New House

Samuel Stills closed the door to his daughter’s bedroom then walked toward the kitchen when his phone vibrated. He reached into his pocket. Give me some good news.

             But his heart and sinew told him there would be no good news. He raised his phone to his ear. The cold plastic a reminder that nothing in this world is ever easy.

             He’d spent the last hour at the foot of his daughters bed reading the books her third grade teacher recommended. Marianna, she’s a sweet girl, very kind, her teacher said. But she’s behind the rest of her class. You should get her tested.

             “It’s not good news Samuel. I’m sorry,” Elizabeth said.

             Samuel hated the voice of their realtor. The way she had introduced herself, with the high pitched squeal of mouse eating its leg off a glue trap. Even when she had good news, with her tone it sounded like she was telling you your body was racked with cancer. Kiss your kids goodbye because you aren’t long for this world sweetheart.

             “Let me get to a place where I can talk,” Samuel said. 

             Samuel walked toward the entrance of his apartment, his limp worse than usual now that it was December and the cold air seeped into their apartment, challenging the rot coming from the factory whose smoke stacks put the town of Ackerman in perpetual fog.

             He walked out of their unit, closing the door so he didn’t wake Anita. Trying to be a good husband. The rain outside brought with it the smell off sewage into the hallway, making the whole building smell like a toilet bowl in the outhouse of highway gas station. 

             “I just don’t want my wife to hear. You know how much getting a new house means to her.”

             The sound of a crying baby filled the hallway. The dull ache in his head was a beating hammer. Samuel pressed his fingers to his forehead.

             “Fuck.”

             “You alright?” Elizabeth said.

             “Constant headaches.”

             Squeal. That God damned squeal.

             Sirens zoomed past the apartment building. 

             “So, tell me. Did they accept our offer? I need good news today.”

             “There was only one other offer, but they took it. It was a lot higher than you could afford to go.”

              Fuck you , Samuel thought. And same to those teachers who told him his daughter was less than. You don’t know anything.

             “Jesus,” Samuel said. 

             “I know you’re upset, and as your realtor its illegal for me to provide much of an opinion but given what I know about this house I’m surprised they received another offer. I didn’t want to show you this house. It’s not that I’m greedy. The market is shit and I have two kids in college. My prick of a husband left me. Not that I liked him at all either. I was actually quite relieved when I walked in on him with –“

             “I’m sorry, but what do you know about this house. What’s wrong with it?”

             “I really shouldn’t say more than I already have.”

             “I don’t understand.”

             “There were rumors about that house.”

             “Like what?”

             “Pretty gruesome. But they are just rumors so I doubt –”

             “What rumors?” 

             Before Samuel could say anything, he heard the sound of Anita crying through the thin walls. He walked back toward the door, and entered his apartment. Told Elizabeth he would call her back.

             “I’m scared again, Daddy,” Anita said, pulling at the threads of her pajamas.

                                                                                   ***

             When Samuel left Marianna’s room for the second time that night, he felt like a carbon copy of his father. Obsessed with money because he never had enough of it. Calloused hands that never produced enough. Samuel’s shirt was still wet with sobs because Marianna said she’d had a nightmare and couldn’t stop crying.

             What if they made a higher offer? Except there was no extra cash and even a second job would barely help. And he couldn’t ask Anita to get another job. That was the shit his Dad has asked of his Mom, but she left before he had found more ways to take advantage of her. Guess being a place to put his drunk, soft dick and status as decaying punching bag was too much for her.

             That night, laying in bed, Samuel’s head rose and fell on Anita’s swelling belling. He sung to little ears still forming and the heart still growing strong inside her. I have to do something, he thought.

             The next day he drove to house they so desperately wanted.

                                                                                    ***

             Samuel reached the front door. Pain shot through knee. Each step served as a reminder life had taken something from him he would never get back. But he gritted his teeth and kept walking anyway because fuck the world and I won’t be like my father.

              A half-full moving van sat in front of the garage. Furniture littered the yard. Bed-Side tables. Couches with torn cushions. Tables and bookcases. There was only fog and the rain that gently patted his coat which had grown to feel tighter and tighter since the accident. Too much beer. Too many late nights wondering if he could have done something different in the construction yard to prevent what happened. 

             All he wanted was five minutes. 5 five minutes to convince the owners of the house that he’d make better use of the yard and the attic and the bedrooms than whatever asshole society deemed was more deserving to own this house. Five minutes to be a good father. Five minutes to fight against his darkest fear of not being able to provide for those he loved. 

             The street smelled of hyacinths, fertilizer, and cut grass. A dog collar jingled on a limping German Shepard. Samuel turned around.

             Next to the curb of the house an old man wore a baseball hat with a stitched American Flag. He was missing his right ear. The man waived, and that’s when Samuel saw it, the two missing fingers on his right hand.

             The door to the house opened. She, the owner, talked so fast that Samuel couldn’t understand. Spit fell from her yellow teeth. Strands of gray hair fell over her shoulder.

             “You hear me, young man? I said you need to leave. We weren’t expecting any visitors. I need to get all that stuff in the moving van and get out of here.”

             “I wanted to discuss the sale of your house,” Samuel said, his voice devoid confidence.

             “I’m an old woman. I need you to speak up.”

             This wasn’t working. Just leave. Give up on this one and move on. She won’t listen. Can’t even here. Angry bark bellowed from the street.  

             “The sale of your house. I want to discuss the sale of your house.”

             “Sold it.”

             “I know it’s strange. I do. But a place like this might save my family. My daughter isn’t doing well. My wife is exhausted. Where we live, its dangerous. Bad things are happening. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

             A gust of wind blew across the yard. The rain hit the concrete steps hard. Flooded a a bed of dead flowers wrapped in vines.

             “Bad things happen everywhere.”

             “Do you have kids, Ma’am?”

             “Don’t see how that matters.”

             “Because if you did, you would do anything you for them. Right?”

             Her blackened gums seemed to bleed on her teeth. The wrinkles beneath her ember eyes grew like rising mountains.

             “I have to go.”

             As she spoke it was like the rot that filled her mouth was released into the air. Still, Samuel took a step forward. 

             The woman turned around. Walked back into the house. She pulled the door to where it was almost shut, and then she said, “Bad things have happened here. In these walls. You don’t want this house.”       

                                                                                    ***

             That night, sitting at the kitchen table with Anita, Samuel stared at his phone, drowning out the voice of his wife.

             Before he left the house that afternoon, Samuel had left her his business cards. The one’s he used in a past life where the construction work made them comfortable. Before they left their comfortable and moved into the shit hole. Before they were scared that Marianna might have Downs. Before his head was a fucking disaster. Before the headaches had stolen happiness.

             “I know you’ve been hiding something from me,” Anita said. 

             There was an open bottle of beer on the table. Samuel looked at her, deep into her brown eyes, then took a sip.

             “And I thought you weren’t supposed to be drinking while on medication.”

             “One or two won’t hurt.” 

             Samuel took another long sip of beer. He stared at her belly. At the beauty in his wife’s eyes. He knew how lucky he was.

             “So what are you hiding from me.”

             His head ached worse than usual. All the Tylenol in the house was gone. The price of his prescription pain-killers had shot through the roof. He rubbed his head.

             “I don’t want to talk about.”

             He stared at his phone.

             “Well you don’t get to ‘not talk about it’. What is going on.”

             He loved her passion. Even when she frustrated and angry, it came from a good place. There would be no better mother in the world. 

             “The house,” Samuel said.

             “What about it?”

             “We didn’t get it.”      

             When Samuel took another sip, his phone rang.

                                                                       ***

             When Samuel walked into the threshold of the house, Abigial was on her knees bent over blood stained animal cages. There was a rag in her hand that at some point must have been a clean white but was now covered in dark red. Samuel wanted to vomit when he saw the skulls a collection of skulls in the trash bag next to her.

             “You remind me of my son,” Abigail said. “And I don’t mean to scare you. We’ve been meaning to get rid of these for years. The poor devils we kept in here. Pigs. They did everything they could to get out.”

             “I just want to see if there is anything I can do to change your mind. I know you said you already sold the house.”

             The prior night when Samuel’s phone rang, he couldn’t believe it was her. Introduced herself as Abigail. Told him to come over the next day. And not to say anything because you still never know. Deals fall through all the time. He hadn’t told Anita because he didn’t want to disappoint her again.

             “I admire you dedication to your family. I too am dedicated to my family. Can I offer you anything?” 

             Seeing the blood got to him. And not just the blood in the cage, but the way it got onto the rag. On to her fingers. There were even drops of dark red on her face. Another thumping headache. “A glass of water, please.”

             When Abigail walked away toward the kitchen, he couldn’t help but walk toward the animal cages. It didn’t make sense. None of it dead. Why were pigs kept in cages. Why were cages kept in the house. Samuel could feel. Like the cold breeze rising from the floorboards, something about this house, these cages, turned him cold.

             He walked toward the kitchen, trying to remember this house when he and Anita had gone to see it last month. It had looked completely different. As though a family had lived here. Created memories here. This place was nothing but the carcass of animal that died in agony. And that’s when he heard it, the deep voice coming from the kitchen. Samuel stepped forward, toward the kitchen. He pressed his ear to the door. 

             “Just give it to him,” said a low, tired voice

             “We have to leave,” Abigail said

             “The medicine, it will only last but so long,” the low voice said,

             “But so will he,” Abigail said.

             “Our son…I can’t take it much more,

             The floor beneath Samuel’s feet creaked. The whispers went silent. Samuel backed away from the door.

             “That was very rude of me. I do apologize. Here,” Abigail said, handing him the glass of water.

             When Abigail returned Samuel could see the stress on her face. There was pain warped in her face, hiding behind growing wrinkles. A darkness deep within her bones that Samuel had seen in himself on the night he killed his father. Samuel wanted to leave. She handed him the cup.

             “Seems like I came at a bad time. I think I should just be going.”

             And that’s when the door to the kitchen opened. A man appeared. Like her, his face was a map of exhaustion. His shoulders bulged through his wrinkled shirt. His hair, likes hers was long and gray.

             “Please,” Abigail said.

             “Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

             “Don’t make what harder.”

             “Please, drink this,” Abigail said. “It will help with the pain.”

             “No,” Samuel said.

             He turned back toward the door. He started to run, and that’s when he felt a hand pull his collar backward. Sweat filled the thick air. A grunt echoed from behind him, and he felt himself thrusted forward toward a wall.

                                                                                     ***

             When Samuel woke, he felt metal clasps on each wrist. He was in one of the upstairs rooms. The walls were covered with drawing that appeared to have been completed by seven or eight year-old. There was a small football in the corner of the room. A VHS collection of Disney movies. On the bedside table was a picture of woman getting bent over, and man with his jeans down to his ankles pressing up against her. And next to the picture was a folded dish towel.

             Samuel pulled at the clasps.

             “You should have taken the water. I don’t know how long he’s going to take. He use to do take longer, but now with the police after him its different. It makes him sad.”

             Tears dripped from his eyes. His jeans were wet. The carpet beneath the chair was covered in piss.

             “If he likes you, he will take you with us. That’s the worst option because that means he’ll draw out the pain. If he doesn’t like you, he’ll end it here. Tonight. Eventually,”

             “What are you talking about?”

             “My son of course. He’s just getting changed. He will be out of that closet soon.”

             “But what about what we discussed? My family.”

             “It’s all taken care of. The house is yours.”

             “Just let me go.”

             Samuel pulled at the restraints. Blood fell from his wrists. 

             “You care about your family. And I care about mine. Look.”

             The door to the closet opened. Samuel could not see the man’s face. It was concealed by some mask from a cartoon. It may have been the woman’s child, but the person who walked out of that closet was a man.

             He walked toward Abigail, hugged her, and then made his way to the bedside table. He stared at the picture. Then unwrapped the dishtowel. The glistening blade of a sharp knife appeared.

             The man grabbed and walked toward Samuel as Abigail began to read from a collection of children’s books sitting on her son’s bed.