PANACEA

Rob Arnold pulled a crumpled pouch from his pocket, pinched out a generous wad of shredded tobacco and skillfully tamped it into the bowl. He struck a match and applied the fire to the load, then puffed several times, charring the tobacco. Aromatic blue smoke drifted lazily to collect at the ceiling.

The Atlanta Braves—Rob’s favorite team—were playing the first game of a double-header against the Cincinnati Reds on television. Despite everything, he still loved to smoke while he watched baseball on a rainy day. It was a ritual ingrained almost as deeply as the need to breathe. A twinge of guilt nibbled at him whenever he remembered his dear Molly lying less than twenty feet away in their bedroom, tumors blocking her airways, suffocating the life out of her.

A light rain thrummed an eerie beat upon the shingles, the windows and the long-neglected lawn. Heavy-hitting storms had blown through earlier, flooding the neighborhood, and runoff still gurgled noisily through the ditches.

He puffed out a cloud of dense pipe fog. It billowed up to join the other swirling eddies that drooped and swayed below the ceiling like cobwebs in a drafty attic.

A framed photograph hung above the television. In it, he and Molly, no more than a month removed from high school, held hands and flashed smiles filled with the prospect of adventure, their shared future opening up to them like lotus petals as they embraced in the middle of a ghost town somewhere in Arizona.

Rob couldn’t remember the name of the street where they had posed for the picture, just some strip of cracked asphalt that stretched straight and true into the distant horizon. He remembered that he’d been imbued with a sense of awe that day, standing there with his one true love. It was a day brimming with symbolism.

A wave of nostalgia washed over him, but it was impossible to deny how forty years had radically altered his perspective. Back then, he’d seen the highway as a metaphor for a future paved with the promise of adventure. Now, all he saw was the vanishing point.

I’ve become a cynical old fart.

He had his reasons.

Years of love and laughter had culminated in this. These were supposed to be their golden years. They were supposed to be spending them together, sipping wine on the porch, snuggling up on the couch to watch movies. It wasn’t supposed to end with Molly dying a horrible death before they even got a chance to enjoy retired life.

He had vowed to love his wife until the end of time, for all of eternity.

But what was eternity, if not a foolish notion concocted by daydreamers to insulate them from the cold, inevitable truth of the human condition? Forever had turned out to be little more than a meager handful of joyous years followed by the downward spiral into middle age, family tragedy, and disease.

Forever can lick my asshole, he mused, pipe smoke curling around his shaggy head.

The Braves had loaded the bases. Their all-star power hitter stood in the batter’s box, tapping his cleats with the business end of his bat while the announcers rattled off statistics. The slugger rotated the bat a few times before settling in for the pitch, and favored the Reds’ pitcher with a menacing glare. He swung at two wild pitches and earned a 0-2 count. The next ball was down and inside, but the hitter had settled down a bit and refused to bite.

From the bedroom came a dreadful moan, but it was still too early to give Molly her pain medication.

He sighed.

Attention diverted momentarily from the game, he got up to get a beer. The moment he walked into the kitchen, the television erupted in a frenzy of applause. One of the commentators screamed, “It’s a grand slam! I don’t believe it, folks! Grand slam! The Braves win it!”

Rob cursed under his breath. Always miss the good stuff, Goddammit.

Rob kicked up the footrest to stretch out his legs. He considered taking a nap. Usually his mood improved after an hour or two of sleep, but he found himself restless, a nervous wreck. Today was the day he planned to give Molly the “miracle cure.”

Unable to sit, he walked into the kitchen, opened the medicine cabinet and located the elixir. He held the little amber-tinted bottle in front of his face and imagined himself giving it to Molly.

The glass was dark, nearly opaque, but Rob could make out the motion of the thick liquid slowly sloshing up and down the sides as he tilted the bottle back and forth.

A blurry shape within the liquid squirmed, startling him. He juggled the bottle, managing to snatch it out of the air before it hit the floor.

His heart thudded against his ribs. “What the hell?”

When he stared at the bottle for a full minute again, nothing inside moved.

Just a trick of the light, he thought, heart rate decelerating. Carefully unscrewing the rubber dropper from the top of the bottle, he sniffed the liquid inside. The nauseating odor of rotted fish and putrefying strawberries invaded his sinuses, activating his gag-reflex, nearly causing him to retch. Steadying himself, he quickly replaced the cap.

He was more than a little nervous about giving the vile stuff to his wife. Hell, she won’t drink the shit anyway.

He let his thoughts drift back to the day he came into possession of the bottle of Panacea.

It had been a horrible week.

Molly’s condition had grown increasingly perilous, the highs and lows more erratic. At one point, beset by a terrible fever, it had looked as if she might be at the end. She had been given three (probably) to six (maybe) months to live, but that had been less than a month ago. Doctor Albom, Molly’s oncologist, had also warned them that any number of variables could significantly, and drastically, alter that prognosis.

The fever broke three days later, leaving Molly frailer than ever. Fortunately, she didn’t remember the days of delirium, vomiting and agonizing pain. It took a full day for her to remember who and where she was.

One day, after Molly had returned to a somewhat familiar routine, Rob was sifting through the contents of a cabinet under the kitchen sink, looking for a sauce pan when he happened upon a dusty, unopened bottle of scotch.

Molly was snoring loudly, and Rob figured he had a couple of hours before the meds wore off. He sloshed a generous portion of the Glenlivet he’d found into a glass, and drained it in one hearty swallow. Realizing that the glass was only going to slow him down, he left it on the kitchen counter and took the bottle into the living room, plopping down in his recliner.

It hadn’t taken much to do him in. He nursed the bottle for a half hour and passed out while watching Jeopardy.

He woke up later, much later, bathed in sweat, head pounding, tongue gritty and foul as if something had crawled into his mouth to die. With great effort, Rob separated himself from his chair. Once on his feet, he lumbered down the hall to peek in on Molly.

She was sleeping peacefully.

Thank you, Jesus. Assured that his wife was in no immediate danger, Rob scratched his ass and made his way back into the living room.

He sat down and gazed at the television.

There was a commercial on. One word filled the screen, a bright red flashing word:

PANACEA.

There was no catchy music.

No sound at all.

Just the one word repeated over and over.

Rob quickly reached the end of his patience with it. He fumbled around in his chair for the remote control.

“Damned infomercials. What are you selling this time?” Rob muttered under his breath, his teeth clenched.

He was elbow deep in the recliner, digging between the cushions, grappling for the remote control when a disembodied voice replaced the flashing word, speaking from the empty black screen with total sincerity.

“All hope is not yet lost,” the voice began gently, drawing Rob in. “If you are struggling to understand why the most cherished person in your life has to die: stop! Now you don’t have to lose them! Don’t waste another precious moment worrying and grieving. Stop blaming yourself, because you couldn’t help them! Look no further than your television screen, friend.

“Tonight only, I am offering my revolutionary cure-all, PANACEA, to the general public. The elixir that beat the pants off cancer can now be yours. Don’t hesitate, friend. Pick up the telephone and dial the toll-free number on your screen and you can say you were the one that saved them. PANACEA is the answer. Call now and get back those years together you deserve.”

A toll-free number appeared on the screen. Dozens of photographs of disease-ravaged people of all ages, creeds, and races, emerged from the background. One of them looked a lot like Molly, though Rob knew that was a preposterous comparison.

PANACEA.

Once more the word filled the screen, this time accompanied by the toll-free number.

Rob watched a lot of television, but he couldn’t remember seeing this product advertised before. Lately, he’d felt completely helpless. But . . . if there was even an infinitesimal chance his Molly could be cured, by Jesus, it was worth a shot.

With a single trembling finger, he dialed up the number and placed his order on an automated system.

By the next morning, he’d forgotten all about it.

So when he heard a light rapping on the front door a few days later, he could not imagine who in the hell it was or what the hell they could possibly want.

He opened the door ready to tell whoever it was to go to hell.

It was a UPS delivery guy.

With a winning smile and a mischievous gleam in his eyes, the young man proffered a handheld computer. He urged Rob to sign the screen with a plastic stylus. Rob gave the deliveryman a dubious look, shrugged, and meticulously sketched his signature on the lighted screen, where it appeared crude and indecipherable in the little window.

The man gave Rob a small cardboard box and wished him a beautiful day. Before striding away down the sidewalk to his truck, he turned to Rob and said, “Whatever that is must sure be something.”

“Why so?”

“Been dropping off a lot of boxes just like that one lately.”

Rob was bemused, but he wasn’t sure why.

He pushed the door closed behind him with his foot.

From the bedroom came the sound of Molly’s labored breathing.

For forty years she’d been the love of his life, the nurturer, the mother of their children, the sun in his sky. Now the light of his life had been eclipsed by clouds of agony. When conscious, she flitted between rounds of harsh coughing jags, dangerously high fevers, and bouts of inconsolable depression. Sometimes she babbled incoherently. Whenever she was lucid, she would call for him, ask him to sit with her and reminisce.

Unfortunately, those moments had become few and far between.

He listened as her coughing fit gradually subsided. When he knew it was over—at least for the time being—he stepped into the garage. He fished around in his tool box until he located a box cutter.

“Here goes nothing,” he murmured. The package bore no return address. He shrugged, and ran the blade the length of the packing tape, popping open the cardboard flaps.

Wedged inside was a nondescript amber bottle roughly the same size as his nasal spray prescription. It sure didn’t look like much, but, then again, he didn’t have much experience with miracles.

At first he decided to wait, convincing himself that things hadn’t gotten bad enough yet for Molly for him resort to something unknown and possibly risky like Panacea. The more he thought about it, the more unsure he felt. So he tucked the bottle away in the drawer.

But now he found himself at that moment, when things were as bad as they could possibly get, left holding onto what might amount to Molly’s one last vestige of hope. He prayed the whole thing wasn’t a scam. Old people like him were easily scammed, he knew, but deep down he didn’t believe it could happen to him. Still, there was the distinct possibility he’d been sold one hell of an expensive placebo.

Jesus jumped up Christ. Is this what it feels like to have dementia? He shook his head, refusing to acknowledge that thought. No, when someone acts out of desperation, it doesn’t mean they’re soft in the head. It means they have nothing left to lose. Big difference.

“Tom?” Molly’s voice ruptured the silence of the house, alarming him. “Tom, I need my medicine, dear. I hear the deer running and I need to get daddy’s boots for him. He’ll be mad as hell if I don’t make sure he has his stinky old boots!”

Rob sighed. As her cancer advanced its merciless onslaught, Molly’s recall became more and more unreliable. She yelled for Tom more and more these days and Rob was tired of reminding her. A part of him wondered if it was better to let her believe Tom was still with them.

They’d had three children together: their firstborn, Tom, and the twins, Steven and Sylvia. Tom had always been his mother’s favorite and he’d visit her each week, fresh flowers in hand. He was a bright and promising boy, imaginative, ambitious, and filled with love. He’d been a faithful son right up until the very day an employee he’d fired returned to work to put a bullet in his brain.

If Molly wanted to believe that Tom was still alive, if that brought her comfort, Rob couldn’t see the harm in it.

He stood, holding the little bottle of Panacea as far away from his body as possible, careful to breathe through his mouth, and walked back to the bedroom.

Molly was on top of the covers, the nightgown that had once fit her snugly now draped her fragile body like a collapsed circus tent. The hot sweat seeping from her pores plastered the garment to her body. Her ribcage was hideously visible through the wet fabric.

This was the way of cancer, ravaging the mind and body beyond recognition before finally taking the life. It disgusted Rob to see his once beautiful wife reduced to this pitiful specimen, and for that, he hated himself.

He met her cataract-clouded eyes and just gazed at her for a while.

He held up the amber bottle, took a deep breath, and smiled in spite of the circumstances.

“Molly, this is a new medicine called Panacea. There’s a chance it could cure you. The man on the television said it beat cancer before.” Once the words were out, he felt his face burn with embarrassment. It sounded more foolish now than ever.

Regardless, she didn’t respond. Didn’t even act like she heard him at all.

There was a Dixie cup half-filled with tepid water on the nightstand. He carefully emptied the bottle’s contents into it and swirled it all together.

He touched her arm, lightly stroked her knobby shoulder, and cleared his throat.

“Molly,” he whispered. “Honey, look at me.” He spoke softly, running his fingers through the sparse strands of hair hanging limply from her cool scalp.

She rolled her head toward him, a pained grimace etched upon her once delicate features. “Let me sleep, Tom. Please, it’s really bad today. It’s gonna storm. I like to sleep when it rains heavy.”

Heart breaking, he held out the plastic cup. There was no choice but to entertain her delusions.

“You need to drink this, Mom,” he said, ashamed, but unsure what else he could do. “The doctor said you should be drinking more liquids, and you haven’t paid him any mind at all. Do it for me, if not for him.”

She smiled thinly, teeth too big, lips too thin, and blinked several times as if she had only just awakened.

“Will you let me sleep if I do, Tom?”

“Yes, Mom.”

“Promise?” Her eyes were huge, filled with hope.

“I promise. Now drink up.”

“Fine. You’re a good boy, Tom.”

He held the cup to her lips, carefully tipped it, and emptied the contents into her waiting mouth, pleased to see that she swallowed the elixir-infused water before she had a chance to register its awful aroma. Even though Rob was certain the smell was rancid enough to chase a raccoon out of a dumpster, Molly didn’t appear to notice.

As she swallowed the dark, viscous liquid, she scrunched up her face in disgust. Her mouth worked like she was chewing a mouthful of saltwater taffy. Rob prayed it didn’t taste as bad as it smelled.

After an uncomfortable moment, she swallowed hard and grimaced. Then it was done. She moaned low in her throat and, after a brief, suspicious survey of the man holding the little cup, lowered her head onto the pillow. Eventually, her face relaxed and she smiled at Rob, eyes suddenly focused and bright with recognition.

She flapped a bony hand at him, signaling his dismissal. “Goodnight, Rob, my love.” She smiled slyly as sleep took her once again.

Rob returned Molly’s smile, happy that she had finally recognized him. He had to be thankful for the little things.

He leaned over and placed a delicate kiss on her forehead.

Almost as an afterthought, he administered her usual dose of morphine with a hypodermic needle. The needles were the single medical device Molly would tolerate having in the house. She refused to allow herself to be hooked up to monitors or have some uncaring hospice nurse hovering about, stealing her jewelry while she lay helpless to do anything about it.

Rob resumed his perch in the recliner, turning on CNN to watch the latest proof that the end of the world was near. The news scared him lately. Each day brought a new set of horrors to behold, each more terrifying than the one before.

HIS SLEEP WAS HAUNTED by dreadful images.

Tom and Molly danced gracefully upon the overgrown lawn as blood rained down on them from death’s head clouds rolling across a troubled sky. They stared at him with dead eyes, bodies blistered horribly as if by radiation, laughing heartily as he cried out helplessly from behind the bedroom window.

Their faces became hideous and demonic as their skin sloughed off onto the grass. Then the pair leapt together into a gaping hole in the ground, their screams echoing all around him, growing louder and louder until he was certain he’d go insane.

He awoke in a panic, unsure of where he was or what he was doing there. When he saw Molly standing before him, he was sure he was still dreaming.

In a shocked, groggy voice he squeaked, “Who, what, where?”

Molly broke into a fit of uncontrollable giggles at his reaction.

Rob was speechless. He sat up on the edge of the bed before stepping tentatively towards Molly, wrapping his arms around her frail body.

“What are you doing out of bed, honey? You need to rest.” He hugged her gently, his grip awkward at first, but his confidence steadily growing until he was pressing his body firmly against hers, and grinning like a kid that just hit his first homerun. Once again, she took him off guard by not only returning his embrace, but squeezing him fiercely.

A few moments later—a small eternity of joy for them both—Rob withdrew from Molly and drank in every detail of her face. She was a sight to behold. Her features were relaxed, the cruel lines wrought by pain and time smoothed away. Her eyes twinkled with a spark that commanded his gaze and ignited a brush fire of passion inside him.

“Seriously, Moll,” Rob whispered. “Shouldn’t you be in bed? Dr. Albom said . . . ”

Molly pressed a finger to his lips ever so gently, quieting his objections before they could pollute the air.

“Don’t jinx it, Rob. I feel so wonderful right now. I don’t know what’s making me feel this way, but let’s enjoy it while we can.”

He tried to speak again, but she kept her finger pressed firmly to his lips. For the first time since she had been bedridden, Rob saw hope stir in Molly’s eyes.

He felt like dancing a jig up the wall and across the ceiling.

A WEEK PASSED, and Molly continued her dramatic recovery. Her skin took on a ruddy glow as her body healed itself at an astonishing speed. She breathed much easier now, but they both still waited with an impending sense of dread for the day the cancer would rear its ugly head once again and lay her low once and for all.

But it didn’t happen. She kept getting better.

Full of fresh confidence and optimism, Rob called Steven and Sylvia to excitedly regale them with the news of their mother’s miraculous recovery.

They’d both been quick to answer their cell phones, undoubtedly fearing the worst. When their father excitedly gave them good news for a change, both were skeptical and wanted to hear the news from their mother directly. But Rob insisted on surprising her with a family get-together to celebrate her newfound health.

Rob was delighted when they both promised to come.

It would be at least a week before the kids returned home, Sylvia from Miami and Steve from Colorado. Rob was absolutely thrilled they would all be together as a family soon.

After making arrangements with the twins, he took Molly to see Dr. Albom. The doctor was flabbergasted, but eager to examine his once-doomed patient. He wanted to study the unprecedented shift in Molly’s condition.

Upon first seeing her, he exclaimed at how good she looked, then asked her to walk him through all that had happened.

“Doctor Albom, the cancer went away.” Molly stated.

He nodded, urging her to continue.

“I’m through with it. It’s gone. It’s a miracle, plain and simple.” Molly described how she had awoken one morning to find herself feeling well again. She went on to describe how she had continued improving every day since.

“Doctor Albom, I don’t want you poking and prodding me anymore. I can’t take it. I want to spend the rest of my life being happy since I’ve been given that chance.”

Dr. Albom asked Rob if he had anything to add. Rob shook his head. He wasn’t sure why, exactly, but he didn’t want to tell the doctor about Panacea.

“We have to confirm everything. You must understand I have only your best interests in mind,” Albom stated after a moment’s deliberation.

Molly frowned at him. “I can refuse to be radiated again, can’t I?” Rob reached over and took her warm hand in his own and squeezed it firmly, hoping she felt the strength he attempted to impart to her.

 “As your physician, I’m responsible for your well-being, Molly,” he said. “I insist we take all the necessary steps to confirm that you’re cancer-free. If there really is a miracle at work here, the best thing to do is to prove it, beyond a shadow of a doubt. The only way to do that is to run some tests.”

Hearing this, and seeing the steely resolve in Dr. Albom’s eyes, Molly deflated a little. “I suppose you’re right, doctor. I’ll do the tests, but only because you’re not giving me a choice in the matter.”

Dr. Albom was clearly gratified by her capitulation. “We don’t want any ‘ifs’, Molly. I hope you understand.”

“My daddy used to say that ‘if’ is just a part of ‘life’, doc,” Molly said.

He shook his head and sighed. “Your father was right, Molly,” he allowed. “And that statement all but illustrates my point. Besides, aren’t you the slightest bit curious as to what is going on? Don’t you want to know for sure?”

So, Molly submitted to a barrage of tests.

As Molly and Rob had both already known, the labs and scans were all clean. Molly was officially cleared to live.

The July sun beat down mercilessly as they left the clinic that day.

Rob and Molly turned to gaze back upon the oncology center where Dr. Albom was no doubt ripping his hair out in frustration. After the initial scan results had come back clean, he still wasn’t convinced—but Molly was. She left him with a kiss on the cheek and thanks for all he had done for her.

“No more tests.” Molly gushed as she and Rob walked through the sea of parked cars glimmering in the sunlight.

He wrapped his arm around her, and grinned at her. “Whatever you say, baby.”

Molly wasn’t the least bit curious about how she had been cured. She had no memory of Rob dosing her with the miracle drug. As far as she was concerned, God had performed a miracle on her.

Rob was okay with that.

Panacea had saved her, but Jesus was welcome to the credit.

He remembered all too clearly watching his father suffer the hard death brought on by lung cancer. That had been two years ago. One day, the big ox was the picture of health, and the next he was fighting for his life. He’d spent a few horrible months in and out of the hospital, before moving into an assisted living facility. He’d come home one more time, but the cold hard ground came soon after. It had all happened so quickly.

When Molly had been dealt the same diagnosis, Rob had been devastated, certain there was nothing he could do. It was a death sentence. But like the mighty phoenix, she had risen from the ashes, more beautiful than ever.

Giddy, feeling gloriously alive, the two of them drove out of the clinic parking lot into the noonday sun, towards the rest of their lives together.

Rob spared no expense dazzling Molly with a full day of shopping, eating at their favorite restaurant, and finally making the forty-five minute trek out to Jacksonville Beach, where they walked and talked about old times, and a future which they could now spend together in health and love.

They got back to Citrus Glades just as darkness swallowed the sky over the horizon, chasing the light westward until the stars twinkled like billions of realized wishes in the endless expanse of space above them.

They made their way up the driveway, both of them more than a little beat from their busy day, when Molly grasped Rob’s hands. “Mr. Arnold,” she grinned, “get ready for the night of your life.”

He had been thrilled at the prospect of making love once again after so long, but found that he was almost too weary to move.

In the bedroom, Molly kissed Rob deeply, her tongue caressing his as their lips parted and the old, familiar passion they had always shared.

She giggled like a shy school girl, playfully shoving him back a foot or two.

“I’ve got to wash up, I’m sticky and gritty from the beach. You’d better be ready for me when I get out of the shower.”

With that, she turned and disappeared into the bathroom, leaving Rob with a painful sensation in his groin which he realized, with delight, was a raging erection straining eagerly against his pants.

He eased himself onto the bed, body aching from the day’s activities. They’d had a blast, but now his bones and joints cried for mercy.

He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

The bathroom door creaked opened slowly, arousing Rob from his slumber. A hot breath of shower-steam belched into the bedroom and slowly curled up the bedroom walls. A curvy female form cut through the steam, striding with soft steps across the room toward where he lay.

“Molly, are you coming to—” His question went unasked as the woman’s face emerged from the fog still billowing in from the bathroom. It was not Molly. The woman who emerged from the roiling steam was much younger than his wife.

Rob felt a flutter of fear in his belly. He tried to figure out what was happening, but his thoughts were too jumbled to make any sense of it. His heartbeat quickened.

The only thing that made sense was that he was still asleep, and this beautiful woman was merely part of his all too vivid dream. The conclusion satisfied his addled brain, and he allowed himself to relax.

The woman leaned in closer to Rob and stroked his hair softly.

“Who are you? Where’s Molly?” Rob stammered.

Her smile faltered, and when she spoke, the voice she used was his wife’s. “I’m right here, honey.”

Consumed by the unreality he had found himself immersed in, Rob craned his neck in search of his wife, but her side of the bed was vacant, the sheets on her side undisturbed.

He carefully studied the strange woman’s face. The two freckles on the left side of her nose and the bushy eyebrows framing deep emerald eyes were unmistakable. It was Molly, but she looked different, like she had looked way back when they first met. Seeing this, he found himself filled with an odd mixture of lust and dread.

Molly yanked the comforter away, flinging it into the corner.

Even though Rob was getting along in years and he sensed a terrible wrongness about his wife, his manhood began to thicken again. Molly clapped her hands and cooed at him.

“That’s my stud. I knew you’d rise to the occasion.” She flashed him a wicked grin.

Then she climbed onto the bed and straddled his knees. She took his engorged cock in her hand and started stroking it, watching bemused as he groaned at sensations so long unfelt. Then, before he knew what was happening, Molly bent over and took him into her mouth.

Fear and confusion fled as she licked and sucked him, expertly coaxing him to the edge of bliss before relenting just as he was ready to explode.

In one fluid motion, she straddled his hips and guided his stiffness inside her. Rob gasped as he felt her open, taking him as deep as he would go. She moaned, rocking back and forth, her body quivering. Her rhythm became faster, more frenzied, her animal cries more urgent.

Rob was powerless to hold back any longer, and he let go, releasing his seed inside her with a loud groan, his hips bucking in time with Molly’s frantic grinding.

She was talking to him, but he was unable to hear her words over the blood pounding in his temples. He gently pulled her face down to him and asked, “What is it, my love?”

Her eyes were glazed over, unfocused.

“The time is right for the transition.”

“What do you mean?” he asked, still dazed from his orgasm, unsure exactly what she had said.

“There’s something that has to be done,” Molly whispered. “I can’t explain, but there’s more . . . something more you have to give me, and I need it.”

“Can’t we just do it again tomorrow, Moll?”

At first, she didn’t say anything, but then she leaned over until her lips brushed his ear, sending more pleasant tingling sensations through him.

“I can’t control myself, Rob. I need this now!”

She sat straight up, her back forming a perfect right angle to his prone body. Their bodies were still one, her heat still enfolding him, and Rob felt himself stiffening again.

Rob wondered how a dream could feel so vibrant, so utterly real, but then Molly emitted a bloodcurdling screech, rupturing the blissful atmosphere. Fear dropped like a medicine ball into his guts and he recoiled at the sight before him.

Molly’s face was contorted into a ghastly rictus, her hair swung in sweaty strands, sticking to her sweaty, ashen brow. But her eyes were the worst.

The soft, sensual emerald pools were gone, replaced by roiling cauldrons of black, as foreboding as open graves.

Wake up, Rob! He urged himself, but he could not.

He gasped in pain as her pelvic muscles locked onto his semi-hard penis like the jaws of an ancient hungry predator. She leered crazily, leaning back so far he thought she would break in half, and loosed another ear-piercing howl. A rash of angry crimson welts popped up all over her body, like bites delivered by invisible horseflies. Molly howled in pain or ecstasy, Rob wasn’t sure. He watched in horror as the bumps on her skin opened with soft sucking pops and slimy black strands slithered out of them.

They were thick as earthworms, and so long they brushed the ceiling. Hundreds of them swayed around Molly, elongating and shriveling, probing the air around them. Their movements appeared random, but Rob sensed a purpose to them.

He tried to buck his way out from underneath her, but she was stronger, and kept him pinned to the bed with her thighs.

With uncanny speed, the writhing tentacles turned as one toward him and struck, piercing his body in a hundred different places before he could scream. The pain was instant, unfathomable, nearly causing him to pass out. He felt the new presences inside him, pressing deep into his muscle tissue, nerves, and bones.

Hot fluids were injected into his body. The agony subsided, but Rob’s terror only intensified. The tendrils began to root deeper, now sucking the vital fluids from his body. Molly squealed in orgasmic delight for what seemed an eternity, achieving her horrific goal, and then it was over. She sat astride him, unmoving, a smile creeping across her lips.

Satisfied, she climbed off.

Mercifully, he barely felt the sickening tubes withdraw from his body as they retreated back into his wife’s flesh. The black alien substance dripped from pointed tips as they vanished inside her. The welts from which they’d emerged quickly faded, leaving her sweat-slicked skin perfect once again.

ROB AWOKE WITH A START, a scream dying in his throat before his lips could birth it. The details of his nightmare were already fading away, but the stark horror it had induced still lingered.

The sun shone through the smoke-stained curtains and he heard the merry chirping of a cardinal welcoming the day.

Molly was nowhere to be seen.

Rob stretched and yawned, crawled out of bed and looked around for his house slippers. The floor was cold under his liver-spotted feet. Right when he spotted his fuzzy footwear peeking out from underneath the bed, the delightful aroma of frying bacon wafted in from the kitchen. A trickle of drool threatened to spill over his lip but he slurped it back into his mouth before it could drip.

His stomach gurgled and growled at him. Feed me now, old man.

Wiping sleep from his eyes, he made his way into the kitchen. Molly faced away from him, laboring over the stovetop in a slinky negligee, her rump swaying enticingly to a tune only she could hear. The curtains were drawn and the lights were off. Why in the world would she want to cook breakfast in the dark? he wondered.

“Good morning, sweet love,” Molly chirped without looking back, apparently sensing his presence behind her. Her hips and rear end continued to shake seductively beneath the thin fabric of her sexy night clothes.

“See anything you like, big boy?”

He flushed, caught off guard by her forwardness, and tried to swallow the lump in his throat. “Everything my eyes behold,” he answered.

“I’ve never doubted that for one second, honey.”

“Sorry I fell asleep last night.” He tried to sound cool even though nervous sweat dripped from his every pore. “Why don’t I make it up to you tonight?”

Molly turned away from the stove, and Rob beheld her. There had been a part of him that had felt it coming, but he was still not fully prepared for the sight of her. She could have easily passed for her own daughter.

“You’re kidding, right?” She eyed him suspiciously. She leaned against the kitchen sink, the negligee slid up her thighs revealing that she was not only nude beneath the skimpy garment, but she had shaved off her pubic hair.

His eyes went wide with amazement.

“So, it looks like you do see something you like, mister horny toad.” She leaned back a little further, enticing him with more flesh.

“What’s going on?” Rob muttered, more to himself than Molly.

“Why, whatever do you mean, my dear?”

“I mean, you shaved yourself bald down there. And you’re not wearing any underwear. That’s what I mean. You’ve never done that before. And you look so much younger.”

Molly pushed off the sink counter and sauntered toward where Rob stood by the table. She placed a noticeably wrinkle-free palm on his chest and pushed him backward gently. His legs wobbled and he sat down hard, thankfully onto a chair directly behind him. Molly sat down on his lap, wrapped her arms around him and pressed herself against him in a passionate embrace. Her sex ground against him, fueling his increasingly insistent libido.

He knew it was true, but still could not process it. Months of expensive medical treatments had worn her down to a nub, but one tiny serving of Panacea had brought her roaring back to life—not only healed, but young again.

As Molly’s soft hair caressed Rob’s face, her lips pressed against his ear and she whispered. “Tonight, I want you to fuck me like never before. I did all the work last night, after all.”

The gentle caresses and hushed whispers had lulled Rob into a trancelike state, but those last words jagged through him like a Sherman Tank rolling through a mine field in the heat of battle.

Rob went rigid. He pushed Molly away from him, holding her at arm’s length.

She gazed into his eyes with raw desire, but her expression flickered and changed, uncertainty morphing into concern.

“Rob? What’s the matter with you?”

His world had tilted in the last few minutes, his sanity perilously sliding toward the edge of a precipice into a bottomless chasm.

The details of his nightmare flooded back with astonishing clarity.

But if it wasn’t a nightmare, he thought, did that other stuff really happen, too?

Molly looked at him quizzically.

Instinctively, he knew that to show fear would be a terrible idea.

Because he could think of nothing else to do, he pulled her back into his arms and held her tight.

Molly giggled. “Silly man, why’re you getting so worked up?” She reached down and squeezed him through his pajama bottoms, eliciting a moan from him which was not completely lustful. His only thought was that he had to get away from her. That awful shit he had given her had done more than heal Molly, it had transformed her into something else.

“We’d better feed you a big breakfast. You’re going to need a lot of stamina to handle the new me.” She gave his crotch another quick squeeze to illustrate her point.

She walked back to the stove, flipped the bacon and looked back at him. “I don’t know what’s happening to me, but I’m loving it. I feel like I’m twenty years old again.”

“You look twenty years old.” He croaked.

“I know. It’s so crazy, Rob. I have to say, it’s just a little bit scary. But it sure beats the heck out of the alternative, doesn’t it?”

“I guess it does, Molly.” He was having trouble breathing. His need to get away was becoming palpable, filling the room. “I guess it does at that.”

“Get a plate, lover boy. I made your favorite.”

Rob had zero appetite, and did little more than move pieces of food around on his plate as anxiety chewed away at him from within. Conversely, Molly gobbled hers down.

After Molly finished gorging herself like a beast, Rob got up and mechanically began gathering their dishes from the table.

“No, no, no honey,” Molly fussed, indicating the mammoth heap of soiled pots, pans and dishes already piled haphazardly on the counter. “I’ll climb that hill if you run to the store and pick up a few things for me.”

Fuck yes! He couldn’t wait to get out of the house.

“Sure, Moll. I’ll just get a shower and hit the highway.” He slipped out of his chair, trying really hard not to appear too eager to get away from her. “What do you need?”

She picked up a piece of paper from the counter, folded it and handed it over to him. “Here’s a list. Just a few things I’m craving.”

“Thanks.” He took the paper, and placed it on the table next to him with a trembling hand.

He got in the shower. As the warm water flowed over him, he noticed the sticky residue on his belly and legs, further evidence of the sex he and Molly had the night before. The hair on his stomach, legs, and around his penis, was matted down and stuck to the skin. As he lathered, scrubbing with a savage fury at his withered old body, he checked himself for signs that those awful things had penetrated his skin. There was nothing other than the usual age spots, moles, and the scar on his chest he’d obtained in a car accident many years ago.

The lack of wounds only confused him more.

He got dressed, snatched the list off the table, and slipped out of the house without saying goodbye.

When he was clear of the driveway and on the road heading out of Citrus Glades, his mind cleared as well. In the daylight, it was hard to believe any of it really happened. He cruised down the twisting dirt road and merged onto Blanding Boulevard, into the flow of midday traffic.

At the Quick-Save, Rob filled a buggy with the items on Molly’s list. After checking everything off, he lingered in the aisles, picking up various items, staring at the labels but not really reading them. He wandered to the magazine aisle, flipped aimlessly through a few hunting and fishing publications which failed to distract him, too preoccupied to care what was printed on the glossy pages. He knew he was just killing time, and eventually he would have to go home, but he despised the thought of it.

Never one to dwell on fantastic ideas, the events of the last week—especially those of last night—were ones Rob was not equipped to digest. He found himself nearly colliding with other shoppers as he blindly navigated the store in a bewildered haze.

A debate raged inside him as he wandered the store.

What should he do? Run? Where would he go? How long could an old man like him survive out on the road, alone?

And what about Molly? Whatever was happening to her, he was to blame. She hadn’t asked him for the Panacea, had she?

Eventually, he went to the checkout counter and paid for the merchandise. He knew what he had to do. Whatever was happening to Molly was his fault. He would take her to the doctor to get a professional opinion on things, resolved to spill the beans about Panacea. Let the experts hash it out. Surely, they would know what to do.

And so, he found himself driving back home, laden with bags of marshmallows, bite-size candy bars, boxes of confectioners, cane, and brown sugars, jars of peanut butter, strawberry jam, fudge, and a cornucopia of other sweets. He figured that the elixir had awakened some long dormant sweet tooth, along with Molly’s sexual appetites.

There was a flower shop at the corner of Azalea and Blanding, and, on a whim, Rob decided to stop. Inside, he picked out a dozen crimson roses in a green vase, forked over the $37.99 and continued home, aghast at the exorbitant price.

His apprehension escalated as the driveway loomed into view, but he resolved to take charge of the situation, no matter how nervous he was. He managed to grab all of the grocery bags and the flowers, and trudged up the dirt path to the front door. As he approached the front door, proud that he didn’t drop anything, he heard strange music filtering through the walls of the house. It was so loud the windows trembled in their frames. He turned the knob and nudged the door open with his hip. He stopped midstride, his mouth dropping open.

The song blaring from the stereo was some bubblegum pop artifact that should have died with the 80s. The female singer wailed something about girls just wanting to have fun, or some such nonsense. The volume was so high, Rob’s teeth rattled around in his gums with the throbbing of the bass, and the screeching singer’s bizarre shrieking shredded his brain like mozzarella under a cheese grater.

He prepared to shout for Molly to turn it down, but before he could utter a word she came bounding out of the kitchen wearing nothing but a loony grin. Her eyes rolling around in her head crazily. She danced naked through the living room toward him, as he stood there with one foot still outside. His legs would not work. He had been stricken immobile, bewildered.

His gorgeous wife glided across the space between them, parting the air with gyrating hips, her body swaying sensuously, until she was within a few feet of him. She thrust her arms out from her sides, whipped her hands up in front of his face, bending her fingers spastically.

When she cried out “Boo!,” Rob nearly shit his pants.

She snorted and snatched a bag from his hands.

The roses went unnoticed.

Then, as suddenly as she had approached, she twirled back into the kitchen and out of sight.

Rob’s lips opened and closed, but his words refused to be vocalized. His lips felt swollen, puffy, and ineffectual. He sagged against the wall, terror clenching his bowels.

What have I done?

The awful song ended and an ominous silence abruptly filled the room. Molly reappeared in the doorway, coated from her hair to her knees in powdered sugar. Her green eyes gleamed mischievously, beckoning him with an urgency he knew he could never resist.

Before he knew what was happening, she was upon him, knocking him bodily to the floor with a deftly executed takedown maneuver.

Her thighs pinned Rob’s arms to the floor, sugar dust drizzling from her hair onto his face. He sneezed loudly and repeatedly. Molly loosed a bray of hysterical laughter which degenerated into the wild ululations of a she-wolf in heat.

In minutes, she stripped off his clothes, gripped his hips in her hands, and with very little effort, hoisted him off his back and on top of her. He was gripped by a combination of terror and pure lust.

There were no tentacles this time. Molly’s face expressed nothing more than pleasure. Her eyes remained focused and beautiful. Rob found himself thinking that at least the monstrous aspects of their previous coupling had really been a nightmare after all.

Deep down, he knew that it had happened. He knew something insidious lurked beneath his wife’s skin, and whatever it was—it wanted him, craved sustenance from him, and would have it whenever it so desired. There was nothing he could do to stop it.

Afterward, they lay together on the shag carpet, Rob gasping for air like a landed trout and Molly absently stroking his hair.

Now’s the time to tell her she needs to go to the doctor.

Before he could utter a word, Molly leapt up from the floor in a cloud of whirling sugar dust, and danced out of the living room and into the kitchen.

Rob sighed wearily. He needed a smoke in the worst way. His knees popped like knots in a bonfire as he made his way to his feet. He gathered his scattered clothes and went to fetch his pipe.

He went out to sit in a plastic chair on the back porch, gazing out over his once carefully manicured lawn. When he saw how overrun with dollar weed, clover and lantana the yard had become in recent months, he was overcome with shame. He vowed to take better care of it in the future.

The heat was milder than it had been earlier, but no less suffocating. Dark clouds piled up portentously to the west. He was sure there would be an impressive spectacle of pyrotechnics in the heavens before the night was over, and that pleased him. He always enjoyed a good storm.

Rob started to doze as he puffed on his pipe, but the sound of footsteps padding toward the sliding glass door brought him back from the edge of sleep. Craning his neck, he saw her form silhouetted against the glass, peering out at him. Thinking it would be a great opportunity to broach the subject of Molly going to the doctor, he motioned for her to come out and sit with him.

She shook her head, gesturing with a curling forefinger for him to come inside.

Begrudgingly, he obliged. The night was intoxicating, but the mosquitoes were absolutely rabid. Tapping the embers out of the bowl, Rob got up and went to her.

Molly batted impossibly long eyelashes innocently at him as he stepped into the house. “Why don’t you come to bed, lover?” She inquired.

“Little early to call it a night, isn’t it?”

“True, but I have something very special in mind for us tonight. It takes two to tango.”

“All right. I’ll be there in a few minutes, my love. I’m going to tidy up the mess you made in the kitchen first.”

She sighed, shrugged her shoulders and sashayed into the bedroom without as much as a backward glance.

The kitchen was a disaster area. Empty candy wrappers were strewn about, and an inch of powdered sugar coated nearly every surface. A thick, inky substance dotted counters and pooled on the floor.

The mess was so extensive Rob cringed at the thought of dealing with it. It was not going to be a simple “trash and dash” operation, so he figured he’d start at the top, brush everything onto the floor, and break out the shop-vac to suck it all up.

The mess spilled into the garage. Empty containers, only hours earlier filled with a diabetic’s worst nightmares, were strewn from one end to the other out there, as well. It appeared that Molly had already completely devoured everything he had picked up from the store.

The mess would have to wait. It was too late to take it on, and besides, he needed to have a talk with Molly. Surely she couldn’t be well after ingesting such a massive quantity of junk. At the very least, she had to be exhausted.

He found her lounging naked on the bed, spread-eagled, and awaiting his arrival. Her eyes said it all. She wanted him again.

She licked her lips and patted the mattress beside her, motioning for him to come and sit. He obeyed, albeit reluctantly.

Her hand came down hard on his thigh and gripped tightly, like a vice. When he met her eyes, he gasped at the black holes that gazed back at him. She was still covered in sugar. She squeezed his leg harder, until he cried out and tried to jerk himself out of her grasp.

With a twist of her arm, Molly flung him off the foot of the bed onto the floor. His head bounced off the hardwood, pain blossoming in his cranium. Vision blurred from the impact, he watched as the welts again began to rise up from her smooth pale skin.

She crept off the end of the bed, lowered herself down on top of Rob as he gawked at the metamorphosing body. Her flesh was elastic now, the bones moving ceaselessly underneath her skin, contorting into impossible positions until her arms and legs withdrew slowly into her torso.

She hovered over him, her face inches above his, her eyes lumps of coal upon a snowy landscape. Her skin was translucent, a roadmap of veins and capillaries visible underneath.

Black tendrils oozed languidly from a new outbreak of bumps on Molly’s skin, rapidly undulating, dancing around her head.

Once again, they sensed him lying there. Before he could prepare for it, they attacked, entered him.

The miniscule tubes started sucking, jerking and pulsing into insatiable life. Their slender forms slowly expanded as they wiggled to and fro like snakes under a charmer’s hypnotic spell. They bulged and swelled as the fruits of their labor disappeared into Molly’s waiting body. When it was over, Rob was hollowed out. He could scarcely breathe, let alone get up from the floor. Eventually, he passed out.

WHEN ROB AWOKE the next morning in his recliner, he had some recollection of the previous night’s experience, but the details were fuzzy and he didn’t remember coming into the living room. He was so thirsty.

He slipped into his furry house shoes and limped into the kitchen, his body a tapestry of aches and pains. The roses he’d brought home for Molly had dried up in their vase, and now blood-colored petals lay strewn across the kitchen table.

He called for her, and when she didn’t answer he started toward the bedroom. As he passed the kitchen window, a flurry of movement caught his eye, drawing his gaze. Twenty or thirty turkey buzzards were gathered in the middle of the overgrown lawn. Whatever it was they were feasting upon, it was big.

Overcome with curiosity, Rob opened the sliding glass door and stepped out onto the deck. He watched the birds, fascinated. Then the stench hit him. It was like nothing he had smelled before. His stomach lurched, and he bent over the porch railing to expel its contents onto the weeds below.

He was just about to beat a hasty retreat back into the house when something else caught his eye. Jutting out from the left side of the cluster of birds was a pair of work boots and jean-clad legs disappearing into the throng.

Stomach heaving again, he hurried inside and nearly ran right into his grinning, nude wife.

“My goodness, dear.” Her voice was husky and bemused. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Her lips thinned into a smile more suited to a funeral director than a loving wife.

“I just—”

“You just what, dear?” She peered out the glass door and sighed. A look of understanding mingled with the gleeful twinkle in her eyes as she met his fearful gaze again.

“What have you done, Molly? Who’s that outside?”

The look on her face spoke of ignorant confusion as she walked over to observe the frantic birds in the backyard. Rob wasn’t so easily fooled, though. He knew she had something to do with it.

“It’s nothing dear. Just some old birds.”

“There’s someone out there, Molly. Tell me what’s going on.”

“Why, whatever would I know about it?” Her tone was flippant, her demeanor devoid of concern.

She stared at him with black eyes.

“I need you, Rob,” she hissed.

Rob, finding his courage, pointed an arthritic finger at her. “Tell me what’s going on here. You did something, and I want to know what, Goddammit!”

Molly observed him much like a scientist examines a newly discovered bug which he is about to dissect.

“You like me this way, don’t you, Mr. Arnold? Do you know how hard it is to maintain this beauty at my age, dear?” She threw her head back and chuckled. Rob backed away from Molly, inching his way toward the front door.

“That’s right, mister. To look this good, my body has to feed. Get in here.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you unless it’s to see a doctor. There’s something wrong with you, Moll.” He was pleading with her now. He didn’t know what else to do.

“Molly, I love you, but . . . ” his voice cracked, betraying him.

“Come to bed if you love me,” she replied, her tone sour. “Come with me into the bedroom, Robert. I need your help.”

With that, she turned and marched back down the hall, disappearing into the bedroom.

Rob found himself pinned to his spot in the living room for several minutes. When Molly did not call after him, he started to hope she had fallen asleep. Did she even sleep anymore?

He had to get out, he wasn’t sure if he’d get another chance. If he could get to the truck and make a beeline for town, he could tell someone what had happened, tell them there was a dead man out in the yard. He could do it. The police sub-station was only five miles away.

The house stood in near perfect silence, as if holding its breath, but the calm was broken by slithering, hissing sounds emanating from the bedroom. He imagined Molly squirming, moaning, ensconced in a nest of thin, black snakes, their long sleek bodies lovingly caressing every inch of her.

Then, as he had feared she would, Molly called for him, her voice warbling down the hall like a siren’s song luring a sailor to his death.

He scanned the room for anything that could be used as a weapon. He considered all manner of inane items until he saw a ball-peen hammer lying on the floor underneath the couch. He’d been looking for that hammer for months. He knelt down, grabbed it, and quickly shoved the handle down the back of his pants as he headed for the door.

He almost made it.

“Come to me, Robby, dear. Come and hold me.” Molly purred.

He was almost at the door when something tugged hard at the back of his shirt. He spun about, wrapping himself in sticky black strands. They pierced his clothes, holding him fast, their tips burning his flesh where they touched. He lunged for the doorknob, his fingertips brushing the cool brass, but he was yanked forcibly backward at the last second and his hand closed on empty air. The impact with the floor knocked the wind out of him.

Self-preservation galvanized Rob as he fought an overwhelming panic threatening to do him in. Gasping for air, he pulled his t-shirt over his head and raced down the hall with a defiant bellow.

He regained his feet with great difficulty, back burning, knees full of broken glass, but his fight-or-flight response had taken over. He reached the door again, grasped the knob and pulled—but nothing happened.

The door was locked. Rob twisted desperately at the deadbolt and realized, with a detached sense of horror, that the tiny tentacles were upon him again, attaching themselves to his wrists and forearms. He felt them penetrating the exposed flesh of his back and chest. There were hundreds, perhaps thousands of them now. His body blazed with pain, but still he fought. He flailed about, but each one he detached or ripped apart was instantly replaced by another and another, coming at him faster and faster.

He knew he was outmatched, but refused to surrender. They flooded into the room, seizing every exposed centimeter of his flesh. He was pulled down once more, and dragged kicking and screaming along the slick hardwood floor toward the bedroom. He valiantly clawed at the floor, but his fragile fingernails splintered like dead twigs in a windstorm, leaving bloody smears where his oozing fingertips still scrabbled for purchase. The tentacles dragged him into the room, hauled him up onto the bed, and deposited him beside his beautiful, hideous wife, now so completely immersed in slimy appendages they all but obscured her.

Molly rolled over onto her side to face him. Her mouth opened wide, much wider than any human mouth was meant to stretch. A half-dozen tubes of various sizes and colors rose noiselessly from her throat to slither around Rob’s head, before coiling and looping around his entire body until their hold on him was complete.

Helpless, he watched as the ends of the tubes opened like mouths, mouths lined with tiny needle-sharp teeth. They got down to business, each attaching to a different part of his body, biting ferociously into his face, neck and head.

In the midst of this frenzy, he remembered the hammer. In a final act of desperation, he reached down and grabbed the wooden handle, pulling it free of his waistband. He strained against the tubes that bound him to swing the hammer down with all his might, delivering what he hoped would be a lethal blow.

The hammer connected with Molly’s forehead. Rob felt the thud of impact, and a terrible moment when he realized that if any part of his wife was still in that body, she would never survive the blow. Then the tentacles erupted in a furor, flailing and twisting until they located the hammer. Snapping tight, they coiled around the weapon and the hammer was yanked free and thrown across the room.

Rob groped at the slimy tentacles wrapped around his neck and head, attempted to pry them from him but was unable to pull them away as his clutching fingers merely slipped and slid along their slick oozing surfaces. A worm thick as a radiator hose rose up from somewhere below and curled around his throat, constricting. His eyes followed the tentacle to its point of origin between the Molly-thing’s legs.

He floundered spastically as the multitudinous mouths chewed and sucked his very essence away. He checked Molly’s head to see if his strike with the hammer had caused any damage.

His blow had effectively destroyed the top of her head, which now wobbled from left to right in time with the jerking of the tubes radiating from its still-gaping maw. Black sludge mixed with the blood and grey matter that spilled from the ragged hole.

Rob gagged as a huge tentacle coiled around his throat. The smaller ones continuously sucked the life-force from his withering body. The Molly-thing moaned and sighed as Rob’s essence transferred into it, satisfying its unspeakable appetite.

As the room began to blacken at the corners of his vision, he found himself thinking about that framed photo of Molly and him, the one over the television where they stared together into a horizon that seemed to swallow the road. He experienced a fleeting moment of soul-crushing clarity as he realized his own road had just been swallowed. He had finally reached the vanishing point.

THE MOLLY-THING SUPPED upon Rob until only a twitching, hollow carcass remained. Their work finished, the tentacles disappeared beneath their host’s skin.

The Molly-thing breathed a ragged but satisfied sigh, as the gaping wound in its head stitched itself back together.

It resumed its position on the bed.

STEVE AND SYLVIA arrived at their childhood home in the rented Beemer a little after noon. Dad’s truck was in the driveway, but it was covered by dozens of turkey vultures.

They made their way to the front door and rather than knocking, simply walked inside. This was their parent’s house and therefore a customary entrance for them, as no one in the family had ever bothered with knocking.

The house was dark and still.

“Mom?” Steve called out, concerned.

The siblings stared in dismay at the disarray of their parent’s house.

“I think we should go get help, Steve,” Sylvia whispered.

 “What if they’re here? What if they’re hurt? We can’t just leave.”

Taking a single tentative step forward into the trashed living room, Steve was about to call to his parents again when his mother’s voice sang out from the back of the house.

“Come into the bedroom, my darlings. I have so much to show you.”