A Melancholic Black Series (Book 1): The Red Door (4 page)

“What the hell…?” He asks aloud, grabbing a hidden brew underneath the meat. He pops the top and walks back to the living room to sit back down. Walking past the hallway again, only now Amberly is gone.

Rodney plops on the couch as the game continues. This was his usual Saturdays. Even when Amberly was alive. Nell would usually go visit her friends and drag Amberly along. Something that Amberly didn’t mind because a lot of Nell’s friends had kids the same age as his daughter. It was a girl’s day out kind of thing. Mother and daughter bonding time. Something Nell never had when she was younger. Rodney has actually forgotten that Amberly is back.

The game freezes.

“Fucking streaming. Every time!” Rodney exclaims as he shuts the television off to reset.

In the reflection of the T.V. screen he sees Amberly standing directly behind him. Her mouth elongated by nearly two-feet, covering half of his shoulder. He screams in terror and turns around to see nothing. He could’ve sworn he saw her. A small movement catches his eye and sees Amberly hiding; her face just peaking out from the doorway.

There’s no way she could’ve move
that
fast.

“Holy sh—
sweetie
, you scared me. Are… you okay?” he asks, but to no surprise, he gets no response. “Honey?” he asks again, and still, no answer. His heart pounding heavily. He feels as if he just had a heart attack.

Amberly just groans and runs away, disheartened. Back into her room.

The garage door leading in to the kitchen opens as Nell walks inside carrying a couple of bags. Rodney sits on a chair in the kitchen, his back firmly against a wall. Staring at the hallway. Or, more specifically, Amberly’s bedroom door. He’s been there for hours. “Where the hell did you go?” he asks Nell.

Nell is startled and chuckles. “I didn’t see you—just to the store. Why?”

“For what?”

“Some meats.”

“For?”

“…Amberly-
Rodney
, why are you acting weird?” she asks.

“
Me
?
I’m
acting weird?” he laughs sarcastically. “What the hell does a ten-year-old need with almost fifty pounds of raw meat?”

“I froze some—”

“
Nell!
Dammit.” Rodney snaps, trying to keep his voice down.

“She needs more protein.”

“That’s chicken… not steak, or hamburger--you’re acting like this is all
normal
.” He says, standing in frustration. Unsure of what to really say, or do.

He knows that Nell started losing it when they heard from the sheriff who showed up at their home to tell them their daughter was dead.

She needs the hope. Something happy to cling on to. But, he’s scared. Rightfully so. “People don’t come back from the dead, Nell. Something is seriously fucked up here.”

“Oh, nothing is fucked
anywhere
. Amberly has come back to us. It was God—”

“Whoa!” Rodney interrupts her. “Since when did you become religious?”

For the longest time, Rodney and Nell had become closet-Atheists. Growing up the way they had, many people would welcome the comfort and stability of having God in their lives. Some don’t. Rodney and Nell were both proud to be among the nay-sayers. They just didn’t want the attention that came with denouncing a “higher power.”

“How else can I explain it? Huh?” She asks.

“I… don’t know. Shouldn’t we call someone?”

“No! No! I’m not having her taken away from me. Not again,” Nell snaps back. There has been a sliver of happiness and understandably, she wants to hold on to it. She’s been through enough in her life. She’s keeping this moment alive, no matter how dead Amberly really is.

“There’s something wrong with her, Nell. Something serious.”

“Like?”

“Besides a little girl who hated meat? Staring. Her infatuation with me.”

“She’s not infatuated. She’s just nosy. She’s always been nosy. Maybe wondering why her father has yet to even bother with her.” For a moment, Rodney might believe her. “The meat? She’s a growing girl. Phases.”

Rodney sighs. Nothing he says is going to make a lick of difference. Nell is lost in her fantasy world, and she ain’t coming back.

VI

November 11th.

9:00AM.

The morning school bell rings through the crowded halls of Justice Beacher Elementary School. Dozens of kids pour in to their classrooms, noisy and hectic. Aggravated that they have to be in school, but spirited enough that they get to see their friends.

The happiest class-and most academically talented-is Ms. Ottenstein’s 4th grade class. High-honors children usually get recommended for Coleen Ottenstein. She has a reputation of finding a child’s strong suit and pushing them to excel. Especially well, too, for nine and ten-year-olds. This was Amberly’s class.

Coleen loved Amberly. Adored her.

“My favorite student,” she’d always tell Rodney and Nell. Truthfully, she
was
Coleen’s favorite.

Amberly was so easy to get along with, and very easy to teach. With today’s children, who entirely depend on technology, Amberly preferred the “old school” method better: reading a book not a Kindle. Hand-written stories.

Creative writing, rather. Amberly could get lost in the worlds that she created, and she was so brilliant at creating art with her words, it was easy to follow along. So polished and rhythmical, and most times she wasn’t even trying.

Rodney and Nell never understood where the talent came from. Sure, they would have loved to distract their brains long enough to escape a moment of their childhood… but they lacked imagination. And patience.

Rodney cannot even keep his own dick in his pants for the one woman that he swore his life to; Nell never stops to imagine the drawbacks of her deceased daughter coming back to life.

Yes, impatient describes them perfectly.

CLACK-CLACK! Rodney taps on Ms. Ottenstein’s door.

Coleen, an attractive blonde, turns her attention to the noise and sees Rodney waving. She looks down in embarrassment and holds up her index finger for him to wait. “Children, give me a moment please. Continue reading. All the way to chapter 5,” she tells the students as they turn their heads between the social studies books and the strange man at the door. A man that some of them know as “Amberly’s Dad.”

She opens the door and walks out in to the empty hallway. “Mr. Gray, I have nothing more to say,” she states.

“Call me Rodney.”

“Okay…
Rodney
, please, just leave me alone.”

He sighs. “It’s about Amberly.”

Coleen is yielded. “It has been.”

“She talked of you more than anything or anyone else. I’m not here about your husband.”

“
Ex
-husband,” she corrects Rodney. “The bastard’s in prison.”

“Where he belongs.”

“I agree, Rodney. I had no idea, of… I don’t have the time to discuss all this—”

“Please, Coleen,” he begs, cutting her off. “I never got to say goodbye to my baby. I just want to understand her last days… I’m having a hard time coping with all this. Amberly was a fantastic writer. I want that connection again, through her stories. Please.”

“You never read anything she wrote?” Coleen rightly speculates.

“Not a lot. She was smarter than I’d ever been. I was embarrassed I wouldn’t understand. This isn’t about your ex-husband.”

“I’ve already given everything to your wife.”

“Oh, I see,” he says.

He didn’t see at all. He never knew Nell recovered anything from the school. Let alone directly from the wife of the man who killed Amberly.

Amberly’s writings may have some clues as to why she has returned. Having watched numerous horror movies, Rodney’s suspicions point to witchcraft. There’s nothing that points to the seduction of black magic, but what else can explain it? Science, maybe. But science is based on real-life facts. There has to be something written in between the lines.

Simply put, people do not come back from the dead. Amberly
has
come back home. Just a pity Rodney’s too scared to tell Coleen that she has.

“Please, excuse me, Mr. Gray, I have a class to teach.” She turns to leave before turning back to Rodney. “I really had no idea of Dane’s… sickness. I didn’t. It makes me ill to think I devoted twelve years of my life to that ailed fuck. I
am
sorry for everything he has caused you. Believe me or not… this has been hard on all of us. Please, don’t bother me again.”

There’s a lot of laundry to do when your child reeks of death and dirt, as Nell grabs some clothes from the washer and throws them in the dryer. She’s humming a catchy tune to herself. Absolutely on cloud nine. Doesn’t matter if there’s an overcast and it’s a little bit cold, but typical November day, all Nell sees is sunshine and birds tweeting their beautiful songs.

Decayed flesh and dead flies flood the lint trap of the clothes she’s already cleaned.

Absolutely disgusting. For Nell, kids will be kids. It’s what they do. They get you sick with the flu and colds; they spread around strep throat because they can’t possibly conjure the notion of not deep-throating every water fountain they come across; and they share their abundance of head lice and chicken pox.

Kids are filthy creatures.

A vehicle outside pulls up the driveway, sounding its horn. BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! Nell turns and yells, “One second, Sion!” Knowing that the visitor would never have heard her anyway. It’s just second nature for Nell.

Sion is an older, short, and overweight mailman. Friendly soul. He’s been delivering the Gray’s mail for the last five years. He’s also a close friend.

There have plenty of times Rodney and Nell had invited Sion and his wife over for dinner. Dinner with friends was a new concept to Rodney and Nell; another thing they never got to do in their life up to that point.

It’s part of the norm for Sion to hand deliver every and any package directly into the Gray’s hands. Rodney and Nell actually encourage it. For two reasons: 1) they don’t want to walk down their driveway to retrieve it, and 2) it most likely is a package filled with goodies that Sion would feel better knowing for a fact that they receive it.

The door from the mail truck shuts and Nell can hear Sion jogging up to her front door as his feet kick at the gravel. “One sec, Sion.” She whispers to herself, as she rushes with the laundry.

The doorbell rings. The exciting thought of trying to figure out what she had ordered soon dissipates when she hears floorboards creaks from inside Amberly’s room. Slow steps reacting to the doorbell.

“Nell! Rodney! Package,” Sion yells out.

“Oh, no…” Nell whimpers.

Heavy thuds echo out. Amberly is on the hunt. Faster and faster with more impact on each step than the last. Nell can do nothing but stand in quiescent fear. The door opens and Sion screams and Amberly shrieks; a high-pitched whine.

A primal
roar
of intense hunger.

The screams stop as fast as they first rang out. There’s nothing but complete quietness for a couple seconds, then another thud. Not steps but dragging of… a
body.
It’s almost too easy to be a body. No strain on the steps, as if someone was simply dragging a sack of marbles. But, what else could it be? Nell can practically hear Sion’s slacks rub against her hardwood floors.

With more questions than answers rushing through her mind, Nell casually places the rest of the laundry in to the washer, still taking her time to add the detergent before making her way upstairs. There’s no rush now, she fears.

She has an idea of what she’s in store for. In a perfect scenario, Sion would be sitting at the dining table with Amberly enjoying a nice tall, sweaty glass of ice-cold lemonade. Smiling, laughing.

Fat chance.

She opens the basement door and peaks her head out. All she sees is the front door opened. A package and some mail litter the floor, and a thick trail of blood leading away from the living room and deeper into the house.

Nell sees it all, she’s just trying to ignore it. She swallows hard and shuts the basement door behind her. From this point forward, ignorance will have to be her bliss.

The blood trail travels through the kitchen and down the hall. The blood gets thicker and more aplenty, with each step. It’s only a matter of time before Nell stumbles upon the startling discovery of something she truly doesn’t want to find.

Just imagine it now: poor Mailman Sion, just doing his job-the door opens and little Amberly is there. A little girl he saw buried with his very own eyes. Seeing her being lowered in that six-foot grave; destined to become worm food. The look of, equal parts, amazement and utter shock and horror. Just before she leapt at him.

Just before she
killed
him.