| |
My eyes fluttered in response to a hand jerking my shoulder back and forth. I didn’t want to wake up. I wanted to stay where I was. It was a lovely place. I’d seen my deceased grandmother and grandfather and friends I’d lost along the way. They were all there telling me that I had to go back, to be tough, that I would survive, that I was needed. I kept arguing that I didn’t want to return. I wanted to be with them. I begged them to let me stay, to protect me, and never let me go. Their sorrowful eyes told me that they couldn’t do as I asked. I had to leave them, or rather, they had to leave me.
One by one, they all faded into darkness. All except one who’d been in the back, obscured by those ahead of her—Betty. She walked toward me, calm, and confident. She held her hand out for me to grab. I did just that, and I felt warmth, compassion, and serenity. She smiled up at me from her still small stature of 5'3" and told me it wasn’t my time. She assured me I’d be okay if I stayed strong. She embraced me and let me go.
I woke with a startling fear, followed by an overwhelming sense of despair. Cold wood planks and musty air taunted me. I’d been away from that crawl space. I’d been free, though it concerned me that my freedom was amongst spirits. I believed in the afterlife, and in the notion that there’s more around us than we can see. I’d just never expected to witness it while I was still alive.
Betty’s ghostly words came back to me. I remembered what she told me—that I’d survive. I resisted her, told her I wanted to stay with her, with everyone I loved, but her pacifying smile confirmed what the others had said—it wasn’t my time.
“Hey. Hey, are you awake? Please be awake.”
“I’m awake.” I wished I wasn’t. “Just give me a minute. I can’t see very well.” I opened and closed my eyes for a few seconds, focusing on the scared voice beside me.
Cardboard and decaying paper clippings brushed against the pads of my fingers. The imaginary warmth of the light in the corner drew me closer. I crawled toward it, not caring if I looked crazy or if the stranger would follow. I laid down next to it and patted the area alongside me for the stranger to sit or lay beside me.
The light was on, which meant it was nighttime, but which night? It could be the same day, or two days later, three days a week...
“What’s your name?” I asked the girl I’d never met, trapped, like me, in the crawl space of my house.
“It’s Kristen, but I go by Kris. How long have you been here?” she asked, her delicate fingers fidgeting with the waves in her long, strawberry blonde hair.
“The last I knew it had been five days, but I don’t remember when that was, sorry,” I answered, too emotionally and physically spent to sugar-coat the gravity of our situation. “Have I been out long?”
“Awhile. After he brought you in here, you tossed and turned for the longest time. When you finally relaxed, you’d become so still I feared you’d died. That was when I woke you. I don’t want you to die, not without me. Please.”
Her words sucked the breath from my chest. She wasn’t begging me to save her, rather to not leave without her, even if that meant dying together.
“I wish I could say I’m going to get us out of here but saying that would be a lie. I can’t promise you that I won’t leave you, but I will do my best not to, okay? I’m sorry, but that’s all I have to give you. I didn’t think I’d make it this long, and now, with two of us here, I don’t know what will happen next.”
The dim light rising through the floorboards highlighted the fear and panic on her face and in her eyes. I’d scared her. Maybe that wasn’t a bad thing. She needed to hear the truth. I couldn’t guarantee either of us would survive, only that I would try to free us both. Hopefully, she would try, too.
“Now, why don’t you tell me who you are and why you are here,” I said matter-of-factly. The timid, polite girl who inherited this house was all but gone. In her place stood a woman determined not to bend at the hands of the monster dwelling below us.
She quietly cleared her throat and looked down at her folded hands resting in her lap. “I live five houses down from you, on the same side of the street. I noticed you moving in, and I thought I’d wait till evening to come and wish you a welcome to the neighborhood. My dad got sick, though, and was rushed to the emergency room, so I didn’t come here that night or the following night because we had to take him home and get him settled. By the time I got into my house, I was too beat even to try to be sociable. That was Wednesday. I figured I’d wait until the weekend to see you, assuming that might be better for you anyway.
“Saturday morning, I walked down here and rang your doorbell, but no one came to the door. I saw that your car was here, so I rang once more. When you still didn’t answer, I figured you didn’t want the company. I was already down the stairs of your front porch when the door opened behind me. I turned to see an older couple standing in the doorway. I thought maybe I had gotten the wrong house, but before I could voice my doubts, they said they were your parents and that they were sure you would love to have company.
“They invited me in. I suggested I wait in your living room, and they went into the kitchen to get you. I thought it was odd that they didn’t just call for you if you were only around the corner, but I didn’t overthink it. Then I heard a scuffle and a glass break. I ran into the kitchen and saw both of them standing in the middle of the room looking, not at the glass that had fallen, but at me. I screamed as they lunged for me, then it all went quiet. I woke up in here.”
I grabbed her hand and squeezed, trying to offer some semblance of comfort. She was there because of me. Heavy tears bounced off the top of my hand. I didn’t blame her for needing to cry. I only blamed her for doing it in the space where I’d promised myself there’d be no tears until I was freed of this crawl space, this house, this waking nightmare.
I shook away my disturbed and demented frustrations. It wasn’t Kris’s fault for not knowing that I didn’t want to cry or hear anyone else cry either.
“I’m sorry this happened to you.”
“This has happened to you, too. You don’t need to apologize to me for their crimes.” She squeezed my hand back.
My hand jerked out of hers, startling us both. Her warm skin was too familiar to his. As his image blinded my sight, my breasts, legs, arms, everything he’d touched, fondled, or penetrated burned from the marrow of my bones to the blood running through my veins. I became aware of bruises I hadn’t yet felt, emotional pain I wasn’t yet ready to face. Just then, the lingering acidic, putrid scent he’d left behind on my skin seared into my flesh.
I brought my legs to my chest, positioned my head in between my knees, and breathed past the swimming, nauseating, pulsing pain inside my skull.
I flinched when she rested her hand on my shoulder. She withdrew it immediately. “Is there anything I can do for you?” She chuckled. “That was a stupid question.”
“Actually, it wasn’t.” I took two deep breaths before raising my head and lowering my legs. “I know this is going to seem silly, but there are newspaper clippings in piles throughout this crawl space and, as stupid as it might seem, I need to read them.”
I expected her to ask why I needed to read them, to which I’d have no rational explanation.
She surprised me by asking, “Which one do you want?”
“That one.” I pointed to a stack to her right that I’d last been reading from. She handed me a clipping from the top of the pile. “Thank you.”
I held it near the ray of light creeping through the floorboards. February 2, 1980.
“February 2nd. Groundhog Day. A day meant to signify an early spring or an extended winter. But, in our town, it’s been a cold, lifeless winter since October 1978. A dense storm cloud looms over us. A constant sense of foreboding has settled down on us, on our homes, our schools. It’s an uncertainty we have come to live with and, to some degree, accept.
Many of our citizens have left. The few original folks who remain are too stubborn to uproot, convinced one day we’ll regain what we’ve lost.
Being a journalist means my job is to bring you the news. Wrap a story in fact, but keep it entertaining enough for you to want to read it. Over the last year or so, all I seem to be doing is writing “Dear John” letters. I send these articles out to unnamed readers, filling your heads with gruesome details, knowing those details will seep into your minds and set up permanent residency there. For that, I am sorry.
I wish I could say I wasn’t going to do the same again, but it’s my job to report the truth.
It is with a heavy heart that I say, there has been not one, but two bodies found. Same location. Same MO. Still no leads. The authorities have been unable to identify the two victims, as of yet, but it has been confirmed that both victims appear to be in their early twenties—the youngest victims thus far.
The killer(s) is still at large. The same warning applies: Be careful; don’t walk alone at night; don’t open your doors for strangers; and do not let strangers into your homes.
Most importantly, teach your children to do the same.
I am going to end this article, not with another warning or an empty, meaningless monologue, but with a farewell. I am leaving the paper. I cannot say I’ll never write again because it’s my great hope that one day I’ll pick up my pen and notepad to write the story of the killer(s) capture. Perhaps from his/her mouth. But until that day—if ever it occurs—I am leaving you with my final words of wisdom:
I have worked with this paper for over twenty years, and I have loved every minute of it. These recent occurrences, though, have left me numb yet aching for the victims, their families, and our once peaceful town. I can’t go to another crime scene and see another unnamed body, a body that was once a husband or a wife, a son or a daughter. I can’t keep taking those victims home with me. The images of their mutilated corpses haunt my nights and days. I hope that you will all forgive me for my cowardice, but I’ve had enough.
So, farewell to all of you, and especially to my loyal readers; you made my job fun and enjoyable even on my not so great days. Keep reading. Pay attention to the news and daily events, and never stop hoping for an end to the madness!”
~BD
I lowered the article onto my lap. The reporter’s sense of hopelessness, of total despair, dripped from every letter typed onto the paper. I couldn’t imagine a life in which I didn’t work for a newspaper. This reporter felt the same way. Whoever this killer was truly did kill more than just the victims.
“You really get into what you read, don’t you?” Kris asked with a quizzical expression on her face.
“I suppose I do,” I said, unsure if she’d tried to talk to me while I was reading. “These articles were important to the woman who lived here, the woman who left me this house. Somehow, I have to figure out what their importance is to me now, before it’s too late.”
“That’s...interesting,” she said.
“You mean odd. It’s okay. You can say it. I know it sounds crazy, believe me, I do, but I have to do it anyway.”
“We all have our ways of coping,” she began. She thought I was delusional, having a nervous breakdown. While both were probable, that wasn’t what was happening. It was a sense of completion that I sought, a sense of closure, even if it was from crimes that happened decades ago. In some strange way, discovering that even one victim received justice offered me a sliver of hope that one day I might also find peace.
“Did something happen while I was reading?” I asked, uninterested in defending my sanity.
The air changed between us and all around us. Kris’s silence became the only thing I heard, my singular focus.
“I could hear them talking in the distance,” she whispered, her voice trembled. “I knew they weren’t in the kitchen, so I crawled over there.” She pointed to the far side of the crawl space, toward the corner opposite where the kitchen light came through. “There’s a small hole in the floor that looks down into the master bedroom. They got quiet, and I was afraid they knew I was listening, but then I heard another voice—they weren’t alone anymore.”
I’d stopped listening when she said she could see into the master bedroom. Did that mean she saw what he did to me? Could she hear my screams?
“Did you hear me?” she asked with urgency. “There’s another person here, a man. He sounds like he’s around our age, mid-twenties, but I can’t be sure. I thought you might have been able to hear too, but you were deep into that article.”
I turned away from her piercing stare, afraid of the secrets she knew, the things she’d seen. Shame churned the acid in my stomach into a toxic cocktail. She might not have heard or seen me. That’s what I had to believe if I ever wanted to look her in the eye again.
I crawled over to the area she’d pointed to, put my ear to the floorboards, and listened.
“You really shouldn’t have done that. It’s not proper manners, especially of a young man such as yourself,” Joe said, his tone dripping with self-righteousness.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know. Please. Please, I won’t bother you again. Just let me leave. Please?”
It was a futile attempt, but I gave the stranger credit for trying. What came next was like the sound of a bat hitting a baseball, only it was more likely Joe’s tight fist against the new guy’s jaw.
“What the hell was that?” Kris shouted.
I reached across the small gap and clamped my hand against her mouth. Her eyes widened. She was panicked, as was I. There was nothing but silence from downstairs. We held our breath. The stagnant air grew more oppressive with every quiet second that passed. When heavy footsteps thudded against the carpeted stairs, there was little doubt that Joe had heard us and was pissed. His steps stopped outside the crawl space door. He unlocked it and commanded us to get out.
I led, trying to keep Kris as safely behind me as I could, but once we were in the spare bedroom, Joe pulled us apart and stood between us. He gripped both of our upper arms and dragged us downstairs, both of us tripping and stumbling as he picked up the pace.
He threw us into the master bedroom. We collapsed onto the bed, our legs bouncing off the side as we fought against gravity.
Doris stood in the corner of the room, watching her husband watch me. Her eyes moved to mine, then Kris’s, and then to the new guy sitting beside Kris. Her eyes were as dead as they had been the last time I was in this room. Joe’s, however, were wide, raging pools of black tar. He was losing control.
“Hey, Joe, you know I was getting lonely upstairs without you,” I said. Kris and I were dead if I couldn’t get him to calm down. “As nice as our time together had been, I’d hoped you’d spare some alone time with me.” Pieces of myself I didn’t know existed began to die. What was I doing? How would I go through with this? I barely survived last time. Would it be possible to survive a second time?
Kris’s body, tall and slender like mine, shook beside me. She was why I was doing this.
Oh, god, please let it be worth it.
The color in his face slowly crept down a few shades of red before settling on a warm flesh tone. “I think I fell asleep up there because I had the most amazing dream about you, but when I woke, you were nowhere in sight. Did I not please you?” I asked, the not-so-distant memory still fresh in my mind. I hadn’t pleased him, which is why I landed back in the crawl space. I had to hope he didn’t remember that.
I’d do whatever I could to help the two innocent bystanders who’d made the mistake of visiting my house. It was my fault they were there. I was intent on doing all I could to keep them safe.
“Erin, you were perfect. As sweet as I knew you would be. I think there are some things we need to practice on, but I know you will work out just fine. I wish these two hadn’t interfered with our day,” he nodded his head toward Kris and the new guy, his eyes never leaving mine, “but they have, and that is unacceptable. They must be taught a lesson. It is God’s will.” His breathing was calm and regular. One crisis averted. Now, on to the next.
“I understand that these two are unexpected visitors,” I hiked my right shoulder toward Kris, bumping into hers, “but surely we could let them be for a while so you and I can have some quiet time together?”
My heart threatened to choke me on its way out of my throat. Breaths came in quick bursts, with long pauses before another would come. My head was swimming. My body was hot to the touch but cold on the inside.
His lips curved upward like the Cheshire Cat. His black eyes brightened enough for me to see the brown underneath. That was the answer I’d needed. Only God knew what I’d endure, but it would be worth it for the two silent and shaking bodies sitting with me on the bed to get a reprieve.
“Doris,” Joe barked. She scurried to his side. “Take these two upstairs. Give them some time to reflect on the sins they have committed. I will deal with them later. I will see to it that God forgives you, one way or another.” He spoke directly to Kris and the newbie.
Before Kris rose, I let my fingers graze the top of her hand. That one touch had to say all I could not: “You’ll be fine. I’ll protect you. Stay strong. Please.” A barely perceptible nod, and I knew she’d gotten the message. I might not be able to save her, but damn it, I’d die trying.
Newbie gave me a sideways glance with his head hung low as he walked out of the room. Poor guy. I wished I could do more for him, but sacrificing my soul was all I had left to offer.