With a girl’s name, said the voice.
How long had he been here? Weeks? Carrie couldn’t remember. It was hard to tell when you never saw the sun. It wasn’t as if he wanted to get used to it. If he got used to it…
No, God, please don’t let me get used to it. Ever. I don’t want to get used to it…
Carrie didn’t know what to think. He felt better after wailing into the dark, but honestly, this wasn’t funny anymore.
Voices plotted murder around him; others conspired heinous acts of violence. Infants wailed, lost, still frightened in the dark. A lustful dialogue developed to his right.
Then, it came from nowhere. It came from...everywhere:
“Just one more hit, just one…one more, and I’d be okay.”
“Does anyone have a cigarette I can bum?”
“Joe, I’ve told you countless times, not to leave the toilet seat up!”
“Anyone got change for a ten?”
“Doctor says I can, which is good, because I have this long flight to Miami.”
“I never told her I loved her. Blew up over that stupid thing and never told her I loved her…”
If he could’ve, he’d have closed his eyes and prayed, but what good would that have done?
Carrie Weis tried taking a deep breath, but it was futile. Darkness filled his lungs. Like a silent prayer, he begged:
“Please, God. Just a shred of humanity! Please! One display of decency, for decency’s sake!”
I can answer that for you, Carrie. And the answer is, NO! Probably not. Can’t see it. I can’t really see an end at all. Don’t know what you’re so hopeful for. Jeez, a guy dies one time, and look how bunged up he gets? Thinks the world owes him something.
Another bout of fury gripped him, but not for his mother. If God did exist, then Carrie had to say something! If this were as close to Heaven as he’d get, then to hell with it!
Taking another deep breath, Carrie gathered all his might, and shrieked into the unconscionable universe:
“HEY! YEAH, YOU? FATHER OF JESUS! YEAH, THAT’S RIGHT! I’M TALKING TO YOU! CAN YOU HEAR ME? ARE YOU UP THERE? I HOPE YOU CAN HEAR ME! PRETTY FUNNY LIFE YOU GOT DOWN HERE FOR US! ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR EVER-LOVING MIND? DID SOMEONE SLIP YOU SOME ACID? GOD’S ON DRUGS EVERYONE! WELCOME TO THE NEW MILLENNIUM! YOU CAN’T DO THIS! YOU CAN’T DO THIS TO PEOPLE! IT’S BLASPHEMY! IT’S INHUMAN!”
The cemetery went completely still. Not a cricket chirped. The leaves did not rustle over Rose Hill Cemetery. Even the wind had died. All was…like the grave.
The silence, however, lasted only a moment. In that moment, Carrie thought he’d found a loophole.
Laughter surged from the silence like stentorian catcalls, crushing whatever sanity he had left, killing his last vestige of hope. Carrie Weis, despite life in the grave, slipped into an even darker abyss of lunacy. Only the dead could travel here, he realized. Only the dead…knew…
You might as well get comfortable, Carrie. We’re gonna be here a while.
Whispers voiced around him. Someone said, “A newcomer,” and they started laughing again. Even Nadene drilled him, calling him ‘wet-behind-the-ears.’
I am not suffering! Carrie pleaded. I am not alone!
You are quite alone, said the voice. I’d blame mother.
“Probably,” he replied, in defeat.
Carrie gave up wanting to understand it. He tried mustering tears, but noticed, instead, a strange, forbidden slip taking place in his mind. Maybe he could get comfortable. Maybe he could do this. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say the corners of his lips were curling upwards in a smile. Yes! By God! He was smiling!
He tried to shift. Something poked him in the back. What the hell was that, the tag on his suit?
No use.
She could have at least put a ‘Y’ on the end…
“At least,” Carrie said, sighing.
The meaning slipped away into the lifeless dark. You really could go mad in death. He was there now.
A long pause followed.
Hey, Carrie?
He sighed, getting ready for eternity.
“Yeah?”
His nose began to itch.
’Wanna play music trivia?
If Not for all the Screaming…
Five brothers and sisters gathered in the living room. Hector was the oldest at sixteen, gangly, ridden with freckles, and pale as a corpse. Bright red hair and unctuous skin marked him as the unseemly troublemaker of the family; the perfect delinquent. The youngest was Dottie at five. Unlike her brothers and sisters, she’d acquired a mystery of blonde curls no one could explain. Michael was naïve and gullible at eight. His hair and eyes were a deep, root-beer brown. Redheaded Cathleen—the spitfire among them—was ten. She was fearless and feral in a beguiling way, the urchin of the family. Samantha, though younger than Hector, was the more mature and responsible one at fourteen. Similar to Michael, she’d inherited the darker features and same brown eyes as their mother. Her hair was thick and brown, curling to the middle of her back.
Hector was too irresponsible to tend the kids alone. He’d abandoned them once, when he should’ve been babysitting, to hang out with friends. Whenever their parents went out, Samantha was the one left in charge. Hector, usurped from his throne, was still fuming about it.
Tonight, it was a cocktail party at the Jones’. They wouldn’t be back until late.
“Make sure Dot is fed and put to bed on time, Sam,” Mother had said. “Cathleen and Michael can stay up ’til midnight. That’s okay. And well…You know Hector. He won’t be changing the world anytime soon.”
Samantha nodded, giggling, not wanting to disappoint her mother.
Now, she tried rallying the troops to no avail. Despite the change in command, Hector was intent on running things his way.
Maybe his friends are committing crimes without him tonight, Samantha thought.
Wind screamed through the neighborhood. Gusts rattled the windows and doors of the house on Humboldt Street. Thunder rumbled, echoing in the distance.
Already, Samantha knew the night would have its trials. Hector wore a mischievous smile. With his red hair and bright freckles, he looked like a demented jack-o-lantern. Poor Hector had never been attractive. She tried to remember if a girl had ever called for him. There was a sweet justice in that.
“Somebody get some candles,” Hector said.
They discussed what to do for the evening. Cathleen suggested telling ghost stories, and Hector readily accepted the idea. Michael objected with a whine, fear paling his face. Dottie was too young to grasp terror’s delicious concepts, as far as horror stories were concerned. She simply went along for the ride.
Cathleen—the prodigy of mischief, despite the misleading blue ribbons in her hair—retrieved the candles. She set them up throughout the living room: one on the fireplace mantle, another on the end table by the sofa, the last in the middle of the coffee table.
“I don’t think we should tell scary stories,” Samantha suggested. “We might scare Dot.”
Dottie looked up in her defense. Hector made a mocking face as if to say, ‘Don’t even try it, goody-two-shoes. Momma’s little helper.’
“C’mon!” he said. “It’ll be fun.”
Famous last words, Samantha thought. If nothing else, it would be fun.
Fun he promised. Tragedy he delivered.
“I don’t want to tell scary stories,” Michael whined. A worried look crossed his face.
“Quit being such a baby,” Hector told him. “I swear you act like a girl sometimes. Jesus!”
Hector laughed. Michael turned bright red. Cathleen said something in defense to the women of the world, but no one listened.
“I hate it when you say that,” Michael said, on the verge of tears. “Quit calling me names!”
“Pee head,” Hector said, smirking.
“Stop that!”
“Fairy.”
“Sam!” Michael pleaded.
“‘Sam!�
��” Hector mocked in his best, girlish voice. “‘Sam!’”
“Shut-up!” Michael had yet to perfect the art of back-talking.
“Leave him alone, Hector,” Samantha warned.
Hector glared at Samantha, chewing on something poisonous to say, but backed down. Everybody would tattle on him if things got out of control.
“Come on now,” Hector said. “Let’s all be good boys and girls. Get cozy. Gather ’round.”
They sat on the living room floor, giving in to the mendacity of Hector’s scheme. Cathleen turned off the lights, the shadows from the candle flames flickering along the walls and ceiling. Samantha pulled Dottie onto her lap. Everyone got comfortable, curling up with blankets, sipping Coke around the coffee table.
Thunder cracked and boomed, and the house trembled.
Michael widened his eyes, watching the shadows. Orange light danced and jerked.
Maybe if Samantha humored Hector, she could keep the rest of them in line. She’d have to comfort Dottie, put her hands over her ears. Michael had to grow up eventually; she couldn’t hold his hand forever. Cathleen was every inch her own girl. She could take care of herself.
Samantha raised her eyebrows as if to say, ‘Come on, Hector. Let’s get this charade over with, so we can put everyone to bed.’
Oblivious, Dottie fiddled with the bows on her yellow shirt. Cathleen wore an anxious expression, enjoying the antics. She and Hector seemed the only ones enjoying themselves.
Hector took a sip of soda, waving his fingers over the candle flame on the coffee table. The room shifted. Huge, worm-like shadows morphed across the ceiling.
“I heard once,” Hector whispered, “that when you light a candle, you open a doorway to the spirit world.”
Samantha rolled her eyes, already fed-up.
“Ohhh,” Cathleen said, feigning fright. “That’s sooo scary.”
Hector delivered her a deadly look. Cathleen closed her mouth and looked away.
Here we go, Samantha thought.
“You know, a long time ago,” Hector continued, “in towns just like this, police found entire families—butchered, chopped into little bits and pieces, and no one ever found the killer.”
My God, Samantha thought, widening her eyes. Hector’s choice of words had shocked her. What kind of movies did he watch at night?
“That’s not true,” Michael said, lip quivering. He buried himself in the safety of his blankets.
“You bet your ass it is,” Hector told him, his face a ghoulish clown’s in the light of the candles. Samantha thought him more frightening than the story he told.
“There’s still reports to this day…” he went on. “No one was ever caught. People thought it was a lunatic outwitting authorities. Some say the bogeyman. Some say they witnessed a shadowy ghost, a huge figure carrying an axe. No one knows.”
“For crying out loud!” Samantha said, appalled.
“Nuh-uh!” Michael said.
Hector peered close, leaning toward Michael.
“Don’t think it ain’t true,” Hector said, pointing at his younger brother. “He’s coming after you, next!”
Dottie, visibly upset, protested with a whimper. Maybe she understood just enough. Axes and murder were dead giveaways.
“Shh,” Samantha said, trying to comfort her sister.
“I’ve heard that, too!” Cathleen said, playing along. She stood up and ran dramatically to the living room window.
“Oh my God,” she said, staring into the yard. “Hector’s right! The murderer’s out there! He’s coming for us! He’s coming up the steps! It’s…it’s…Frosty the Snowman!”
Cathleen ran back to the blankets, screaming, and disappeared under the covers.
Startled, Dottie began to cry.
“Very funny,” Michael said, trying to sound brave.
“It’s true,” Hector said.
“Can’t we change the subject?” Samantha said. “You’re scaring Dot.” It didn’t seem funny to her, all this joking around, making a mockery of murderous things. She couldn’t take her eyes off the candle flame. Was that a cold draft making the flame dance?
“I have to pee,” Michael said, suddenly.
“So, go pee,” Hector told him.
“I don’t want to go by myself!”
“You mean you want to pee together?” Hector said. “You are really sick.”
“Come on,” Samantha said, nudging Dot aside.
“Make sure you hold his hand,” Cathleen said, snickering as she peeked out from under the blanket.
Michael glared at Cathleen. “Why don’t you shut-up!”
“You shut-up, you big baby. You have to have your big sister with you wherever you go!”
“Do you want to sleep outside?” Samantha asked Cathleen.
Cathleen quieted, but not before giving Samantha a deadly glare.
Michael stood up, and he and Samantha went into the hallway. Samantha turned on the bathroom light.
“I hate Cathleen,” Michael said. “What did I ever do to her?”
Samantha shrugged. “Beats me,” she said. “She’s just a little witch sometimes.”
“I didn’t mean to yell,” Michael said. “Don’t tell mom. Okay?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
Michael paused for a minute, shuffling his feet. “Samantha?”
Samantha looked at him, raising her eyebrows.
“Is there really such thing?” he asked. “As a shadow that kills people?”
Samantha silently cursed Hector. “No,” she said. “Nothing like that is real, can ever be real. Got it? It can’t happen.”
Michael chewed his lip. “But…” Samantha raised her eyebrows. “About the candles…” Michael said.
“What about the candles?”
Clearly, he was uncomfortable. “You know, the doorways. Hector said it opened doorways into the spirit world.”
She sighed and closed her eyes. Being in charge seemed more than it was worth sometimes. “They’re just candles, Michael. No spirits. No doorways. Okay?”
He smiled weakly, but didn’t seem convinced.
“I thought you had to pee?” she said.
Michael nodded and disappeared into the bathroom. Samantha stood awkwardly in the hallway. Soon, the toilet flushed. Michael came out seconds later, more relieved. Together, they returned to the living room.
“Did you have to hold his hand?” Cathleen sneered.
“I’m not joking about you sleeping outside,” Samantha told her.
“I don’t care. I’m telling Mom and Dad about how mean you were to me. You’ll never get to baby-sit us again.”
“That would be a relief,” Samantha said.
Michael smiled, happy someone was on his side.
“You’re a dork,” Cathleen said to Michael.
Michael stuck his finger in his mouth. He pulled it out with a wet popping sound, and displayed it for Cathleen, astonishing everyone.
“Sit on that,” he said.
Samantha and Hector burst out laughing. Cathleen was furious.
“I’m telling Mom!” she said.
“Be quiet, Cathleen,” Samantha told her.
“Did you see what he did?” Cathleen said, pointing at Michael.
“I’m warning you, Cathleen,” Samantha said. “I don’t want to hear it anymore. Keep it up, and you can go to bed right now.”
Cathleen fought to defend herself, but the more Samantha glared, the more flummoxed she became. She hung her head and withdrew into the blanket like a turtle.
Wow, Samantha thought. All I had to do was be mean? How come Mom didn’t tell me?
Wind howled through the neighborhood streets. Branches scraped the window.
Samantha looked at Hector. He was staring out the window with wide, terrified eyes, his face pale and beaded with sweat. She frowned.
“What’s your problem?” she asked.
Hector turned. If he was acting, he was doing a good job. Chalk one up for Hector!
“I thought…” he started. “I mean…I thought I saw someone outside.”
“Oh, please,” Samantha said, pulling Dottie onto her lap. “That’s fresh!”
Michael wasn’t convinced. He stared at Samantha, then at Hector.
“Anything to get everyone riled up,” Samantha said. “Why don’t you grow up for a change?”
“But…” Hector said, motioning toward the window. He tried to explain, but his mouth hung open. “I saw—”
Sometimes, Samantha really hated him. He didn’t care about the consequences so long as he got a good laugh.
“Who was it?” Cathleen said, giggling. “Frosty the Snowman?”
Samantha ignored her. Michael looked from Samantha to Hector as they argued. Thunder cracked overhead, making the walls tremble. Rain began to pour and Dottie began to cry.
“When’s Mommy coming home?” Dottie whimpered, burrowing into her sister’s chest.
“Soon,” Samantha said, trying to calm her.
Discomfort hung in the air.
“I tell you I saw someone out there,” Hector said.
Samantha had to congratulate him; this was one of his finer performances.
“Jeez, can’t you do any better than that?” Cathleen said.
Hector looked at her, eyes burning with anger. “I’m not kidding.”
“He’s just trying to scare you,” Samantha told Cathleen.
“Duh,” Cathleen said.
“Maybe I just imagined it,” Hector said, half to himself, looking toward the window again.
In silence, Michael watched his siblings.
“Maybe it’s Mom and Dad,” Cathleen said.
Samantha knew this wasn’t the case. She hadn’t seen headlights pulling up into the driveway.
Hector shook his head. “It wasn’t them.”
Cathleen stood up. “I’m going to find out.”
“Sit down,” Samantha told her with authority.
Body of Immorality Page 3
