Amid the Recesses: A Short Story Collection of Fear (8 page)

She shook from head to toe
as she peered into the dark room. The mobile turned around and
around. It sang its provocative lullaby. The light in the center of
the spinning mobile beamed through the carved shapes of each animal
and they circled the room. Each projected animal crawled along the
wall with more confidence than Irene. When the light hit her eye
with the passing of each projection, she was blinded. Light faded
into darkness and darkness into light as she stared at the spinning
mobile.

The sound was too much for
Irene to bear. The melancholy melody ripped at her heart. She
stepped into the threshold of the door. Her bare feet rose over
obstacles—she dodged animal-printed wallpaper and she stepped over
unopened bags from the baby shower. She scanned the room for an
intruder. Her eyes followed the projected shaped across the walls.
She waited to see if something would be revealed when the light
passed. Nothing was. She reached to the cradle to brace herself—it
was a grounding point in the center of the room. She stared down at
its emptiness. The horse passed. The elephant followed. The lion
stalked behind. The room became colder. The door ticked closed but
remained cracked.

She grabbed the spinning
mobile and it clicked as the motor fought to turn against her grip.
The parade stopped but the song played on. She ripped the mobile
from the hook above the cradle. The hook fell into the cradle and
the rattle of plastic was heard as it impacted. The light in the
mobile shut off and there was complete darkness. The lullaby played
on.

Irene reached for something to hold
her up far from the cradle. She heard plastic shifting again coming
from the center of the room.

“
No. No, I left you there!”
She cried.

The blackness consumed
everything. The sound of moving plastic intensified from the cradle
and then from somewhere below it. There was a scuttle of the sound
across the room. The door opened a few feet and closed again, which
shed light and diminished it before anything could be seen. The
sound of rolling plastic went down the hall. Irene perched against
a wall and hyperventilated.

Irene ran for the door
without breath. She flipped the light switch on and off, but the
light never responded. She pulled the door open and cast a dim beam
of light from the hallway into the room. The beam followed a now
bloody path from the cradle to the door. Fragments of black plastic
were shredded inside of the cradle.

Irene took a single step
out into the hallway. The hallway was riddled with blood—wet and
thick blood that stuck to the bottom of her bare feet. She followed
the wet path toward the living room. In the living room, she heard
a barbaric metal pounding from outside. She approached the window
and peeked outside through the blinds.

A trash truck lifted the
building’s dumpster in the alley. The giant, bladed arms rocked the
dumpster back and forth, emptying black bag after black bag of
people’s unwanted items. She thought of the sound she’d heard in
the hallway trash chute—
ma-ma,
ma-ma.
She shuddered and bit her lip. She
tasted blood. She watched the trash truck’s compactor push against
the trash. The bags collapsed and smashed under the pressure of the
violent, mechanical wall. She heard the crunch of plastic behind
her and she spun. There, in the middle of the living room was an
empty black trash bag, stretched thin and jutted at tiny points. A
slick wetness covered the torn bag which made it look more fluid
than solid. The apartment reeked then of death. She glanced to her
left as a subtle movement caught her attention.

A fleshy cord dragged into
the hallway. The cord left a thin bloody line in its wake. Irene
shot a hand over her mouth but could not stop the sickness—she
vomited into her hand. The grey mush split between her thin blue
fingers. She stumbled forward and wiped her hand across the towel
that covered her body. The cord disappeared from her vantage in the
living room. She followed it and saw the cord dragged into the
bathroom. The sound of water gushed from the bathtub after the
squeal of turning knobs. She paused. She pinched her arms until
they were bruised.

“
Wake up! Wake up!” She
screamed. “Please—Just wake up!”

The sound of water
intensified as it seemed overflow from the tub. Irene stepped into
the hallway. Her feet squished below her and blood bubbled around
each step. Bits of gore tangled in her toes, but she did not stop.
She peered into the bathroom and watched as the water overflowed
and flooded the bathroom’s tile floor. The water was clear from the
faucet and blood red as it poured over the side of the
tub.

Irene’s body convulsed as
she waded into the flooding water. Her hand shook as she walked
near to the wall and stared toward the tub. As she neared, she
tried to discern the source of the blood. The opaque red masked
what hid beneath the water.

“
I-I can’t. I just can’t.”
Irene fell to her knees. Red water splashed and speckled the walls.
Her knees roared in pain. She gripped the edge of the flooded tub
and pulled herself over it. She smelled the dead stink. She eyed
the bits and scraps of what looked like ground beef. She reached up
and turned off the water. A sick silence enveloped the bathroom.
Irene’s hand quaked as it neared the water. She held her breath and
whispered, “Please.”

She shoved her hand into
the water and pulled the obstruction from the drain. A spongy mass
curled around her hand and she tugged it back toward her. She felt
resistance. She was paralyzed. She held in her hand an umbilical
cord.

The bloody water croaked and gasped as
it was sucked into the drain. The water level fell. Irene felt her
consciousness slipping away. Her hand opened and the soggy cord
laid flat within it. Her eyes rolled to the center of the tub as
something was exposed. She saw the top of a round, hairy
head.

The sound of the mobile
came again and the melody rang through the bathroom. The room went
dark and the images of the horse, the elephant, and the lion
swirled like a tornado inside of the bathroom without a source. The
light passed over the bathtub and she saw the closed eyes. She
released the cord and it fell into the water with a nauseating
plop. The light came again and she saw the blue lips and downturned
chin. She rose on rubbery knees. The light came again the eyes shot
open and the mouth twisted. Glossy black beads stared at her. The
mouth of the exposed infant opened and black muck poured from it
and trickled down babyish features. Irene ran.

Irene ran from the
bathroom. She ran across the path of blood. She opened the front
door of the apartment. She ran down the stairs. She ran from
building and out into the street. Her screams were subdued by her
death, which came as a car shot into her. She flew through the air
without wings and her lifeless body fell into a muddled pool of
flesh and gore. Her eyes were open in an infinite stare.

RETURN TO THE TABLE OF
CONTENTS

Chasing Crows

Doctor Phillip Olsen sat in
his black leather chair across from Lisa Crowley. The silence
lingered. Lisa tried to comprehend what was said.

“
She lost her mother
tragically in a car accident. Her father later to depression. A
child’s mind, barely aware of mortality, will deal with events like
these in peculiar ways. You’re in a difficult position, Lisa, by
taking her on as your responsibility.” Doctor Olsen’s final
statement kept with her: “Mental illness is difficult to assess,
difficult to treat, and demands profound empathy of those willing
to help those that bear it. Depression, what we’re dealing with
here, hangs within the mind like an black crow, fluttering and
flapping for attention, unwilling to allow one to quickly forget
the darkness of its shroud.”

Desirae Crowley sat outside
of the door, buried in her heavy, pink jacket. Her rain boots swung
back and forth beneath the chair as she finished jotting down the
name “Ian” on an envelope soon tucked away in her backpack.
Meanwhile, her Aunt Lisa and Doctor Olsen shook hands and concluded
the session.

“
Ready to go, hun?” Lisa
asked.

Desirae peeked around her
aunt to Doctor Olsen, who smiled and nodded himself. She examined
the doctor before she accepted her aunt’s hand. They stepped out
together.

The drive home was mostly
silent. Lisa attempted casual banter, “So, you’ll be starting
school again in a couple of weeks. Are you excited?”

Desirae didn’t respond. She
stared out the window and watched the cars in the opposite lane
zoom by. She experienced the vertigo of staring at rooted trees
while the car moved. She focused on each tree as it came into view,
then the next as one skipped away. She saw a large black bird on
one of the limbs of those trees. It stared her way as she passed.
The two locked eyes until the bird was in their wake.

Lisa tried again, “Doctor
Olsen says you’re doing well. That you’re starting to open up a
little to him.” She placed a hand on Desirae’s leg and patted it.
“Feeling any better?”

Desirae again said nothing.
She saw children as they pulled into their neighborhood. They
played in their yards and enjoyed one another. She didn’t look like
other children. She hadn’t expressed an ounce of joy or a bit of
excitement. Desirae learned something in the time she’d experienced
those feelings: the less she divulged, the less she was questioned.
She chose silence because it was easier for her.

They arrived at the house.
Lisa parked and Desirae rushed out of the car. She waited at the
door until Lisa arrived to unlock it and she went in. She sprinted
toward the stairs and toward her room.

Lisa called out, “Dinner
will be in a few hours, sweetheart. Alright?”

Desirae looked back,
mustered a smile, and nodded before running on. She sat at her bed
and stared out the window. Hidden from her was the happiness of the
children in their lawns. Lost were the waving tree branches. She
stared at the empty, blue sky. She placed her backpack to the side
and fell flat into her bed. She still saw the blue of the sky as
she turned to look at the ceiling. It faded to white. She fell
asleep. She awoke later to tapping.

Desirae opened a sleepy eye
in search of the sound. Her gaze fell on the window. She shifted
clumsily in her puffy jacket until she sat upright. Outside of the
window, a crow, much like the bird she’d seen earlier, sat on the
exterior sill. The crow’s head canted and cocked as if skipping
frames in reality. It seemed curious of Desirae. It rapped at the
window like a coded message, broken and without rhythm. Desirae
rolled from the bed and approached the window. The crow stopped its
drumming but remained on the sill. The girl glided to her knees and
stared into the beady grey eyes of the bird, over the slope of its
oily beak. Desirae lifted a hand and extended it toward the window.
The door behind her burst open and Desirae’s eyes shot back to
it.

“
Desi, it’s time for
dinner.” Lisa said as she wiped her hands in a rag.

Desirae looked back and the
bird was gone. Her eyes returned to Lisa, doe-wide. She stood with
the hastened impulse of a child hiding something and Lisa saw
it.

“
What are you doing, Desi?”
Her eyes narrowed. Lisa walked forward and looked out the window,
to the sky and to the ground.

Desirae answered.
“Nothing.” She moved around her aunt and left the
bedroom.

That evening, Lisa sat
beside Desirae’s bed. She combed a soft hand through Desirae’s
auburn hair as she laid in her bed. Plush white covers sat as high
as her nose. Desirae’s eyes became heavy. Lisa rose and placed a
gentle kiss to her forehead. She prepared to leave the room, but
Desirae called out, “May I have Sam?”

Lisa smirked and glanced to
the closet. She went to the mirrored sliding door of the closet and
opened it. She pulled a small plush scarecrow from deep within. The
doll had long, black, stringy yarn hair and button eyes. Its mouth
was a series of ‘X’s in thin black stitching. Its face and hands
were a rough, burlap material. Denim overalls covered its tiny
torso and brown leather boots its feet. Lisa looked at the queer,
sentimental object before she gave it to her niece. The girl swept
it up and tucked it into the blanket beside her. Lisa kissed her
cheek and went to the door.

“
Goodnight, Desi.” Lisa’s
hand settled on the light switch.

“
Goodnight.” Desirae
whispered back with Sam held close.

The light went out and the
door closed. Desirae fell asleep.

Tap, tap, tap.

Desirae shot up. Sam was
gone.

“
Sam?” She
cried.

She looked to the window
and found the crow. A smothering buzz of flapping wings and cawing
lurched in a bassy drone behind the feathered harbinger. Desirae
peeled the comforter away and swung her bare feet and pajama-clad
legs from the bed. Her toes dug into the padded carpet. She adopted
an unnatural grace in her trek toward the window. She did not want
to disturb the creature. When she arrived at the window, her jaw
fell and her mouth hung open.

A cloud of miasmic black
thickened the sky and turned a dark night into a vacuous space
without stars. Her aunt’s green yard was a dusky sea that pulsated
in rhythm with her frantic, young heart. She sat in a mild
sanctuary at the center of a flapping tornado beyond the window.
Haunting, dark birds with their violent grey eyes were the churning
wind of the abysmal funnel. The crow at the window observed her
shock. Her eyes drifted from the cawing cataclysm to the lone bird
on the sill. She neared it. A rebellious smack of its sharp beak
against the window sent a crack vertically through the thin pane.
Desirae shot back and screamed for her aunt. Her voice was
swallowed by the swell of the birds’ rage. The crow watched her. It
cocked its black head back and prepared for another strike. Then,
without apparent reason, it stopped and hopped to its right. The
crow looked around Desirae. No later it flew into the mass of
darkness behind it.