Motherhood And Other Tales of Terror
John Grover
MOTHERHOOD
And Other Tales of Terror
John Grover
This ebook is copyright © 2013 John Grover
Cover Design copyright © 2013 Elderlemon Designs
www.shadowtales.com
All rights reserved
All characters, events and descriptions in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons living or dead are the product of the author’s imagination and are purely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any mean, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from John Grover.
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Acknowledgments
Motherhood first appeared under the title “The Mute People” in Flesh and Blood Magazine issue #14, edited by Jack Fisher.
Expecting first appeared in The Nocturnal Lyric magazine in the early nineties
Melissa’s Wagon first appeared in Whispers from the Shattered Forum Issue #13
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CONTENTS
Motherhood
Expecting
Melissa’s Wagon
Bonus Material: An Excerpt from Let’s Play in the Garden
Author Biography
Bibliography
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MOTHERHOOD
“Mommy!”
Little monsters.
“If I have to come in there you’ll be sorry!” Vivian screams. She stands at the counter picking the tea leaves out of her cup, fingers reddening, burning in the hot sewer-colored water, pearly blisters forming on her skin like the blistering anger that fills her to the brim.
Their cries elevate to deafening heights, erupting from the bedroom like a flock of hellish crows and ravenous wolves, razor beaks and gnashing teeth tear the flesh from her bones with their every squeal. She catches her reflection in the now docile stainless steel teakettle—she is emaciated, face gaunt, dark hair strewn with gray, nothing more than a mere skeleton.
Little bastards.
They did this to her, stealing away her youth and beauty.
”I’ve had it. Need to take care of them, ungrateful brats. They’ve taken my life from me and my Frank.”
It was because of them that he left, she was sure of it. Their demands, their selfish need for all her attention. Never giving them a moment of peace, sreaming their every dream. Arguments, rages, infernos—all centering around them.
Always them.
Frank could bear no more; he vanishes along with any hint of her spirit, any glimmer of hope that was left, leaving her to raise them alone. Her heart now a January icicle, so barren and frozen not even the rage germinating within her can melt it.
“Mommy! Mommy!”
Wretches.
Their relentless, monotonous calls drown out the nonsensical, abstract infomercials and paid programming droning on the TV, meaningless shadows writhing and existing without purpose. That’s what she’s become, a shadow, a shade without substance or heart, collapsing in on herself while the children bellow their demands, clamor for her every waking second, suckling the last of the energy she fights to hold onto.
“Shut up, shut up, shut up!” She strikes her temples with clenched fists, fingernails biting into her palms, in front of her the sink leaks, each drop striking the cold metal with hollow yet thunderous pats-drilling into her over and over.
Pat… pat… PAT.
Sipping a mouthful of tea she finds it rancid, intolerable and hurls it across the room, watching the cup shatter against the wall. Dark dribbles trace the peeling wallpaper, patience peeling, dwindling as the tea hits the counters.
“Mommy we need you! We need you now!”
”Goddamit, shut the hell up!”
The lines of her face harden, eyes narrow to slits, fury plainly leaving its mark. Despair invades her body; filling her every fiber. God it’s the worst feeling, hopelessness boiling inside her like molten lava; body heat rising, senses betraying her; smelling things that aren’t there, seeing faces of people who don’t exist.
“Mommy! We need you now, mommy! Mommy!”
Over and over, tormenting, unending.
Got to end this. Must teach the children some manners. Teach them to mind me once and for all.”
“Mommy… mommy… MOMMY!”
She stares at the red welts on her fingers and hands and finds them opening the large kitchen drawer in the center of the counter. She shuffles through the food encrusted silverware and at last finds—
What she needs.
“This will fix’em,” she boasts. “Have to set things right. Then maybe Frank will come back.”
With fiery determination in every step she stomps into the tight hall of the cramped apartment, unfit for raising two brats, slippers scuffing over the floor, holes in the toes matching the holes in her life, her soul, her mind and she rushes into their bedroom. The air is thick with the scent of urine. They wet the bed again?
She stands over them, a wicked glee in her eyes, and without hesitation drives her final judgment down swift and hard.
In and out, ripping and shredding, skin tearing like cloth, innards litter the air like stuffing, filling the bedroom, streaming into her hair and coating the floor. Veins snap like thread, lifelines severed, silencing them for good.
Vivian smiles down at them face twisted with dark satisfaction. Upon the bed lie the devastated remains of the two brats, smiling cloth faces torn to shreds, stuffed bodies hollowed out, yellow yarn hair straggling down the sides of the bed and glass eyes rolling across the floor.
One girl doll and one boy doll are now only shadows of their former selves.
Vivian leaves and enters the living room. Sitting down in her favorite overstuffed chair, she sets the knife in her lap and picks up the TV remote to rediscover the wonderful world of infomercials.
“There now,” she smiles. “Peace and quiet at last. Now maybe Frank will come back when he sees I’ve finally dealt with the children.”
EXPECTING
They all knew she was strange, maybe even a little crazy. She spoke of things a proper woman was not supposed to speak of. She had conversations aloud with herself and that just wasn’t normal.
That is why she had never married, no man would dare be seen courting her, no man would even touch her. It is no wonder she invented...him; a man in black that floated in the air and flew to her bedside. A man that glided through her window at night and whisked her off to a midnight clearing, a lovers’ hideaway where the stars danced and the wind called her name.
The townsfolk would not listen to it, her raving of a man of refinement and royalty that only she could see, that no one had ever heard of or known. It was rubbish. No, they would have none of it and none of her. They mocked her, laughed at her and taken for mad, was driven away, made an outcast by her own fantasies and forced to live alone.
Fortunately, Autumn Brookshire was not accused of being in league with the Devil or of having intercourse with demons and imps. In earlier times she would have been burned alive for even uttering such blasphemy. Things were different now and by 1796 all of that had been conveniently forgotten.
“He will come tonight. Yes he will,” Autumn said with conviction. “Even though I am far from town. Let them laugh. In good time they will all regret their cruel words. I am not mad, every seventh night he comes and romances me. I know I am the envy of every woman in Harkenville. He will come tonight. He is always true to me.”
<
br /> Autumn sat on the edge of an idyllic pond, staring at her fair reflection in its water, sunlight streaking across its emerald surface like a blanket of diamonds. She ran her fingers through the cool water and watched her face blur away in the ripples.
“Time for dinner. Need to draw the water for today’s stew.” She left the edge of the pond and pulling her bulky dress out of the dirt, made her way to the well. She lowered the bucket into it, capturing the pure water for the pot over her fireplace.
As she poured the water into a bucket that sat by the well she heard splashing from the pond behind her. She turned to stare at it and gasped. “My dear, I had nearly forgotten.”
She walked back to the water’s edge and scanned its circumference. “He told me to recite this every seventh night and to never forget. How does it...oh yes. I need the company of the one who lives by night, rising under the moon’s bright light, awakened in the eternal twilight, I beg thee Damon return to me tonight.”
Feeling content, a smile drew on her face. She tore herself from the pond and returned to her bucket of water and her lonely cabin; nestled deep in majestic pine-laden woods. A great canopy of ancient pines flanked her small shack and thankfully shaded it from the heat of the sun.
***
Night covered the countryside with its black veil and the moon rose high and full, casting a striking brilliance over Autumn’s cabin. Points of light came to life inside her cabin as candles found their places in the windows and upon the dinner table. She took a seat in her rocking chair and awaited his arrival.
Crickets sang their melody outside her window and as a sighing breeze stirred she noticed them go silent. Autumn turned to her window and watched the rippling waters of the pond go still. A smile came to her face.
At last he rose from the pond, Damon as he had her call him, kept his promise and returned. Not a drop of water touched him as he hovered in the air, dry as a bone. He wore a black velvet jacket with a white ruffle-collared shirt underneath. His black leather boots stretched to his knees and were tightly laced. His ruggedly handsome face glowed in the alabaster moonlight, his neck glinted with gold and his long dark hair was tied back with silk.
He floated to land and touched down in silence, not another living thing stirred in his wake. He glared at her through the window with an enchanted look in his eyes. Damon swept the door to her cabin open with sheer elegance and entered. His eyes met hers and Autumn felt her body burn with desire, the flames of passion igniting almost instantly within her.
He went to her open arms and lifted her from the rocking chair. She was struck breathless as he carried her to the bed. The rocking chair behind her continued to rock as he laid her gently down on the bed.
“Tonight my love. Tonight,” he whispered to her.
She didn’t know what he meant and she didn’t care. He pulled her dress from her body and caressed her, covering her in warm kisses. The candles extinguished as he embraced her naked body, darkness engulfing them.
Autumn woke the next morning weak and drained. She climbed naked from the bed and prepared herself a bath. Pain surged through her body and her muscles ached with discomfort. It was strange. It had never occurred after one of his visits until now. What is wrong with me? Pain fills my body.
***
After that night Damon stopped visiting her and as the many months passed Autumn found herself in need of a crib. She was with child. Damon granted her the gift of a child upon his last visit. Now her belly was large and round, it was strange to her but she looked upon it and smiled.
Is this what my love spoke of when he whispered in my ear? Autumn thought for the longest time until joy tickled her heart. She nearly burst at the seems and danced…danced around her small shack.
“Now all of Harkenville must know my words are the truth. There can be no falsehood in this.” She rubbed her belly. Her joy was tempered with sadness. She longed for him; to feel his touch, his caresses, his warm kisses.
Is this why Damon has forsaken me?” Is this why he refuses to return? I have shamed him by growing big with child.
***
Autumn struggled through one of the most harshest winters alone, trying to care and protect her unborn. She tended the cabin, the well and the meals as the child inside her grew. How hard it was on her, how difficult it was to walk and carry herself and how painful it was most of the time.
I am so thirsty. The water never seems to quench the thirst. It is unending. She poured more water from the well into her pots. She drank all of the time but it did not quench her thirst. She imagined herself drinking all the time, actually swallowing nothing but air to convince herself body that she was getting relief.
The realization was setting in that she needed some other sustenance to stop the thirst, the scent of it crossed her nostrils, the taste of it hung in her mouth from the last time she cut her finger and drew the wound to her lips. She knew exactly what she needed. She heard the snap echo outside. Getting up from the rocking chair, she went to the window to see the possum caught in the trap she had laid.
Licking her lips, she took up a hammer and went out to the poor creature struggling in her metal-toothed contraption. With one swing she put it out of its misery. She brought the animal to the kitchen and cut it open, the warm blood poured over her hands.
She leaned into it immediately and drank, out of pure instinct she let the blood gush into her mouth and slide delightfully down her throat. The thirst was gone, the agony relieved, the desire pacified. She lifted her head and screamed, horror filling her. The blood was so sweet that it shocked her, repulsed her and excited her all at once.
“My God in heaven what have I done?” she cried. “What has Damon done to me? Dear Lord help me.”
Something crawled inside of her, she could feel it, moving all around her. All energy drained from her and weakness set in. She stumbled to her bed, her head spinning, chest heaving, sweat dampening her face and chest. Within moments she passed out.
***
A scream pealed through the cabin. Excruciating pain woke Autumn in the middle of the night. Her sheets were soaked, her body was on fire…the time had come.
Her breaths came short and quick and she pushed instinctively. Her head fell back as another scream erupted from her. The pain was terrible, a punishment for shaming Damon.
One last push and the child came into the world at last. A son...a beautiful son. Autumn screamed one last time and a wolf howled with her. She watched the moon rise full through her window and as the moonlight streamed into her cabin and touched her, she passed out.
***
Autumn was roused by something wet. Her eyes jutted open and she sat up. Blood stained her hands and soaked her sheets, it was too much, it had to be. She looked down to see her son nestled quietly in her lap. Stroking him, she looked further onto the bed and her eyes widened. The umbilical cord had been bitten in half.
She looked back at her slumbering son then at the cord in her hands, staring at the teeth marks on it. She threw it aside. “No, it cannot be.” She stroked the baby’s soft head. “My own son could not have done this. A dream… a madness in my sleep.”
***
His screams of hunger were loud and clear but nothing would satiate the starving babe. It rejected her milk, spitting it out every time in disgust. It refused to be suckled by her, instead it wailed on with hunger, the shrieks becoming almost unbearable.
It was the seventh day of the week and she stared frantically at her son as he seemed to grow pale before her eyes. She feared he was close to death for he still refused to suckle. She did not know what else to do. Autumn rocked him in her chair as the night came creeping upon the land and the new moon rose high.
She brought her son against her chest and held his head, rocking back and forth, listening to the soothing creaks of the chair. The child eased its lips open and pressed them onto her neck. She felt his warm, wet mouth on her skin and then the sting of something sharp as a row of tiny, sharp teeth sa
nk into her soft flesh.
It drank heavily from the wound of its mother. Fresh, warm blood gushed into it, reviving the boy and bringing color back to his body. Autumn winced in pain and horror, her eyes glazed, her body paralyzed.
The door to the cabin swept open and Damon walked in, a smile curled onto his dashing face. He stood before them allowing the child to finish. Afterward he reached down and took the baby into his arms and held him high above his head. The child giggled a chorus. Autumn lay slumped in the chair, weak but not dead, feeling intoxicated, empty, her eyes barely able to focus.
Damon laughed with his son and turned to Autumn. Their eyes met. “That is the way you nurture your, our…special son. You will learn and be a great and glorious mother to him. Rejoice my love, the perfect woman of bearing that you are. You are the mother of the next generation. Behold the rebirth of a most noble race.”
He bent to her, their child in his arms, and caressed her wounded neck, covering her in warm kisses.
MELISSA’S WAGON
She looked at it with pride, its belly exhibiting some rust that she'd been meaning to take care of for years. The red wagon caught the shimmering sunlight in its paint as Melissa moved it to the far corner of the garage. Ah the memories attached to that wagon, years of joy and happiness, innocence and freedom.
She remembered the days of lugging bottles through the neighborhood on her way to recycle them. After filling her hands with new nickels, she would stuff her pockets with penny candy.
The wagon had been a birthday gift from her grandmother; it was the last gift she’d given to Melissa before she passed away the following summer. She treasured it. That’s why it had made the trip to the new house and found its place in the garage.
She smiled as she turned out the light, stepping into the kitchen. She slid her way into a chair at the kitchen table, feeling the baby kicking as she rested.
"A bit restless."
She looked at her belly; she couldn’t wait to pass that wagon on to her little one. The thought of it made her heart sing. She was due next month.
