint, just about everything to one degree or another. At Miskatonic, one of our primary fields of study has always been secrets of ancient civilizations and the possibility that we are not alone in our universe or even in our world.”

  “Get to the point, doc, I have things to do today.”

  “I shall, this is mere background so you understand what I’ll explain next. You see...I’m sorry, Sergeant, but are you all right? You’re scratching quite a lot at your shirt.”

  “I’m fine, just a little rash. I’ve put some ointment on it. Get on with it.”

  “All right then. One field of our research is discovering how certain...phenomena might arise from these ancient civilizations and outside influences. I won’t take up your time with all the details, but we determined at one point that almost every person carries a small amount of what we’ve termed ‘Old blood’ from another era. And when the war began to escalate, the military became very interested in the possibilities that Old blood represented.”

  Kenneth’s father seemed frustrated. “Why did the army give a damn?”

  “Because the krauts were trying all kinds of strange experiments and searching for any sort of occult advantage they could find,” Colonel Ericson said. “I’m not one to believe in magic or anything like that, but we had to try and find every advantage we could.”

  “And there were numerous possibilities in the Old blood,” continued Doctor Harper. “Our work with you and others was focused on somehow activating those bits of it, like trying to fan a spark into a campfire if you will. We hoped to offer the country members of our forces that could shoot straighter and farther, that could hear with greater acuity than anyone had ever known, and that might just discover a few other abilities believed to be fantastical. You yourself were evidence of success. You were a fine shot and a solid soldier in your initial tests, but after a few weeks of treatment, we noted marked improvements to your marksmanship, hand-to-hand abilities, endurance, almost every aspect of your performance. And you were never told this, but in a few occasions, you completed tasks or hit targets in the exact order that the test proctor was thinking of. Some latent instinct that awakened when your Old blood was successfully activated. Also, if my records are accurate, it led to several victories on the battlefield as well a few covert operations to which I have been made privy.”

  “I did my duty for my country; that’s all. And there are some things that no one should know about.”

  Colonel Ericson spoke again, “The doctor has been given security clearance enough to understand the results of his work. He’s the scientific head of a project to potentially take this research to the next level. There are plenty of threats left that we need to be ready to combat, Sergeant, but part of this includes assessing any long term dangers the project may contain. That’s why changes in your behavior are of particular interest. We’ve been keeping tabs on a lot of people from those days, and we’ve seen some of the usual issues we expect. But you’re showing differences we haven’t encountered before.”

  The doctor continued. “We are concerned, naturally, that we may be seeing some long-term side effects of the activated Old blood. Now we could just be seeing something related to the pressures of reintegrating into society, but this late onset has been troubling us. Since we know that some portion of activation happened within you, and we are noticing some potential symptoms, we would like you to come to Arkham for some observation and tests.”

  No one spoke for a few moments, but through the vent, Kenneth could feel some of that dark cloud surfacing again. He was still as a mouse, and tried to play the music in his head against the strange windy notes that wanted to come again. It was getting a little easier every time, but now his father spoke.

  “You...come into my house...And you try to tell me that I’m off my nut or sick or something so that you can have me go all the way out there and stick needles in me again? You think I can afford that?”

  The doctor’s voice once more: “It’s in your own best interests to assure we’re not seeing any side effects. The army has already agreed to pay expenses and salary for the time you’re with us. Isn’t that right, Colonel?”

  “That’s correct. And you’d be doing your country another great service by helping us with this project. The government is even willing to provide extra compensation if—”

  “No! I’ve given the army all the time I’m going to give them, and I’m not going to be a lab rat for anyone! We’re done here.”

  “Please, Sergeant Anderson,” Colonel Ericson said, sounding somber. “This isn’t just about the army. This is also about the safety of your family. Think of what happened this past week. Think of your boy.”

  “Are you threatening them?”

  ”Not at all. But you might be, without even knowing it.”

  “Get out!” His father shouted, loud enough to hear even without the vent. “Get the hell outta my house! I still have the rights I fought for! You said your piece, and I won’t be talked to that way in my own home!”

  The door to the den opened downstairs and the colonel sighed. “Alright, Sergeant, we’re going. But please think about what I’ve said. Contact me if you change your mind. We have nothing but your best interests and the safety of the nation at heart.”

  Kenneth no longer needed the vent and listened from the center of his room as his father raged.

  “Yeah, so you always claimed! But I know how it really is! I know what you—” A word came out in his father’s voice that Kenneth couldn’t recognize. “—always really wanted! Don’t you darken this door again!”

  Maybe the other two men didn’t notice it, but Kenneth could hear changes in his father’s voice. Not just the cadence, but raw differences in the sound of it as the cloud tried to rise again. He heard the front door slamming.

  There was a roar of frustration from downstairs. “Kenneth, where the hell are you?”

  He rushed to the door of his room and out to the stairs, not wanting to keep his father waiting. “I was just checking on Mom, sir. Then I stayed in my room because I didn’t want to disturb you, and I’d be close enough if she called out.”

  Kenneth’s father looked u
p at him for several moments, as if trying to recognize his face and the words he spoke. He was breathing heavy and moving as if all his skin itched.

  “Good,” he finally said. The aura once again began to recede, but did not truly leave. “Good boy. You’re a good boy.”

  Twitching, shaking, and panting, his father shambled back towards the door that led down to the basement. “I have work to do. Be a good boy, watch your mother. Don’t interrupt me again.”

  ~ ~ ~

  It was another ten days at least before Kenneth was able to spend any time outside the house beyond running quick errands for things his mother and father needed. He was surviving on what few comics he’d been able to get when picking up the pain pills for his mother, some science fiction books that his father used to read, his mother’s treasury of classics, and the occasional baseball game on the television that he had to watch so low he couldn’t even hear what the casters were saying. Turn it up just a hair, and his father would scream from the basement that he couldn’t think with “that racket”.

  His father had not been to work for the last few days. He was living in the basement, coming up only to eat in silence from the frozen TV dinners Kenneth had learned to warm up. Even as his mother started to move around more, her arm still in a sling, the two of them lived their life on eggshells. They could both see the dark mood hovering around him at all times now, and Kenneth could feel that cloud ever present. It was surrounding him, just waiting for any spark to explode.

  Already he was used to hearing the piping noise in his head like a low background to everything now. He didn’t dare invoke any of his rock ‘n’ roll to try and banish it, lest his father hear and be given a reason to vent his fury. It was a mutual understanding between him and his mother that they must make every effort to keep the peace in the house.

  There were times, especially with his father not coming up to even eat dinner last night, that he thought about finding that colonel’s number somewhere and calling him. Maybe he could help. But it would feel too much like betraying his father somehow.