The Devil's Grip: The Curse of Stone Falls

by Steven Swaks

  “That would be great. Go for it.”

  The dinner went well. They ate salmon pasta, a delicious concoction of rotini, small salmon chunks, onions, green onions, olive oil, and Italian pesto. They talked for a while and retreated in front of the television. The Bachelor was on. They were not an avid audience, but they enjoyed the cat-fights between women supposedly in love with the same man.

  Feet on a short coffee table, George opened his arm in a loving invitation for Christine to come cuddle with him.

  She came to him and nudged her head on his chest.

  They stayed quiet for a while. There was no need to talk in this sweet moment.

  “You are hurting me,” George said gently pushing her head away from his chest.

  She moved back and leaned on his shoulder.

  He slightly jerked his arm. “No, please.”

  She settled away from him. “Are you ok?”

  “I’m fine. But we don’t have to be glued to each other all the time,” George said with a calm voice.

  “I don’t want to be glued to you. I only want to be next to you.”

  “You are next to me.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “I know what you mean, Christine, and I also know that I need space. Is that so difficult to understand?”

  “Why are you getting grumpy on me?”

  “Grumpy?” He scowled. “I’m not grumpy. I’m only voicing my wish. I don’t want you stuck on me all the time. That’s it. And since we are at it, I would like you to be a little more useful around here.” His voice grew colder.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Well, I don’t even know where to start.” He glanced around him. “The kitchen lights for starters.”

  “What about them?” she asked, startled.

  “You were the last one out of the kitchen. “Why are they still on?”

  “What?”

  “Are you deaf? Why did you leave those damn kitchen lights on? Are you blind on top of that? Those lights!” He pulled away from her and grabbed a handful of hair in the back of her head. “There! The kitchen lights! You see them now?!”

  “What are you doing? Let go of me!” Christine fought back in rising fear.

  “I work my ass off all day, and you stay here like a lazy cow!” He pushed her head to smash her on the coffee table but she managed to rotate and avoid the blunt of the impact.

  He jerked her head back and slapped her with the violence of a mad man. She flew back on the couch. He lurched back at her like an animal.

  “George! Stop it! George!” She screamed and kicked him in the chest on his way down to her.

  Her husband fell back and cried in pain. He glared at her with demented eyes. “I’m going to kill you!” He rushed to the garage door and slammed it open. The spring-loaded door shut behind him.

  The living room fell into a dead silence. Christine was panting, trying to catch any sound of what her husband was doing in the garage adjacent to the living room. She could not understand what had just happened. She had known him since high school. How could he? He had never been violent. He had never raised his voice or even complained. What was happening?

  She quietly stood up, making an effort to keep her breathing shallow and quiet. She stayed focused on the garage door, breathing through her mouth.

  The door flew open with her new husband holding a hammer in his right hand as if it was an ax. “And now, honey, you’re gonna die!” he said with a gruff voice, his furious eyes locked on her.

  She stepped back on the other side of the couch to keep a meager barrier between them.

  Her husband lurched between the coffee table and the couch. She ran in the opposite direction toward the narrow corridor. He turned to his right and jumped over the couch, using the top as a launching pad toward her. Christine ran down the short corridor, but the man behind her was faster. The hammer fell down on her shoulder with speed and power. The metal claws gouged her right shoulder, digging deep through her skin.

  She shrieked in agonizing pain, while George fell to the ground.

  Christine clutched her arm and ran to the bathroom, glancing behind her.

  Her husband was already standing up, legs spread apart, the bloodied hammer still in his hand. “I’m going to kill you, whore!”

  She grabbed the bathroom door and swiveled around it. She slammed it and flipped the lock. She started sobbing but held her breath. She tried to listen. There was no sound. She leaned her head against the door to hear if there was any activity.

  She stood back. The hammer could go through the door.

  “Honey?” George asked in a sweet voice. “Honey, I’m sorry. I don’t know what got into me. I’m so sorry.”

  She stayed silent.

  “Honey? Did I hurt you? Talk to me. Please,” his voice was as soft as an alpaca blanket.

  She didn’t answer.

  “Please, say something. Are you ok? Don’t be afraid, baby.” He paused for a second. “Don’t be scared, sweetie.” His voice rose, “Because I’m going to chop you up like a pig and get it over with quick!”

  The hammer struck the door, both claws penetrating the wood. He smashed it again, the claws digging deeper, again, and again. The door was holding, but it would not last.

  A siren wailed in the night.

  George yelled in frustration, “Noooooh! Die!” He hit the door one more time, but he still couldn’t go through. He stopped and looked at the hammer.

  In the heart of his insanity, George smashed the hammer on his own forehead. He staggered for an instant, a narrow streak of blood travelling down his face. A demented laugh rose from the depth of his chest. He smashed the hammer one more time, just above his left eye. His vision blurred and went black.

  Christine heard a muffled thump, but she didn’t dare to move for a moment. She took a step closer to the door. Still no sound. She retreated back to the center of the bathroom and looked at herself in the vanity mirror. Her clavicle was split in half in a strange v-shaped angle beneath a blood soaked t-shirt. She took a clean pink towel from the vanity and wrapped it over her wound. She knew it was futile, but it was the best she could do for now.

  She sat on the cool tile floor, her back to the bathtub, and sobbed. What had happened? They were talking. Nothing seemed out of place, and George mentioned the kitchen light. What about it? She couldn’t even remember. He’d hit her for nothing. There was no warning sign, no anger, nothing. Then, he had tried to kill her. Why? Her husband of four years, her high school sweetheart, had tried to kill her. Why?

  An uncontrollable tremor traveled through her body.

  The siren was approaching. The police were coming. Was it the police? Was it even for her? Maybe it was only an ambulance going by. Who would have called anyway? The neighbors? They were old and as deaf as a senior citizen after a heavy metal concert.

  The other neighbor? Not possible, he wasn’t even there. He was an entertainer on a cruise ship and was gone months at a time. He used his condo as a landing pad good enough to store his belongings. The siren became even louder and stopped. Another one birthed in the night.

  Christine paid deep attention to any sound. Their neighbors’ television was blaring to compensate for their hearing loss.

  A car door slammed. Somebody ran up the stairs and knocked on her front door with a heavy hand. “Stone Falls Police! Open up!”

  Christine stood up in the small bathroom. She hadn’t heard her husband since he had collapsed. At least she assumed he had collapsed. For what she knew, he could be right outside the door waiting for her with the hammer. Would he do that with an officer right outside the door? She didn’t know. Twenty minutes ago, she would never have thought of him able to be violent. Now, anything was possible.

  She couldn’t call for help from a windowless bathroom stuck between two condos. She considered her options for a moment. She could stay in there and wait. For what? She didn’t know. She could step out and take a chance to confront her hu
sband. Maybe if she stayed put in the bathroom the cop would have to investigate and would come in at some point. The officer was probably waiting for back up before he walked in.

  The front door was locked. They could deal with that. She knew they could. But would they? What if they decided not to enter? Didn’t they need a warrant to go inside a house? What if it was an emergency? She didn’t know.

  She was Christine. She was strong and willing to fight, but she couldn’t take the chance to see the cops bail on her.

  “Police! Open the door!” A male voice repeated behind the front door.

  Her fingers touched the round door knob. She took a deep breath. She rotated the knob. The locking switch popped out in a click. She held her breath. Her heart pounded like a tribal drum in the jungle.

  The knob completed its course.

  She stepped back and ever so slowly pulled the door open. There was nothing she could see in the corridor. Perhaps he was waiting for her, against the wall, hammer high in the air for a final blow.

  Another two sirens approached, but they were still much too far to be of any help.

  She slithered on both sides of the door to take a better look before she walked out. To the left: nothing, only an empty corridor with a closed bedroom door. To the right: a set of feet. She looked further for what was obvious. George was lying on the carpet. She hid behind the doorjamb and peered farther down the corridor. Her husband wasn’t moving. His eyes were closed with a streak of blood marring his face.

  Was he dead? She focused on his chest. He was still breathing. His right arm was folded above his head, the hammer a few inches from his hand. Was it a trap? Should she run for the front door, or proceed quietly?

  Quiet was better.

  She entered the short corridor, her bare feet sinking into the thick carpet. Each step was controlled and calculated. She hugged the wall. George was still not moving, his chest hardly rising and falling.

  She was on his right, scanning for any movement. Nothing. The blood-smeared hammer was two feet from her. If he would strike, it would be right now, she thought.

  Another series of loud knocks on the front door. “Police!”

  George never moved. She tiptoed to the door and opened. Three police officers stood in front of her door with their guns drawn.

  “My husband tried to kill me. He’s inside,” she whispered.

  “Where is he?” One of the officers asked.

  “He’s in the corridor, on the left… he’s on the floor… he’s hurt.”

  “Any weapon?”

  “A hammer,” she said with a defeated voice.

  “Stevenson, you stay with her, call EMS,” the senior officer said, “Hernandez, we go in.”

  Without saying another word, the two policemen walked inside the condominium, 9 mm in hand. The once loving home had become as silent as a tomb. They walked in quietly, maneuvering close to the wall to stay covered. The husband was still immobile on the floor.

  “Who called you?” Christine asked Officer Stevenson as she sat on the outside stairs, her face pale and sweaty.

  “Somebody walked by and heard screaming.”

  She nodded and lowered her head.

  A minute later, one of the two officers walked back out, putting his gun back in his belt holster. “He’s out cold.”

  Christine looked at him, tears rolling down her cheeks, “Is he… dead?”

  “No ma’am, but he’s unconscious.”

  “He attacked me. That’s not like him to do that. My husband is a good man. What happened to him?” She looked back down, relieved to hear that he was still alive, but confused about the terrible evening. She couldn’t understand how the love of her life had turned into a monster.

  Big Sister

  Tracy rapped on Jessica’s bedroom door.

  “Come in.”

  Tracy pushed the door open. “What are you doing?”

  Her sister was seated at an old wooden desk by her window with a view of the backyard.

  “I’m reviewing a Bible study for Friday.”

  “Figures…” She sat on Jessica’s neat quilt covering the bed. She glanced around the room. It was Miss Flawless’ hangout with framed school achievements on the wall, neatly aligned stuffed animals, and not an ounce of dust, anywhere. If her sister was perfect, what did that make her?

  Jessica decided not to pick up on the remark.

  “So. Who the heck is this guy?” She crossed her legs and rested her clasped hands on her knees to appear more official.

  “Who?”

  “Don’t play stupid, that Todd guy at the church.”

  “A friend.”

  “Yeah, sure, I’m buying that one. Spit it out.”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “Nothing? Remember? I’m your sister. I’ve never seen you like that.”

  Jessica looked at her. “Like what?”

  “You stare at something for half an hour, and then you start smiling or giggling for nothing. You don’t hear anything when I talk to you, and I need to ask you a question five times before you answer. It’s like your mind is somewhere else.”

  “No… I’m not like that,” she said without meaning it.

  “How did you meet him?”

  The dam broke. Jessica could not help it. The flow of information and young memories streamed out. Everything came out to the rhythm of her hands dancing in front of her face: how she had met him, how she liked his warm smile, his soft humor, even the way he walked.

  “The guy is not bad-looking either,” Tracy said as a conclusion to her sister’s descriptions.

  Jessica blushed. “He is…” her head bobbed in approval with a longing smile.

  “I might even be interested,” Tracy let out.

  “You? What?” Her smile imploded into a distorted contortion.

  “Yeah, sure, why not? The guy’s cute.” Tracy rested back on her elbows on top of her sister’s bed.

  Jessica’s face grimaced in total confusion. “Uh… but… you have Brad.”

  “I dumped him. He was always shopping around for another girl, like he’s going to find someone better. Can you believe that?” She shook her head and raised the corner of her lips in a sneer. “I’m a single girl now. I am all available.”

  “But–”

  “Well, you’re dating him, are you?”

  “No, but, I mean… you can’t.”

  “Why not? Are you dating him, or not?”

  “No, but–”

  “Good, that’s settled.” She tapped the bed with a joyful grin.

  Jessica stood up, her face flushed red. “You can’t do that!”

  “Why not? Huh, sister?”

  “Because… because, he’s my friend.”

  Tracy sat up. “He’s your friend? So what? I’m not good enough for him?”

  “No, yes… it’s not that.”

  “So what is it, then?”

  “I love him… no… I mean, I really like him.”

  “Well, that’s too bad, ‘cause now you have competition.”

  “Why are you doing this?”

  Tracy stood in a defiant stance, index finger erected toward Jessica’s face. “Because I can. You were Miss Goody-Goody. I was the fun one with a boyfriend. Now, I don’t even have that anymore since you found Mister Perfect. If you’re so great, what am I? Tell me! You have everything! People love you, and our teachers adore you. And I won’t talk about church! You are a saint in there! Everybody loves you, they don’t even know me! Some of those jerks don’t even know I’m your sister! When I tell them, they look at me as if I was the biggest piece of crap in town! And I’m sick of it!” She looked at the window and the settling night in the quiet residential street to calm down.

  Jessica didn’t say a word for a while. “I’m sorry about Brad.”

  Tracy relaxed and sat back on the bed and spoke after a minute. “That’s all right. We weren’t very close.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Tracy took a deep breath.
“You know, sometimes it’s tough to be your sister.”

  “I’m sorry if I’m so perfect.”

  The two exploded in childish mirth.

  “There’s something else.” The faint light of joy died in Tracy’s eyes.

  “What is it?” Jessica’s smile faded.

  “A couple weeks ago, Brad and I met some guys at the abandoned mill.”

  “What were you doing there?”

  Tracy rolled her eyes.

  “I don’t want to know.”

  “Good, because you won’t.”

  Jessica nodded.

  “They wanted to mess with us, but the cops showed up.”

  “That’s when Dad bailed you out.”

  “Yep.”

  “The thing is, they haven’t left me alone ever since.”

  “What did they do?”

  “They keep sending me weird texts. We’re going to take care of you, watch your back, that kind of twisted stuff.”

  “Do you think they mean it?”

  “The heck if I know. They even mentioned you once or twice.”

  “Me?” She moved back in surprise. “What about me? What did they say?”

  “Don’t panic. Nothing very specific. They say that they know you from school.”

  “Are they from my school?” Jessica’s eyes spread wide open.

  “Do you know their names?”

  “Nope.”

  “Did you see anything weird in school?”

  “Other than Jeff Simons, nothing.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about them. They’re just messing with me. They’re not going to do anything, but let me know if they bother you.”

  “You’re funny, Tracy. You tell me that they’re going to leave me alone, but I should let you know if they bother me. That’s reassuring.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Jessica looked at her sister in the eyes. “Did you really want to go out with Todd?”

  “Nah, he’s not my style, too clean cut. Besides, it’s going to be too much fun to see you with a boyfriend, oh sorry, a friend.”

  “You’re mean. Leave me alone,” She said with joy spreading across her angelic face.

  “I’m out of here,” Tracy said walking out of her sister’s bedroom.