Winter Wake

by Rick Hautala

  “There ... there,” John cooed, his mouth close to her ear, his breath warm and reassuring on her the side of her neck. “You had a bit of a fall, but everything’s all right now.”

  They stayed that way, embracing desperately, for several minutes. Eventually the burning need to scream subsided as the strength of her husband’s arms held her. With a shuddering breath, she pulled back and looked at him.

  “What happened? … I can’t remember,” she said, her voice sounding unnaturally thin in her ears. “WsI sleepwalking?”

  “I have no idea,” John said.

  “I — how did I get downstairs? I must’ve … It must have been a dream.” Her voice trailed away as she recalled some of what she had seen …

  No! she commanded herself. Not seen! … What I dreamed! … It had to have been a dream!

  “You must have tripped on the bottom stair there, or maybe bumped into the couch in the dark,” John said, indicating the stairway with a curt nod of the head. “Are you okay? You didn’t break anything, did you?”

  “The bottom of the stairs?” Julia asked, looking at him with surprise. “I thought I was in —” Again, she cut herself off, thinking — at least for now — it was better not to mention what she had seen in Frank’s bedroom.

  “Hey, babe — all I know is, I was sound asleep until you let out a horrible scream.” John chuckled and shook his head. “I must’ve jumped right out of bed.”

  “I — I hope I ….I didn’t scare you guys.”

  Julia looked from John to Bri, feeling suddenly foolish.

  “Oh, no … nothing like that,” Bri said. Her tight smile let Julia know that she felt the exact opposite.

  “Well,” she said, shrugging helplessly, “I have no idea what happened. I mean, the last thing I remember was … I couldn’t sleep. I was lying there, tossing and turning, and the next thing I know, I’m on the couch with you two goobers leaning over me.”

  You’re getting pretty damned good at lying,, she thought bitterly.

  The horror in Frank’s bedroom was still clearly etched in her mind.

  Every sight, every sound, even the heavy smell of dirt and that decomposing sweater —

  And those empty eyes!

  — were a clear memory —

  As clear as if it actually happened, she thought, looking deeply into her husband’s eyes and trying not to see spinning wells of black, eyeless sockets throbbing with a dull red glow.

  “It’s almost four o’clock,” John said after glancing over his shoulder at the clock on the mantel. “I think what we all need to do is get back to bed.”

  Bri stood up, leaned back, and yawned widely. Watching her, Julia commanded herself not to think it looked like her mouth was frozen in a long, silent scream.

  “I think I’m tired enough to sleep,” Julia said as she swung her legs around and slipped off the couch. Every muscle in her body complained, and the back of her head throbbed like she’d been beaten with hammers, but she forced herself not to let it show.

  “You’re sure you didn’t get hurt?” John asked, watching her with concern. “If you banged your head hard enough when you fell, maybe you should go to the hospital and get an X-ray.”

  “I’m fine … honest,” Julia said, and she followed her assurance with a yawn that was only half-forced. “I’m glad you don’t have school and work tomorrow, ‘cause I feel like sleeping till noon.”

  II

  Once Julia fell asleep, she stayed asleep until well after sunrise the next morning. When she finally got out of bed a little after ten o’clock, she actually felt rested. The dream — she convinced herself that’s what it had been — had lost some of its clarity, but it hovered at the edge of her mind, dimly lit by an eerie blue glow. Whenever she caught herself thinking about it, she would shake her head and look outside the nearest window at the bright, snowy day to anchor herself.

  It was New Year’s Eve day. The family spent most of the time lazing around the house. It was too cold outside to do anything, and Bri — who was cross because Kristin was visiting relatives for the day — had gone for a walk by the ocean. She soon turned back because of the biting wind off the ocean.

  “You sure you don’t mind staying home alone tonight?” Julia asked Bri during supper. They were eating early because John’s office party was that evening in Portland.

  “What, do you mean am I afraid to stay here by myself?” Bri said.

  It bothered her to remember how they had found their house trashed after her grandfather’s funeral, but her stepfather — as promised — had put new dead-bolt locks on the doors. She figured she would keep turning lights on and off throughout the evening, so any prospective burglars would see that someone was home.

  “I mean …” Julia paused when, again, the memory of that thing in Frank’s bed rose in her mind.

  “Yeah?”

  “Huh?” Julia shook her head, trying to force the memory away and focus.

  “If you’d like, we could ask someone … maybe Ellie Chadwick wouldn’t mind staying with you.”

  “Yeah, great,” John whispered, but neither of them heard him.

  “I’ll be fine,” Bri said. “Actually, I probably ought to get started on that paper for English.”

  “You haven’t started it yet?” Julia said. She clicked her tongue and shook her head with mild disgust.

  “I’ve been busy,” Bri said, and that — thankfully — was the end of it.

  “If you don’t mind cleaning up the supper dishes, your father and I will get ready to go,” Julia said.

  John looked up from his plate.

  “Yeah, I am so looking forward to this,” he said.

  The sour downward turn of his mouth spoke otherwise, but Julia, who also wasn’t keen on going to parties, smiled.

  “If you want to sit around and moan, it’s fine with me,” she said, pushing herself away from the table and standing up. “It means I’ll get the shower first.”

  “Fine,” John said.

  Once upstairs, Julia — even knowing that both Bri and John were downstairs — felt subtle waves of uneasiness. All day long, no matter how hard she tried to put the events of last night from her mind, they kept intruding. The most ridiculous thing would remind her of some aspect of the dream —

  Nightmare!

  — and she would find her thoughts wandering far afield, thinking about that odd blue light … the skeleton face with peeling, rotting skin … the horrible, choking stench of rotten flesh … those black, bottomless eyes with a dull red glow …

  She undressed and went into the bathroom, but even after she turned the shower on and stepped under the warm spray, she felt even tenser. Maybe it was the hissing sound of the shower. It could mask any other sounds so she wouldn’t hear …

  What?

  Am I expecting someone to sneak up on me from behind?

  She wet her hair and started working up a lather of shampoo, but as long as possible, she kept her eyes opened, focused on the translucent shower curtain, expecting at any moment to see a dim, distorted shadow shift by on the other side. Her imagination went into overdrive, and she carried it further, imagining the figure raising a long-bladed knife over its head and bringing it down in a vicious arc like in the movie Psycho to slice through the shower curtain —

  And into my flesh!

  She rinsed her hair in a hurry and decided to skip her customary second lathering. She told herself she had to hurry to get ready for the party.

  The warm water soothed her as she rubbed the soapy washcloth over her body, but then an odd sensation blossomed deep in her stomach.

  It wasn’t much.

  At first, she mistook took it for the warm rush of water running over her belly and legs … the last knot of tension unwinding.

  But when she looked down, her heart did a cold flip.

  The insides of her thighs were streaked with blood.

  “Oh, Jesus! … Oh, shit!”

  She stared in disbelief as the thin trickle
s of blood ribboned over her white skin. The suds down by her feet had already turned pink as before being sucked down the drain. From deep inside the pipes, there came a hollow, gurgling sound —

  Almost like laughter, Julia thought in a rush of panic … Or satisfaction …

  Arching her back, she probed her pubic hair with her fingertips, afraid — and positive — that the source of the blood wasn’t a razor cut from shaving her legs. It was coming from inside her.

  I can’t be having a period!

  Her eyes began to burn with tears.

  I’m going to lose the baby! … Jesus, no! … I’m losing it now!

  Frantically, she looked from her bloodstained legs to the shower curtain. Her imagination was spinning into high gear. She fully expected the thin plastic to be ripped aside as a grinning skull face leered at her, laughing with deep, hollow sound —

  Like the shower drain, gurgling as it drinks my blood!

  “Jule-yah! ...”

  The voice whispered like tearing paper in her mind.

  “See what he did to me? ...”

  “No,” she said, her voice a feeble whisper. “I’m not going to lose my baby!”

  Gently probing her lower belly with her fingertips, she pressed against her pubic bone, trying to feel if it was true, that the embryo that was — What? Only five days old? — was tearing away its anchor from her uterus wall. She drew her finger under her vagina and then stared numbly at the thick clots of blood on her hand, so red they were almost purple.

  It’s normal to show a little spotting, she told herself as she rinsed away the blood under the full stream of the shower.

  All it is is a little bloody show from the period I was supposed to have but won’t now that I’m pregnant.

  A last little kick from my fertilized body.

  “I can’t lose it,” she said louder but still barely hearing herself above the rushing sound of the shower.

  “I can’t!”

  She remembered thinking a while ago about how the universe was full of wandering, drifting souls who are waiting to be born. Perhaps they were the souls of people who had already died — like Frank — and if the concept of reincarnation was true, these souls were waiting to be reborn. She closed her eyes, praying silently that the little soul inside her would hang tough and hold on to the promise of life nine months from now.

  When she opened her eyes again, she wanted to believe it looked worse than it was. Already, the water slipping down the drain was almost completely clear. No deep-throated laughter vibrated in the drain. Her legs had only a few thin traces of blood — not much at all, she told herself.

  A little blood can look like a lot because it’s scary.

  “This is all perfectly normal,” she said, still unable to keep her hands from pushing below her belly. “This has to be normal!”

  She laughed to herself when she wondered how “normal” it was to have morning sickness the morning after getting pregnant.

  Isn’t that supposed to come only after you miss your first period?

  Maybe real morning sickness and the rest of it was all ahead of her.

  “If it’s one last period you want, here you go,” she said.

  “What?” a voice spoke out suddenly.

  Julia let out a startled shriek.

  “What the hell are you doing?” she shouted once she recognized John’s voice.

  Gripping the shower curtain in one hand, she pulled it aside, almost ripping it off the curtain rings. It was only with a slight measure of relief that she saw her husband standing in his undershorts by the bathroom sink, his face slathered with shaving cream.

  “What’s it look like I’m doing?” he said, holding up his hands innocently.

  Julia’s eyes fastened on the tiny razor nick on his chin. A trickle of blood not much thicker than a piece of hair snaked down the curve of his jaw.

  See! she told herself. A little blood looks like more than it is …

  “You startled me, is all,” she said, fighting to control her trembling voice, “I didn’t hear you come in.”

  Shaking his head, John turned back to his reflection in the mirror and ran the razor blade down his cheek.

  ‘‘I’ll be done showering in a sec, and you can have it,” Julia said as she ducked back under the stream of water. Taking the wet washcloth, she rubbed between her legs to make sure there were no more traces of blood.

  False alarm … I hope, she thought even though her stomach tingled with tension.

  III

  The party was loud … too loud, Julia thought as they walked into the plush home of William Atkins, the owner of the company. Mrs. Atkins, a fragile but still attractive woman in her mid-fifties, greeted them at the door and took their coats. Although it was still early — only a little before nine o’clock — it looked as though everyone from the office was already here, and things were getting into high gear. From the richly-furnished living room came the babbly of several simultaneous conversations. Julia couldn’t make out a single word. Classical music — Vivaldi, she guess — was playing low on the stereo.

  “There’s plenty to eat and drink on the dining room table,” Mrs. Atkins said after John introduced himself and Julia. “Please — enjoy yourself.”

  John nodded and, holding Julia by the crook of her elbow, steered her through the crowd to the spread of food on a table in the elegant dining room. Along the way, he paused and introduced her to a few people … all of them, she assumed, were from work, but the only person whose name she remembered was Barry Cummings. He was grinning widely, and his eyes were red-rimmed as though he had started celebrating the New Year a bit earlier in the afternoon.

  “Now we know where our holiday bonuses went,” Barry said, smiling as he nodded toward the table. He was unsteady on his feet and spilled some of the drink he was holding onto his shirtfront.

  John smiled, nodded, and moved away as fast as he could without being rude.

  “I’m not going to last long,” Julia said as they moved along the length of the table, loading up their plates with sliced roast beef, Swedish meatballs, lasagna, fresh-baked Italian bread, salad, and an assortment of condiments. As good as the food looked, the pit of Julia’s stomach was in turmoil. She knew she wasn’t going to be able to eat much. After what had happened in the shower, she had put on a Maxi-Pad and was already anxious to excuse herself and go to the bathroom to check it.

  Please, God, when I do, let there be no more blood! she silently prayed.

  “Be right back,” she said, putting her plate down and edging away from John. “I have to find the powder room.”

  “Can I grab you a glass of wine while you’re gone?” John asked as Julia pushed past him. He was standing beside the table where the drinks were being served.

  Julia paused and shook her head.

  “I think I’ll stick with ginger ale tonight,” she said.

  The muscles in the backs of her knees felt as though they were unstrung, and all she wanted to do was get to the bathroom.

  John regarded her with wide-eyed surprise.

  “Ginger ale? You usually don’t drink —”

  ‘‘I’m the designated driver tonight,” Julia said. “This is your crew. Have fun.”

  “You want that ginger ale straight up or on the rocks?” John said with a snorting laugh. Then he turned and ordered their drinks from the tuxedoed bartender. He asked for a double whiskey and took a gulp of it before taking Julia’s ginger ale.

  She weaved through the throng to the bathroom. After locking the door, she hiked up her dress, pulled her panties down, and saw — with a flood of relief — that the pad was only tinged pink.

  “Thank God!” she muttered.

  She pulled her panties up, smoothed out her dress, and flushed the toilet for good measure before leaving to rejoin John. As they mingled with his coworkers, their spouses or dates, several people offered — along with the New Year’s wishes — their condolences to John concerning his father’s death. He accept
ed them gracefully, but Julia could tell — both by the way he nodded and by how fast he put away his first three drinks — that he was nervous about something. Like her, he left the food on his plate mostly untasted, but his reason was that he was so busy getting hammered.

  Conversation, as usual at parties like this, was superficial and tended to revolve around work, no matter how much people protested that they wanted to leave the office behind. Small knots of people discussed this or that project, the relative merits of this or that building material, and whether or not they had seen the peak of Portland’s development boom. Only in the living room, on the couch by the picture window with a wide vista of the Portland skyline across the bay, were there people — obviously the younger co-workers trying to impress their dates — talking about other things, either politics or astrology.

  About an hour into the party, after John had finished his fourth drink and was seeming decidedly unsteady, Julia nudged him and whispered in his ear, “Can we head home now?” She tried to keep any trace of desperation out of her voice, but the longer she was on her feet, the worse she felt. The queasiness in her stomach was still there in spite of two glasses of ginger ale.

  John looked at her, bleary-eyed, and then shrugged.

  “Whassa’ matter?” he said, his voice slurred. “Aren’t you having a good time?”

  Julia stopped herself from saying how much she loved talking about how the concrete footings for practically every condominium along the shore will be underwater by mid-century. Instead, she gave a helpless shrug, as if to say, Please get me the hell out of here!

  “We can’t split before midnight,” John said.

  Someone knocked into him from behind, and he turned, glaring, until he saw who it was — Lorraine, from accounting — and then he smiled at her.

  “Maybe we could finagle a seat in the living room,” Julia said. “My dogs are barkin’.” She didn’t care how the evening went, now that she was sure the blood flow had stopped.

  “I’ll get refills,” John said, taking her glass from her even though she hadn’t offered it. “See if you can find someplace to sit.”