The Black Lake: Tales of Melancholic Horror (8 page)

“What's going on? What are you doing?” Patricia asked as she held Richie's head to her bosom. “What are you going to do, Lawrence? What are you...”

Before she could complete her inquiry, Lawrence heaved the heavy lamp towards the pristine bay windows. Lawrence and Patricia stared at the glass barriers in utter disbelief. The windows wobbled and the frame groaned, but there wasn't a single speck or crack on the immaculate glass. Lawrence stared at the windows with glum eyes.

He whispered, “It's impossible...”

Jonathan strolled into the living room and said, “I don't want you to go anywhere. I want you to stay. I want to play a game.”

Patricia's teeth chattered as she repeated in a dubious tone, “A–A game?”

Jonathan grinned and responded, “Yes. It's called, 'Pick The Least Favorite Child.' It'll be fun.”

***

Patricia sniveled, then said, “You can't do this to us, Jonathan. Please,
Jonny,
don't make us do something like this. We just wanted to help your brother. That's all.” Her eyes widened as a bulb illuminated atop her dome – an idea materialized. Patricia suggested, “You said cheating was wrong, remember? Well, this isn't right, either. There's no such thing as a least favorite child for a parent. It would be
wrong
to make us choose. We'd be lying. We'd be
cheating.
”

Jonathan scoffed, “There is. We will play or else.”

Richie's head swayed as he dozed in-and-out of consciousness. Patricia placed her immobilized son on the three-seat sofa and nuzzled his forehead. Jonathan sauntered towards the recliner. He glared at Cecilia, his sharp eyes piercing into her pusillanimous soul. Without a single word exchanged between the pair, Cecilia knew she could not trounce her younger brother. She stood from her seat, then walked towards the three-seat sofa. Like a king on his throne, Jonathan sat on the recliner and overlooked his family.

Jonathan coughed to clear his throat, then said, “We're going to play this game. Cecilia and Richie will prove they are worthy to be children of this family. If not, I'll get rid of them. Mom and dad will vote for their least favorite at the end.”

Like if he had given up all hope, Lawrence staggered to the windowsill. He slowly shook his head as he gazed at his tyrannical son in disbelief. His mind raced with impracticable solutions to an unfathomable problem. He was lost in a maze, wandering from one dead end to another.

Lawrence asked, “What if we don't want to play? What if we don't vote? What are you going to do to us, boy?”

Jonathan smirked and said, “You
will
vote. If you don't, I'll get rid of
you,
too.” Jonathan rolled his eyes and explained, “I don't want weak parents anymore. I don't want cheating siblings. I want a strong family, a family as strong as me.”

Patricia asked, “What... What are you going to make them do?”

Jonathan glared at Richie and said, “He'll go first.” His eyes sharpened as he stared at his younger brother. In a sonorous tone, Jonathan roared, “Wake up, Richie! I know you're not sleeping! Wake up!”

Richie slowly opened his eyes, peeking towards Jonathan as his body shuddered from the pain and fear. He gasped as he caught a glimpse of Jonathan's vicious eyes. Richie squirmed towards his mother's bosom, seeking comfort and sobbing wildly.

Patricia clasped her palms together and pleaded, “Please, don't do this, Jonathan. I'm begging you. I'll do
anything
you ask.
Please.
”

Jonathan shook his head, then glided his eyes upward. Miraculously, Richie levitated away from his mother's torso, following the path determined by Jonathan's piercing eyes. As he floated through the air, Richie grunted and groaned. He could only utter a frightful croak as he struggled to comprehend the situation. Patricia, Lawrence, and Cecilia watched in utter awe.

Lawrence whispered, “He's getting stronger...”

In a hoarse tone, Jonathan said, “I'll let you go now, Richie.”

Slowly and meticulously, Jonathan lowered his younger brother towards the center of the living room. Richie sobbed and tottered as he tried to balance himself on his only functioning leg. His right leg was as limp as a noodle.

Jonathan said, “Prove yourself, Richie. Show us what you can do for this family. Show us why you're not the least favorite. And, don't you dare cheat.”

Richie grimaced as he turned towards his unavailing mother and his pensive father. With few options on the table, Richie hopped in place – bouncing like a kangaroo with one foot. He cried with the slightest movement of his right leg, each jump more agonizing than the last. Tears gushed from his eyes like sparkling waterfalls. Cecilia gazed at Jonathan. Her eyes were brimming with brackish tears and sorrow. She couldn't tolerate her younger brother's pain and Jonathan's vainglory.

Cecilia pleaded, “Please, stop. He's hurt. Let's just go outside and play, Jonny. We'll play like before. I won't cheat or anything. I swear...”

Jonathan scowled and shouted, “Shut up!”

The hardwood floor screeched as the three-seat sofa was shoved by an incorporeal force. Patricia and Cecilia gasped as they tightly gripped the sofa. Lawrence stood from the window with his fists clenched. He stepped forward, then stopped. The hesitation hit him as soon as he gazed into Jonathan's eyes. He was too frightened to fight back and he couldn't admit it.

Jonathan turned towards Richie and said, “You're useless. No wonder you have to cheat to win. You think hopping like an idiot will make you the favorite? Maybe they'll spare you because it's cute, right?
No,
you have no skills and you have no talents. You are
useless,
Richie. You won't last long.”

Cecilia placed her palms on her ears and yelled, “Leave him alone!”

Jonathan surged from his seat with a minatory scowl plastered on his soft face. He turned towards Richie and glared at his left leg. Abruptly, Richie's shrill shriek echoed through the home. The bone-crunching pop from his left leg bounced off the walls – the pain reverberated through his trembling body and the living room. Disabled by the attack, he plummeted to the floor –
Timber!

To his utter surprise, Richie was caught by his father. Lawrence glared at Jonathan as he carried his injured son towards Patricia and Cecilia. Richie was savagely crippled by Jonathan's bewildering powers. Yet, Jonathan was not bothered by his own actions. His conscience was dormant – dead and buried beneath the cloud of venom eclipsing his powerful mind.

Lawrence returned to the center of the living room, gazing down at his brown dress shoes. Apathetic, Jonathan casually shrugged, then flumped into the recliner. Lawrence slowly wagged his index finger as he stared at the ground and contemplated his next move.

Lawrence inhaled deeply, then said, “You want to know something, son?”

Jonathan smirked and asked, “What? What is it,
dad?
What do you have to say this time? You can't stop me, so don't bother scolding me. Like you used to say, 'it goes from one ear and out the other.' So, what is it this time?”

Lawrence chuckled, then said, “
You
are my least favorite child.” Jonathan furrowed his brow as he leaned back in his seat. Lawrence smiled and continued, “
You
were never going to be the favorite. Something's wrong with you and it's not these powers or whatever you call them. You... You're sick. You're a demented kid and nothing I say can stop you. It's... It's
rooted
in your mind or something. Cynicism, narcissism, pessimism... It's all in there and I can't get it out. I tried, I really tried, but you're just horrible.”

Patricia swiped at her rosy nose and said, “Lawrence, don't do this...”

Lawrence shook his head and said, “No, he needs to hear this. He needs to know the truth.” He stepped closer to Jonathan, then leaned forward with his hands to his kneecaps. Lawrence said, “Jonathan, my son, I
hate
you. We all hate you. We wanted to love you, but you wouldn't let us.
You
are the least favorite child.”

Jonathan's eyes swelled with tears from the bitter diatribe. His throat was clogged with melancholic regret. Beads of cold sweat streamed down his brow and the nape of his neck, soaking his timid body with his anxious fluids. Jonathan was suddenly vulnerable, weakened by the verbal attack. Despite his abnormalities, he was still a child – he still sought love. Words were more powerful than even the most otherworldly abilities.

Jonathan said, “Okay, okay...”

He glanced at his mother's sorrowful eyes as she rocked Richie's enfeebled body. He glided his eyes towards Cecilia and inspected her trembling figure. He witnessed a portrait of apprehension and dolor – a portrait painted by his malign hands.

Jonathan said, “I understand now. You are not a family for me.”

Patrica bit her bottom lip, then said, “That's not true, sweetie, it's just...”

Jonathan waved his hand –
silence.
He stared into his father's remorseless eyes, then nodded. Lawrence returned the nod as he fought to keep his steady poker face – as he fought to keep the tears in his eyes from pouring out. Jonathan shuffled in his snug seat, then stared at the ceiling. An eerie silence drenched the room.

Jonathan whispered, “Goodbye.”

Patricia said, “Jonny, sweetie, wait a second, I...”

Before she could finish, the recliner was engulfed in scorching flames. Patricia held her trembling hand to her gaping mouth and her other hand over Richie's flickering eyes. Cecilia hide her face in her thighs and planted her palms over her ears. Lawrence staggered in reverse as he watched his son burning in the seat.

The crepitations from the flames echoed through the home, but the fire did not spread. Jonathan did not cry or yell, he did not squirm or squeak. The telekinetic child sat in unwavering solidarity, enduring the insufferable pain of being burned alive. As Jonathan departed, the flames miraculously extinguished. The black smoke rapidly dissipated, whisked away with the unfortunate death.

As he gazed at his son's smoldering bones and listened to his family's sincere cries, Lawrence whispered, “I loved you. I'm sorry, son. I'm so sorry.”

Kristy Baker sighed as she balanced the touchscreen cellphone between her narrow shoulder and her ear. She despondently gazed down at her bare feet as she pulled on the smothering gray sweatpants veiling her legs. She leaned back on the black leather couch, shuffling in her gray t-shirt as she searched from the elusive comfort she hopelessly sought. Her body shimmered with anxiety, her perpetual perspiration glimmered from the modest living room's fluorescent lighting.

Over the phone, a woman shouted, “Hey! Are you even listening?!”

Kristy shook her head as her rumination was shattered. She glanced at her reflection on the flat-screen television directly across the sofa. Her glinting blue eyes pierced through the dark television – sparkling eyes bright enough to illuminate the dreariest abyss. She twirled her beach blonde hair with her fingertip as she absently stared at herself.

Kristy sighed, then responded, “I'm sorry. I'm listening, Hilary. You know I have a lot on my mind. Sometimes I just... I just drift away, you know? I wish I could really drift away from all of this... Just leave this nightmare.”

Hilary responded, “I understand that. That's why you need to listen. I'm trying to give you advice. Advice doesn't work if you're never around to listen to it, right?” Kristy exhaled loudly – an exhalation of blatant agreement. Hilary continued, “Look, I know it's hard and I won't say anything to insult him now. You know I never liked him, but I know you loved him. But, Kristy, he's gone now. He's not coming back. Everything else is a... a
product
of your imagination. This move is a big step for your recovery. It really is.”

Kristy nodded and said, “Yeah, I know...”

She glanced around the puny apartment. The living room only harbored the sofa, a glass coffee table, and an entertainment center. There was a stack of cardboard boxes from the family's recent move beside the television stand. Behind the sofa, a double-door entrance led to the master bedroom. To her left, there was a hallway beside an arch entrance leading into the kitchen. The hallway harbored doors leading to the bathroom, another bedroom, and the apartment building corridor.

Kristy said, “It's strange being in a new home. It's strange only waking up to Michelle.”

Hilary responded, “You'll feel a little lonely, but...”

“No, it's not that. It's actually the opposite. I don't feel lonely. I can live with Michelle, we can live happily ever after, but it feels like there's something else. I can't explain it, but it feels like there's something else here. I feel like it followed...”

Hilary sighed, then advised, “Don't over-think it, Kristy. I can't pretend to know what you're feeling, but it's probably some sort of... some sort of symptom of grief, I suppose. Grief and depression are tricky. If you feel like something's wrong, you can always call me.”

Kristy smiled as she scanned through the eggshell white walls surrounding her. A sense of security and confidence swept through her timid body. The pesky shadows lingering in her mind were suddenly whisked away – the poisonous pessimism was siphoned from her body and bottled in a flask for the next victim.

Kristy said, “Thank you for everything, Hilary. I'll never be able to repay you for always being there for me.” She glanced at her phone's clock –
9:38 PM.
She continued, “I think it's time for me to go to bed. I'll talk to you later.”

Hilary responded, “Okay. Have a good night, sweetie. Talk to you later.”

The friends disconnected from the call. Kristy absently gazed at the coffee table as she placed the phone on her lap. Her mind wandered between thoughts, trying to evade the negativity while seeking comfort.

Suddenly, a child's soft and tender giggle echoed through the apartment – a gleeful cackle brimming with unusual exuberance. Kristy slowly staggered to her feet as she furrowed her brow and stared down the vacant hallway. She could barely see the first door – the bathroom door. The hallway was swallowed by an impenetrable darkness. The melancholic shadows gradually oozed towards the living room.

As her bottom lip quivered, Kristy asked, “Michelle, are you awake? Sweetie, is that you?”

There was no response. The apartment was drenched in an uncanny silence. The floorboards did not creak, the pipes did not flush, the wind did not whoosh – the home was dead silent. Kristy swallowed the lump in her throat as she gazed into the darkness, like if she were waiting to be swallowed by the shadows – waiting to be eaten by the sinister uncertainty.

As her eyes swelled with tears, Kristy whispered, “Nick?”

Abruptly, the floorboards in the dingy hallway croaked and howled. The thudding footsteps amplified with each dreadful step. Kristy wheezed as she staggered in reverse, tottering back towards the living room windows.

As she emerged from the darkness with a stuffed bear clenched near her chest, Michelle Baker asked in a dubious tone, “
Nick?
Daddy?”

Kristy sighed in relief as she held one hand to her mouth and the other to her chest. She was flabbergasted by Michelle's sudden appearance. Tears streamed down her flushed cheeks as she examined her innocent daughter.

Eight-year-old Michelle stood four-two with a diffident demeanor. She donned a pink cotton nightgown down to her ankles. She wiggled her unclad toes as she watched her mother with inquisitive eyes – sapphire blue eyes sparkling like the ocean on a clear summer day. Like her mother, Michelle's blonde hair, like a sandy shore, rested on her shoulders.

Kristy shook her head as she fought off her tears and responded, “No, sweetie, not daddy. He's gone now, remember? He won't be back...” As Michelle sadly stared down to her feet, Kristy knelt down in front of her and said, “I've never seen this little bear before. Where did you get him?”

Michelle caressed the bear's head like if she were stroking the hair on a poodle, then said, “It was a gift.”

“From who?”

Michelle looked towards the gloomy shadows in the hall. She sniffled, then turned towards her mother and said, “I can't tell you. It's a secret.”

Kristy smiled as she straightened her daughter's nightgown and said, “I see. I don't like secrets, sweetie, but I'll let you keep this one for now. Just let me clean it tomorrow morning, okay?”

“Okay,” Michelle whispered. She gazed back into the darkness and asked, “Mommy, can I sleep with you?”

Kristy softly dug her fingers into Michelle's silky hair and responded, “I'm sorry, sweetie, you're too old for that. You're a big girl, you have to sleep in your own bed.” As she saw the reluctance in Michelle's eyes, Kristy reassured, “I've checked the entire apartment for monsters. We're safe here. I promise. Go on. Go to bed, sweetheart.”

Kristy stood and watched as Michelle trudged into the dark hallway. She smiled as she heard the squeal of the bedroom door and the scurrying footsteps. She couldn't help but chuckle as she heard the groaning of the bed frame – Michelle obviously leaped onto her mattress to avoid the monsters under the bed.

Kristy whispered, “Good night. I love you.”

***

Kristy kicked and wriggled beneath the black bed sheets. Her back ached, her neck twinged, and her brain throbbed. Her slim body was drenched in sweat. She wheezed and groaned as she struggled to breathe. Her veins bulged on her skin, she could feel her blood boiling within. Like if she were sleeping atop a broiling grill, Kristy struggled to find comfort.

As her head swayed on the drenched pillow, Kristy murmured, “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Why can't you forgive me? Just leave me alone. Leave me alone.”

Abruptly, a sharp creaking sound danced through the dark room – the bedroom door hinges grated. A heavy thud immediately followed. Kristy's eyes widened as the sound shattered her fragile psyche. She was locked in place like a deer caught in the headlights. She panted as she slowly turned over on the mattress, then peered towards the double-door entrance. The doors were wide open. Kristy could see the living room couch and television. The apartment was vacant.

Kristy sniffled and swiped at the sweat on her forehead, then asked, “Hello? Is someone there?” There was no response – only silence dominated the room. As she turned back towards the parallel wall and tossed the comforter away from her body, Kristy whispered, “It was the wind... It was only the wind. Don't over-think it.”

With her head sinking into the comfy pillow, Kristy searched for sleep. She scavenged every crevice of her brain, searching for the elusive slumber she sought. Yet, sleep always evaded her grasps, slipping through the slits in her clenched hands like water.

“Just sleep, damn it...” Kristy muttered.

Before she could utter another word, Kristy felt the mattress sinking behind her. The frame groaned, like if someone had climbed into bed with her. The unusual heat she felt blistering within was suddenly whisked away, replaced with a frigid, inhuman cold. The sudden shift in temperature was daunting. Kristy's bottom lip quivered as she tried to rationalize the event.

She whispered, “It's... It's a draft.” The temperature continued to plummet as the mattress shuffled with the weight. Tears trickled from Kristy's eyes with every blink as she said in a dubious tone, “It... It must be a dream?”

As she whimpered, Kristy felt a warm hand on her hip. She could feel the thin fingers wrapped around her hips as they glided towards her waist, then stopped. The warmth conjured from the hand was inexplicably familiar, like something she had felt before.

Kristy smiled and said, “Michelle, you almost scared me to death, sweetie. I told you to sleep in your own room tonight. I guess you...”

Suddenly, Kristy shuddered as the warm hand slid down her hips, then tightly gripped her buttocks. The strange hand groped her haunches. Another hand slid across her drenched body, then fondled her breasts. Kristy gasped as she gazed down at her chest. She could feel the spindly fingers, but she could not see a hand in the darkness. Before she could shriek, the savage force violently pinned her face to the pillow, clutching the nape of her neck with an unwavering energy. Kristy squirmed and kicked, but to no avail – the mighty intruder was too powerful.

In a muffled voice, Kristy helplessly shouted, “Don't! Please! Let me... Let me go!”

Kristy swung every limb and writhed on the mattress as she tried to escape the intruder's grip. She gritted her teeth and sobbed as she felt her sweatpants being pulled from her legs. She could feel the breeze caressing her unclad thighs. As a light illuminated the room, the ferocious grip vanished.

With tears spurting from her eyes like a garden sprinkler, Kristy surged up from the bed and turned towards the bedroom entrance. She shouted, “Let me go, you damn bastard!”

Kristy was utterly shocked to find her daughter standing at the doorway – one foot in the bedroom, one foot in the living room. Michelle's finger rested on the light switch next to the door, her other hand tightly gripped her stuffed bear. She softly trembled as she examined her distraught mother. She couldn't comprehend Kristy's verbal assault or disheveled appearance.

“What's wrong, mommy?” Michelle asked in a mellow tone.

Kristy couldn't help but sob as her ears were blessed with Michelle's mellifluous voice. She felt elated by the mere sight of her innocent daughter. Michelle brought order to her life – she vanished demons with her presence.

Kristy bit her bottom lip, then said, “I'm sorry. It was only a nightmare, sweetie. It was only a nightmare...”

Michelle stared at the mattress with a furrowed brow – an ocular examination for any viable threat. The plain room was empty. Only Kristy sat on the mattress towards the center of the bedroom. Kristy wiped the tears from her crimson cheeks as she tried to compose herself – as she tried to play the part of a secure mother.

Michelle asked, “Are you sure? I... I heard screaming. A lot of screaming.”

Kristy nodded and said, “Of course, it was a very bad nightmare. I should have checked under my bed for monsters, too. They're gone now. You... You saved me, sweetie. Thank you.”

Kristy raised her brow as she gazed into Michelle's eyes. Michelle stared at her mother's lower-body. Kristy nervously laughed as she glanced down at her lap. Her thighs were still unveiled from the bizarre attack. She smiled towards her daughter as she lifted her sweatpants.

Kristy explained, “It's a little hot in this room, sweetie. Everything's okay. I promise.” As she organized her clothing, Kristy patted the mattress beside her and asked, “You want to sleep with me tonight?”

Michelle's face glowed as she ecstatically asked, “
Really?
”

“Sure. We can even sleep with the lights on. Come on.”

Michelle scampered towards the bed, then leaped towards her mother. The pair embraced on the mattress. As her daughter slowly dozed out of consciousness, Kristy nuzzled her hair and gently rubbed her shoulder. She kept her eyes locked on the opened doorway, peering into the ominous darkness.

Kristy whispered, “Leave me alone...”

***

Kristy crept down the hall, her shoulders high and her soles off the hardwood floor. A soft, muffled voice seeped through the cracks on the bedroom door – a sentence, a pause, then another sentence. Kristy stopped in front of the bedroom, then planted her rosy ear on the door. She protruded her bottom lip and furrowed her brow as she listened.