House of Sand: A Dark Psychological Thriller

by Michael J Sanford

  “You all right? You look like you’re gonna be sick,” Paul says. “It can be cleaned up.”

  “You klutz,” Aza says. “You almost got me wet.”

  “Aza, grab me some more napkins, please,” Joy says.

  Aza grumbles, but heads to the kitchen.

  “Shit, I’m sorry,” I mumble.

  “It’s fine,” Ruthie says.

  Joy taps my leg to grab my attention. “You okay?” she whispers.

  “Yeah, yeah, just ate too much, too quickly, I think. Got a little carried away.”

  “Well, we can’t have you getting sick on your birthday,” Ruthie says.

  “Almost birthday,” Paul adds.

  “I’m fine, really,” I say. “But maybe I ought to lie down. Just for a bit until things settle.”

  Joy gives me a concerned look, but nods.

  “Not a problem,” Paul says. “But you better recover quick. Your wife whipped up a mean dessert. And we gotta sing to you.”

  “Yeah, of course. My birthday.” I stand and stumble off.

  I hear them question my exit, but I’m too delirious to make sense of the words. I can only form one thought—I can’t let them learn the truth.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  I shut the door to the guest house behind me and make a beeline for the bathroom. My head is swimming. My temples pulse with each beat of that fucking clock.

  Tick. Tick. Tick.

  I lose my footing on the smooth tile and catch myself on the sink. I look in the mirror and can’t focus on my reflection.

  “They know,” I say. “They all fucking know.”

  I fling open the medicine cabinet and begin pulling out every item. I need something to silence the doubt. I need something to banish this infernal noise.

  “Fuck!” I scream.

  They don’t know. They can’t know. No fucking way. Things have changed. For the better. I conjure the image of Ty, bloody and fastened to his own stair rail. It gives me enough control to slow down my movements and focus.

  There’s a pill bottle sitting front and center in the medicine cabinet—an orange prescription bottle. Jackpot. I haven’t run out, after all. There’s a Post-it note attached to it with Joy’s handwriting in pink sharpie. Strange. How did I not notice it before?

  One a day. With or without meals.

  Why would she label it like this? I tear off the note and pop the cap off. The bottle is half full, and I empty a good portion of the pills into my hand.

  “What the hell?”

  The pills are diamond-shaped and the color of sand.

  I spin the bottle and look at the label. My name is printed on it, along with the same dosing instructions Joy wrote on the Post-it. But I don’t recognize the medication name. I can’t even read it. The prescribing doctor, however, triggers a visceral reaction. Dr. Vincent Green.

  I double over the sink and vomit. Tiny pills of God-knows-what scatter across the bathroom floor. My hand clutches the bottle like a vise as I vomit again.

  I fall to the floor, surrounded by the foreign medication. The air is ripe with the scent of briefly digested crab mac and cheese, mixed with smothered green beans, and iced tea.

  Is Joy trying to drug me? I still can’t remember Dr. Green, but I know the reaction I just suffered was because of him. I can’t trust anyone. I find Joy’s note next to me and pick it up. I can trust Joy, though. Right? Things are different now. Maybe it’s an old note. Maybe Joy is being duped as well. Duped by who and for what reason, I don’t have the faintest clue.

  There’s knocking on the bathroom window. The curtains are closed and I don’t move, stilled by the unknown entity on the other side. I’m in no position to be seen.

  “Just the wind, psycho,” I say.

  The knocking comes again, this time tapping out a musical tune.

  I climb off the floor and throw the curtains open. Aza grins at me from the other side of the glass and waves. The window is open slightly and I lower my face to the gap.

  “This isn’t a good time,” I say.

  “Don’t give up,” she says.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Sorry I was in the way,” she adds.

  Before I can question her again, she runs off, ducking under the heavy willow branches. In less than a second, she’s gone.

  I slam the window shut and close the curtains. Pills crunch underfoot as I back up.

  Someone knocks on the bathroom door and sends me falling onto the toilet.

  “Are you all right?” Joy’s voice asks through the door.

  I survey the disaster around me. Pills are everywhere, vomit fills the sink, too thick and poorly digested to drain. And I’m bathed in sweat and can’t stop scratching at my ears.

  “Yeah, yeah. Just going to take a quick shower, then I’ll be out.”

  “Do you want company?”

  I almost open the door at this, but stop myself before I grab the handle. “I’ll be right out,” I say, not wanting to explicitly deny her offer.

  “I’ll be waiting,” she replies, the seduction in her voice palpable.

  My mind and body war with one another as I turn on the shower and fall to the floor to scoop up pills. Some I drop back into the bottle, others I toss in the toilet. Whatever it is, the note tells me that Joy expects me to take them. I can’t afford to have her think I’m not. Once I’ve gathered every pill I can find, I clean out the sink. It’s not a pleasant task, but it’s done quickly.

  I stand in the middle of the bathroom and spin around to ensure that I’ve put everything back in its proper place. Satisfied, I strip down and jump in the shower. I do little more than turn in place twice and get out. I told Joy I’d be quick, and I wasted a lot of time cleaning up. For some reason, it seems like an important claim to adhere to.

  I wrap a towel around my waist and take a number of deep breaths. Somewhere between Aza and Joy appearing, the clock has fallen silent. My hands are still shaking, just enough to be noticed, but I still them after a brief beat of concentration. I never did find any pills—not the ones I was looking for, anyway—but a tenuous calm has slipped over me. It was just a temporary loss of control. A hiccup. Nothing more. Everything is just fine. Perfect.

  I turn to leave, but stop as the light glints off words written in the condensation on the mirror over the sink.

  I know what you are.

  I look around, expecting to find the words’ author, but I’m alone. I read it again. The message’s very presence should unnerve me, but the shaking in my hands stops completely. My heartbeat normalizes and the pressure at my temples evaporates. I wipe the words away.

  I open the bathroom door and find Joy standing directly in front of me, nude.

  “I know this is, like, so corny, but happy birthday,” she says.

  Everything else in the world falls to dust. “I don’t care,” I say, picking her up and dropping us both into bed.

  “Keep your eyes closed,” Joy says for the twelfth time.

  “No peeking, you dirty rascal,” Aza adds.

  “I’m not peeking,” I insist.

  I hear movement around the room. Then it settles and Joy removes her hands from around my eyes.

  “Surprise!” Aza yells.

  On the kitchen table is an enormous cheesecake. Delicate drizzles of raspberry sauce transect ripples of chocolate. Atop it, seated amongst a veritable pile of fresh raspberries is a singular candle. It’s not the normal birthday candle, but a candle more suited for a candlestick holder. Or a man’s mouth. A proper candle.

  “We kind of forgot to get birthday candles,” Joy says, hanging on to my arm.

  “I found that in a box in the basement,” Aza says proudly, pointing at the candle.

  “Don’t worry, I washed it as well as you can wash a candle,” Ruthie says quickly.

  “Sorry,” Joy adds.

  I can’t stop staring at it. Instead of raspberry and chocolate, I smell blood and saliva. Instead of fruit around the candle’s base, I see Ty’s b
roken mouth and wide eyes. It sends blood racing through my body. My muscles twitch with anticipation and my mind sharpens.

  “It’s perfect,” I say, knowing they’ll never know the full truth of it.

  “Now, we sing!” Aza shouts.

  “Hold on just a minute, little rascal,” Paul chimes in. “We got to light that monster first. Otherwise, your dad won’t get his wish.”

  Paul leans across the table and extends a long-necked lighter toward the singular candle. I stifle a moan at the sight of it. It raises the hairs along my body.

  The wick lights and my family bursts into song, but I don’t hear the words they’re singing. The small flame sounds like the roar of a magnificent blaze that cannot be quenched. And beneath it, the cries and pleas of a betrayer, begging for mercy that will not come. I’m entranced by the candle flame, consumed by the wonder of it. No one knows just what it means to me. Power. Control. Perfect peace.

  “Go on, make a wish,” Joy says, nudging me.

  I take a deep breath as the echoes of the great fire fade and reality seeps back in. The peace remains. The feeling of control remains.

  “Hurry up,” Aza says. “It’s dripping on the cake!”

  “All right, all right,” I say, leaning over and inhaling.

  What do I wish for? Before the fire, I could have conjured an endless list of desires, wishes, hopes. But after burning my home to the ground, I am left in a foreign state of contentment. As long as they don’t learn my secret, I will have the life I always dreamed of.

  I blow the candle out.

  I sit on the edge of the bed and pull my socks off as Joy leans in the bathroom doorway, rubbing lotion on her face. She’s already undressed, standing confidently without a shred of clothing, the dimple at the corner of her mouth on full display.

  “I hope you had a good birthday,” Joy says.

  From the adjoining room, I hear Aza jumping on her bed and singing at the top of her lungs. None of the words make any sense, but it makes me smile.

  “Yeah,” I say airily as I stare at Aza’s door, imagining her dark hair spinning about her smile-split face.

  “If she’s not careful, she’s going to break her other arm.”

  I shrug and look back at my beautiful wife. “She is as she is.”

  “She’s like you,” Joy quips, walking toward me.

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing,” I say, standing up to wrap my arms around her and pull her in.

  “It’s just a thing,” Joy says with a wicked smile. “So, I did all right?”

  I spin around and let her go. She drops onto the bed and rolls over onto her stomach, eyes still watching my every movement. I slide in next to her and dance my fingers along her shoulder blades.

  “I honestly don’t know what to say about the whole thing. I’ve never had a birthday where anyone cared so much.”

  Joy’s smile melts.

  “Sorry, that came out wrong,” I quickly add.

  “No, you’re right. That’s why I really wanted to do something memorable for you. Take care of you, you know? I can’t help but feel like things got as bad as they did largely because of me.”

  I lie my head down next to hers so that our noses touch. “I’m to blame, too,” I say, though I don’t fully understand why. I just don’t like seeing her take the full brunt of whatever guilt she’s feeling.

  “Yeah, I know,” she says. “But I didn’t help things any. I thought therapy would just, I don’t know, fix us, and I didn’t have to try myself.”

  I don’t know where she’s going with any of this, but I nod and smile, keeping my hand moving across her soft skin.

  “You’ve changed, though,” she says. “And that helps big time. It makes me want to try. Both to be a better person and to actually…forgive you and move on with—”

  “Forgive me?”

  Joy looks at me, eyes glistening with unwept tears. “It’s hard, but I’ll get there.”

  “I…”

  “It’s okay,” she says, grabbing my face.

  I look into her eyes, but can’t for the life of me read what’s hidden behind the tears. Where is this coming from? Forgive me for what? If she knew about the fire, she’d not be so willing to forgive. And if she knew about Ty, we’d be having an entirely different conversation.

  “I don’t know what to say,” I admit.

  “Just tell me things really have changed.”

  “Everything has.”

  “That’s all I need,” she says.

  She closes her eyes and wiggles closer, burying her head into the crook of my neck. We both fall silent, the only sound the continued antics of our daughter in the next room. It’s hypnotic, not truly being able to understand what she’s singing, and it drags my eyes shut, encouraged by Joy’s warmth pressed tightly against me.

  As my eyes close, visions of Ty, bound and stuffed with a burning candle, slip into my mind. I wasn’t sure before, but now I sincerely hope he’s still alive. I am nowhere near done with him. He nearly tore my family apart. I set fire to my life because of what he did. What he made Joy do.

  “What’s so funny?” Joy asks.

  “Nothing.”

  “You were laughing.”

  “I’ve just never been happier.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. And it’s only going to get better from here.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  I hardly believe my eyes. Not only did Ty survive the night, but it appears he did so by gnawing on the candle until he got to the flame. There are bits of wax all over him, and a length of unburned wick is hanging from the corner of his mouth.

  I crouch in front of him for a long while, just watching the wick shake with each weak breath. I can’t imagine the agony the poor bastard must be in, and I can’t wait to inflict more.

  I grab a bottle from the stairs, tilt his head back, and pour a rush of vodka into his mouth and over his face. He regains consciousness, sputtering.

  I set the bottle down and wipe my hands on a clean patch of carpet. “It takes a lot of perseverance to chew through an entire candle. Especially with what few teeth you have left in your skull.”

  Ty coughs and looks at me. Most of his face is swollen. It takes obvious effort just to look me in the eye. He tries to speak, coughs, and spits at me.

  “I’ll give you a bit of time to work on remembering how to speak like a human being. Hopefully, by then, you’ll have come up with at least one good question. The game we started yesterday is far from over.”

  He makes a few more god-awful noises before falling back to hissing through swollen lips.

  I turn, scoop up the bag I brought with me, and head for the kitchen. I slap the pack on the table and remove a hearty serving of leftovers from my birthday dinner, complete with two pieces of cheesecake. I slide the food into the fridge and pull out a beer.

  I lean against the counter and take a long swig. Shit, beer tastes so much better when you don’t need to drink it.

  Bing.

  It’s a text from Joy, reminding me to pick Aza up from school in the afternoon and wishing me a happy birthday. I reply with only emojis. Aza would be so proud.

  Despite claiming she was going to take at least a week more off from work, Joy was called in this morning to help with some high-profile case. She resisted at first, but with some reassurance, I sent her out the door with a smile. I dropped Aza off at school shortly after.

  And now Ty and I have all day. Happy birthday to me, indeed.

  I finish the beer, toss the empty can on the floor, and walk back into the living room. Ty stares at me, but says nothing. I tap my wrist where a watch would be and sit on his couch. I throw my feet up, turn the TV on, and settle in.

  “I have…a fucking…question…” Ty says somewhere near midday.

  I look over at him. “That’s not a question.”

  “Do you know…what Joy…told me?” he asks.

  I bolt off the couch and charge at Ty. He tries to smile, but
I slap the look from his face. “Don’t you say her name.”

  Ty shakes his head and now looks more lucid when he looks at me. It almost seems as if none of this has fazed him. Aside from the obvious physical trauma. But no one’s immortal.

  “How’d you find out?” he asks, sounding more and more like himself.

  I turn from him and reach for the chair I’ve set nearby. My fingers are shaking. I grab the bottle of whiskey from the stairs before I sit down.

  “The Regency Motel. I was there.”

  Ty smiles, this time more recognizably. “Which time?”

  Tick.

  I drink. Don’t you take this power from me, Ty. You fucking monster. I am in control. Me!

  “Does it matter?” I ask. “I found out. And quite frankly, I don’t care how many times or for how long. I don’t care about any of that. It’s over.”

  “Then what do you want, fire man?”

  Tick. Tick.

  A muscle in my neck spasms. Ty sculpts a cough into a laugh and then into a cough again. He’s still smiling.

  “Do you think little Aza knows, too?” Ty asks.

  I lunge forward and grab Ty by the throat. I jam the whiskey bottle into his mouth and upend it. He squirms and spits, but I hold him until the bottle is empty. I smash it against his temple.

  Ty coughs and vomits. I dance away, narrowly avoiding it.

  I run my fingers through my hair. It’s not supposed to be like this. A confession. A plea for mercy. Begging. That’s what Ty is supposed to give me. That’s the birthday gift I want. Not this.

  “You don’t know them!” I shout.

  Ty gathers himself and lifts his head once more. “Are you hearing the sounds again?” he asks.

  I spin away and look for the bottle of whiskey I’ve just destroyed.

  “What is it this time?” Ty asks. “That’s a good question, isn’t it? Tapping, perhaps? Or is it a nice, gentle whirring? That one always drove you nuts.”

  Tick. Tick. Tick.

  “Or is it that fucking clock again?” Ty asks.