Dirt Lullabies

by Jeremy Megargee

  I wedged the flashlight into the crook of my elbow and took the box up into my arms, doing my best to get it well positioned against my chest.

  I was halfway across the cellar when I felt something crawling across my hand. My breath caught in my throat, my eyes started to drift slowly downward. I tilted the flashlight up as much as I could while still maintaining my hold on the box…

  The weak, faltering light caught on hideous little black eyes and numerous spindly legs walking across the flesh of my hand.

  A loud “FUCKKKKK” roared from my lips at the sight of the house centipede, and I whipped my hand to the side to dislodge it, losing my grip on the box in the process. The centipede flew off and hit the wall as the candles tumbled down against the floor, rolling every which way.

  I took a moment to compose myself, pausing only to scrub at my hand to try and drive away the very sensation of all those legs crawling on me.

  Finally I dropped down to my knees on the dirt floor and began to collect the candles one by one, placing them back into the box. I got closer to the middle of the root cellar’s floor…and found something puzzling. Something I hadn’t noticed before when I came in.

  It was the source of that cold draft.

  There was a jagged crack in the earth here, maybe a few inches across on each side. The air that came up out of it was freezing, seeming to dry out my nostrils the very second I held my head overtop it.

  I shined the beam of the flashlight down into the crack but could make nothing out but earthy walls descending deeper and an abyss of impenetrable blackness. There was nothing to be seen, nothing the light could penetrate at least.

  That’s when I noticed the smell. I struggle to find words that might do justice to that smell. It was an overpowering sweetness, like meat gone rotten and left out in the sun for a very long time. It mingled with the scent of dirt, something long buried and long forgotten. It was unlike anything I’d ever experienced before…

  I was trying to understand what I was seeing. As far as I knew there was nothing below the root cellar. No subbasement, no deeper part of the house.

  The floor here was dirt…and there was nothing down there but more dirt.

  The light still shined in my hand, the weak rays casting the slightest glow across the crack. I was still trying to wrap my head around the mysterious hole when I heard something down there.

  My blood seemed to momentarily freeze in my veins and all the breath expelled from my lungs so quickly that I forgot to draw new oxygen back in.

  It was the sound of something shifting down in the deep. Some enormous, unknowable weight. It was followed by a muddled, murky sound.

  Something like an animal waking from a slumber.

  I’d heard enough.

  I finally managed to tear a few new breaths into my body and I scrambled to my feet, the candles all but forgotten. I half-ran and half-stumbled towards the door, my only goal at that particular moment in time to get away as quickly as humanly possible.

  Something stopped me with my hand on the door.

  A voice floating up from that hole in the dirt.

  The first time I heard it I could not ascertain any kind of gender for the thing that lived below. It was both throaty and masculine and silky and feminine all at the same time. Perfectly androgynous…and perfectly charming.

  It froze me in place, the hair standing up on the back of my head and goosebumps breaking out along the flesh of my arms.

  This was something new for me. A terror so profound that I could not even summon the strength to move. As I stood there, petrified and motionless, I could sympathize with a deer caught in the headlights. I understood why the rabbit froze while staring down the wolf.

  In final, precious moments like these…every part of you shuts down and waits. You wait in motionless silence for life to return or death to take you. You wait…and the waiting is the worst part.

  The words that voice spoke throbbed in my head just as much as they rang in my ears. I seemed to hear it in every single nerve ending inside of my body.

  “Don’t go.”

  Chapter 12

  Roman

  I felt my head slowing craning around to look over my shoulder. The root cellar remained unchanged, the crack in the earth looking more ominous than ever. For a moment the fear took a backseat to self-doubt. Did I just imagine that voice? Did I have an auditory hallucination or something?

  Was I losing my fuckin’ mind?

  The silence seems to stretch on for a bit and reinforce this theory. I’m about to turn away again when the theory shatters into a million pieces and the fear returns, blazing back into my heart like a persistent locomotive.

  “Don’t be afraid. Madness isn’t to blame…”

  A pause, and then the voice comes again, seeming to echo up out of that hole.

  “I am speaking to you.”

  I’m at a loss. My heart is hammering and it feels like I haven’t blinked in almost five minutes straight. I’m horrified about what might happen if I close my eyes even for a split second.

  “I’d imagine it’s a bit shocking. I’m a little surprised myself. Haven’t had a visitor in a very long time. Gets lonely…”

  A voice from a hole in the ground is attempting to have a conversation with me. This is actually happening. My hand reaches up, shaking a bit…to pinch my cheek. If this is a nightmare...the pinch does nothing to wake me up.

  “Forgive me. I’m sleepy. You woke me up…not much room to stretch down here.”

  The conversation is a bit one-sided and I’m starting to fear that if I don’t respond to the thing soon that it might make matters even worse. I open my mouth to speak but no actual words come out. At best I manage a sound like the belligerent moan of a village idiot…

  “Uhhhrr…”

  It’s answered almost immediately.

  “Mmm. Fascinating. Not a big talker, huh?”

  I’m momentarily disarmed and the fear fades a little, taking a backseat to a sense of overwhelming curiosity. When I speak again I’m able to do so a bit more coherently.

  “What…who are you?”

  “That’s complicated.”

  In spite of myself I’m walking back towards the crack, almost like I’m drawn to it.

  “Do…you have a name?”

  “Humans…gotta love em’. Always have to put labels on things. Names. Words. Letters. Now I know my ABCs, next time won’t you sing with me!”

  The voice is strangely melodic and before I even realize it I’m sitting down cross-legged in front of that hole, the flashlight held in my lap. I clicked it off. I’m not sure if the voice appreciates light…

  “Z…too zany. B…too boring. M…that’s a good, strong letter.”

  My eyes are wide, my mouth hanging open.

  “Call me M.”

  “Okay. M…” I respond slowly, my voice still shaky.

  “And you are…don’t tell me! Roman, right?”

  My mouth feels terribly dry. I try to wet my lips but it doesn’t do much good.

  “How do you know my name?”

  “I know lots of things. I’m a knower, Roman. An eater of knowledge, you might say. I pick things up here and there. Got quite the intuitive streak in me…”

  I’m trying to think of what I should ask next. I have thousands of questions and each one sounds more ridiculous in my head than the last. Before I can even attempt to formulate a new question, M speaks again.

  “For example, I know you’ve fallen on hard times. I know that it’s lights out up there in the Merrick household right now. Just the thought makes me chilly…no fun!”

  “Yeah…we don’t have the money to pay the bill right now. It’s rough.”

  A pause, and then that strange sound from earlier, like tremendous weight shifting somewhere below.

  “Life is rough, pal. Doesn’t have to be, though. I can help.”

  My eyebrows arch quizzically.

  “See that rusty old toolbox in the corner there? Kin
da hidden, camouflaged by dust. Take a peek inside. You might find a helping hand.”

  A part of me is reluctant to move because all of this still seems so surreal. I try to push that part of me to the side as I reach for the toolbox. I never would have even seen it if not for M pointing it out. It’s practically buried in dust and splinters of wood.

  I swallow deeply and then open it, the hinges creaking.

  There are old wrenches inside, a few rust-speckled bolts and screws, but overtop it all is a thin stack of bills bound with a tattered rubber band.

  I take the cash into my hand, marveling at it for a moment. There are ten hundred dollar bills in the bundle, all of them bearing dates from the late 1960s.

  I turn to the hole, a smile breaking across my mouth before I know it’s even there.

  “Is this money yours?”

  There’s a sound from the depths of the dirt. It’s like the jangling of a music box buried in the very center of the earth. It takes me a few seconds to realize that it’s the sound of M’s laughter.

  “Nah. Just something I know about. Remember…I’m a knower. It belonged to a sad old man who was fond of wearing ugly brown suits. He’s long dead now and he doesn’t need it anymore. It’s all yours, Roman.”

  My fist is wrapped tightly around the cash. This will pay the utility bill and get the lights back on and then some.

  “But nothing in this world is free. You best of all should understand that…”

  The statement comes out of the hole and lingers there, sounding salacious and sinister. I’m starting to think maybe I should just put the money back where I found it and leave this place. Maybe nail the door shut forever too while I’m at it.

  “What do you want for it?”

  For a long time there is no answer.

  I start to think that maybe M isn’t there anymore.

  “A friend.”

  Chapter 13

  Roman

  I staggered out of that root cellar into the openness of the world beyond, still reeling from everything I’d heard down there. It wasn’t so much what I’d seen. There was almost nothing to see but a crack in the dirt. It was what came out of that chasm that stuck with me. I had absolutely no idea what it was that dwelled down there and I realize now that each time I even tried to ask that question M steered me away from it and changed the subject.

  I upturned my face to the rain and let it wash across my dirt-smeared features. My right hand remained in my pocket, stroking the little bundle of bills that hid there. Something special was happening here. I didn’t understand it. All I knew for sure was that things were looking up for Roman Merrick, and for now, that was enough.

  All M claimed to want was a friend. He or she….or it…asked me to promise to visit frequently. I could do that. I’d tell no one about M. I wouldn’t even mention it to my parents. Even if I tried to explain it to someone I knew it would be a fastrack to my very own padded room in the local asylum.

  I decided then and there that I’d tell Helena that I was able to pawn that ring after all.

  I’d focus on getting the lights back on and getting the family back on track.

  We would endure.

  Thanks to M…we would endure.

  Chapter 14

  Roman

  It took less than a day to get the electric company to turn the lights back on with the money I found in that toolbox. I was even able to pay in advance for the month of December too. Dad’s relief was a reward all by itself. Mom’s thankful embrace made it even better.

  We’d gained a period of respite.

  The situation didn’t seem so suffocating anymore, and for the first time in weeks I allowed myself to actually relax. I went into town and treated myself to a steak dinner at Mountainside Diner with a bit of the money that remained.

  I sat there in my booth in the back, cutting into the medium rare meat and relishing the flavor as it assaulted my taste buds. Each bite was a little bloody. Each one more delicious than the last…

  My thoughts inevitably circled back to M.

  For awhile I entertained the idea that M might be a person living in some kind of undiscovered cavern beneath the house. Was that even possible? It seemed iffy. Especially because of those comments M had made about “humans and labels.”

  I mulled over the idea that maybe M was a ghost. I’m pretty open-minded when it comes to the paranormal, so the thought of some person buried beneath the house and haunting the spot where he or she was buried didn’t seem terribly difficult for me to swallow.

  Maybe that was it. Some restless spirit trapped down there in the dirt just looking for a little companionship. Might explain why M knew my name and other details about me without ever having to be told…

  It was a theory, nothing more.

  I didn’t really have a clue what M was.

  But I was starting to get a pretty clear idea of what M could do.

  I’d visit him again tonight, per the arrangement.

  Chapter 15

  Roman

  I sat there on the cold ground in much the same position as last time. My overcoat was bundled across my shoulders and a woolen scarf was wrapped around my neck like a scratchy python. The flashlight was off, lying next to some broken cobblestones.

  M didn’t like artificial light.

  Instead it was suggested that I light a few of the candles I’d dropped the last time I came here. I’d formed them into a little circle around the crack in the earth, little depressions of dirt forming natural holders for them.

  Viscous yellow wax spread across the dirt in tendrils, unhealthy fingers reaching slowly across the soil, growing and growing. The candlelight cast strange shadows across the old wooden walls and painted my face, giving it a deeply orange glow. I was quiet, contemplative.

  M didn’t like the flashlight…but he seemed to enjoy the little flames.

  I still couldn’t see anything in the depths of that hole except for darkness descending and the occasional ragged root reaching out from the earthen walls. M hadn’t spoken since mentioning the candles. If there was tension in this silence I didn’t notice it. I felt…strangely soothed. Was that M’s doing?

  It seemed an unnatural feeling, such tranquility settling into my bones, almost like I was hypnotized by the hole and the little flames dancing around it.

  M’s voice caught me off guard. It was much like a lullaby floating up out of the dirt, coming to me from unknowable depths and telling me to just let myself drift. I let it happen. I let myself flirt with sleep but never truly fall into the heart of slumber. This was a pleasant, tingly doze…and it was a struggle to even formulate thoughts when in this kind of state.

  “I trust your situation has improved a bit since the last time we spoke?”

  I wet my lips to reply. My tongue felt dry and warm in my mouth, not much saliva to lubricate the words I was searching for.

  “It has. Thank you for that...”

  “It was the least I could do, Roman.” M replied, silky and sympathetic.

  Strangely the longer I spent in the presence of M the less cold I felt. My body felt comfortably numb to the frigid air that had to be circulating through the root cellar. It felt almost like M was weaving warmth in circular motions around me using nothing but the candle flames as a source.

  “I mean that very literally. It was just a taste. Nothing but a preview of the treasures I can offer a man like you. This world is full of precious gifts, Roman…most of them buried and forgotten. You just have to know where to look…”

  It was happening again. I could literally feel it. M steering me towards something, influencing me to follow the trail of bread crumbs he was leaving with each and every honey dipped word. I desperately wanted to know more about these “precious gifts”…but I also needed to understand what I was dealing with.

  “What are you, M?” Are you a ghost?”

  It took considerable effort just to get the question to leave my lips.

  I waited. The minutes ticked by
on my cheap wristwatch and M didn’t respond. He hadn’t gone away though. I could still sense him lingering somewhere down below. Apparently this was a topic M didn’t want to talk about.

  “Why are you down in that hole?”

  A pause. It stretched on only a moment or two before the dirty sweet lullaby of M’s voice returned to me.