by Hunt, James
“It’s not just my dad,” Claire said, glancing to the room and inching closer to Owen. “Do you feel like there’s something wrong with the house?”
“It’s old, Claire,” Owen answered. “We’ll get the plumbing fixed and—”
“I’m not just talking about the plumbing,” Claire said. “I mean something else. Something more… I don’t know.” She lowered her head and massaged her temples. “I feel like I sound like a crazy person.”
“You sound like a hungry person.” Owen kissed the top of her head and walked them back into the dining room. “When’s the pizza going to be ready?”
“Twenty minutes,” Claire answered.
“I’ll leave now. It’ll take me thirty minutes to get there anyway.” Owen noticed that Claire wouldn’t stop looking back at the room. He gently pulled her face toward his. “There isn’t anything for you to be worried about, all right? The house is old. We live in the swamp. Bad plumbing and snake bites were inevitable.”
“Right,” Claire said.
Owen grabbed the van keys and walked outside. But before he started the engine, he sat there in the quiet dark for a moment, looking around the property. Night had turned the trees and moss and swamp into something more sinister. And the longer his eyes lingered on the darkness, the more tricks they played on him.
The rustle of leaves and branches was supernatural. The swoosh of water was some demon lurking underneath the surface. The darkness itself became a creature hunting him in the night. Owen shut his eyes and pushed the thoughts from his mind.
His son had been bitten by a snake. The pipes were old and corroded in the house. His father-in-law had Alzheimer’s. Those things weren’t the work of some demon, it was only the reality of life.
* * *
After Owen returned with the pizza, Claire ate a few slices, then walked back upstairs to check on the kids. Chloe was sound asleep, her mouth open and drool pouring onto her pillow. Claire shook her head, hoping that whoever she married found it as endearing as Owen found her drool.
Matt was asleep too, and Claire hovered over him in bed. Hesitantly, she placed her palm onto his forehead, afraid that she’d feel the same icy touch as she did in the hospital. But as her palm contacted his skin, relief washed away the worry. He felt normal, and Claire immediately felt silly for letting her imagination run wild. She kissed Matt’s cheek, and then left him to rest.
Owen entered the dining room from the kitchen as she stepped off the last step of the staircase. “Everyone all right up there?”
“Yeah,” Claire answered, smiling for the first time all day. “Sound asleep.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and they kissed.
When she pulled back, Owen smiled, his eyes still closed. “I think they put something in your pizza.”
“Maybe,” Claire said. “Let’s go find out.”
She pulled him to their bedroom, the pair disrobing along the way like they did when they were first married, and relieved some stress. Once finished, sweating and exhausted in bed, they kissed goodnight and passed out on top of the sheets.
It was just past three o’clock in the morning when Claire awoke on her stomach, sweating and thirsty. She wrestled uncomfortably with her pillow then rolled onto her back. She looked at Owen, finding him sound asleep.
Naked, she grabbed the silk robe off the back of the door and wrapped it around herself before she headed toward the kitchen for a glass of water. On the way, she passed through the dining room and then glanced up at the kid’s rooms.
Chloe’s door was still wide open, but Claire slowed when she noticed that Matt’s door was closed. She paused, staring up at it, trying to remember if she’d closed it before going downstairs. She frowned, looking at the floor. No, she was sure she left it open.
The thought made Claire’s heart skip a beat as she ascended the staircase. She peeked into Chloe’s room to check on her and saw that her daughter was still in the same position she left her. She walked softly over the noisy floorboards to Matt’s room, not realizing that her hands were clenched tight into fists. A noise filtered through the cracks of Matt’s door, and she froze in her track so she could hear.
Whispers, nearly soundless, echoed inside. There was a familiar rhythm and cadence to them, and Claire swore she had heard them before. Softly, and quietly, Claire reached for the door knob. “Matt?”
Her silhouette spilled into the darkened room. Her son’s bed was empty. She followed the whispers to the rear left corner of the room. Matt was crouched down, his back turned to her.
“Sweetie, are you all right?” Claire asked, stepping inside.
Matt’s words grew louder, and the closer she moved, the better she heard.
“Tonga-Keira-Awalla-Liseta. Tonga-Keira-Awalla-Liseta. Tonga-Keira-Awalla-Liseta.”
The words pounded in Claire’s ears and heart as she drew closer to her son. “Matthew, get off the floor and back into bed.” Her voice had a panicked anger to it, but her son didn’t move. She stepped toward him hesitantly, afraid. “Matt, you need to—”
Matt spun around and belted out a piercing scream. His eyes were all black, void of the colorful blue that he was given upon his birth. A snake slithered from beneath his legs, its mouth open and fangs exposed.
Claire screamed and fell backward. Her feet and hands smacked against the floorboards on her retreat. The snake slithered toward her and Claire caught a brief glance at her son, staring down at the snake with those pitch-black eyes and repeating the same mantra louder and faster.
The high-pitched hiss of the snake followed her to the door, snapping twice for her feet that narrowly missed. Claire shrieked as she backpedaled out of the room and smacked into the banisters of the second-floor balcony.
Matt’s bedroom door slammed shut on its own, sealing her son and the snake inside. Black water, the same as from the faucet, flooded out of Matt’s room through the bottom door crack. Claire jumped from the floor as the putrid water rushed against her feet.
“Matt!” Claire pounded on the door with both fists, then jiggled the handle, which remained locked. The water rushed through the side cracks of the door frame now, soaking Claire’s robe.
“Mommy?” Chloe stood in her doorway, her eyes wide and her blanket pressed close to her chin.
“Stay in your room!” Claire pointed back toward her daughter’s bed, and then spun around and gripped the banister, her actions so quick and forceful that she almost thrust herself over the side. “Owen!”
Chloe screamed, and Claire spun back around, her mouth gaping in shock and horror. Hundreds of tiny black spiders crawled out from the top of the door, moving in wave-like layers up to the ceiling, an endless army of disgusting creatures.
Water gushed from the cracks faster now as Claire’s fists pounded on the door. Half of the spiders then shifted their path from the ceiling to Claire, and she frantically smashed them, their black bodies plastered flat against the door or falling to the floor in a lifeless heap.
She smacked at the ones crawling over her arms, their tiny legs tickling her skin, a few trying to get underneath her robe. The water on her feet grew ice cold and the door buckled like it was ready to burst. “Matt!”
Hands suddenly yanked her backward, and she watched Owen look at the spiders that had disappeared into the ceiling and the water still seeping through the cracks. “Stay back!”
Claire stepped aside as Owen smacked the door with his heel, the contact eliciting a loud crack as the door and wall rattled from her husband’s forceful hit.
The rush of water slowed to a trickle and the flow of spiders ended as Owen struck the door repeatedly. A crack in the wood crawled up the door frame on one of the kicks, and the next fractured off an entire piece as the door flung open.
Owen rushed in first, feet splashing against the puddles on the floor, Claire close behind. Matt was sprawled out on the hardwood, his eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling and mumbling to himself, the same words that he was whispering when she first wa
lked in.
“Matt!” Claire patted her son’s body, but the boy remained unresponsive, his eyes cast upward as she looked for the snake. She didn’t see it anywhere.
“What happened?” Owen asked.
“I-I don’t know,” Claire answered, her voice hoarse from screaming. “Matt’s door was closed and when I opened it, he was in here with a snake.”
“Check his arms, make sure he wasn’t bitten again.”
“He wasn’t,” Claire said. “He was… controlling it.”
And underneath the dismissive wave Owen gave her, Claire saw a glint of fear in her husband’s face. Fear because he believed her.
6
The night sky outside Matt’s bedroom window morphed into a muddled grey just before sunrise. It was that moment right before the day began, when everything was still and quiet. And like his son, who had finally stopped his mumbling and fallen asleep a few hours ago, Owen remained still as water in the chair he brought in from the dining room downstairs.
Dark grooves imprinted under Owen’s eyes, and he sat slouched in the chair, one hand on his chin, the other resting lazily on the chair’s armrest. He’d sat there all night, eyes red and dry from staring at his son, trying to make sense of what was happening and why it was happening to them.
Hadn’t they gone through enough? Wasn’t all of the shit they trudged through the past six months enough to grant them some semblance of peace?
Owen rubbed his face and leaned forward, his muscles and bones creaking from the restless few hours he managed to catch before he awoke to his wife screaming bloody murder.
A hand gently grazed Owen’s shoulder, and he reached up and rubbed Claire’s fingers. Everything she said had been bouncing around in his mind since he busted down that door. It was absurd. Unreal. And yet, here he found himself, beginning to believe that there was something wrong with this house. Something wrong with his son.
“You need to take him back to the doctors today,” Owen said, still rubbing Claire’s hand while his eyes remained fixated on Matt. “There must have been something they gave him that he was having a reaction to, or something from the snake bite that—”
“Owen, stop.” Claire emerged from behind him and crouched by his knees, her eyes wide and bright in the darkness. The way she looked reminded Owen of when they first started dating. She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever come across, but it went beyond the flesh and traveled behind those pair of dark brown eyes. There was certainty in them. And that certainty, that decisiveness was what pulled Owen into her. Those same attributes now scared him to death. “You saw what I saw.”
Owen drifted his eyes to Matthew. “I don’t know what I saw.”
“This is more than just snake bites and my dad’s Alzheimer’s,” Claire said. “You saw the water, the spiders, and then they just disappeared?” She shook her head, her hands digging into his legs. “The water spilled over the banister and into the living area, which should have soaked the furniture downstairs, but everything’s dry. We need to get out of this house.”
“And go where?” Owen asked, exasperated. “Back to Baltimore? Back to almost being homeless? I’m not putting our family through that again.”
“You want us to stay?”
Owen took Claire’s hands in a firm grasp. “I want us to not have to worry about where our next meal is going to come from. I want us to have a life that doesn’t revolve around clipping coupons and buying everything on sale.” He let go of her hands and stepped back, afraid of the words that had been boiling over in the back of his mind. Words that if spoken, he couldn’t take back.
Claire’s father was a good man. Owen knew that. But after Claire’s mother passed, the man gave up. He moved in with them and while he was collecting money on Social Security, he became another mouth to feed, another person to rack up the utilities bill, more weight for Owen to carry, which was fine until he lost the job at the factory. And then when Roger was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, those medical bills started piling up and drained their savings faster than he could replenish it.
“Owen, it’s not safe for our son to be here,” Claire said, her voice on the edge of crying again.
“And it’s not safe for him to be homeless,” Owen replied, his answer harsher than he intended. “Or hungry.”
Claire squeezed his forearm tighter. “Just talk to your boss and see if he can get us into another place. Or we can look into something else we can buy. I know that’s not something we wanted to do because we were trying to get out of debt faster, but we have to try something.”
Owen pulled his arm back. “They paid for our move, they paid for the house, they paid for all of Matt’s medical bills, and on top of that, they’re paying me fifteen thousand more a year than I made at the shipyard.” Owen flapped his arms at his sides. “And now you want me to go to my boss and ask him for us to move?”
“I understand everything that they’ve done, and believe me, I’m grateful,” Claire said. “But I’m not going to let my family stay here one more night.”
““There isn’t anywhere else to go!” Owen hissed through his teeth, his volume a harsh whisper. “This is it! This has to work.”
Claire’s eyes watered, and she shook her head. “You’re putting our family at risk.”
Frustration muddled Owen’s senses, and the fatigue of the past few days eroded the will to hold his tongue. “And keeping your dad around wasn’t?”
Claire immediately clammed up, and her body offered a light tremor of rage. The moment he saw her reaction, Owen slumped his shoulders in regret.
“Claire, I’m—”
“My father did not hurt Matt,” Claire said. She closed the gap between them, her eyes red, that certainty and decisiveness burning right through him. “And I will not keep my children here another night. Do you understand me? We are leaving, Owen. With or without you.”
Owen watched her exit, and he leaned back against the window. The muddled grey of morning was suddenly diffused by sunrise, and the first rays of light broke over the horizon. But despite the new day and the beautiful morning outside, Owen felt anything but hopeful or happy.
The drive to the factory was restless, and Owen regretted not saying goodbye to Claire before he left. It irked him when they weren’t on good terms, but it was going to take some time before she forgave him about the comment regarding her father.
The bulk of the factory was arriving when Owen parked the van and stepped out. He spotted Marty Wiggins and Jake Martin getting out of their truck, Marty talking loud enough for everyone to hear him in Baltimore.
“All I’m saying is that if Drew Brees can win one more Super Bowl, then I think he should be in the conversation for greatest quarterback of all time.” Marty shrugged in an overdramatic fashion, his eyes bulging from his sockets like his own words were on par with Ernest Hemingway and he didn’t understand why everyone wasn’t praising his voice. “He’s done more than everyone else, and with less.”
“You think he’s better than Archie Manning though?” Jake asked. “I mean the guy is—”
“Hey, can you tell me where Chuck’s office is?” Owen asked as both men turned toward him, Marty spilling some of his coffee on his hand from the quick jerk.
“Goddammit, Yankee-Doodle numnuts,” Marty said, shaking off the hot liquid. “Made me burn my damn hand.”
“Hey, Owen,” Jake said, his voice soft. “I heard about your boy. He all right?”
“He’s getting better,” Owen answered. “My wife is taking him back to the hospital today for a check-up.”
“Say,” Marty said, taking a sip from his coffee. “You want to get in on this Saints debate? You could be a neutral party.”
“I really don’t have—” And that’s when Owen spotted Chuck across the lot, heading toward one of the factory entrances. Without another word, he sprinted toward his boss, waving his arms.
“Owen,” Chuck said, lines of concern forming over his face. “How’s your boy doing?”
“The doctors said he should be fine in a couple of days, but I need to talk to you about something.”
Chuck gestured toward his office door. “I’ll put some coffee on.”
The office was simply decorated and designed. A metal desk and matching filing cabinet took center stage, and the walls were covered with different pictures of the factory’s history. One picture in particular hung prominently on the wall behind Chuck’s desk.
“First day we opened,” Chuck said, pointing to the black and white photo as he smiled. He tapped on a man in a plain white shirt and dark slacks that held a cigar. “That’s my great -grandfather. Hell of a businessman, and could outwork anyone he hired.” Chuck took a seat and gestured for Owen to do the same. “He always joked that was the only way to stay the boss.”
“Mr. Toussaint, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate what you’ve done for me and my family. This job was a godsend for us.”
“Well, we’re happy to have you on board,” Chuck said, smiling as the whistle blew and the factory’s machines began to hum.
The commotion caught Owen’s attention, and he looked out the window to the floor as everyone started to fall into work. Everyone but him. “Mr. Toussaint, what I’m about to ask you is more than I should, but I’m doing it for the same reason I took the job here in the first place. It’s for my family.”
“Is everything all right?” Chuck asked.
Owen chose his words carefully. “It’s the house. I don’t think it’s going to work out.”
Chuck sat there for a moment, the concern slowly fading, and he leaned back in his chair, folding his hands over his stomach. “And what’s the problem?”
“I think it’s just too much space for us, honestly,” Owen answered, lying through his teeth. He wasn’t about to tell the man his wife thought the place was possessed or that his son was speaking with snakes. And just sitting there thinking about it, he felt silly even bringing it up. But that’s what happened when you stepped out of the strange and back into reality.
