Amid the Recesses: A Short Story Collection of Fear (14 page)

“
Greg? Greg, are you
there?”

She heard a jingling of a bell in the
receiver and she froze. Her hand shot to her mouth. The heavy
breathing filled the phone again.

“
G-Greg?” Sara choked
out.

“
Greg is being bad. Come
home. See a surprise.” The voice ground like metal on
metal.

She screamed. ‘Greg!”

“
Sara. Sara, I’m here. I
checked on her. She’s asleep. There’s no one here. Everything’s
fine.” Greg said.

Sara whispered and held the phone with
both hands. Her hands were shaking and she whispered through tears.
“Greg. Someone was just on the phone with me. Someone is there, I’m
telling you.”

“
Sara. No one is here. It’s
just me.”

“
I know what I heard!” She
shouted.

Greg sighed through the phone. “I’m
right here. I promise you. Everything is fine. You’re stressed.
You’ve had a hard couple of days. You need to rest. You just need
to rest.”

Sara shook her head. “I
can’t.”

“
I’ll keep Willow with me
tonight, okay? Right here with me.”

Sara burst into tears and wept. She
nodded and muttered a soft yes.

“
I’ll be here if you need
me. Are you going to be alright?”

“
Yes. Yes, I’ll be alright.
I’m sorry. I’m sorry about this.”

“
It’s alright. Just rest,
okay?”

“
Okay. Okay.”

“
Goodnight.” He
said.

“
Goodnight.”

She didn’t rest. She drove
home. She drove faster than she ever had in her life. Her fingers
clutched the steering wheel the whole way home. Her eyes were
stained with tears. She felt beaten.
When
she arrived home she ran to the door and unlocked it. She opened
the door and stepped inside. She remained quiet.

Sara looked around the living room and
kitchen. It was dark. She saw a light from the top of the stairs
and she went to them. She heard a voice. Greg.

“
Don’t be shy. It’s just
me. Now just take that off. No one’s going to see you, okay? Just
you and me.”

Sara placed a foot on the first
step.

“
I don’t want to. Binky
says—“

“
Listen, I don’t give a
shit what Binky says. Do what I tell you to do or you’ll be in
trouble. You don’t want to be in trouble, right?”

Sara grit her teeth. She
went to the kitchen and pulled a large knife from the drawer. She
charged up the stairs with it in hand, held high. At the top of the
stairs, in their room, Greg stood behind a video camera which
pointed at Willow. Willow clutched her doll near the top of the bed
and cried.

“
You son of a bitch. You
son of a bitch!” Sara screamed and pointed the knife at
Greg.

“
Sara.” Greg flipped a
switch on the camera and the red recording light went
out.

“
I should fucking kill
you!” She screamed.

“
Sara, this isn’t what you
think. I—“

“
You…” her breaths
convulsed from her in a violent rage and her face glowed a blood
red. “…leave this house. You leave this fucking house.”

Willow hid herself behind a pillow and
stared in fear.

Sara moved into the room and stood
between her daughter and Greg. Greg lifted his hands into the air
and edged around the perimeter of the room until he was at the
door. He rushed out and down the stairs. The front door was heard
opening and closing. A car started and it was gone.

Sara dropped the knife next to the bed
and ran to her daughter. They sobbed into each other.

Months passed. Sara learned
that that evening was the first time that Greg recorded Willow.
Willow said that Binky called Sara’s hotel room to tell her. Sara
never complained about Binky again. Sara called the police after
Greg left. She told them everything. He disappeared for months but
eventually she received a call.

“
Ma’am, we’re sorry to
bother you. We have an update on your case.”

“
Yes?”

“
He’s dead, ma’am. We um…
we found him under his bed in a small hotel a couple towns out. His
legs were broken and…”

Sara smiled through the police
officer’s discomfort. “Thank you, officer.”

She hung up the phone.

Sara looked around the room. It was
empty and the low, steady hiss of the air conditioner was all that
made a sound. She whispered, “Thank you.”

RETURN TO THE TABLE OF
CONTENTS

Soup

Lisa brought the children
soup. They sat in a circle outside of the house and stared into the
fire pit in the middle of them. Their eyes flickered with each lash
of the fire, with each vagrant ember. The tomato soup steamed and
the heat created a phantasmagoria as images bent and swayed between
the children and the fire. There were four of them and they stayed
quiet for a long time. A howl in the distance caught their
attention and like marionettes in a show, their heads turned in
unison toward the sound. They laughed together.

“What was that?”

“Dog.”

“Or wolf.”

“Or werewolf.”

They laughed again and slurped soup
from the bowl. Desirae stared into hers. She watched her bloody
reflection cast from the tomato soup. She swirled the image and
made it disappear.

“You guys ever hear the story about
Porter Jennings?”

“Who?”

“Porter Jennings. He was a murderer.”
Desirae confessed with a dramatic darkness in her voice. She leaned
closer to the fire.

“What did he murder?”

“People, silly. What else would you
murder?”

“I wouldn’t murder anything.” One of
the two boys said.

“Harry, you couldn’t hurt a fly if it
swam in your soup.” Desirae said.

Harry huffed and looked into his soup
for a fly. There wasn’t one.

“Porter Jennings didn’t only kill
people. He killed a lot of people. Who knows how many to be
exact.”

“Desirae, I don’t know if I want to
hear this story.”

“Don’t be a scaredy cat, Willow. It’s
just a story.”

Willow bit the insides of her cheeks
and pushed the spoon around in the bowl. “I’ll sit next to Jacob.”
She did. She scooted next to the other boy. “Don’t scare
me.”

Jacob shook his head. “I won’t.
Promise.”

Desirae rolled her eyes and looked the
group over. “Can I continue?” She asked with an
attitude.

The group nodded.

“Maybe hundreds. Maybe thousands. No
one knows. He would chop them up into little pieces. He carried a
trunk full of knives. When someone made him mad…” Desirae dragged a
finger across her neck.

Willow moved closer to Jacob yet.
Harry ate up the soup with nervous haste.

“We don’t have to worry about him,
though. Well. Not too much.”

“What do you mean not too
much?” Harry asked.

“He’s dead.”

The group sighed in relief. Harry put
his bowl down on his knee. It was nearly empty.

“Well, kinda.”

Willow’s eyes widened. “What do you
mean kinda?”

“He’s come back.” Desirae
shouted.

The group reeled.

“Can’t come back once you’re dead.”
Jacob said.

“You can if you’re a
zombie.”

“He’s a zombie?”

“Something like that.”
Desirae said with an air of authority.

“So, what is he?”

“Something changed him. He didn’t die
exactly, but he isn’t alive either.”

Harry scratched his chin
and wore a dumb look. He glanced between the others as if for an
answer to Desirae’s riddle.

“What could do that?” Willow
asked.

“Soup.” Desirae said with a sinister
grin.

They all looked down into their bowls.
Harry smacked his lips and stared into his own, nearly empty.
Willow pushed hers away. Desirae scooped another spoonful into her
mouth.

“The story goes like this…”

Blood still stained
Porter’s hair. He’d changed into Mortimer’s old clothes. There were
holes pocked in the belly region of the undershirt he took. He wore
a light blue and white Hawaiian shirt over it. His jeans were too
short and too baggy. His glasses were crooked on his stubbly face.
His fingers wrapped around the steering wheel and he braced himself
as he felt the immense propulsion fire deep from within him and he
projected a wave of vomit across the dashboard and coated it with a
swampy red ocean with flaccid chunks shaped like meaty jacks. His
glasses were fogged and the splatters of bile and grime obscured
the steering wheel.

“Fucking great. Just
perfect.”

Porter reached to his side and grabbed
a page of an old newspaper. He crumpled it in his hand and used it
as a primitive rag to wipe the windshield from the inside. The
warmth of the spewage on the dash rose and continued to fog the
windshield as he wiped at it hopelessly.

“Com’on. Com’on.”

He threw the newspaper to his side and
used his hand. He ran his hand across the filth in a wide splay and
there was a tree. He slammed into it.

“He hit the tree?”

“He couldn’t see. That’s why he hit
the tree.” Desirae said.

“Eww.”

“That’s pretty gross. So it killed
him?” Jacob asked.

“Well, not quite…”

The horn screamed like a
banshee. Porter’s door opened from the impact and he rolled out of
the truck and onto the soft, wet dirt. It took him. He stared at
the sky. The Humansville sky was full dark, no stars.

“Fuck.” He coughed out and rolled onto
his side. He hissed as he felt the bones in his body fold as he put
weight on them. He was broken.

Porter looked around for a sign. For
anything. Wolves howled nearby.

“Think you’re gonna eat me, huh? Think
I’m gonna die in this shit hole town?” He shouted.

Birds lifted from the earth as the
echo of his voice disturbed their feeding ground. The air was cold
and mist marched low and ghastly. Porter crawled on his elbows. He
couldn’t feel his feet.

“Anyone out there?” He yelled. He felt
his stomach turn. “No. Oh no.” Like a flooded sewage drain, he
exploded in puke. The mess covered his hands and crawled down his
chin like a lethargic slug. His mouth hung open. His glasses fell
into the spew and disappeared within it. He dragged himself
forward. He created a trail of his own sick as he moved
along.

Jacob pushed his bowl away. “I think
I’m officially done now.”

Desirae laughed.

“So does he puke himself to death? Is
that what happens? Why is he so sick, anyway?”

“One time I got sick like that.” Harry
said. “Ate some bad meatballs. It was the worst.”

Desirae grinned and nodded.
“Well…”

“You fucking bulbous, singsong,
clown-whore. You pudge sucking carrion cunt of hell. You and your
fucking soup did th—“ His organs wrenched inside of his body. His
throat burned with the expulsion of heat from his very core. Gags
and chokes shot forth puddles and puddles of human slime. He fell
face first into it and felt something pierce his cheek. He shot up
with the sting. He dug the object from his cheek. It was one of his
teeth. He looked down into the barf and saw that two more of his
teeth lay rotten within. He pulled himself forward and screamed.
“Anyone. Anyone, please. I need help. I’m dying. I’m dying here.
Anyone.”

He heard a rustle in the bushes. He
looked toward them. His eyes shot back to the truck. It was too far
away.

“My trunk. Shit. Shit. Who’s there?
Show yourself.”

A dog stepped out of the bush. Thick
swaths of saliva curdled and dripped around its hanging lips. It
revealed its twisted, sharp teeth and snarled at him.

“Oh, nice doggie. Nice doggie.” He put
a hand out. “Nothing here. Nothing you want here.”

The dog moved closer, each step more
threatening than the one before it. It paused inches from his face.
It growled and Porter felt the earth shake beneath it.

“Nice… doggie.”

The dog lowered its head
and lapped at Porter’s vomit. Porter cringed and held his broken
body as far from the dog as he could. His back was arched and his
bones crunched inside of him and he winced and grimaced in both
pain and disgust. Porter lifted a hand slowly and tried to turn
himself away but as soon as the hand was lifted, the dog latched
onto a finger and pulled left and right violently, like a fish on a
hook.

“Oh.” Willow uttered.

“I’ve never liked dogs much.” Harry
said.