Uncle Reuben

The snowflakes outside were fat and fluffy, tiny ice crystals icing into spiraling shapes and patterns. The wind howled restlessly, a lone wolf crying out to the stars in the sky, like diamonds embedded in a black cloth.

I traced my finger over the foggy window, leaving a path of pellucid glass. The cold air radiated off the panel as I pressed my nose close to it. 

The fire crackled in the room, it’s warmth coursing through the air, claws reaching for us but never finding flesh. I curled into a tighter ball, the smells of spicy, exotic food making my stomach growl. 

Laughs tinkered in the kitchen, erupting in random patterns, filling the room with not only delicious scents but also happiness. I didn’t want to join them. It didn’t feel right without my mom, who was in Thailand with Aunt Reyna for some unknown business for Uncle Reuben.

They all didn’t seem as if they were feeling the emptiness I was. It was as if they forgot my mom existed in the first place!

“Dinner, Liam!”

 I jolted back into the real world, feeling the heat of the fire on my face, hearing the echoing of my name in the large room. I looked up, seeing Aunt Trina smiling brightly in front of me.

“Huh- oh yeah, sure,” I said, forcing my chilly limbs to get up, despite the comfortable position I was in. 

I was seated at the mahogany table, thousands of foods laid out. I could see salad, thousand layer cake, spicy rice, lasagna, sugar sprinkled jello, deep-fried vegetables in a layer of hot sauce and others. 

My mouth watered and I sat down, licking my lips, eyes fixed on the steaming heaps of food. My younger sister, Lana, looked over and mimicked my expression. I rolled my eyes at her. 

Everyone sat down and I counted all the family members. There were sixteen in total, I didn’t bother remembering all of them. 

There were two missing. 

Aunt Reyna.

And my mom.

When I was jolted back from my thoughts, everyone had already seated and was digging in. Almost shyly, I took a spoon and scooped out some of the mashed potatoes. 

The doorbell rang. 

A sharp, eerie sound that halted all conversation and brought the table to silence. Who could it be at this time? I didn’t really care, sinking deeper into my seat instead and eating the potatoes. They were creamy and flavourful.

“Liam,” came my dad’s voice. “Why don’t you go get it?”

Of course. The only teenager. The “oldest” of the children and the “youngest” of the adults. I didn’t seem to belong, so naturally, the loner answered the stranger and the adults and children kept on talking.

I slumped out my seat and walked out of the dining room. Without the hot food and many bodies, the hallway seemed cold and forlorn as my footsteps creaked down the floor.

I stopped in front of the door and grabbed the handle, cool under my fingers. As soon as I pulled the door open, a shock of winter breath streamed in and I felt goosebumps travel up my arms.

Standing on the doorstep was a man. 

He was not a sight to see. 

He was wearing a worn tuxedo, caked with so much dirt that I thought his coat was brown until I saw the peekings of bright blue underneath it. His pants were the same, good quality, but completely encrusted with mud. He had an unruly beard and tangled hair. Worst of all, his skin was white as a leper’s, his cheeks sunken and his eyes, oh, his eyes, were bloodshot and dead.

“H-hey,” I managed out my dry throat. His aura seemed to suck all the life away.

“Hi,” his voice was coarse. “Uh, Liam, right? Aunt Reyna told me about you.”

“Who are you?” I blurted, unconsciously drifting the door shut at the madman. In a panic, he shot out his hand and blocked the closing door. 

My eyes widened. 

His hands were straight out of a nightmare. They were raw and dripping with crimson blood. Layers of skin were peeling away, his nails were rubbed short as if he had been clawing at something for a very long time. 

I screamed. 

The chatting in the dining room stopped and I heard the sounds of heavy footfalls. I just stared at his hands and after a while, I realized his pale eyes looked just as shocked as mines as he studied them. After a while, his expression morphed to amusement.

Aunt Trina appeared within seconds. She looked at his hands, looking as if she wanted to scream as well. “Who are you?” she barked. “Get out.” He raised both hands in surrender, grinning like a madman. The entire family pushed its way into the small doorway, every single head turned to stare at the gruesome stranger. 

“I,” he turned to address all of us. “-am Reuben Wilson.” He turned to me. 

“Known to you, Liam, as Uncle Reuben.”

After getting cleaned up a bit, Reuben sat on the couch, explaining what had happened. Although his hands weren’t bloody anymore, his clothes were not dirty, his skin was still pale, his cheeks sunken, eyes without life and hands peeling.

Reuben was shot in the stomach. According to him, he survived miraculously and had gone to celebrate it with Reyna. Something had happened there, and he woke up in a dark room, unable to escape. He didn’t tell us the details about how he got here, but I suspected he had gotten drunk at the party.

That also explained his scratched hands. 

He was actually quite a kind soul, but he had some weird habits that left me contemplating his madness. 

When he came into the dining room, he refused to eat anything. “I’m not hungry,” he said, despite his skinny figure. Trina offered him water but he turned it down to, again, despite his dry voice. He didn’t eat breakfast the next day either, or lunch, or dinner.

He didn’t like light a lot. Typically, seeing his pale skin made me think he didn’t like going outside. In his temporary room, he tended to just sit there with the room drenched in complete darkness. Trina tried to turn on some lights but he objected. 

He was also very quiet. Our floors are very creaky, so I tend to hear all footsteps. I was reading in my room when I heard his voice behind me. 

“What book is that?”

I suppressed a scream and whipped around to see his face leaning close to me and suppressed another scream. He didn’t make a sound. We played games together, and he never seemed to get caught when we did blindfolded games.

It didn’t matter to me anymore. He was part of our family, he was just a bit unexpected. The best part was that he was here in time for Mom to come back! She would be coming back tomorrow and I couldn’t wait for her to be back.

I fell asleep to the sounds of Reuben, Trina, and Dad in the kitchen, whispering quietly amongst themselves as they planned my mom’s return. 

“Liam.”

I woke up to see Reuben. His face still unnerved me, but I didn’t feel as terrified as I would’ve if I didn’t know him. I nodded sluggishly, trying to get up, but it was like moving in jello.

“Liam, I’m leaving,” he blinked, looking confused as well. “I don’t know why. I have to leave though.” 

“What-?” I muttered. “Why? Mom’s coming home, you can’t just leave!”

“That’s the reason why I’m leaving,” Reuben said. “I don’t know why. She knows something she can't-" He stopped abruptly, looking puzzled and mystified, picked up his suitcase, and left the house.

Mom was home. 

I ran into her warm arms and buried myself into her dress, smelling like warm cookies and everything I missed. “I really missed you,” I mumbled. “I missed you too.” Her smile was as bright as the sun, maybe even brighter. 

The family welcomed her and I tried to pull her aside. “Hey Mom, guess what, someone new showed up-”

“Tell me later, hon,” Mom was looking over at where the adults were beckoning her. She ripped away from my tug and headed over. I slumped, feeling like a little kid holding a tantrum. But there was nothing to worry about, I would have my entire life to tell her anyways. 

Eventually, near nighttime, I got a hold of her.

The sky was dark outside, obsidian black, the moon hanging low like a ghostly lamp. The stars beamed in the night, spilling across the skies. I stared at them as my mom lay down beside me on the bed. 

“What were you going to tell me, honey?” she asked. I traced a finger in the air, mimicking the spots where the brightest stars twinkled, wishing I could reach out and grab them. 

“Oh,” I said with a smile. “Uncle Reuben came the day before yesterday, the 23rd of December. He was funny, a bit odd, his hands were disgusting. I wished you were there, but he left before you came.”

Mom’s expression was lit by the starlight. Confused. 

“Honey, you must be mistaken,” she said with a frown. “Uncle Reuben Wilson died on December 22nd. He was shot in the stomach. I saw him lowered into his coffin. Reyna was crying her heart out.”

I was shocked.

“So that’s probably not Uncle Reuben,” she continued, chuckling. 

“Unless you saw a ghost.”