Authors: A.R. Wise
“Have you been spying on me?” His look of shock turned to fury as he unhooked his belt buckle.
“No, Daddy!”
“How do you know about Veronica?”
“Daddy, please don’t!”
He came around the table and grabbed his daughter’s wrist. He jerked her up and held her arm in the air so that only the tips of her toes touched the floor. With his other hand he slid his belt out of the loops of his jeans. The sound it made as it came out
reminded Nia of a snake hissing in the muggy living room. She closed her eyes and pleaded for mercy as the ice cream truck sang its song outside. Her brothers laughed, their voices distant as they cavorted on the street to delay the ice cream truck, all while Nia cried.
Her father ripped Nia’s skirt off and whipped her. Each strike of the belt brought new memories of horrible moments. Every time he’d
used that belt to whip her brothers came surging into her mind with each thwack. She felt their pain, along with her own, and the belt snapped against her naked rear with an echoing thunder that seemed far louder than it should’ve been.
Nia was never certain how she learned the secret
s she did, but her father taught her to keep her mouth shut about them. She remembered his lesson well.
Mindy prattled on about her failed relationships, insisting that it was anyone’s fault but her own. However, just like with Mindy’s jobs, Nia suspected her friend was often the true culprit of her own misery.
“This is it,” said Mindy as they finally got to the office building on Ashland.
“What time is it?” asked Nia.
“Quarter till,” said Mindy. “We just made it, which is a bit of a miracle. Remind me to call that cab company and raise hell.”
Nia didn’t bother reminding Mindy that they’d spent a good amount of time chatting with her former coworkers at the grocery store, which played a part in
why it took them so long to get there.
The building had a plain concrete façade for the first level, with arched nooks that receded a few steps from the walkway and had doors in them. There were gold numbers above the arches, but other than that there were no decorations on the building other than the concert posters that people had taped to the concrete. There were windows starting on the second floor, each with a black wire basket meant for flowe
rs, all of which were now empty.
Mindy tried to open the door and found it locked. “God damn it!” She checked her watch, and then stepped back to look up at the address. “This is the right place.” She went back to the entrance and tried to open it again
, unsuccessfully, before peering in through the sliver of window to the side of the door.
“Let’s just get in someplace warm,” said Nia. “Forget this place. I didn’t want to do this anyhow.”
“Wait,” said Mindy. “Someone’s coming.”
The person on the other side undid the locks, a series of clicks and clacks, until finally opening the door. A skittish man stood before them, shorter than Nia but taller than Mindy.
He had a coat on, not unlike Nia’s, which looked comically large on his thin frame. He pushed his glasses up his long, skinny nose, and then looked the girls up and down, as if trying to discern why they were there.
“Howdy,” said Mindy after they spent a few odd moments waiting for the man to speak. “We’re here for the psychic test. Do we have the right place?”
“Oh, yes, yes,” said the man. He had a very deep, scratchy voice, which didn’t fit with his appearance at all. He looked unhealthy, with a yellow or green pallor and bloodshot eyes. Nia was reminded of Lurch from The Adams Family, except this man was a shrunken version of the creepy butler. “We thought we’d close early. Not much activity this day. Odd for city so large. Thought we’d find more of you.” His stilted dialogue and unidentifiable accent added to the sense of unease that was growing in Nia.
“I thought you were open until three,” said Mindy.
“Yes, we are,” said the grim man. “It’s almost three now.”
“So are you closed or can we come in?” asked Mindy.
“Come, come. Yes, come.” The man backed away, and Nia was surprised he didn’t limp and reveal a hunched back. He would be the perfect ticket-taker at a haunted house.
“Let’s go,” said Mindy as she took her reluctant friend’s hand.
The man that had greeted them waited by the side of the door as the girls went into the hallway. The inside of the building smelled like burned food, or cooking oil, and Nia wondered if there was a restaurant on the other side. The hallway’s walls were painted dark grey, and there were doors on either side with empty placards beside them. Apparently this office building had a lack of tenants.
“Go straight ahead,” said the man behind them as he closed the door. He proceeded to lock the various latches and deadbolts on the creaking old door. “Watch for the blood.”
“For the what?” asked Nia, shocked and hoping she’d heard him wrong.
The man pointed at a line of drops on the
tile floor that came from under one of the doors and then went down the hall several feet before turning and disappearing under another door. The pattern of droplets were staggered, with some small and close together, while others were large and spread out.
“Fuck this shit,” said Nia, a rare outburst of
curses from the otherwise quiet girl. “We need to get out of here.”
“Chill out,” said Mindy to her friend before speaking louder to the other man. “What’s with the blood? What happened?”
“Little accident,” said the man as he walked over to join them. He pointed at the droplets and then looked at the girls with a wide, yellow-toothed grin. “Nothing to scare us. Nothing to bother about. Walk ahead. Come with me, dear.”
He
went ahead without them and Mindy was about to go along when Nia held her back. “What?” asked Mindy in a whisper.
“Are you kidding me?” Nia was exasperated as she pointed at the blood. “What the
heck?”
“The blood? Oh please, that’s nothing. Probably just a bloody nose or something. What’s with you? Why are you freaking out?”
Nia spoke in an angry whisper with her teeth clenched as she looked over at the man that was still walking away from them. “Let’s start with the weirdo over there. Add to that the blood on the floor and I’m well past ready to get out of here.”
“Are you coming?” asked the man from far down the corridor as he stood beside one of the doors, his hands clasped in front of him as if standing guard.
“In a sec,” Mindy called out to him as she held up her finger. Then she focused back on Nia with an emerging grin and a quick chuckle before accusing her, “You’re scared.”
“Damn right I’m scared!” Nia had to remember to be quiet, because she felt like screaming. “
What the heck else has to happen before you get scared too? If they were casting a serial killer for a torture porn that dude would be at the top of the list.”
“
Oh stop it,” said Mindy. “They probably hired a homeless guy to help out. Stop being so judgmental.”
“Ladies,” said the odd man down the hall, “we really must be hurried. They are packing up.” He tapped his wrist, but wasn’t wearing a watch.
“I’m going,” said Mindy to Nia.
“I’m not,” said Nia. “I’ll wait outside.”
“Are you for real?” asked Mindy. “You’re going to let me go in there by myself? Come on, Nia. Don’t be like that.”
Nia looked at the blood trail, and then at the old man beckoning them to the door further
down the hall. “If something goes wrong, I’ll never forgive you for this,” said Nia as she took Mindy’s hand and walked toward the stranger. She stepped carefully over the dark red blood.
Parents often lie to their young children by telling them that lemons are sweet like oranges. They slice one up and offer it to the trusting toddler so they can laugh at him once he takes his first bite. Then the parents laugh as their kid’s lips pucker and he throws the lemon aside. It’s funny because the child has never tasted a sour lemon before, and it works because the boy trusted his parents.
Terror works in a similar way. Adults have learned how awful the world is, if not through their own experiences then certainly through the constant stream of sensationalized violence trumpeted on the nightly news. We know how terrible the world can be, or at least we have a better idea of it than our children
do. We struggle to protect our babies from the harsh realities of the world, and let them discover it for themselves, slowly over time. Their innocence fades, slowly but surely, until they become disenchanted like their parents before them.
However, if you give them the terror all at once, a sour indoctrination of evil like the lemon handed to a trusting child, they shatter. To watch the innocence of a child be crushed all at once is a horrible thing, certain to feed nightmares for a lifetime; certain to haunt whole towns if they could.
Lost In Widowsfield
“It’s like I’m remembering something that happened a long time ago,” said Alma.
Jacker had pulled the van to the side of the road as the group tried to make sense of the music teacher’s ramblings. She was frantic, and paced as she continued to try and explain herself. Heavy grey clouds loomed above, a common sight throughout the Midwest, and it seemed as if rain was imminent. It was humid, though there wasn’t much heat, which prevented the stickiness of southern states but left a feeling of wetness on the skin.
“Like it’s a memory from when I was a child, but I know it really happened. Does that make sense?” asked
Alma, on the brink of tears as the others spoke to her in delicate tones, as if trying to goad a jumper off a ledge.
“I’m sure it’s just this place,” said Rachel. “It’s affecting you somehow.”
“Absolutely,” said Jacker. “It’s screwing with all of us. I remember everything up to us pulling over to talk about heading around the fence to get into the town. Then all I know is we were here, headed out.” He glanced back at the sign welcoming them to Widowsfield. It was freshly painted and there were lights above that pointed down at the billboard. “And was that here before? I don’t remember that at all.” The others were all focused on something else and didn’t answer Jacker.
“
Guys, my camera’s dead,” said Stephen as he tossed the useless equipment back into its case and slammed the van’s back door shut. “All of this equipment is dead.”
“You said something about kids,” said Aubrey as she wiped a tear off her cheek. She’d been complaining about her eye since they were in the van, leaving Widowsfield. “What do you remember?”
“It’s all muddled,” said Alma. “But I know there was a group of kids, all around ten or eleven years old. They said something about a witch – about following a witch. They seemed scared, but malicious all at the same time. I don’t know how to explain it. It was like they were happy about what was going on, but sad that it had to happen.”
“Well, I’ve heard enough,” said Jacker. “I don’t give a fuck if I ever remember what happened back there. I’m headed home. Who’s coming with me?”
“Wait, wait, wait,” said Stephen. “Let’s be smart here, guys. We just experienced a real life, paranormal event. We can’t just walk away from this.”
“You’re right,” said Jacker. “I’m planning on driving full speed away from it.”
“Amen,” said Aubrey.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Stephen as he moved to stand in Jacker’s path. Their hefty driver did Stephen the courtesy of not pushing him out of the way. “Just hold up, big guy.” Stephen put his hand on Jacker’s chest as he tried to diffuse the tense situation.
“Let’s just take a breather and talk this through.”
“No, Stephen,” said Rachel. “They’re right. We need to get out of here. We can go back to Branson and just try to sort all of this out. We’ll get your equipment working and then fi
gure out what our next move is.” She went to her husband’s side and put her hand on his shoulder, helping to avoid any confrontation between him and Jacker.
Stephen was frustrated, and was about to respond, but Rachel quickly added, “What good would it do for us to go back there with a bunch of broken equipment? If we can’t even film anything, then shouldn’t we worry about fixing that first?”
Stephen was reticent as he considered her argument.
“You know I’m right,” said Rachel. She stood on the tips of her toes and kissed him on the cheek before tousling his hair. “Come on, ghost detective. Let’s go back to the hotel and get our bearings.”
“Okay,” said Stephen finally. “You’re right.”
Aubrey coughed as she walked back to the van’s side door. The cough started as a
response to a nearly insignificant tickle, but then strengthened until her body shook from the force. She steadied herself against the side of the van and hunched as she continued, as if something had nearly choked her.
“What’s her deal?” asked Rachel with no attempt to hide her
disdain for the young bartender.
Alma realized that Rachel didn’t remember the conversation they’d had about how Aubre
y wasn’t interested in Stephen like Rachel had suspected when the blonde girl showed up to accompany them on the trip. Alma and Rachel had spoken after the group had entered Widowsfield, and now those memories were lost to the reporter.