The Mother

Run.

I wake up in a daze, that one word echoing in my mind. I’m breathing heavily, like I just had ran a mile. Beads of sweat gather upon my forehead. Even though it was early morning, the summer heat surrounds my body, similar to a thick fog. I lay there for a moment longer, clutching my sheets so tightly my knuckles turn white. I sit up slowly once my heartbeat returns to a normal pace. My initial panic waking up was fleeting, but it left an impression on me. I feel as if I forgot something important, something about my dream last night. The details of it faded when I awoke. I can recall the terror of the dream, and conclude I must have had a nightmare. About what? I can’t figure that out. I try formulating some theories before succumbing to my hazy mind. I sigh as I hop out of bed, my naked feet slapping the wooden tiles. I pause in my tracks to stretch and draw the curtains. Golden sunlight scatters across the rooms as I uncover the windows. Even though the window is large and leaves me exposed to the outside world, I'm not worried about being spotted in such a state. That’s one of the benefits to living in the middle of nowhere, at least. 

I didn’t want to move to the woods. I was perfectly content with my suburban life. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the same way my father felt. As soon as my mom died, he fled the neighborhood and dragged me along. So, I ended up here, in the woods, with an hour drive to my high school and only one neighbor in a mile radius. My father’s voice breaks into my thoughts.

“Maximus!” a deep voice bellows from downstairs. It is rough and distant, layered with age and years of grief. I wince at my father’s use of my full name. I prefer Max, and have told him that time and time again. He prefers Maximus.

“Coming, dad!” I call back. I pull on some clothes and race downstairs. I skid into a wooden chair at the end of a rectangular dining table. He nods in acknowledgment of me. As I study his face, I realize he is sweating slightly.

“How did you sleep?” I ask, wanting to break the silence. 

“Fine.” He takes a bite of his pancake, not elaborating or creating any further conversation. I inwardly sigh as I take a slice of my own pancakes. My father has been far away ever since my mom died. He and I grew apart sometime in between the hospital trips and now. 

“I had a nightmare, but I cannot remember what happened in it,” I say in an attempt to make small talk. He just nods and grunts, not lifting his eyes up from his meal. The corner of my mouth twitches in annoyance. He gets up abruptly as soon as he finishes his breakfast, taking his plate to the sink. I follow his steps. We stand in an uncomfortable silence, cleaning our plates. For the first time in a while, he looks at me in the eyes.

“I’m going to leave on a work trip today. I’ll be back next week. I’m carpooling with someone and will leave you the car keys.” He handed me a sealed envelope. “Inside this contains a grocery and chores list. Feel free to add to it.” 

“Okay. Where are you going?” I felt like this was a good time to try and talk with him. He hesitates before answering.

“Our headquarters in New York.” He marched upstairs and our short conversation was over. I watch him leave with despair. This had been going on for too long. 

“Is that all you’re going to say?” My father halts at the top of the staircase and turns around. I step backwards so I can see him on the landing, shielded from the exposed landing by a wooden banister. I set the envelope on a coffee table.

“What?” 

“Is that all you’re going to say to me? I mean, for the past two years you could hardly look me in my eye. You’ve rarely spoke to me. Now you’re leaving on a business trip and all I get is a shopping list?” I stamp my foot and point to the envelope in effort to strengthen my argument. My father opens his mouth, then closed it again. His face contorts as if I had placed something bitter on his tongue. He speaks calmly, barely hiding his spite,

“I don’t know what you are talking about.” My father forces each word out like venom. 

“Is this because of,” I hesitate, almost regretting what I’m about to say, “Is this because I remind you of mom?” His face is now turned away from the banister, as if the cabinet in front of him suddenly became of importance. I can’t see his eyes from this distance, so I can only imagine how he reacts. Are his eyes watering? Are they wide open in shock? It doesn’t matter; my father’s silence is all the answer I need, “I know you miss her, but I do too. She was my mom!”

“You don’t understand!” 

“Understand what? That you left me to grieve on my own? That you moved me out here so I had nobody to comfort me? If I were to die too, I hope you look back on how you neglected me and feel guilt so excruciating it tears a hole in the spot your heart should be!” Tears I had been holding back roll steadily down my face as I slam the front door. I don’t know where I’m going, but I need to get out. The last thing I shouted—about dying—surprised me a little. I didn’t expect to talk about my eventual death, but the thoughts I kept to myself for so long had hurled out of my mouth in that argument. I felt sort of a relief wash over me; I needed to get that out of my system. Along with that came guilt. My father didn’t deserve my outburst. Sure, he wasn’t entirely blameless, but he wasn’t fully in the wrong either. I walk by the river to clear my head. I pick up some stones and skip them. The water’s tide is stronger today and they were whisked away by the current immediately. I feel a sense of deja-vu. Where had I seen this before? Was it when I went to the pond when my mother was still alive? I dismiss the thoughts and let the sound of the rushing current consume my thoughts. When I fully calm down, I slowly walk to the house. 

“Dad?” I call weakly, “I’m sorry about what I said, it wasn’t fair of me to do that. I know you’re struggling too. Please, if you want to talk this out, I’m downstairs.” I wait for a reply, but none comes. I walk upstairs slowly. “Dad?” I try again. Still, no reply. I run a hand on the wooden banister as I walk. Then, I stop at his bedroom door and knock. “Dad?” My calls are getting more pathetic. I start to cry again. “I’m sorry!” I plead. As I lean again his door, it creaks. I realize that it isn’t closed all the way. I wipe my eyes and swing the door open.

Despite it being a summer afternoon, the curtains are drawn, making the room dark and cold. I smell the metallic odor of blood. “Dad?” I call again, more confused than sad. I walk over to the bathroom, the tiles so cold they sting on my bare feet. I squint as my eyes adjust to the dark. 

“Maximus!” A voice rasps from the corner. I jump a little, not expecting the sound. The voice sounds aged and weary from years of grief like my father’s, but it’s consumed by pain. I swirl around and flick on a light. I wince from the momentary blindness. I stumble a little, my feet splashing a warm, dense liquid. I gasp and look down.

My father lies there with a hole in his chest, near where his heart should be. Blood spills out of the wound, pouring onto the floor. I yelp and kneel beside him, using a nearby paper towel roll to try and stop the bleeding. “It’s no use. I’m dying. I’m so so sorry Max. I didn’t mean for this to happen…” my father rasps. 

“You’re going to be okay!” I wail, not about to think straight as I tear through a whole roll of paper towels. My dad coughs up blood.

“I’m so sorry for neglecting you. I should have comforted you more…” 

“Don’t waste your breath, you need to live!” I sob. He cups my face with his hand,

“I should have told you the truth sooner, but I couldn’t in person…” He rests his hand by his side.

“Shh…I’ll call the doctor! It will be fine.” I choked as tears blind me. 

“I didn’t expect her to find us…” Horror strikes his face, “You need to get out of here!” More blood. “Go! Take the envelope I gave you! Read it!” 

“Dad!” I sob into his shirt.

“Go! I love you…”

“I love you too!” I’m out of paper towels. 

“Max..” He smiles wearily as his eyes glaze over. I want to hold him, sob at how he was taken from me, and curse at the world that we didn’t have time to mend our relationship. Before I can do any of those things, a hissing sound startles me. I turn around slowly. I’m met with a women with a boney figure. I crawl backwards, crashing into the wall. Her skin is rotting off of her, more corpse-like than my late father’s newly lifeless body. Flies swarm her head. Even as I stare in the face of death, a certain elegance draws me to her. She has defined cheekbones. 

Like mother’s. 

Her hair, as stringy and matted as it may be, shadows the ghost of someone with luxurious locks. 

Like mother’s. 

What’s left of her skin is a deep beige, most likely once soft like a baby’s. 

Like mother’s. 

I silently scream as I stare into her eyes, deep pools of black liquid, pouring down her face. She smiles a crooked smile, one that I once knew so well. This was the one that parted with me in the hospital, before my dad became far away. This was the smile I grew up with. 

I smack her head into the ground and run for my life. Screaming would be no use; no one would hear me. Calling for help wouldn’t either; the cops would come only soon enough to bury my body. I grab the envelope as I run outside. I hear her laughter, my mother’s laughter, ringing out from the cold bedroom. I sprint for as long as I can before my legs give out and I have to sit. I lean my upper body against a fallen tree and take in my unfamiliar surroundings. I don’t know where I am. The trees have become denser, and my hope for stumbling upon a remote town have vanished. The towering trees cast a dark shadow, creating an artificial night across the forest floor. The adrenaline rushing through my body is the only thing keeping me from breaking. I’m shaking to the core, and I can barely open the envelope. My breaths come in short gasps as I pull the paper out. I close my eyes before reading. This was the last thing my father ever wrote, the last piece of him I have. My hesitant thoughts echo through my brain, but I force them aside. If that thing who killed my dad is coming for me too… I don’t want to think about it. At first, I stare at the letters on the pages without being able to decipher any of them. The panic I felt had hindered my skills to focus. I take a deep breath and try again. The first thing I realize is that this letter is not a grocery or chore list. I start reading from the beginning.

Today is the day I’m telling you the truth. 

I’m not actually going on a business trip. I’m a coward and am hiding from your reaction to it. I’m scared you will hate me for not telling you sooner, but I promise everything I have done was to protect you.

I’m sobbing again as I read this, recalling the last argument we had before he died. I want to curl up in a ball and hide from the world, but I keep reading.

Your mother isn’t dead. I mean, she technically is—we both watched her die—but she’s still here. It’s my fault she’s in this state. We were poor on money, and I could barely feed you at night. When a lab offered us to donate her body after she passed away in trade for cash, I agreed. I didn’t know that something would go wrong. Your mother came back as a monstrous version of herself. The lab informed me she still remembers people from her former life, but now she seeks to kill them. I never want you to see what she’s become, and I kept this from you until you were mature enough to understand. We have to always remain in hiding until she’s gone for good. I’m so sorry. You had a right to know a long time ago. I couldn’t even look at you for a while because I was overcome with guilt.

If you want to leave, I understand. I left you the car keys. Just don’t look for her, okay? She was last spotted outside these woods a week ago. We need to move again.

I love you so much Max,

Your Dad.

I took another deep breath and placed the paper on my lap. I could run away from here, maybe into a town. This forest seemed to stretch on forever in all directions. I stand up slowly, my legs still shaking. My feet are wounded and sore from running on the rough terrain barefoot. I pick a direction and walk. Something about this seems so familiar. I rack my brain for an answer. Then, I hear the rushing sound of a powerful river. Where have I heard that before?

My dream.

My nightmare.

I almost collapse at the realization. This was in my dream. All of these events happened in the nightmare I had last night. What happened next?

I hear a high-pitched whistle.

A high-pitched whistle comes from the bushes.  It sounds motherly. The leaves rustle as…

A figure steps out from behind a tree.

A monster resembling my mother is facing me, her rotting body caked with mud and leaves. She smiles her crooked smile, like she’s laughing at me. “I watched you read your father’s letter. How endearing!” she purrs, her voice box broken. I step back.

A twig splinters under my weight.

The sound of crunching wood comes from under my foot. It digs into my skin, drawing blood. The monster licks her lips,

“Run.”

I sprint away. The sounds of the rushing river grow louder to a crescendo. I leap over fallen bark and bushes, but she keeps up with me. I stop at the river, the tide so powerful it would drown even the strongest swimmer. I have no choice but to turn around and face her. She tosses a stone into the water, skipping it. It submerges almost instantly and rushes away with the tide. She turns to me and grins demonically.

“Your turn,” she laughs. Her laughter is like my mother’s, but broken and weaker. I turn to the river, not sure where else I can go. If I try to run, she will cut me off. The monster in the body of my deceased mother crawls toward me. Her knees scraping the ground. When I try to dart away, she leaps onto my back and stabs me with her claws. I scream in agony and blood rushes down my neck. She then scrapes my eyes, blinding me. I run aimlessly, struggling to throw her off of me. She cackles as I stumble around. Her touch is cold, like ice. She jumps off of me. The last thing I hear is her demented laughter. With one swift push, I fall into a watery abyss. I can’t breathe, and I don’t know which direction is up. I tumble as the current shoves me around, smashing into submerged boulders. I flail around trying to find the surface. My head breaks through to the night air and I gasp. My triumph is short-lived as I crash against a hard surface, my head splinters into a thousand pieces. As I am faced with my last moments, I curse at myself for not trying harder to recall my dream. I wonder if it was a warning. I would have had a chance to try and avoid it. Maybe my fate was inevitable and these events would have happened anyway. Unfortunately, I will never know. These were my last thoughts as I fall unconscious and my body gives in to the thunderous tide.