Moribund Tales (4 page)

Broken Glass

T
hat cursed memory constantly haunts me, everywhere I go. Most nights, her pleading lips appear before me, whispering in the dark. She was relying on me and I'd failed her, that much was clear. I still remember the shock and the horror spreading across her face.

I was barely thirteen when it happened. Being a witless pupil of teenage rebellion, the possibility of inflicting harm on another human being had never really occurred to me.

Then it did.

My life was never the same after
the
event. I've always found it kind of ironic how a split second decision could alter my entire destiny; all those years ahead of me, wrecked by a single act.

The desire to hang myself used to invade my mind when I recalled what happened that day. I got away with it, but even though my body is free of the crime, my conscience is not. I'm nothing more than a blank spectre roaming the physical realm.

I was strolling aimlessly, my hands tucked deep in my pockets, along the windy riverbank in Chatham. My mind was preoccupied by the promise of adventure. I should have known of the consequences the day would unravel.

Mark's disintegrating house was only ten minutes from mine. I rang his doorbell eagerly. His mother, Sonia, opened the door and invited me in with the most welcoming smile. She offered me a glass of lemonade which I took gratefully, never dropping my gaze from her enigmatic eyes.

She wore one of those white summer blouses, her gigantic breasts pressed against the soft fabric, begging to be unleashed.

“What have you got planned for today then, Joseph?”

Snapping out of my reverie, I took a sip of the ice cold drink. I hated being addressed by my first name. Everyone knew I liked to be called J.

I returned her warm smile and said in a matter of fact tone: “We will probably go down to the river and hang out.”

“That's nice,” she replied. “Listen, I want to ask you something. Can you take Jane with you? Just for a few hours. I've been called into work unexpectedly, and I'd rather not leave her in the house alone.”

My face turned to stone. Jane, who was only nine at the time, was Mark's younger sister. She suffered from Autism. Her mood swings were something to behold as she was like a hurricane when one of her violent fits took control.

Excuses raced through my mind, but I couldn't think of anything appropriate. “Sure,” I said, “but… isn't she… lethal?”

Sonia giggled sweetly. “No. I'm going to give her some medication before you go. Mark knows what to do if she goes berserk. Just be careful and watch out for traffic.”

Mark suddenly burst into the room and banged a carton of milk on the table. “There!” he said and stormed off. I chuckled and loyally followed him.

I used to marvel at how devoid of personality his room was. He had an antique bed and a dark brown writing desk. There was no TV or even a radio. No books for Christ's sake.

“Did you know your Mother wants you to take Jane with us?”

“She told me this morning!” Mark replied as he changed into his grey tracksuit pants and a worn t-shirt with a massive hole under his left armpit.

“Why do I have to take my lunatic sister everywhere I go?”

“I don't think what she has classifies as a mental illness. It's more of a… personality defect.”

The corner of Mark's mouth cracked into a smile. “Mum thinks I can handle her, but I haven't got a clue.”

I felt sorry for him. Who wants to spend their days nursing younger siblings? Thank god I was an only child.

“Look, don't worry about it… we'll go down to the river and play a few games in our secret hideout. She can just sit and watch. Anyway, isn't she sort of catatonic under meds?”

After collecting Jane, we hastily crossed several crowed streets. As we descended the uneven stairs of a bridge, heading towards a path covered by poplar trees, a dead sparrow suddenly fell before me. It just crashed down and landed at my feet. It twitched for a moment and then lay still. My heart skipped a beat as I pondered its symbolic meaning.

Dark clouds were gathering above my head, there was a dusty scent in the atmosphere as the wind picked up. I regretted not wearing something warmer.

Finally, reaching our chosen spot, we sat down on a huge log near a stream. Jane hadn't said a word the entire time, which was fine with us as that's just how we liked her. Silent.

Mark stood up and started exploring. “Hey look at this!” he suddenly exclaimed. I got up lazily and went over to take a peek. “Nice one, Mark!” I said in a mocking tone. “You've found a piece of broken glass.”

He seemed disappointed. “For a minute, I thought I'd found an ancient artefact.”

“I'm going for a piss,” I said, shaking my head in amusement. Jane simply sat there, preoccupied with her own thoughts.

Upon my return, however, I saw her standing behind him. She had a murderous grin on her face. It was then that I saw something sharp in her diminutive hands. The object was being pointed towards Mark's kidneys.

I shouted instinctively: “WATCH OUT!! SHE'S GOING TO STAB YOU!”

He turned around and stared at her. I stood rooted to the spot as she moved gently past him and threw the glass innocently into the calm river.

For a second, no one dared to breathe. “You idiot!” Mark screamed. “You scared me half to death!”

“I'm sorry,” I said, panting. “It genuinely looked as if she intended on stabbing you. I overreacted.”

The panic was over. We didn't say a lot for a long while, then our eyes met and we broke into laughter.

“Did you really think my own sister was going to kill me?”

“Well, how was I supposed to interpret the situation? I came back and saw her standing behind you with a piece of broken glass. Not to mention her history of violence. So yes, I honestly thought she was going to murder you.”

Mark smiled and poked Jane playfully in the ribs. ”No, she wouldn't hurt me. She just likes to stand close to people, don't you sis?” She beamed but said nothing.

”I'm really touched by your concern, by the way,” Mark said sincerely. “I'm glad we found one another. When I met you in fourth grade, I instantly knew I'd made a friend for life.” He extended his hand, which I shook with a warm feeling in my heart.

“Same here,” I said. “You're like the brother I never had.”

To break the sentimentality of the moment, Mark suggested we play a game. “Tell you what, how about we play a game of who can throw a piece of glass the furthest?”

“Go on, Jane,” I said, handing her a fragment I'd retrieved from the dirt. “Since you gave me and your brother such a massive scare today, you can go first. Don't cut yourself though.”

She got to her feet and took the glass from my palm. After spending a few seconds watching the miniature waves on the river's surface, she stretched her arm out and threw it. There was a tiny “splash” in the distance. Jane clapped her hands. Mark bent down and took a piece himself. ”I'll show you how it's done,” he boasted, throwing the shard much further that his sister had managed. A winning smirk spread across his bony face.

Never one to back down from a challenge, I took the final piece and went right to the edge of the river. “Bet I can throw it to the other shore,” I said. Mark looked at me sceptically. “Yeah, right.”

We were both so absorbed in the moment that we forgot about Jane.

That's when it happened.

I stretched out my arm and felt the slippery glass leaving my fingers, but it never reached the other shore. It never fell into the water. Instead, I heard a tiny gasp and turned around.

I'd slashed an artery in Jane's neck, and now she was gasping for breath. Her left hand was applying pressure to the exposed flesh while the other was reaching out to me. I just stood there, staring, watching her bleed.

Mark reacted with sense and took off his shirt, pressing it hard against the wound. Her helpless eyes clashed with the surprise in mine. But what did I do? What was my heroic contribution? I ran.

It remains a mystery to me why I decided to take this course of action. I just panicked and bolted as fast as my skinny legs would carry me. Attempting to save her life wasn't an option at the time, letting her die seemed much more appealing. That's the kind of unsympathetic entity I turned out to be.

The darkest corner of my soul longs to tell you that I accompanied her through every stage of suffering and that it was me who dramatically saved her young life, but I disappeared like a line of cocaine before a junkie.

In the months that followed, I searched for an explanation that would justify my cowardly reaction, but I never found one. I just ran home and told my mum what had happened. She called Mark's parents and drove them to the hospital while I hid in the closet and wept like a new born infant.

Mark was the uncompromising hero that day. Not me. Jane survived, but naturally, all communication between us ceased. I wanted to write him a letter, to explain why I'd reacted in such a degrading fashion, but I never found the right words. I could have made up some pathetic excuse, I suppose. I could have said that I'd run for help, but we both knew that was a lie.

Running was my way of dealing with the unpleasant problem that we were forced to confront. Deep down inside of me, hid a rabble of doubts and fears. That's the truth of this horrific account. I've lived with this memory for three months now, and it doesn't get any easier.

I've asked my parents to let me transfer to a different school. “Time is a healer,” they said. “It will soon be forgotten.”

It wasn't.

Every day, the shame became more and more unbearable. I'd see her in school, her accusing eyes staring into mine as I tried not to look at the horrendous scar that was an eternal symbol of my own cowardice.

But in these last few rainy days, at last a new solution has presented itself. It is one that will erase all suffering. There will be no more shame. No more pain. No more memories.

I'm sitting at my desk, and the rope feels strong in my hand.

I hope the beam holds.

On the Edge of the Marsh

A
t dawn, we reached our cabin by the lake. The place that Olivia and I would call home for the next few days. I opened a window and inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of winter. The wind whispered something, but I wasn't listening.

“Isn't this beautiful?”

“It's very pretty, Daddy,” my daughter replied, her eyes full of the kind of wonder I remembered having when I was a child.

I retrieved our suitcases from the back of the Jeep. The steps leading up to the cabin creaked under the extra weight. As promised, the key was beneath the welcome mat, but I didn't need to use it. The door was already unlocked. While I doubted there was anything of value inside the property, surely the owner wouldn't have intentionally left it this way?

Cautiously, I stepped inside. My instinct told me that something was very wrong. I looked around, searching for clues. Nothing seemed to be amiss. All I could see was pieces of old furniture coated in dust and thick cobwebs.

“What is it, Dad?”

“Shh!”

I stood for a moment, listening to the silence. It was then that I saw something lurking in the shadows. A hand suddenly reached out and took a hold of mine.

“My name is Logan. I'm your guide.”

The intruder stepped out of the darkness into full view. I could see that he possessed a robust frame and dark eyes that glowed despite the absence of light. The man must have been in his early fifties, but he was well preserved. I had no idea what to make of him or what his intentions were. All I knew was that the place was meant to be empty.

“Look, we didn't book any guide. There must have been some kind of mistake.”

He smiled but didn't say anything.

“Have you at least got some kind of identification?”

For some reason, the question seemed to amuse him. He laughed as if I'd said something funny. I couldn't think what.

“This is Spirit Lake, friend, we have no need for such things.”

“Well, I mean you no disrespect, sir, but if you can't prove who you are, I'll have to ask you to leave. My daughter and I have travelled through the night, and we really need to get some sleep. Perhaps we can revisit this later?”

“Okay,” he replied. “I'll see you in a couple of hours.”

As he descended the steps, his eyes drifted back towards Olivia. I thought I saw the corner of his mouth rise into a twisted smile. Then he was gone.

My daughter and I sat down at a table which I'd cleaned with a dirty rag I'd found in the sink. We ate a modest breakfast, consisting of ham sandwiches and fruit. I made some coffee, as there was no way I was going to sleep. Olivia was barely able to stand, so I decided to put her to bed, for a couple of hours at least.

Suddenly, there was a loud knock at the door which made us jump. I tiptoed to the window and tried to look out, but I couldn't see a thing. It was so grey that I was sure a storm was coming.

I opened the door, slowly. At first I couldn't see anyone. It was then that I felt someone watching me. Logan. He was leaning against the cabin wall, his face unreadable.

“Are you ready?”

I wanted to tell him to get the hell out of here and go back to wherever he came from, but I figured that maybe if we let him show us around the damn lake, he would go away.

I told him to wait.

Inside the cabin, Olivia was sat on the edge of her bed. All the colour had drained from her face. I could tell she was frightened.

“Put your shoes on,” I said. “We're going for a walk.”

I reached into my suitcase and pulled out a small hunting knife which I hid in one of my socks. Its presence was enough to reassure the both of us as we left the relative sanctuary of the cabin to meet our guide.

“There is something odd about this place,” Logan said, shaking his head as he spoke.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“When I walk through here at night, I hear strange noises.”

Above our heads, the sky began to rumble and rain started to fall, forming tiny bubbles on the surface of the water. It was as if the whole area had stirred because attention had been drawn to it.

Logan pointed towards the marshes. “See!”

My eyes followed his finger. Olivia was staring as intently as I was.

In the distance, there was the sound of an engine. Sure enough, a huge truck was approaching. A large woman dressed in a long coat jumped from her vehicle and strolled over to us.

“Hi,” she said, extending her hand. “I'm Emma Gardner. I work for the Mental Institution down the road.”

“I'm Ethan. This is my little girl, Olivia. We've rented the cabin for the weekend.”

She smiled and nodded her head.

“What can we do for you?” I asked.

“Well, it's a delicate issue,” she said. “One of our patients has run off.”

I froze.

“Oh, don't worry, he's not dangerous. As with most of our patients, he's just delusional. We like to give them a lot of freedom, but sometimes they do stray from the hospital grounds. You haven't seen anybody suspicious around here, have you?”

“Well, there was an intruder in our cabin. He called himself Logan.”

“Could you describe him?”

“He's about 6'4, with greyish hair and a dark beard. He's actually right over there…”

I turned around, but our friend had already gone.

“You know, you really should take better care of those under your charge. They shouldn't be allowed to wander around regular folk. I mean, this weirdo frightened my daughter… and me!”

“I assure you, he is quite harmless. John wouldn't hurt a fly. Everyone knows Mr. Kovak in this town, so I'm sure we'll find him sooner or later.”

The woman didn't seem to be unduly troubled by the fact that one of her inmates was free to cause havoc. This was the final straw, the end of our vacation. I took Olivia by the hand and started walking back to the cabin.

That was when the thought hit me. John Kovak? Who the hell was Logan?