Fault

Mistakes. We make them all of our lives. It isn't something we grow out of.  When I was a little shit, I covered my mistakes with bullying. If I was unhappy, screwed up a test or anything of the remotely negative nature, someone ELSE had to pay a  hefty price.  That day was special. I was just raw and so everyone was on my list. Gregory Bateman was a scared rabbit of a kid; short with glasses and baggy clothes.  Nothing he wore told me he was made of money so I didn't think anyone would care if he cleaned the board with his face. I didn't expect his father's lawyer to call my house with threats. I didn't actually mean to break his nose or dislocate his shoulder. My bad.

So I got home and of COURSE my doting mother was already in tears; sobbing about how careless and mean I was and how could I do this to our family AGAIN? Wailing about having to move AGAIN. I felt a little bad I guess. Maybe that is why I knocked all the pictures off the table and broke the vase. I didn't mean  for her to get cut. I ran to my room not because she told me to, but to stop the anger bubbling in my head. I wanted to be alone and to focus and come back to being me. I remember hearing myself shouting, I saw myself pulling things off the walls and swatting brick-a-brack from the tables in the hall on my way to my room.  I flopped on to the safety of my bed and smooshed my face into the pillow wishing I would drown in cool feathers.  

When my father arrived home, I heard mother softly crying.  She was afraid of "losing me to him" I wasn't sure who she was talking about. Had she gone daft and spiritual in an afternoon? My father's voice boomed in the beginning, sailing threats up the stairs to me of military school or some prison style asylum for unruly heathens like myself but Mother kept shushing and whispering in a panicky tone like they were trying to hide me. My antics had worn me out and sleep crept in soft and warm. I didn't care that I missed dinner. Mother's meatloaf is dry and I didn't want mashed potatoes anyway.

I don't know what time it was. Late. The house was dark and quiet so they had either abandoned me or gone to bed. I smirked at the thought of the former. They would never; unconditional love has its perks.  I rolled over and looked out the window. The day had been warm and bright but now a sweet dense fog was crawling across the grass, filling the neighborhood.  I closed my eyes and listened to the breeze.  I heard a plucking on my screen.  Thinking it was just June bugs, I sighed and breathed in the night.  Then there was a scratch or a pulling.  It was slow and deliberate. I felt my skin prick. I closed my eyes tightly this time, determined to keep the fear out of my mind. My name drifted gently to my ears in a hush. "Kyyyyyle" It seemed on the brink of giggling; a "lookie what I have for you! You'll LOVE it" kind of tone. So I let in the tiniest bit of light, then a little more, and much to my regret, my eyes focused.

It hulked around the window as if trying to squeeze in frame.  it's hair was white tight and fuzzy like a frayed cotton ball.  The eye sockets were crimson rimmed loosely holding milky clouded eyes.  Its flesh seemed rough and powdery almost crumbling away revealing oozing layers of brownish-grey decaying tissue that appeared to bubble like a baked pie.  The mouth was gone; sewn shut long ago yet a tear to the left was what it used to consume.  it contained flat grinding molars which now served as front teeth gnawing through sinewy strands of facial muscle, the tongue protruded like a moist grub in rotting soil.

"You're not real." I choked in the dark. I prayed I was right, now understanding what my mother was talking about earlier in the evening. I was not sent to my room as punishment but as protection; from this.

"But I am Kyle."

"Monsters aren't real." the cold terror hitched my voice and I was unable to stifle my sobbing.

"I am not the monster. YOU are. You hit that boy Kyle. You hurt your mother, your father, you belong with me. It's not your fault. Isn't that what you say?  I will pluck you like a weed, strip you of your flesh to make new for me.  I will cut away your skinny muscles, dine on them like the finest steak; better than veal my boy.  I will drink your tears, reveling in the cries of your anguished soul.  Your bones will bleach along the rails of my cart that carries those not as lucky as you; those who are not dead ~ yet. You and I will be one." 

I heard a slurping noise as if it had excited itself to hunger and a sandy gritty noise as the teeth came together in anticipation.  While it spoke, it opened the window and drifted through the room like a mist; a cloud of dread. I begged to be left in peace to right my wrongs as the fingers tightly wrapped and laced with differing sheets of skin in various stages of decay began to unroll the blanket exposing my pajamas.  With filthy, curved nails as sharp as daggers, it cut away buttons and my pale skin flashed in the night.  A leathery stretch was its smile when it lowered its skull and took a long breath.  I failed to hold my bladder against such inexplicable horror nor could I scream.  

But the door burst open to reveal my mother and father huddled together and moving as one.  They mumbled and muttered forgiveness for me and salvation of my soul and life.  They wanted me since I was the only one to survive. They would do a better job. They could save me if given the chance the others had not.

Others? Brothers? Sisters? 

"Then the deal is struck" came the rough crackling voice abruptly.  It sounded like dead leaves across gravel, yet tired and irritated at the whining of my parents.  "To harm again will bring great loss." and it turned glaring directly into my quivering soul, wagging its finger and shaking its head slowly; deliberately.  It left us there with a cloying muddy smell, our relief,and terrified silence.

We never spoke of it again and things changed.  I changed.  It stayed away for the most part though sometimes I saw it ( or imagined so) whenever I became angry or thought I had been wronged and wanted to seek a little retribution.  If I came to close to "failing" I would hear my name on the wind; a reminder of what could come; more than a storm, worse than punishment.

My parents passed away and I married.  The circle of life continued for me and I lost my childhood; its memories. I gave it up completely  to live recklessly.  I drank too much and caroused a bit. I was mean to my wife and detached from my daughter.  One particularly bad night after having lost my job because I was late(again) after a binge, I stopped at the bar to have a pick me up. I wanted to feel bad about my predicament, but found release and satisfaction at being on the wrong side of the tracks.  It fit me like a glove; like saying hello to a very good old friend.  So I hooked up with a woman of loose morals out in the parking lot, but we had had too much to drink ~ I had bought most of them~ and I was unable to fulfil my part of the deal and she laughed at me. Shame. 

She shouldn't have done that. I didn't want to hit her or choke her or hit her head on the wall... over ... and over... and... when she slumped to the ground I laughed. I loved the smell of warm pennies and fear. I made that. I dragged her limp, wasted body around the back corner and covered her. It would be days before anyone if anyone missed her or came here to look for her.  I wiped my face and went home to my life. But I had been freed.  The spree continued weekly in different towns near by. I always chose the darkest bars and the seediest women. I let my anger take control just for a while and it calmed me; made the rest of the time tolerable... I just had to hang on until I could get out.  I figured it was better than the alternative; kill my wife and family. I simply needed this... hobby. My  wife was disappointed in me; my drinking and extramarital adventures; feeling free to admonish me at every turn. I pointed out it was her fault for being such a cold, controlling bitch. I think that was when I began to bag two a night. 

It was late in the fall ~ almost my daughter's sixth birthday.  I was supposed to go out and get her a gift but found one for me instead.  I was close to home so felt it safe to walk.  It had been warm and bright but I noticed a thick fog rolling in through town.  In my drunken stupor, I couldn't understand the tightness in my belly, the puckering of my ass or the waves of salt causing me to swallow like one of Pavlov's dogs.  I began to rush home.  By the time I got there, locked the door and slipped up the stairs, I was clammy and gasping.  I heard the wind billowing through the house. It seemed to be calling my name.  My mind was cloudy but urged me to get down the hall to the baby's room quickly. I tripped on one of her toys and stumbled into her room, falling to my knees and scratching my nose along the shag rug, I felt the flesh rip and sting.  I heard the soft tears of the women in my life, filled with horror and confusion.  I searched the darkness but saw nothing. My blood froze when my ears detected the light plucking on the screen; the long drawing scratch.

"Look." it commanded. I finally remembered the voice.  Dead leaves.  Gravel.  It was my turn to sob.

"LOOK." it snapped again. And I did. I saw my wife's body, free of skin and hair.  It was as if  the monster had simply tried her on for size; to its chest, it hugged my daughter.

"No. Me. It was my fault. Take me." I begged and reached up.  I touched a perfect pink little toe and the baby cried, reaching for me calling for me.

"Broken promises." it cackled and I smelled the most sickening stench of warm pennies and fear. 

The scream came from what was left of my heart ripping apart my vocal cords. The bodies of my family lay in a blameless heap. I crawled toward them, throwing myself over them like a blanket, hugging them.  I screeched my apologies.  It snickered and loomed over me.  I felt the flick of its blade-like nail along the back of my neck.  It lifted me to its height and wagged its finger, shook its head and hauled me into the night where it tied me to a bone laden cart with rope made of hair. I sat and watched as it devoured my family and began to at last fulfill the promise it had made so many years ago.

I cried for an eternity, praying to a God that had given up on me; so righteously. For after all...

it was my fault.


So, whadja think of THAT one? heehee kinda creepy and gross.  I love it though. So who WAS the monster? Did you think about what the parents had to be like to lose all the "others"? This was one I just sat down and banged out. There are advantages to my insomnia (though I confess I "heard" things and had to look over my shoulder a time or two!) I'm pretty happy with it even though it's a bit gorey.  Well, I will be away for a few days on a much needed vacation. So I hope you enjoy your week. I'll see you in a little bit.  Thank you for coming by. It's nice to share some time with you.

Next time we're together, I'll be all tan, relaxed and ... ahahaha that's funny isn't it? Ohhh I can't even finish that one... 

Be good to yourself.
Tessa