Bury the Children in the Yard: Horror Stories Page 6

  4.

  Months later, Joe sat on the edge of a bathtub with a razor in his hand. He knew that, in order to do it right, you had to draw it vertically along the veins, really lay them open. His suicide thoughts were based on crazy logic, but nothing else had made sense since that night. There were the police asking about Melissa. There was this hospital where they lobotomized people with drugs. And then there were other things – the morning sickness, the cramping. This morning, Joe was pretty sure he’d felt something move somewhere just below his stomach and when he looked down, he could see the small rounded dome his belly had become. He thought about removing it and realized he couldn’t knowingly unleash something like that upon the world. He imagined it slithering up out of the trashcan, ready to destroy anything in its path. He had raided the nurse’s station this morning and taken what he felt was an ample amount of pills. Now, with the drugs already dulling his senses he watched as if from someplace else as he drew the blade along his arm from wrist to crook, watching the wound blossom like a long pair of bloody lips.

  As he lost consciousness, he felt the thing within him struggle. And, he would never really be sure, but he thought he felt it tearing at the inside of his skin… maybe even breaking free.

  Laundrymen

  “Have you seen my shirt?” Barry asked.

  “Which one?” Michelle returned.

  “The brown one. You know, my favorite shirt. The button-down one?”

  “Good Lord. It probably curled up and died.” She walked over to the blinds in the western-facing window of the apartment, closing them against the last fragments of that day’s sun. “Are you sure you washed it? I mean, that thing like never leaves your back. Speaking of which, I think I left my black bra over here the last time. Have you seen that?”

  “Yeah. Here you go.” Barry tossed her the black bra.

  The rest of the laundry was organized and sorted on the kitchen table in front of him. He rubbed his forehead.

  “No,” he said. “I know I washed it. I specifically remember grabbing it from that chair in the bedroom. I’m missing those pants too.”

  “Which pants?” Michelle collapsed onto the couch, grabbing the remote and turning on the TV.

  “The gray corduroys. Have you done something to them?”

  “You figured it out, Barry. Yes. I have your clothes. I love them so much that I stole them and, on days that I’m not over here, I’m wearing them all over the place. A big brown shirt and gray corduroys. I’m trying to start a new trend. I hear the frumpy look is coming back in style.”

  “You don’t have to be so sarcastic.”

  “I wasn’t being sarcastic. I was being completely serious,” she said absently, flipping through the channels. “You probably just left them at the laundromat. Why don’t you call?”

  “No. I guess I’ll just go back over there. That’s almost where they have to be. I know I took them. I know I washed them. Probably just left them in the dryer.”

  Barry grabbed up his keys and headed for the front door.

  “You coming?” he asked Michelle.

  “Think I’ll pass on this one. The Great Clothes Hunt. Nah. Not today. Maybe if it were those jeans I like so much …”

  Barry ran back over to the couch and gave Michelle a quick peck on the mouth. “Be right back.”

  “I hope your clothes aren’t some part of an international conspiracy.”

  “Never underestimate the power of Mr. Brown.”

  Michelle chuckled. “Oh my God, you’ve named it.”

  “I’m very close to it. I’m sure he’s been very lonely, trapped in that dryer all by himself.”

  “But your pants are there to keep him company.”

  “Still, they shouldn’t be left unsupervised.”

  “You better hurry.”

  “To the Batmobile.”

  Then Barry rushed out the door, regretting the fact he had to leave Michelle alone in his little apartment and hoping she would be there when he returned.

  Barry rolled the car windows down and enjoyed the early summer breeze as he drove to the laundromat. Children ran throughout the town, happy to be out of school. There weren’t any parking spaces directly in front of the laundromat so Barry circled the block and ended up parking a few doors down.

  He got out of the car and took in the smell of the clean night air. He looked up at the sky, deepening into purple, casting a twilight glow all around him. Taking his time, he strolled down the sidewalk to the laundromat.

  Once there, he stood outside, staring into the laundromat’s harsh fluorescent lighting. He didn’t know why he didn’t just walk right in. Was he hoping to spot his clothes lying around somewhere? Did he think they would have them hanging in the window like some flyer from someone who had found a stray dog?

  Barry reached for the door to go inside when he saw the man.

  The man, standing back at the line of dryers embedded in the far wall, was wearing Barry’s clothes.

  That’s ridiculous, Barry thought. It’s entirely possible someone else has the exact same clothes. Besides, he figured, he wasn’t even really close enough to be sure those were his clothes adorning the man.

  Barry opened the door and stepped into the humidity of the laundromat. Instead of walking directly toward the man, Barry wandered off to his right, around the islands of washers.

  Christ, he thought, I’m sneaking up on this man.

  And that’s exactly what he was doing. The closer he got to the man, the more Barry realized he had to be wearing his clothes.

  The man was perfectly normal looking, close-cropped black hair, tan skin. Somewhat thinner and shorter than Barry, the clothes were baggy on him.

  Barry moved up next to him, prepared to begin his spiel by saying, “Excuse me …”

  Just as Barry opened his mouth, the man turned and saw him. Then, lightning quick, he reached out a hand and shoved it into the middle of Barry’s chest, taking him by surprise and knocking him to the floor before running through the laundromat’s side door. Barry fought to stand up as quickly as he could and follow the man out the door. Now, everyone in the laundromat looked in his direction.

  Barry burst through the door and out into the twilight. He saw the man running off to his right and ran in that direction himself.

  Barry had not run in a number of years and the man lost him by cutting into the first alley he came to, disappearing into fresh shadows.

  “The clothes!” Barry screamed. “They’ll never fit you!” As if that statement would cause the thief to have some sort of understanding, some complete change of heart and come running back.

  Then Barry had another idea. If the man was at the laundromat, surely he must have some of his own clothes there. When Barry had first approached him, the man was bent over one of the tables. Maybe he was folding his own clothes. He had to have been wearing something when he entered the laundromat.

  Barry went back into the laundromat, his head hung low, trying to avoid eye contact with all the people who had seen him get shoved down. He crept over to where he had seen the man. He looked for something on the table, the same table Barry had used an hour ago, but didn’t see anything. He looked at the row of dryers and saw one with a few meager items lying lifeless at the bottom of the stopped dryer.

  Those must be them, Barry thought.

  He stepped toward the dryer but just as he got ready to reach out and open the door, a burly woman beat him to it, shooting a dirty glare at him. Barry watched her pull out a giant thong with hearts on it and a blue halter-top. A shiver ran over Barry’s skin.

  “You can use it now,” she barked at Barry. “If that’s what you was wantin.”

  “Thank you,” Barry said, but he felt numb. Absently, he turned and wandered out of the Laundromat, back to his car.

  By the time he sped back to his apartment and raced up the stairs, Barry was sweaty and out of breath.

  “Good God, what’s the matter with you?” Michelle asked.

 
Barry slammed the door behind him, went over to the couch and collapsed onto it. “You’re not gonna believe it,” he said.

  “You should try me.”

  Michelle was standing, her coat on and her purse slung over her shoulder.

  “You look like you’re going someplace,” Barry said.

  “Yeah, Brandon called. He’s over at Derek’s. Wants me to pick him up. He’s been pretty clingy lately. I don’t think he wants me and you getting too close, you know. I’ll be back tomorrow though. He has school.”

  “Okay, I’ll make it quick.”

  Barry told her about what had happened at the laundromat, his voice as full of bewilderment as it was of anger.

  “Oh well,” Michelle said. “Stranger things have happened, I guess. It could have been your wallet or something.”

  “I know,” Barry said, resigned. “It’s just, I don’t know, it was so fucking odd. I mean, why would he want my clothes? Wasn’t he wearing any clothes when he came in? Wouldn’t somebody have noticed? Who goes to the laundromat to steal people’s clothes? Why not dig through dumpsters or something. Did he put them on over his regular clothes?”

  “Everything doesn’t have a rational explanation. You’re old enough to know that by now.”

  “Oh, I’m well aware of that but it’s just … frustrating.”

  “Well, as much as I’d rather stick around and hear you mope about your lost clothes, I’d better go. See you tomorrow.” She came over to the couch and kissed him deeply. He ran a hand up the inside of her smooth thigh, beneath her loose skirt.

  “Sure you can’t stay for a few more minutes?”

  “I really have to go. Sorry.”

  “That’s okay.” Barry watched her walk out the door, enjoying the view and saddened by her encroaching absence.

  With Michelle gone, Barry didn’t really have anything to do. He sat on the couch with the television on, unwatched. He couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened in the laundromat. The more he thought about it, the more it unnerved him.

  He thought about making himself something to eat and then decided he wasn’t hungry.

  He couldn’t even really figure out why it bothered him so much. It wasn’t like the clothes were expensive or anything. It wasn’t even that they were his clothes, or were at one time. He had donated countless items of clothing to the Salvation Army and Goodwill. Hell, there was probably a whole town somewhere adorned in clothes that had once been his.

  What bothered him about this incident was that it was almost like this man had gone to great lengths to … abduct these clothes. Barry felt like he had been singled out. That’s what really bothered him about it – the fact that he was alone in this situation. Never had he heard of anyone else suffering this same problem.

  Suffering?

  Okay, maybe that was a bit too much. Sure he was a victim, but of what?

  Feeling helpless, he switched off the TV, stripped down, and crawled into bed, longing for the nights that Michelle would be there beside him, his nose pressed against her strawberry scented hair…

  Barry awoke to a brightly lighted apartment. A quick look around told him it was his, however scarcely recognizable. The couch and coffee table were kicked over. The TV was turned up to full volume, buzzing test patterns of a station that had gone off-air. All of his drawers were opened, clothes strewn everywhere. His closet was gutted. All the cabinets in the kitchen were open, the water faucet in the kitchen sink running full blast.

  Three men stood in the middle of the room, staring at him.

  One of them was the man he had seen at the laundromat, still wearing Barry’s brown shirt and gray corduroys. The other two were also wearing Barry’s clothes.

  Barry fought the temptation to pull the sheet up around his shoulders and cower back into the bed. Instead, he slung the sheet off, walking up to the three men in all of his nakedness.

  He drew very close to the man in the middle, the one from the laundromat and, sounding as authoritative as he could, said, “What the fuck are you doing here?”

  “What are you doing here?” the man shot back.

  “I live here.”

  “It’s a shame. The place is a shambles.”

  “Take off my clothes,” Barry demanded.

  “These are not your clothes.”

  “Yes, they are. You stole them from the laundromat. And you two, you must have taken those right out of my closet.”

  “Actually, they were laying on the kitchen table. And they’re not your clothes.”

  “What do you mean they’re not my clothes?”

  “We think they fit us better. These should be our clothes. Therefore, they are our clothes.”

  “You need to leave. Right now.”

  “No.”

  “Okay. You know what, fuck it, I’m calling the police. Stealing my clothes is one thing but breaking into my house is another. So I’m calling the police and then I’m going to get out my baseball bat and beat you fuckers until they get here.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t do that.”

  Barry went into the kitchen where the phone was. The phone was off the hook and he had to place it on the hook before picking it up again.

  Before dialing the “9,” Barry asked, “Why wouldn’t you do this?”

  “Because you’re in a lot more trouble than we are.”

  “I think you’re fucking nuts. And I think you’re breaking and entering. And I think you’ve vandalized my entire apartment. I think you’re in plenty of trouble.”

  “But you invited us.”

  “Like hell I did.”

  “I don’t think you’re aware of all the things you’ve done.”

  “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. How did you find this place anyway?”

  “When a man is running, when he is desperate, he leaves behind a scent, an essence. That’s what led me to the laundromat. That’s how I found your clothes. And of course, your scent was all over your clothes, embedded in the fabric, smudged against the collar.”

  “I’m not running from anything.”

  “Where were you at 3:28 this morning?”

  “I was…” Barry looked at the clock on the stove. It read: 3:28. “I was standing in my apartment calling the police on three intruders.”

  “But we were never here.”

  And then the apartment was plunged into darkness and quiet.

  Barry was back in his bed.

  The apartment was more than dark. Barry had the sensation of being somewhere very deep under the sea.

  He heard a popping sound. And then another popping sound and felt himself rising through the sea, toward his apartment, toward his bed that felt like it was at the surface of the water.

  Suddenly, he broke through the surface of the sea. Into his apartment. Into his bed.

  Barry stood in the middle of the bed, aware that he was holding something heavy. When he looked down, he saw that it was an ax. And what he saw beneath that, pressed down wetly into the bed, caused him to scream.

  Michelle was down there only it wasn’t the whole Michelle. It was pieces of Michelle, her blood spattered all over Barry’s gray pants, wetting the arms of his brown shirt and sticking the fabric to his skin.

  She was red and the bed was red and Barry couldn’t stop screaming.

  The Warm House

  School let out early because of the snow. Amy Bradshaw pulled her car to the curb in front of her house. There was already at least a foot of snow on the ground and her cheap car with its bald tires (a perfectly good car for a sixteen-year-old girl, according to her father) had barely made it from the high school. On the way home, she had listened to the weather reports on no fewer than three different radio stations and they all predicted the same thing – blizzard. When it got dark in a few hours, the temperature was expected to drop even further and the winds were supposed to pick up. They were advising businesses to close and motorists to stay off the road. There would be white-outs, the weather people said. They
advised against the elderly and the infant leaving their homes.

  Great, Amy thought, I’m going to have to be a shut-in for the next three days. Maybe she could go over to a friend’s or get one of her friends to come over to her house so she wouldn’t have to bear the company of her parents without some kind of a buffer. She was an only child and often hated this fact of life. The fact that she was the only one for her retired parents to focus their considerable attentions on.

  My little princess, her dad often called her.

  Yes, it seemed like he called her that every chance he got and she was getting sick of it. She no longer wanted to be anyone’s princess. Sadly, her parents’ affections were making her hate them. Maybe she was just getting older. She wanted to go off to college, someplace very far away and maybe only come back to visit during holidays and summers. She felt bad for feeling these things but, nevertheless, the feelings were there. They brewed to a thick froth with each passing day.

  She thought all of this as she sat there in her shit car in front of her (her parents’) large house and took a deep breath before getting out. She pulled her coat tight around her neck and decided not to bother grabbing her backpack from the passenger seat. She probably wouldn’t need it until Sunday. Today was only Thursday. She counted on school being cancelled tomorrow.

  The car door opened with an ancient squeak, wind biting into her skin.

  Getting out of the car, she plunged ankle-deep in the snow and cursed it. She went around the front of the car and cautiously walked up the walk leading to her house.

  Reaching her front door, she was surprised to find a package waiting below the mailbox. Hopefully, it was something for her. Maybe something she had ordered from the Internet and completely forgotten about.