Jack wanted to see where I’d grown up, through my eyes. He had been nagging me for weeks to take him. He thought it would be romantic, returning to the place where we had initially met.
“I don’t know,” I said.
I was sitting at the kitchen table, hugging my legs into my chest with my chin resting on my knees. My head was throbbing, a dull ache that seemed deep, deep, deep in my brain. I couldn’t remember the last time I had woken up without being strung out or hungover. Jack seemed to thrive in this state, bouncing around the kitchen, frying eggs between clearing away half-empty bottles from the night before.
“Come on, little one,” he cooed. “It’ll be fun.”
I glanced out the window at the backyard. Amberish autumn light glistened on the trees as images of the old house flooded my aching head: my siblings running through the halls, my father’s office door with its contorted red-faced mask, my mother baking bread, swaying in the kitchen. I saw the little house, sitting vacant on an acre of unmanicured land. I saw the stream that ran parallel to the road, filled with rocks that William, Annabelle, and I would collect and keep as pets because we thought they resembled creatures. I saw the narrow path through the forest that led to the ocean. It had been years since my parents had remarried and moved on. For a second, I longed to see it too.
“Fine.” I sipped my coffee. “I’ll try to find my key.”
It was mild outside so I threw on a jean jacket before locking the apartment and climbing into Jack’s car. The skin on my arms felt invaded, as if an army of ants were crawling beneath it. I scratched with a degree of desperation. Letting my nails sink into the soft flesh, I imagined tearing it off piece by piece, exposing my raw, pink, throbbing innards.
Jack noticed my scratching and took my hand, holding it as he drove, smiling intently.
Is he trying to torture me?
The roads were clear and the sun was beating down on trees that were full with brown, red, and orange foliage. The heat made the air in the car stale and heavy, and I found it hard to breathe. Light reflected in my eyes so I opened the visor to shield them. Glancing in the mirror, I made eye contact with myself for a second. Long enough to see something I didn’t want to see.
I slammed the visor shut as Jack slowed to take the exit. I laid my head against the window and watched as the landscape changed from desolate highway to farmland. Bundles of hay resembling fluffy marshmallows speckled the sprawling fields. The smell of manure filled the car and I quickly rolled the window up, covering my nose and holding my breath.
“Geez, Grace. Warn me next time, will you?” Jack grinned.
I rolled my eyes. “Gross.”
A murder of crows dotted the black wires of the power lines. I counted as we drove. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven.
I silently recalled the rhyme my mother had taught me.
One for sorrow
Two for joy
Three for a wedding
Four for a boy
Five for silver
Six for gold
Seven for a secret, never to be told
We drove along the water’s edge. A few small boats, not yet stored for the winter, were docked in the harbour. It was all so familiar. The hill we used to climb, where I’d fallen more than once and skinned my knees. The pond where we swam, fearful that eels would coil themselves around our ankles and pull us into the depths. The wharf we’d cast off from, reeling in our lines only to discover we had nabbed another sculpin, before promptly unhooking and returning the bottom-feeder to the sea.
As we approached that final corner, I noticed a cottage overlooking the headland was being torn down. The top half was stripped to its bare bones, only studs and corners remaining, while the first storey was perfectly intact. I remembered how my mother had frequently sent me there to borrow a cup of sugar or a block of butter. I wondered what had happened to the family.
I was jolted back to the present as my old home came into view.
“Right here.” I lifted my hand to point, and felt my entire arm go numb.
Inhale. One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
Jack pulled into the driveway.
Exhale. One. Two. Three—
“Whoa,” Jack interrupted my silent counting. “Looks like the set of a horror movie. It’s so different from what I remember.”
The jungle gym was collapsing in on itself, rotten and buckled to the right. The yellow slide had detached and was lying on the ground nearby. The grass on the lawn was wilder and taller than I’d seen before. My father’s chainsaw was sitting alongside the barn, covered in rust.
The evergreens in the driveway had grown larger, their limbs scraping the car door as I opened it. I made my way toward the entrance, peering into the window of my father’s office as I passed by. The lace curtains were drawn but I could see the outline of a bookcase overflowing with dusty novels.
The orange-red paint on the house was chipped and peeling. A consistent, rhythmic buzzing overhead caught my attention. I looked up and noticed a small papery wasp nest, swirled with greys and browns.
“Careful.” I pointed to the nest as Jack approached. “Looks like someone else has moved in.”
We arrived at the doorway to find a tattered wooden broom placed diagonally across it.
“Is that your fancy security system?”
“Ha ha, very funny.” I took in its damaged bristles. “It lets people know you’re not home.” I lifted it out of the way, setting it against the house. “So people know not to come by and visit.”
“Why would you want people to know you’re not home?” Jack swatted at a wasp with one hand as it flew by, digging in the pocket of his bomber jacket with the other. He pulled out a joint, lit it with his Zippo, and inhaled deeply. “Seems like a good way to get robbed.”
I shrugged with only one shoulder, unable to get them both to cooperate, before sliding my key into the lock, praying it wouldn’t fit. I turned it hesitantly until I heard a quiet click.
An old pickup truck rounded the corner; slowing, the driver craned his neck to see who could possibly be going inside. I lifted my wrist weakly, offering him a slight wave.
“Who’s that?” Jack asked, puffing on the joint, his eyes following the moving vehicle.
“No idea.”
I pushed the door open and stepped inside.
Everything was exactly as I remembered. The Persian carpet that ran up the stairway was covered in debris. The familiar painting of the nude woman engulfed in fire stared at me. Her erect nipples seemed a fitting response to the temperature in the house. The heat likely hadn’t been on in years. I shivered.
“I want to see your room.” Jack was already making his way up the stairs. They creaked under his weight.
“It’s the one at the end of the hall.” I followed him, the air growing denser with each step, my hand dragging along the banister. The yellowed wallpaper was peeling and had begun to curl where it met the ceiling. I stopped to pick at a piece, noticing newspaper glued beneath. The only words I could decipher were “boat ran aground” and the year 1877.
Jack disappeared inside my room.
My throat was dry, my pulse quickening as I rounded the corner, passing my parents’ closed bedroom door. I could see them standing behind it. I could hear their controlled yelling as they fought.
Suddenly, Jack screamed. My skin prickled as I sprinted to the end of the hall. “Jack?”
He was sitting on the bed, flipping through a magazine with Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen on the cover.
“I thought your room would be morbid,” he said, smirking. “It’s just a typical little girl’s room.”
The lavender walls. My books, my photographs, my stuffed animal collection. Most everything was perfectly preserved, unsullied by the passing of time. The fireplace mantle that displayed my snow globe collection was covered in shards of glass. The water inside must have frozen over the years, causing them to shatter. I lifted one and twisted the handle to activate the music box. It began, laborious at first, clicking and missing notes before settling into a fluid melody.
“Why did you scream?” I noticed a small slice on my thumb from the broken glass. Blood trickled from the wound so I placed my finger in my mouth to soothe it, comforted by the warm, metallic taste.
“I didn’t scream.” Jack peered at me, his eyebrows moving together, two indents forming at each brow’s edge.
I glanced around the room, noticing a mound of dead houseflies and sowbugs in the corner.
“You okay?” he asked, taking my hand and examining it.
I sat down next to him, feeling increasingly unsteady. “I’m fine.”
“You’re shaking.” He pulled my thumb toward his mouth and wrapped his lips around the gash.
I stared at him blankly.
Letting my hand drop, he moved to hold my face, kissing me gently. I could taste blood again.
I lay back, overwhelmed, my stomach clenched into a ball of tightly knotted parts.
Standing above me, he pulled my tights and panties off. I couldn’t move.
He ran his fingers up my dress as the walls and slatted ceiling blended. He undid his belt and removed his pants, stepping out of them one leg at a time.
I lay immobilized.
Grabbing my legs and pulling me to the edge of the bed, he spread my knees apart with his and thrust himself inside me. A sharp, immediate pain shot through my body. I recoiled, but there was nowhere for me to go.
I opened my eyes and looked up. It wasn’t Jack. My mouth snapped open and a scream erupted as I shoved him off.
He hit the wall with a thud.
“What the hell?” he snapped, pinning me with an angry look.
I was released. I shot up and grabbed my clothes, heading for the door. “We need to get the fuck out of here.”