From Darkness Comes: The Horror Box Set (8 Book Collection)

by J. Thorn

  Waves of stink rolled from the crooked sagging bed. He had long ago stopped suggesting that they let some air into the room. He didn't even know if the windows would still open. Some kind of putrid brown grease had started climbing the foggy panes, like corrupted spirits risen from the heaps of dead flies, and had gathered in the cracks like glue.

  But God, how he loved her, despite the fear she instilled in him, and despite all she had done to make him sorry for his sins. He loved her more than life itself, quietly believed that he loved her most of all, more than his brothers did, though he would never say so. He believed himself the favorite, even when she challenged that belief by hurting him.

  "You hear me boy?" she said, and he licked his lips, felt his tongue rasp against the lack of moisture there, and when he drew it back in, he tasted something foul, something he had tugged from the air into his mouth.

  "I hear you Momma," he said, and took a few steps closer to the bed. Beneath his boots, the floorboards creaked and breathed miniature puffs of dust into the air. Shouldn't be no dust, he thought, staring down at the dissipating clouds. Floor's well traveled. And it was, but like the intricate but drooping black cobwebs that hung like dreamcatchers from every corner of the room, he knew this room held onto every particle of skin that fell or rose from his Momma's body, then waited until dark to begin fashioning them into elaborate constructs to convince the world that time was passing faster than it really was, hastening his Momma toward her death. Trying to make her believe she'd been forgotten. Which of course was Momma's only true fear. That they would abandon her. That one day she'd wake and find herself calling out to an empty house, listening to the echoes of her voice coming back to her with nothing to obstruct it. Listening to her frantic cries slithering out into the woods to get lost among the trees, to be heard by the deer, the squirrels, the jays, and ultimately, the coyotes, who would sense her panic and follow it to the source. Then, as she had told her sons a thousand times, the coyotes would eat her, and scatter her bones across the land so her spirit would never find peace.

  "Sit," she commanded, and he squinted down at the bed to be sure when he obeyed he didn't end up pinning a flap of flesh from her arm beneath him. He sat and the bed hardly moved, but the stench from the damp mattress and the body upon it was strong enough to make his eyes water. Whenever Aaron and the others came to see Momma-In-Bed, they wore bandannas tied across their lower faces, but Luke refused to show such disrespect, and wondered why she let them get away with it.

  In the gloom, Luke could only make out her eyes, small dark circles in a doughy face almost indistinguishable from the pillow.

  "Girl got away, Momma. She tricked Matt'n kilt him. Then she got loose. Didn't think she'd get far, not the way we had her cut up, but she did. Got to the road and someone picked her up."

  There was silence so deep that Luke, perched precariously on the hard metal edge of the bed, feared he might fall headlong into it and be devoured. Then Momma began to sing, a low growl that was not in the least bit melodic, and chilled him to the core of his being. The song had only a few notes as far as he could tell, but the way she sang them reminded him of the sound a fire truck made when it flew by, the way the song changed, grew lower and lower as it got farther away. He swallowed and his throat clicked. As if it had been a signal, Momma stopped singing.

  "Someone picked her up," she repeated. Then, "You 'member what happ'ned to yer pizzle, son?"

  He felt his face redden and was glad she couldn't see it, but couldn't prevent his head from lowering, his shoulders from tightening at the mention of that horrible day he had tried so hard to forget but never would, not as long as he had to see the mangled thing that emerged from his pants every time he had to make water.

  "I 'member."

  "You 'member why it happ'ned?"

  Again, he nodded, but felt his throat constrict.

  "Tell me." He flinched as her hand, almost the size of his Papa's hat, but white as fresh snow, found his knee. After a moment, he felt the damp from her moist skin seeping through his jeans. "Tell your poor Mama what happ'ned."

  "It—" he began, then tensed as her clammy fingers tightened on his knee. "It were my thirteenth birthday. You threw us a big party, with cake'n balloons'n streamers. You got the place lookin' real nice, and Papa were home. I 'member he even took off his hat for a spell."

  "That's right," whispered Momma, lost in a memory she clearly enjoyed. "Go on now."

  "Me'n Aaron rode the horses through the woods that evenin'. Susanna were on the back of my colt, hangin' on to me fer dear life. We kept goin' faster'n faster, and 'fore we knew it, we was racing, Aaron and me. Racin' like the wind, and Susanna screamin', but a good kinda screamin' like she was enjoyin' herself."

  "She liked the horses, and loved you boys, didn't she Luke?"

  "Yes Ma'am."

  "Tell me how much she loved you, Luke."

  The memory to this point was a good one. It had been, as far as Luke could recall, the most beautiful day of his life. The sun had been shining through the leaves, cooking the red clay so it was spongy under the horses' hooves and flew in their wake. The air was warm, the sweat cooling on their faces as they flew through the woods, laughin' and screamin' at the top of their lungs, mimicking loons as bugs smacked into their faces and leaves caught in their hair. He remembered Susanna's grip, her skin warm and slippery against his belly, her breasts soft against his back as he angled the colt toward the creek, then down the embankment. The horse, more machine than animal, like a series of cogs, pistons and hydraulics beneath a black tarp, muscles rolling fluidly, didn't pause as the soft earth changed to rock and water. Instead it plowed straight through, head low, snorting as the cold spray soaked the children. Luke had never had such fun in his life, and he delighted in the look on Aaron's face as he rode his mare a few paces behind. His brother was red from the exertion of trying to keep up, eyes wide from a mixture of fear at the breakneck pace and excitement that they dared go so fast.

  "We came to a clearin'," Luke said, his voice low. The stench of death and sickness abruptly filled his nose and tickled his throat, making him want to gag, but he resisted, and turned away, discreetly sucking in air that was not much cleaner. If he vomited, he knew he'd be no better than his brothers with their insulting bandannas. So he took small short breaths, cleared his throat, spat a sour wad of phlegm on the floor and continued. "The Lowell Creek clearin' where Papa used to hunt rabbits, 'fore they was all gone."

  "Beautiful place in the summertime," his mother said.

  "Sure was."

  "Was?" she asked with mock surprise. "Ain't no more?"

  "We rested there for a spell," he said, joining his hands and secretly chiding himself for the uncharitable thought that had just come over him. He had wished, just for a second, that his mother would take her hand off his knee. The weight of it was cold, and unpleasant, as if while dampening his flesh with hers, she was, at the same time, leaching something vital from him. He could almost feel it leaving.

  "We rested there some," he repeated, trying to regain the thread of his thoughts. "Played around for a couple of hours, till the sun started goin' down. Aaron got bored. Wanted to go home, and Aaron, you know, he don't like bein' bored. Gets riled up real easy that way. So he started teasin' Susanna somethin' fierce when she says she don't wanna go home yet, callin' her names, peggin' sticks at her. He even threw a dead possum he'd found that had all its guts hangin' out. That was all she wrote right there. Poor Suze had all its insides stuck in her hair, maggots on her dress, and she went crazy. Damn near chased Aaron all the way home and ten miles farther." He smiled, just a little. Then it faded as Momma shifted a little in her bed, those dark eyes gleaming like beetles in the moonlight.

  "He stayed home; I stayed at the creek, feet up on a rock, in no hurry to go nowhere, not on my birthday, which the way I saw it, was the best damn day of my life so far. The horses was with me, and they seemed pretty satisfied too, standin' in the shade as the sun went down.
I might even have dozed some."

  "And where was Susanna?"

  Momma-in-Bed knew the answer to that already. She'd heard this story a thousand times, but her eagerness to hear it again never waned. She was prodding him, impatient to get to the important part, the part where everything went wrong.

  "Somewhere in the woods," Luke said somberly. "I thought she'd gone home after gettin' bored of chasin' Aaron."

  "But she weren't home."

  "No."

  "Where was she?"

  "She were there, with me, only I didn't know it 'till she stepped out from the trees and called my name."

  "Your sister had such pretty dresses, didn't she Luke?"

  "Yes Momma."

  "Made most of them myself. What dress was she wearin' that day, Luke? I forget."

  "A pink one."

  "Of course, you got a good head for mem'ries, boy. And what was she wearin' when she stepped out and called your name?"

  Luke answered, quietly. "Nothin'."

  "I can't hear you."

  "Nothin' Momma. She weren't wearin' nothin'."

  "That must've surprised you."

  "It did."

  "Say again?"

  "It did, Momma. I didn't know why she did that. Thought she might've been skinny-dippin' in the creek like she done sometimes, maybe cleanin' the possum guts off, and Aaron had stoled her clothes, or somethin' because she were all wet."

  "Go on…" Momma urged.

  "I asked her what were she doin' without no clothes on, and she said it was too damn hot and her dress were ruined and she'd taken a dip to wash off. I told her if anyone came along'n seen her, there'd be trouble. She said no one was gonna bother us, and then she came over to where I was layin' and started openin' up my belt. I told her to stop, was she crazy or somethin' and she wouldn't. She just kept tearin' at my clothes till she had my…" He swallowed again, the words lodged in his throat.

  "Your what?"

  "My pizzle, Momma. She had it in her mouth, and I couldn't make her stop."

  "You couldn't stop because you didn't want to. Your Jezebel sister had her lips on your dirty thing and you liked it, didn't you?"

  Luke nodded. Truth was, and he'd never denied it because lying was something of which he seemed completely incapable, he had enjoyed it, and enjoyed it a great deal, despite knowing that he and his sister, who was older, but only by a year, were doing something that went against nature, and worse, against God himself. But he had been unable to stop the queer, frightening, but unstoppable current of sensation that her lips evoked as she sucked on him. It had felt as if she were drawing out all the bad things, all the fears, worries, and the pain he'd carried within him since he'd first come to understand the world into which he'd been deposited. And when his seed erupted, he felt as if dynamite had detonated in his balls and would blow him to little bloody pieces. He lay there panting as the incredible, terrifying sensation ebbed away and his member slackened. Then he stared, open-mouthed, as his sister stood and spat, then walked away toward the creek. He'd followed a moment later, intending to ask her what had just happened, and why. He was hurt, a little angry, but more confused, and it seemed to steal a little bit of the color from the world, darkening it with a mystery he needed solved. He found Susanna washing herself in the cool clear water, her back turned to him, her hair wet, but before he had the chance to put to her the burning question, she spoke first:

  "I love you, Luke," she said softly, sadly. "And I'm leavin'. I know you won't come with me, that you can't, but I gotta go, gotta get out. I'm not supposed to be here. There's a big world out there for people like me. Yours is here, with Momma and Papa. I wanted to kiss you on the mouth back there, but I reckon that should be kept for my husband. What we did…Lorraine Chadwick at school told me she saw her mother do it to her boyfriend and he seemed to enjoy it all right. Said it was a secret kiss, and now we got a secret all our own." She shrugged, cupped water in both hands and washed out her mouth as if she'd just eaten a bug. "I guess I were curious, and…maybe I didn't know stuff like snot was gonna come out…but I ain't sorry none…. It's your birthday'n all, and I know I love you Luke. Maybe even enough to kiss you on the lips, but like I said, I reckon I gotta keep somethin' for my husband."

  "The seed of incest is the devil's milk," his mother said. "And it poisons everythin' it touches." Her playful tone was now gone completely, replaced by bitterness and shame. "Your Papa stood a few feet away watchin' the whole wicked thing. You were lucky he didn't kill the both of you that day, right there and then. Maybe he should've."

  Luke had nothing to say. If Susanna hadn't sinned with him that day, he would still have skin on his privates, and maybe his sister would still be here. Of course, for a long time, he'd borne his punishment well, consoled by the knowledge that she had made it out, was on her way to a new and better life somewhere, where no one would ever find her. He fantasized about growing up and finding her, or maybe not even waiting that long. Maybe someday he would end up possessed of the same wanderlust, the same certainty that life was better Out There, and he'd travel the same path, his beloved sister waiting for him at the end of it. He knew he wouldn't care if she were married when that time came. He didn't want her for a wife. He loved her as a sister, and as the best friend he'd ever known. And he had always envied how much different she was from the rest of the family. She was independent, headstrong, and defiant, all traits Luke admired greatly, but never dared try to learn.

  "Tell me what became of her, Luke."

  For two years he had thought Susanna gone. It had cheered him and brightened his darkest hours, of which there had been many. He wondered what she looked like, whether she was rich or poor, still in the South or elsewhere. He dreamed of her voice, and waited for her to write him with details of her adventures.

  It was another summer before he found her old blue suitcase half-buried in the barren field behind the acre of corn. It was the same one he'd seen tucked beneath her arm as her shoeless feet carried her up the dirt path and away from the house, bound for town, and the strange unfamiliar lands beyond. Inside that suitcase were her meager possessions: two dresses, a pair of socks with holes in the heels, two pairs of underwear, a cold roast beef sandwich wrapped in waxpaper, a small hunk of cheese, a notebook and a small stubby pencil, and a small pink purse with a brass clip in which she carried ten whole dollars to start her on her way.

  All of these things were still inside the suitcase when he'd yanked it free of the dark red earth that day years later. Also inside were Susanna's small yellow comb, a rusted switchblade, a doll with a cracked face, and Susanna's badly decomposed head.

  "Tell me about the note."

  Someone had shoved a rolled up piece of notepaper into his sister's right eye socket. With trembling hands, and hardly able to see through the sparkling film of tears, a sob caught in his aching throat, Luke had withdrawn the scroll and turned his back on his sister's remains to read it.

  "Two pieces from Leviticus," he told his mother now, his tone grave.

  "You 'member them words?"

  There was no way he'd ever forget them. They were branded in his brain, a signpost on the border of a part of his mind he seldom ventured into. "'None of you shall approach any who is near of kin to him to uncover their nakedness: I am the LORD.'" He took a breath, slowly released it. "'The nakedness of thy sister, the daughter of thy father or daughter of thy mother, whether she be born at home or born abroad, even their nakedness thou shalt not uncover.'"

  "Amen," said his mother, serenely and he could tell from her voice she was smiling. "It was his message to you, son."

  She had said that more than once before, and still he wasn't sure whether she meant that his father, or God, had written it for his benefit. At the time, and the years had only bolstered the conviction, he'd considered it a warning. A lesson, meant to scare away whatever latent strains of rebellion might have been subconsciously forming inside him in the wake of his sister's desertion. He remembered the anguish
, the suffering, somehow infinitely worse than the day Papa-in-Gray had strapped him to a chair in Momma's room and used his razor on Luke's privates. The pain had been excruciating, but it was pain of a different kind. In the fallow field the day he'd stumbled on his sister's final destination, he had sat with Susanna's rotted head cradled in his arms as the wind chased shreds of the sundered scroll away across the field, and he had felt as if her death had shoved him into a new world, a terrible place where no one could be trusted and the ground could swallow you and your dreams. And if the ground didn't get you, the coyotes would, or Papa would see to you with his blade and carve the sin from your soul, the skin from your skull.

  "Why did I ask you 'bout this today?" Momma asked.

  Luke shrugged, his mood darkened by the memory of his sister.

  "'Cause you poisoned your sister," she answered for him. "And for that she had to be dealt with. Don't you understand that if we'd let her go, she'd've been corrupted even further by Men of the World, and they'd've sent her back to us once they'd filled her with their wicked venom, and through her they'd've corrupted us, destroyed us, Luke." Her hand left his knee, and found his fingers, enveloping his warm skin in a cold damp cocoon of flesh. "We're the last of the old clans, boy. We stay together. We hunt and we kill Men of the World. We devour their flesh so they cannot devour us. We hold them off and resist their attempts to convert us to sinful ways. We protect each other in the name of God Almighty, and punish those who trespass, destroy those who would destroy us. We are the beloved, Luke, and once the light has been shown to those who are not of the faith, they must embrace it or be destroyed. All your life you have understood this.

  "Today, you were lazy, and foolish. You let one of them get away. You sucked out her venom and showed her the light, but now she's Out There again, with the light in her eyes and our fate in her hands. They'll send her back again someday, Luke, and by then it'll be too late. She will not come alone, and their numbers'll be too great for us to survive. They'll kill us and scatter our bones so our spirits cannot rest. Our work'll be over, and it'll all have been for nothin'. You and me, and all our kin'll be left in the dark, far away from God's grace."