Chapter 18—Try and Forget

Decker and I were in my sitting room. It was midafternoon, and the light from the sun passed through the windows. I’d missed work, and I was in no condition to try to get there. I was holding my bourbon in my hand, having a sip, still wondering about what had happened. I felt a tingling in my arms, and it traveled into my hands and out into my fingertips. I stretched my fingers and flexed them, trying to get the tingling to stop.

I should get up and get ready and go to work, though by now they’d have someone else covering my route. You’d think that my worries would be about that thing that was inside me. But actually, I wasn’t worried about much right then. I took a sip of the bourbon.

Decker leaned forward and was looking at me for a moment, and then his gaze shifted to the floor. “You’ll recover soon enough.”

I took another drink, this one a little longer than the last.

“Just give it some time, that’s all you need,” he said.

I took another drink, then set the bourbon down on the table. “What was that thing, Decker? Tell me.”

He shook his head. “All that racket, all that pounding on that wall in the cellar. You just couldn’t leave it alone could you, Mr. Stockhelm?”

 “Luc.”

He gave a quick nod.

“What are you talking about? What I was doing?”

“The cellar, the draft that you felt. It was no draft. It was a vengeful spirit, one that I had trapped down in that tunnel nearly a decade ago.”

“You said that draft came from your house.”

“I lied.” Decker rubbed his chin. “But you were drawn to that spirit, and then you started making that hole. I knew I had to come over here and see what was happening and put a stop to it.”

“Spirits don’t exist.” I leaned forward and looked over at Decker, shaking my head. “That doesn’t explain anything—it doesn’t explain what happened to me. Tell me, what happened to me?”

Decker adjusted himself like a businessman might do when he’s about to negotiate a deal, and then he breathed heavily. “I delve into the supernatural. I’ve been doing it for fifty years, maybe more. I don’t know, I’ve lost count. The things that go bump in the night, the creature that hides under your bed or inside a closet or under the stairs, those are the things I search for, and when I find them, I deal with them.” He looked me straight in the eye. “In your case, not only was there the vengeful spirit that I had to deal with again down in that tunnel, but also a demon had possessed you.”

“Well, that’s awfully convenient.”

“Were you planning to go out last night? Cause when I got here you looked awful cozy.”

“No.”

“What made you want to go out?”

“That letter from the postmaster.”

“Are you sure?”

“I think so.”

“Why did you go to the Harken? The Holly is just down the street.”

“I don’t know. When I went to the Holly, I felt uncomfortable.”

“You were sent to find that demon.”

“Balderdash”

I was trying to wrap my mind around what Decker was telling me, but even though I recalled what I had experienced, I was equally having a hard time believing. “This is absolutely insane. You mean to tell me you talk to spirits and banish demons?”

“How do you explain what happened to you?” He said professionally.

“I don’t know. How do you explain it?”

“I just did.”

My mouth opened slightly, and I rolled my head. “And that’s it? That’s all you’re going to tell me?”

He nodded.

I had a flash being in the dark, and my skin tearing. I took a quick drink of bourbon.

“You realize the suffering, the pain that I had to go through?” I said, the hurt in me bubbling to the top, causing my voice to pitch higher. “This would have never have happened to me”—I stopped myself, trying to keep my calm—“this would have never happened if you weren’t snooping around my house.”

Decker edged to the end of his seat and looked directly at me. “If I hadn’t snooped around your house, you’d still be possessed and who knows what else you might have done? Think about Miss Newberry, or have you forgotten so easily?” He tapped the side of his temple.

I gripped the arms of the chair. “No, I haven’t forgotten. I know exactly what happened to me, or at least I remember what happened to me. It didn’t happen to you, it was me.”

Decker sucked in a breath and let it out. “And you profess that if I hadn’t bothered to investigate what was happening in your home that you would somehow be better off?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“Mr. Stockhelm.”

“Luc.”

Decker ran his thumb under the lapel of his coat. “Let me tell you now. If I had not come over here, if I had not investigated your home, inquired into what you were doing, then it’s safe to say that you would either be dead or running rampant and murdering innocent people in this city.” He brought his hands together, clasping his left over his right and resting them in his lap. “And I could not allow that on my conscience.” He tilted toward me, getting as close as he could without coming out of his chair. “Do you understand me?”

I shut my eyes for a second to clear my mind. Maybe I wasn’t thinking straight. Maybe he was right about intervening. “So are you saying this is all my fault? Because of some spirit that you believe lured me into my cellar?”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying. The spirit was the least of our concerns. What I’m saying is that you are susceptible to the supernatural. And being susceptible led you to the situation you found yourself in.” Decker’s eyes were unflinching.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I sat back in my chair, pressing into the cushion.

“I’m not going to sit here and explain everything to you. Here’s what I’ll do. I’m going to get up, and I’m going to go back to my home. I will be there for maybe an hour or two. I have some other dealings that I must attend to, but I will hold off on those. If you feel that you need to come over and discuss this further, then let me know. When those two hours are gone, I will move on with my life, and you can do the same. Does that suit you?”

My head lowered, my shoulders sank inward, and I slouched in my chair. I raised one hand and gave Mr. Decker a wave.

Decker didn’t hesitate and left the room immediately. I heard him go out the front door, and then I heard the door shut.

I took the bourbon in my hand and drank. I stared off in the distance, letting my mind drift just for a moment. I was tired of trying to figure out what or why everything had happened. I got up and walked to the kitchen and retrieved the lantern, and on the way back to the sitting room I drew all my curtains, shutting out the light. Once all the lights were out, I lit the lantern and went back to my sitting chair.

I placed the lantern on the table next to me and adjusted the wick so that the flame would burn low, then reached for the bourbon and took another drink. The lantern’s flame flickered. I could barely make out my heavy bag, and I couldn’t see past the opening to the right heading to the hall. I stared out into the shadows, thinking about what had happened.

There was a sound coming from the hall. The wind perhaps?

I took another drink.

There was a new sound as if the front door had opened, and I wondered if Decker had come back. Maybe he forgot his pipe again? I quickly searched the table but it wasn’t there, and then I realized that what I’d heard was not the door opening. What I’d heard was a faint clink clink clank in my head. I shuddered at the thought. Clink clink clank. There it was again.

I was staring into the black of night at the edge of the room. I thought someone was there.

Clink clink clank.

I reached over and turned the lantern to its lowest point. A mere dim. I remained still.

Clink clink clank.

Inside me, a gripping fear crept into my soul and I began to wonder if the creature had returned.

Clink clink clank.

I took another drink and closed my eyes. It was nothing. It had to be nothing. Everything was gone, taken care of.

I reached over and turned the lantern to a point where the flame disappeared.

Darkness fell on me.

Clink clink clank.

It came back to me in a flood—the Harken, the alley, Miss Newberry, the body, the flames, the blood, the tunnel, but mostly I remembered the pain.

Clink clink clank.

Chapter 17—Bankrupt

It was dark.

Quiet.

I could not hear my own heartbeat.

I could not hear the creature next to me.

Nothing existed except my own thoughts. I wondered if I was truly alone. I wondered if the creature was still with me. I was as still as a pool of water in a barren desert, yet I was clinging to my existence. Time was an eternal lake in which I floated upon.

That was an odd thought.

Where was this place?

I might be in the tunnel, maybe in a different chamber, farther down leading to Decker’s house.

Even as I thought it to be true, something inside me told me it wasn’t. There must be a way out. I remembered what the creature said in my voice, inside my head. Exit out into the dark. Maybe that was it. I needed to find a way out of this dark place. But first I’d need to muster the courage to find a way out of these restraints.

I drew in my breath and let it out slowly. When my finger touched the iron clasp, a new light, brighter than the previous one, appeared. It was to my right coming from an opened door. Where’d that come from? In the light, I could see a person’s silhouette in the doorway.

Was this a trick? Maybe the creature was doing this. If it could speak to me through my mind, it might be able to make me see things that aren’t even there.

Then a low, guttural voice began to speak.

I cringed at knowing what was to follow. What was to come.

Pain shot into my spine, then it inched up my back little by little from the center radiating outward. My feet and hands tingled along with my arms and legs. The tingling turned into needling, and it intensified. I felt my heart leap against my chest. I writhed in pain, arching my back, hoping for relief, but it didn’t come.

I wanted to scream, but I remembered I had to remain silent.

Wasn’t that what I was to do?

My muscles grew tight, causing my chest to contract, constricting my air and I tried to fight it, but it was no use. Quick, short breaths. The pain rushed through my body like hot steam through an engine. The pressure and heat increased, and when it was too much, I went blind. There was no time to react, to contemplate that my sight was gone.

The heat left my body, leaving it cold. The pain left my body, leaving it numb. I tried to search for a way out, thinking of where to go. Thinking of how to exit through this dark. The words from the creature came back to me—“Exit out to the dark, not the light.” There was no light, no option other than the dark and only the dark, so I let myself go, and into the dark, I went.

I felt calm, serene. I remained still just as the creature had told me to do. I waited and remembered I was not to speak.

Something grabbed me. It was not just a grab but rather like millions of tiny little hooks piercing my skin on every conceivable spot on my body. Next, the hooks pulled outward, holding on to my skin.

I dared not move, I dared not speak. The creature had said it would not be easy.

The hooks stretched my skin and pulled at each fiber. I could hear the skin tear, and it felt like thousands of tiny burns crawling over my flesh, and then I screamed.

In the dark I felt a blade slice my skin, then another, and my skin tore from my body. I screamed so loud my soul ached.

Hooks were digging deeper, ripping the skin from my muscles. A searing pain like nothing I had experienced erupted through my body as my skin came off my sides.

Next, a spike was driven through my right wrist, then another through my left wrist. Tears shot from my eyes. I screamed so violently I bit hard on my tongue. Blood filled my mouth.

Another slice in the dark, and another. I jerked, tensed my body, trying to find relief, but it never came. Instead, more of my skin was torn off, and I continued to scream.

A light appeared—pure white and bright. It stunned me for I thought I had gone blind.

I could see a doorway where the light came from.

My heart sank, and my will began to falter, falling away from me as easily as a scaffold that has lost its footing. I wanted to beg for mercy, I wanted to ask for forgiveness. I was ready to do anything if only I could be freed.

I was being skinned alive, suspended in air, a bloody ball of flesh. I was being ripped apart.

The creature said to stay in the dark, that the pain would not last, but I didn’t want the dark, I wanted the light.

But the path to the light would be even more painful. And as I thought about the light, it began to fade. I wanted to call out, but my mouth remained shut. The light grew dimmer, and tears ran down my skinless cheeks. This was my chance. I could go into the light, or I would be trapped in the dark forever.

Why was it so hard?

It was hard because of what I had to do to free myself. I had to finish ripping my body from hooks that had dug into me.

But the creature said to stay in the dark.

I had to lift my arms off the spikes that were driven into me.

But the creature said not to move.

I would lose more of myself getting out of there, but if I remained and allowed the light to go, there would be pain but less of it.

But that’s what the creature said.

The creature said to stay still, to not speak.

But the creature is full of shit.

I jerked at the hooks, feeling their bite as they clamped down into my flesh. I surged my will and tried to move, but the hooks dug deeper. I let out my breath, feeling the exhaustion, the pain that permeated my entire being. I willed my arm away, lifting it up and over a spike. I did the same with my other arm, freeing it at a price. The bones in my wrist cracked and popped, and it felt as if someone had broken all the bones and cut away the flesh around them.

I gritted my teeth and twisted my body, making the hooks go deeper but also making them as tight as I could. I felt a pop, a tear, and the hooks tore out of my body, and I fell to the ground whimpering.

I was free.

I crawled to the light, forcing myself along. Cartilage and bone stuck out of my hands, my wrists and arms. Blood ran off my limbs, making the surface slick under me.

When I finally reached the light, I stretched out my bloodied hand and pulled them back. What was it that creature said? Stay in the dark. Do not go into the light. I cried out, and said, “Dear Lord forgive me.” The rays of light moved towards me. I felt a pull, and into a new place, I went.

Chapter 16—To Be Crucified

The air was thick with an earthy smell. It infiltrated into our nose, into our lungs. We coughed it out. We’d never make it to our house.

His chant was too strong, his words backed by conviction, unrelenting in their pursuit to banish us.

“You, not me.”

“But we are one.”

“And we need to stop.”

“We need to get to the chamber.”

The knife is what you want.

To cut his tendons at the ankles and bring him down to us. Old man with his cross – should have killed him when we had the chance, but you wouldn’t allow us.

We dragged ourselves over the dirt, gripping the side of the opening to the chamber, pulling us into the dark room. We scratched and squirmed, pushing and pulling our body farther into the room. Once inside, near the far-left wall, our hands swept over the dirt floor as I pushed myself along.

Decker’s chanting echoed, calling out to strike us down—a string of words, each one sharpened to a fine edge, cutting into our existence, damning me for what I am.

We were getting closer, nearer to Alarbus’s remains. Decker hovered just outside the chamber.

The old man was no fool, though if we could break his hold, we would make him a fool. He wouldn’t die, no. We would do better than that—Decker would wear a cap, sewn to his scalp, his ears cut from his head, his tongue from his mouth. His hands I would stitch together, each of his fingers, making him invalid. His feet I would keep intact so he might dance for me as a fool does to amuse his master.

I felt my hand grope, and grope, pushing at the dirt, dragging it then groping again, searching for the bag. I finally felt the strap, pulled it to me, heaving the bag and what remained of Alarbus to my side. I ran my hand inside. My fingertips wrapped around a cold limb, and out it came, tossed to the side. I found another body part and tossed it to the side.

My hand brushed across something cold and biting, a sharp edge, cutting the skin just enough for me to feel the sting. We pulled back, nursing my cut for a brief moment, then thrusting my hand back inside. We took the blade out, gripped the knife by its hilt, and waited in the dark.

He needs to come closer.

Why?

He needs to come closer if he is to beat me.

And when he does?

I will cut at his heel, and bring him down.

The light from Decker’s lantern pierced the darkness, exposing me. I saw him at the door, holding the lamp, his talisman out in front. The light grew brighter, and brighter it seemed to the point I had to raise my hand to block its shine. It was then I saw her, a woman, in the doorway dressed in white. She was sleek, elegant, her chin sharp and thrust upward as if she were of nobility. She came to Decker’s side, but he took no notice.

The light got brighter, and brighter, expanding out from her, encompassing her body, saturating it before it overtook me.

There was a tug, at my belly, at the navel. It dragged me across the ground, swept me up, and sucked us into the light where we were propelled by great speed.

The light expanded. We were moving, caught up in the light, traveling to where I had no knowledge. I lashed out at the light, tried to close my eyes, push it from my mind, but it was of no use.

After what seemed several minutes of movement, of being completely enveloped by white light, it collapsed on itself leaving darkness in its wake and a sweet, pungent zing in my nose similar to the scent before rain begins.

I could feel my hands pressed together. My face felt as if on fire, my body heavy as though weighted down. My back was against a stone wall, the cold leaching the warmth from me.

I ran a hand over my arm in the dark and felt cold iron clasped around my wrist. I went to move my arm, and I heard the clink of chains. My arm could go no farther. I jerked the restraints several times, causing loud rattling of metal. After a few moments, I gave up, wondering what was happening to me. I touched the chain. It ran from my wrist to the wall. My shoulders sank low. I dropped my hands to my side, and the chains clinked once again.

I felt stings on my arm and ran my finger across it. There were cuts, nearly one every two to three inches apart. I could feel blood seeping from them. I threw up my hands, rattling the chains once more – and trying to recall what had happened. Searching for the reason of my current state I tried to figure out how long I’d been here, and how I got here.

A faint light appeared above, allowing me to see. I searched for its source, from where the light had come. Was it a candle? A lantern? Squinting to make out its shape, I thought it was the latter. Though I was glad to have it. I could see my cuts more easily, and the bruising of my arms, and legs. I still didn’t know how I got them. Nothing came to mind. Did Decker beat me? Did he take the knife we had, and cut me? I gave pause for the thought came to me – were they from Decker’s words?

Perhaps.

I heard the voice again. When one hears a voice, which is not their own it often gives rise to the pulse and quickens the blood. And when one senses something nearby, not just a voice, something physical, present. It throws you back to a time when you were young, and that whatever was there in the dark, was better left in the dark.

I heard a low snort. My heart leaped, skipping a few beats. I  slowly turned my head toward a large mass lying on the ground three feet from me.

What is that thing? A dog? I scooted away, as far as I could, a mere six inches before the chains gripped me still, keeping me from escaping the hideous thing that lay beside me. I noticed more chains on my ankles, but they did not go to the wall—they ran across the cold stone floor and connected to the creature, chaining us together as if we were convicts on a work farm.

I saw its chest rise and fall, its large back flexing with rippling muscle. That’s not a dog. It’s too large, and though it resembled a dog, its head was shaped differently, flatter, no snout, no large ears flopping on the sides or perked with alertness.

Then the mass of muscle moved, this time pulling slightly on the chains connected to my ankles—clink clink clank—causing me to inch closer, but I grabbed them and held the chains fast. After several minutes my arms began to shake, the weight pulling downward to a point I released the chains, letting them go slack against the ground—clink clink clank.

When the thing moved again, the chains were drawn toward it.

—clink clink clank—

I also was drawn toward it. I tried to scramble, making a racket with the chains

—clink clink clink clank—

causing the thing to suddenly sit up, turn its head to me, and look at me with those black onyx eyes.

“What are you?” My voice cracked, and I tried to move away from it but couldn’t. The chains rattled

—clink clink clink—

as they held me in place.

The creature drew closer, pointing its finger in my direction. I froze, wondering what to do.

I felt my brow grow tight, and my face drew down my mouth opening. “Help!” I screamed. “Help me! Anybody!”

I tried again to move, yet the chains sang out their song of restraint—clink clink clank.

The creature inched closer. It smelled sweet and musty. It ran its hand through my hair staring into my eyes as if trying to communicate, and then I heard a voice. It was low at first, but then it was as clear as any voice one might hear.

When the pain comes, it will only last a moment.  The voice was inviting, sincere, even welcoming.

I heard the words, but they weren’t mine, they were from it.

You must do what I tell you when it comes. The voice came through, this time it reminded me of how a father might speak to his son when discussing a very important topic, or event that is to come.

 When it comes? I wondered what it meant, feared what it meant. When it comes? What is coming? What’s not here already?

It smelled my hair, sniffing me as if it were an animal.

Do not move when it starts. Wait as long as you can bear, then wait longer. Do not speak. Pay no mind to the light. It will be very painful. When the pain grows to a level you feel you are being ripped apart, you come back. When you come back, I will be here to help you, and we shall continue. You must endure.

It turned its head toward the light that came from above. The creature stood. I recoiled at its massive, nearly seven feet tall stature. I shimmied against the wall as much as I could, keeping away from it. The creature put its hand around the lamp’s glass, lifted it, exposed the flame within, and blew it out.

Dark fell upon us.

You must exit out into the dark, not the light.

Chapter 15—A Red Glow

At first, I was amazed at how red the pipe turned, but I didn’t feel any heat. I was looking at it closer, trying to identify where the light was coming from.

“Decker?”

The burning continued, I heard thousands of voices descend into my mind, drowning out every thought, every emotion except one. I could hear the words, but I couldn’t make them out, but I understood what they were telling me.

Drop it.

I dropped the pipe and stared at it, watching the red glow dissipate. The voices were all gone. I was in a fog, my mind clouded, my thoughts jumbled as I struggled to understand what had just happened.

Decker stepped closer, like a military man who was in formation being called on by his commander for duty.

Of course, Decker had to be in the War between the States. I should have known that.

He used quick yet controlled movement of the lantern to bring it within inches of my hand. His hand traveled precisely in a practiced manner into his pocket where it rested. His eyes flashed wide.

“What have you done with Mr. Stockhelm?”

I narrowed my gaze, wondering what the old crazy fool was talking about. He already knew about Alarbus. Before I had time to wonder much more something else took control of me.

 He knows. The voice said.

I felt as though I was removed, placed far away as though I’d become the spectator instead of the actor.

“An obvious trick, old man. Using a pipe packed with sulfurs, shavings of iron and copper.” I heard my voice, but it was not my own. It was deeper and raspier. The words flowed from my mouth as if an actor on stage, though I was unaware of the script. I heard the words coming from my mouth, but they weren’t mine.

 “You should consider leaving.” The old man’s body was stiff, his hand deep in his pocket still, the other thrust the lantern the direction I should go.

My focus was directed to Decker, zeroing in on his eyes, making sure he knew we were not about to leave. “Or what?”

Decker stepped closer.

“You must fight Mr. Stockhelm.”

“I can’t,” I said, or I tried to. I could feel my mouth going up and down, but nothing came out. Like a nightmare scream.  

I could see my neighbor’s composure, strong, ready, yet reserved. He understood. Then he stopped peering into my eyes, and I knew he was about to address what had control of me.

Decker spoke aloud in what I thought was Latin.

I felt a sudden pressure in my chest, and I clutched the spot with my hand. My hand reached out and smacked the old man across the face.

Decker recoiled.

I was now pushing, driving him against the tunnel wall. My body held him in place.

Decker was strong, but not strong enough to stop my hands from wrapping around his neck. My hands squeezed while I labored to stop my fingers from crushing Decker’s windpipe.

Stop it. I heard its voice, dark, and thick. It carried a menacing tone within it and nearly shattered my will upon hearing. It sent me away, far away, but I was still able to see, able to hear, just not able to do anything. It felt I had been pushed to the back of the theatre, away from the exit.

I could feel my hands tighten once again. I rushed toward the view of Decker outside my body, where I met an invisible shield. It kept me at a shorter distance than before, but I was now able to see my hands working to collapse the old man’s windpipe. Decker began to croak, like a frog who’d lost its voice, his face reddened while his eyes widened. “That’s right. You’re dying. You’re dying, and you can’t stop me.”

It was in that moment I notice decker bringing his arms up high, the lantern’s light blinded me temporarily before I saw his arms come down hard onto my forearms. My hold broke, I felt a hard push where I stumbled backward, the wall caught me.

I was relieved.

“You idiot.” I heard that voice.

Latin words rolled from Decker’s tongue.

I fell, hitting the ground with my knees, rolled to my side and hit the ground with my shoulder. My breath grew short, and I wildly wondered what was happening to me.

Decker stood over me and continued to chant. He pulled something from his pocket. I couldn’t make it out, the image was a small dark blur dangled from a thin rope. I forced my hand to reach out to the object only for my other hand to swat it away. I focused more, and the thing in his hand came into view. It was a cross.

The pain quickened in my chest and I had the sudden urge to defecate. I reached toward him again.

Spit flew from his mouth as he chanted in a loud, boisterous voice.

“Stop or we’ll devour your soul.” The voice reverberated in the theater in my head.

My heart pounded against my chest. We crawled along, pulling with my arms for my legs had grown limp. I could feel him walking with me, calling out with his words, not letting me go. Inch after inch I clawed at the ground, making my way while he continued to rant on.

I felt his boot in the middle of my back, a hard push, and I went down onto my belly.

If only we had a knife.

No!

Yes!

My body came to an abrupt halt, it lifted my upper body, turned me at the shoulders. I slowly raised my head to look at Mr. Decker.

What was he doing to me?

There was great pressure, like my ribs were about to crack under the mass of a boulder.

Get the knife.

My body turned over onto my back facing Decker. Aches ran over my body, and my muscles grew tight and screamed for mercy as I crab-crawled away.

I could feel it grab hold of me harder. Like a swimmer trying to drown a fellow swimmer to stop themselves from drowning but instead of dragging my body down into the depths of water, it was dragging my soul.

I could see Decker through the slit of my eyes, standing over me, holding that wretched thing. We should have killed him when we had the chance. I crawled backward, dragging my legs. Down the tunnel I went, the dirt grinding into my pants and shirt, my skin cold and clammy. I kept hearing his blasted words, words that fell like daggers over and over, tearing into me. He should be dead. How stupid we were. How very stupid.

Chapter 14—What We Seek in Shadows

I watched Decker with an unearthly calm. I was even able to take note that the lantern gave off a yellow hue that made Mr. Decker’s normally brown eyes turn almost mustard in color.

I felt my nose burn – it was the acrid smell of kerosene. Must be on the bag. Then the smell faded as I approached him and was replaced by the smell of a roasted man. 

Poor Alarbus.

Poor Decker. The voice in my head said.

 I vaguely wondered if roasted Decker would smell the same. His body was worn, aged, fragile. A bit fatter. It might, it might not. I’d need more kerosene to know for certain.

When I got within a few feet of Mr. Decker, he thrust his lantern at me and said, “Don’t come any closer.”

I held a level stare at him. His face twitched.

Suddenly he pivoted on his back foot, came around, and shoved me into the wall while moving toward the doorway. I recovered and widened my stance. He backed away, still keeping the lamp out in front.

It was a good move, yet he didn’t run, which was better for me. I took a step toward him.

“Stop!” His brow rose and curved, stretching the skin around the bridge of his nose, causing horizontal wrinkles across his forehead. His yellowed eyes were wide, his chin jutting outward. His chest was elevated, puffed up like a cock with his shoulders expanded, making his body look wider.

I cocked my head. “Not to sound condescending, but if I wanted to harm you, I’d have done it, despite your strength for a man of years.”

His brows lowered, drew together. Creased lines appeared vertically across his brow, and his lower lip tightened to the point it turned whitish. “Watch it cabbage brain. I’ve fought and beat better men than you.”

His hand went inside his coat pocket.

I stopped, then backed away, giving him space, thinking about what he might have inside his pocket. A weapon was likely, but what sort of weapon was the question.

Be careful.

“I know,” I said through pursed lips.

“What’s that?” Decker shifted closer to the entryway.

“Nothing.”

He removed his hand from his pocket and lowered the lamp, illuminating the bag. “This is nothing?”

I kept my eyes directly on him. “It’s difficult to explain.”

You don’t need to explain.

I snapped my head in Decker’s direction.

Get him off guard.

I’m glaring, but then I relaxed my eyes and showed my hands, palms out. “It wasn’t supposed to happen.” The corners of my mouth turned downward.

I could end it.

Not yet.

“I was at the Harken. I went there after your quarterly search for that ugly pipe.” I wanted him to know I wasn’t a bad guy, to pay no attention to the body in the corner.

I tried a friendly smile.

Decker didn’t respond

“I ordered a bourbon, just the one.”

“Well, you had plenty before you left.”

“Just the one.”

Decker nodded.

“There was a woman on my route there. She was sitting at the end of the bar with some man I didn’t recognize. I got suspicious. When the two of them left, I followed.”

“Is this the poor fellow?” Mr. Decker looked down at the letter bag.

I looked away, my head tilted slightly toward the ground. “Yes, that’s him.”

I brought my gaze up and met Decker’s eyes. They were without any feeling, like that of a man who’d seen much in his life.

I could end this all.

In a minute.

Wait. He’s a tricky one. The voice in my head said.

“They went into an alley. I waited at the corner to see what they were doing. I thought they were just being lovers, so I started to leave, then I heard a commotion. It didn’t sound like lovemaking.”

I looked at Decker to see if he was an old prude who might blush at the idea that I knew what lovemaking sounded like. It was pointless. He had the lantern in front of him again and his face covered in bright spots and dark shadows. Masklike. So, I was unable to tell if he was a blushing man.

“I went down the alley, and this man is choking her. I confronted him, he let her go and then…” My memory disjointed, and I tried to recall what had happened. Was it self-defense or did I murder Alarbus? I decided the former was the better answer.

You let me in.

“I did.”

“What was that?” Decker asked.

I shook my head.

“There was a struggle, I was able to get his knife, and then I killed him.”

You’d think a weight would have been lifted from my conscience, but that wasn’t the case. If anything, I felt heavier, but not with guilt or shame. What I felt was something unusual, a kind of satisfaction at having been able to share what I’d done. I recoiled, not from Decker but from within, realizing that my feeling was not something I’d ever accept. But then I also knew that was at least a partial lie.

I looked to Decker to see if there was anything there, any empathy that might be in his gaze, maybe a downward glance with a short smile, followed by words to console me in my situation. If only to let me know that I’d had no choice in the matter, but instead what I witnessed was a man who showed no emotions at all. His stare was unflinching as if he were looking into me, reading my soul.

“You killed him?” Decker said.

“Yes.”

“How?”

“I slit his throat.” It came out franker than I’d wanted.

Decker pointed to the bag. “Looks you did more than slit his throat.” His gaze locked onto me.

I looked away, shielding myself from his constant stare working to unearth what was deep inside, then brought my focus on him.

“Who is he?” he said while digging his fingers into his beard, giving it a good scratch.

“I don’t know. I call him Alarbus.” My brow crinkled and my mouth twisted. I stepped toward the wall and leaned against it.

“Why did you do this to him?” He was expressionless, his eyes directed at me.

I scratched my neck. Why lie?

“I was afraid. I left him intact in the alley and came home. The woman I rescued knows me. I was afraid she might report me to the authorities. I went back to cover up what had happened. I know it sounds strange.”

“You thought that your best defense for a woman claiming that you killed someone was to chop off his limbs and bring them back to your domicile?”

 “I burned the rest so he couldn’t be identified.”

“And him not being identified helps you when a woman goes to the police, reports a homicide perpetrated by you in an alley. When the authorities got to said alley, there’s a limbless burning corpse, and you are untouchable?’

“It sounds ridiculous when you say it in that way.”

“It sounds insane when you said it the way you said it. I will accept ridiculous.”

It didn’t matter because Miss Newberry should have never had left the Harken with Alarbus, and Mr. Decker should have never come into my home uninvited. It seemed that no matter what others did, I would be the one blamed.

And if there’s no one left, then there’s no one to blame.

Decker’s eyes were looking upward, his hand on his chin.

He’s trying to think of a lie you would believe so he could escape and report you.

I know.

He had entered your home uninvited.

I know.

There was no prearranged meeting, so no one else knew he was in here with us.

I know.

If we had invited him, say for dinner, then it was likely someone might know, but that wasn’t the case.

I know.

I doubted anyone saw us outside. Even if they saw Mr. Decker going into our place, they probably couldn’t tell who it was and probably didn’t even care.

I know.

I edged closer to him. He didn’t seem to notice. His gaze was on the ceiling, his focus not on anything external, but internal. He was lost in thought.

I watched him, thinking about this room, this chamber, this tunnel.

No one has been in here for a long time.

I hadn’t even known it was here.

If we were to wall up the hole, no one would know this place ever existed.

Maybe a long time from now, after I was dead, someone might find this tunnel, knock out the wall as I did.

But all they’ll have was bones and questions.

“I know.”

Decker was now looking at me, which caught me by surprise.

He moved closer with the lantern.

I moved to the side, then around him and stood in the doorway.

He held the lantern near my face, focusing on something.

I became acutely aware of sweat on my brow and felt perspiration run down the sides of my temples, down onto my neck. I wiped the streams away and dried my fingers on my jacket.

Mr. Decker came forward and gripped my shoulder. “I won’t say a word about this to anyone. But for God’s sake—next time just go straight to the authorities.”

I heard his words, I heard the sincerity in his voice, but some things can’t be unsaid.

“Mr. Decker, I made a mistake. I know that.” I reached for his hand. He hesitated but then took mine. I shook his hand vigorously as though I’d met President Harrison himself.

“Take my advice. You don’t want anyone else to know what you’ve done, do you? Banging around in here at night is going to attract attention.”

He stopped, waiting for a response. I nodded.

“I think the best thing,” he continued “is to bury this man’s remains, read him a prayer from the good book, and never think on this again.”

My eyes remained steady on Decker’s face.

“Are you going to allow me to leave?” he said.

I moved to the side then followed him out of the chamber, but instead of turning in the direction of my home, he turned the opposite direction.

“The exit’s this way.” I pointed back toward my cellar.

Decker stopped and faced me. Shadows formed on his face as he brought the lantern around. “I want to know something.”

“All right.” I fidgeted with my hands.

“I’m not concerned about the authorities, not yet, but I am concerned about the woman. What are you going to do about her?”

 I stopped looking at him. He turned around bringing the lantern with him, hurting my eyes as the pupils shrunk rapidly to adjust to the change in the lighting.

He realized I was feigning ignorance.

“You know exactly what I mean.” His brow furrowed.

I know.

“What’s down there?” I pointed down the tunnel.

“My home.”

“Did you know about this tunnel?”

“What about Miss Ne…?” He fumbled with her name.

“Miss Newberry?”

“Yes. Miss Newberry. What about her?” Decker was touching the side of his coat pocket, once again I wondered what kind of weapon he had.

“There’s nothing I can do. Why, do you have a suggestion?” I asked.

“Have you thought about killing her?” His brow was flat, his lips pursed together.

Burn her.

“No.”

He folded his arms. “Of course, you have. Even I know she could be a problem for you.”

I shifted my gaze to the flame inside the lamp. “I could talk with her. Her silence on this matter is all I ask. There’s a good chance she doesn’t want to go to the authorities. You know how people can be.”

Decker turned away, his back to me once again leaving me in the dark.

I was standing there, my eyes wide, waiting for him to turn back around, thinking maybe he was checking something farther down the tunnel.

He can’t leave. The voice in my head said.

“You feel that draft?” I said.

Decker spoke over his shoulder. ““Yes, I can feel it. That’s coming from my cellar.” He lowered his lantern.

“Why would the draft come from your cellar?” I quickened my steps to get closer to him.

“Because I left my cellar door open, and my windows are open.” Decker picked up the pace.

“Were they open earlier?”

Decker stopped suddenly, turned and looked at me.

I backed away a few steps.

“When?”

“Before you showed up with your pipe.”

“Yes, I was removing something from the tunnel.” Decker stepped away.

“That’s why I was banging around, trying to find out where that draft came from.” I followed him.

“Hmm.”

“What did you take from the tunnel?”

“Nothing you need to be concerned about.” He picked up his pace again.

I followed behind Decker about four paces closing the gap.

Decker hurried up his pace.

I quickened my steps.

I was nearly on top of him when I reached out.

Clunk

Something hit the floor. I stopped, and so did Decker.

He turned about, lowering his lantern toward the ground. It was his pipe. I crouched and picked it up.

“You keep misplacing this pipe.” It was the same one I’d found in my house earlier.

I held out the clay pipe to Decker from my crouched position.

Decker was expressionless, standing still, his body unmoving, his face set like stone.

I rose and stood to face him.

“Everything all right?” I said wondering if he might be having a stroke.

He was staring at me.

“Do you want it?”

Decker didn’t move.

Then I felt a burning sensation. The pipe in my hand began to glow red.

Chapter 13—Dead Men Do Not Speak

 “What are you thinking, old man?” I said through shorts bursts of breath.

I arrived at the door, flung it open, but he was nowhere to be seen.

“Mr. Decker.”

No answer.

I quickly, without thought, turned right and scurried down the hall like a fox chasing a rabbit. I leaned over the sink, jerked the curtain back letting the rays of sunlight filter into the kitchen. With a heightened since I immediately scampered through the hall, stopping at the bottom of the staircase wondering if the old man had gone upstairs.

“Decker,” I called up the stairs, but no answer.

I hurried to the kitchen, glancing at the disturbed pile of clothes I’d left when cleaning up.

I swore one of my choice swears.

Trotting through the kitchen, I directly went to the cellar door. “Why’d you go down there?” I muttered under my breath. I stopped at the door, closed my eyes for the briefest moments, breathed slowly, then opened the door. At the bottom I caught a glimpse of light, it disappeared. I drew in the dry, cool air, then let it out.

I quietly descended the steps, silent and smooth—feeling as if I were a large cat.

There at the bottom of the stairs, I could see the light in the tunnel. I moved to the hole in the wall where I saw his silhouette created by the lantern he carried.

“Decker,” I called.  The light veered in my direction, just a little, but then it resumed before continuing its former motion. “I know you heard me,” I said, my voice low and guttural.

I stepped over the broken wall, ducking my head. Still, the light moved away, and then Mr. Decker vanished from sight. The tunnel felt hollow, void of life, a place none should enter. Yet here we were.

Here we are.

“Should I call out again?”

What for?

“To see what he’s doing.”

You know what he’s doing.

“Yes, I know.”

I hastened through the tunnel.

 “It’s not what it looks like.”

Oh, and he’ll believe you?

“He might.”

He won’t.

I stopped talking before I came around the corner and stood in the doorway.

Mr. Decker was holding a lantern over the remains of Alarbus.

You know what to do.

I watched Decker, thinking that maybe there was a way out of this, a way for me to explain.

Don’t explain. Just do.

“Do what?” I said aloud.

Decker turned around slowly, shining the lantern’s light on me.

“I can explain,” I said and moved toward him.

He drew himself into a defensive stance and held his lamp in front as if it were protection. “Best you stay put.” His eyes and body steadfast, unmoving, no sign of fear.

I held up my hands. “Mr. Decker. There’s a misunderstanding. I can explain what happened if you let me.”

“Explain it to the authorities,” he said.

I dropped my head down, rotating it side to side, then reared back and cracked my neck. I lowered my gaze upon the old man. My mouth twitched.

Of all the things Mr. Decker could have said, I was relieved that he had said that.

Chapter 12—No Going Back

I felt a crushing weight on my chest, no not on my chest, on my soul. I’d killed before in regular army. I shot a scout from fifty yards with my rifle, took him right off his horse, but this was different.  It was like I just reenacted the gruesome scene of Titus, but this was not a play.

I dropped my head to my knees, and my mouth opened slightly to allow for strangled breath. Small cries of pain slipped over my lips.

“Why?” I shouted.
I pounded the ground with my fists several times.

“Why?” I whispered. “Why me?”

There’s no going back.
            I took a slightly deeper breath.

There’s no going back. The voice in my head reminded me again.

I got to keep going.

My breathing eased, and I relaxed.

There was no going back, and that was true.

I could feel my insides drying up like curing concrete. I wiped my eyes dry, got up, taking the lantern into my hand and made my way upstairs.

At the top of the stairs, I shut the door, then walked to the eating and kitchen area. There was dry blood on my hands—Alarbus’s blood. Crossing to the sink, I put the lantern on the counter, ran the pump, and turned on the faucet. I placed my hands into the stream of water, splashing my face and running them over the back of my neck. I wanted the blood gone.

My coat removed, I undid my bottoms, throwing it off like a diseased blanket. I tore off my shirt, threw my cap at my feet, and then slipped off my boots and pants.

Taking my boots, I thrusted them under the water. I ran my hands over the rough leather. The blood ran down into the drain. Images flicked into my mind—

The bag of limbs.

The walk.

The alley.

The blood.
            The axe.

The body.

The knife.

Her struggling.

Him and her canoodling.

Miss Newberry.

I should speak to her. I should go today after I finished my route and wait at her doorstep. That might be suspicious. Maybe I should wait inside. Most people don’t lock their doors.

I reached over and turned the wick low until the flame fluttered and disappeared. The sunlight crept in around the curtain, illuminating the space. I watched it and tried to remember if I left the knife in the bag or did I put it somewhere else.

Taking my old shirt, I wiped off my arms, face, hands, and neck. The white shirt took on a rusty shade. I tossed the shirt, then ran upstairs to get into my uniform.

After I rushed to get dressed, I was back downstairs and pulling on my wet boots. I would need to get a new bag at work. Extras were sitting around, and if anyone asked where my letter bag was, I’d tell them the strap broke, and I threw it away. An easy excuse.

I did a quick check: boots on, uniform on, hat on, and headed out the door. I slung the door open and had stepped onto my porch when I heard my nosy neighbor’s voice from around the corner.

Damn nosy neighbor.

Decker was humming now, a light melody, he was in a good mood. I thought to go back inside, but I needed to be going. I didn’t have time for this. I went to step down and then Decker came around the corner of the house and into view.

I stepped back onto the porch.

He slowed his approach and raised his head, looking at me as if he’d caught a child doing something wrong. “Where are you off to this morning?”

I smiled with a sense of accomplishment. “Work.”

He walked all the way to the porch where he stopped at the bottom step, blocking my exit. His arms were outstretched, taking hold of the rails, using them to brace himself. He seemed relaxed yet curious. He glanced around, looking over his shoulder, then back to me. “Did you hear any strange noises last night?”

“No, I didn’t hear a thing.” I wasn’t lying. They weren’t any strange noises last night. I had made sure I was quiet when I’d come home.

“Not too long after I left your place.” The right corner of his mouth turned slightly up, just enough to notice.

My eyes narrowed. I tried to understand what Decker was talking about.

“Banging, like a hammer against something hard, possibly stone.” His fisted hand coming down onto his palm like a hammer. “It was faint, but I could feel the vibrations through my floor. Which I thought was odd.”

It took me a few seconds to remember what he was talking about, knocking that wall down, but that felt decades ago.

“I didn’t feel or hear a thing. It’s probably your age.”

“My age, eh? I don’t think so.” He waited for me to answer, but I wasn’t going to talk.

I stepped down, expecting him to move, but he remained. I was standing at the second to last step, looking at the old man. His eyes were bright, like orbs filled with life and energy.

We waited. I didn’t want to give the nosy old coot any more reasons to be suspicious, so I kept my calm.

“I wasn’t sure what I’d felt,” he continued, “so I took off my shoes and walked around barefoot. I walked around so much I let my old bones in my feet go cold. When I couldn’t determine where it was coming from, I came outside.”

“You came out barefooted?”

“Yes.” He locked his eyes on my face and smiled dryly. “Good to get the feet cold and dirty. Anyhow, I still could not figure it out, so I walked to the right, toward Mrs. Vanern’s, and it was less noticeable, but when I walked closer to your place, it felt stronger. I even walked out across the yard in the snow. My feet nearly froze before I got back into the house.”

“You shouldn’t be walking about in the snow barefoot. You might catch a cold, get ill, even die.” I smirked as the old man glared slightly. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t hear anything, and I assure you if I had, I’d been out here looking for it.” I pressed forward, and he let me by.

“Hmmm.”

I turned around and faced him. “What?”

“I heard sounds when I was by your door.”

“Well, there wasn’t any noise. Maybe it was your heartbeat. I hope you’re not sweet on me. Not my type.”

The old man stared at me as though he were looking through me.

“Are you having a stroke?” I squinted my eyes.

Mr. Decker glared. “Funny, are we?” His eye caught something on my face, and he reached toward me.

I backed away. Maybe he was sweet on me.

“You got something red on you. It’s on your nose. Looks like blood.”

I rubbed my nose. “Must have been the roast. I like it rare.”

“Humph, I prefer to kill the worms.”

“Afraid of what might kill you?”

“No, I just don’t like to crap all night.”

“I’ve got to go,” I said. “I’m going to be late for work.”

“Good day.” He tipped his hat.

I moved away as quickly as I could and avoided looking back so not to be drawn into a new conversation. Though in the back of my mind there was a nagging feeling. My neighbor was up to something. I slowed my pace. He watched me this morning when I came home. He saw me with the bag, yet he never asked me about it. Why? What was he doing?

I’d walked about twenty, maybe thirty yards slowing down when I suddenly stopped.

I had forgotten to lock the front door. I turned around, and I could see the back of Decker as he entered my home.

Chapter 11—The Man I Called Alarbus

The letter bag was nearly as heavy when filled with letters and swayed a bit as I walked through the streets. I passed multistory apartments above stores, and office buildings appeared as dark sleeping giants. The only light came from the lamps on the corners of the streets. I’d arrived at the crossing of Fifth and Main and stood in the yellow light. I checked my trail. Behind me was a trickle of blood, like a fine line of crimson syrup ran over shaved ice.

“You remember the fox, don’t let them catch you.”

“Oh, no.”

“Throw them off.”

“Yes, of course.”

I couldn’t take Main north, the direct route home. I had to turn around or head in a different direction. I could head south, away from my home, toward the river. I could go there. I could dump the bag and the body into the river. It was an idea, but there were a few problems. The sun would rise around seven thirty, and I had to be at work by eight. I was two miles, maybe more, from home. If I went south, I wouldn’t be able to get to the river and turn back before the sun was on me. I’d be caught in dawn’s light, walking about with blood on my coat, on my shoes, on my hands, on my cheeks, it was all there. I could feel it. How it dried and pulled my skin tight. The other problem was the bag. If found by the river by chance, it would be easy for the authorities to track it to the postal office, leading to me eventually.

I had cut through several alleys, zigzagging my way back to leave a trail that could not be tracked. The extra mileage would ensure the blood ran out, or froze, leaving nothing behind, and if someone were to try to follow what trail was left, it wouldn’t lead directly home.

I stopped near a can of garbage, carefully lifted its lid, and found an old newspaper on top. I used it to wipe the bottom of the bag, then tossed the paper in the bag with the unnamed man’s remains.

The cold bit the skin. My hands felt frozen and stiff. My knuckles locked in position, one hand secured to the ax handle and the other on the strap over my shoulder. I hurried along, making sure I wasn’t seen, wasn’t followed.

I was finally at the end of my street before the road turned into a dirt path heading north, where the forest grew. I was trotting, picking up my pace, for the light of day was nearly on me.

I was getting closer to my house, and I’d placed one foot into my yard when I saw my neighbor Mr. Decker facing me, standing out on his front lawn, just ten feet or so from his porch. I lowered my head, hoping not to attract his attention, hoping he would look the other way, but he wasn’t. He was looking at me. I had to think quickly about what to do.

I was close to my porch when I heard his voice, but I didn’t stop. I ran up the steps, grabbed the doorknob, twisted and pushed, but the door wouldn’t open. It was locked.

Devil’s thumbs! My ears strained to hear if he was coming but struggled to hear anything besides my frantic heartbeat.  I fumbled around my pockets, searching for my key. It’s not in my front pocket, it’s not in my jacket pocket, there it is in my inside pocket.

I froze. Was that the crunch of footsteps?

“Doesn’t matter, keep going.”

I changed hands, holding the key in my left, and in my right, I reached down into my bag, searching. I could feel the dead man’s cold flesh as my hand passed by, digging, and then I felt it. I wrapped my hands around the handle and brought the knife out. I waited for him to come.

Taking the key and inserting it into the keyhole, in one turn, I unlocked the door and rushed inside feeling that I certainly escaped the hand of Decker and the consequences for me having to face him. I shut the door hard, dropped both the key and knife and hurried to lock the door. The latch fell into place, and I stood there leaning against the door, one hand on the latch, the other pressed against the upper center, bracing my weight and the weight of my bag. I was breathing hard, my heart pounding against my chest, my blood pumping in my ear.

Knowing I was out of immediate danger, I pushed off the door, reached for the strap, and lifted it off my shoulder, bringing it around my head and lowering the bag to the floor. The gray light of dawn filtered into the room. I quickly walked to the sitting room, checking outside to see if Decker was lingering.

He wasn’t.

 I pulled the curtains tight. I moved to the kitchen and ensured Decker wasn’t outside the small kitchen window and closed its curtain. Ambient light pierced around the edges of the window. Everything was fine. I had made it. Except I was running behind on time. I needed to get cleaned up, but first I needed to do something with my bag.

The cellar.

I could take it to the river after work.

The cellar.

 That would be a good place for now.

I snatched the letter bag’s strap, crossed the foyer, passed the kitchen and eating area, and moved to the cellar door. I ran down the stairs, nearly losing my step, then dropped the bag at the bottom of the stairs. The cellar was coal black, as though all the world had been thrown into darkness. It was eerily silent. Something didn’t feel right—none of it felt right—but something else seemed wrong.

There’s nothing wrong. The voice in my head told me.

“I have a man’s remains in this bag.” I let out my breath. “There’s something wrong with that.”

Is that what you’re worried about? Don’t be.

I ran upstairs, picked up the lantern, and used a match to light it. I hurried back, stopping at the bottom of the stairs and looking at the hole in the wall.

Sitting on the bottom step, I gazed on the bag that held the unnamed man’s remains.

“You wanted me to follow you, didn’t you?”

A slight draft floated by, caressing my cheek.

I sat there in anticipation. Waiting.

For what?

I shivered as a small voice inside my head spoke, an answer?

 “I’m waiting.”

Moments passed like a clock making its round to the next number.

 I shook my head. “Of course not. You aren’t going to answer me. Even when I asked for your name, you wouldn’t answer.” I placed my finger on the bottom of my chin. “Since you didn’t give me your name and now you can’t I suppose, I should give you one. It’s not right to leave what remains of you here, walled up without a name.”

My eyelids felt heavy, my muscles ached, and my head pounded. I pushed it aside and focused on the ceremonial task.

“All men should have a name.” I bent forward, thinking while taking the strap in hand, and picked up the bag. But I didn’t have to think. Not really. I knew what name I would give him. I’ve known it since my second gruesome trip to the alley.

“Alarbus,” I said aloud.

I stepped through the rubble, raising my hand to allow the light to lead the way. Over the broken wall and onto the dirt path I proceeded with Alarbus.

I walked down the passage with the same feeling as if I just walked into a church in the middle of prayer, a mixture of reverence, shame, and regret. I hated that feeling.

 “It’s a good name, isn’t it?” I said to the pieces, “Fitting too. At least I think it is. Shame though.”

I stopped and shined the light on the brick to my left and then on the natural stone formation to my right.

The path was smooth, shaved and worn over many years of use. I continued, my pace slowed, coming to the chamber on my left. I peered around the corner. Thick lumber shored up the space, reminding me of the silver mines in Bisbee.

Time was running out for me, and work would soon begin.

“What am I to do with you?” I said to Alarbus.

Alarbus was silent.

“I don’t have time to bury you.” I knew there was risk in keeping his body here, in this tunnel, especially with my neighbor who’d already been snooping around in my house. There was no time to wall up the cellar, nor did I have the supplies. If I stayed and buried him, then I would be late for work, and you don’t want to miss work on the day you killed somebody.

 I’d be sure to lock the door to the house. I’d lock the cellar too, but I wasn’t sure where the key was.

I brought the bag to the far corner of the room and rested it on the ground like a Ming vase. I turned about and went out of the chamber and into the tunnel, cool air passing over me. It was the draft. I stopped, wet my finger, then held it above my shoulder. Why is it going the opposite direction? How’s that possible?

The tunnel didn’t end here at the chamber, and when I held the light up, I couldn’t get a sense of far it went. There’s no time to explore now. I had to get back to work. I turned back toward the cellar, the light out front, swaying shadows on the walls.

The broken wall came into focus, and it looked as if I’d stumbled across lost ruins.

I stepped over the wall.

I got to go to work. I have to be normal. How can I be normal? I felt my body tremble as if something were wrong. How’d I get here? What was I doing? My brow crinkled, my chest rose and fell rapidly. I felt weak in the legs, and I slowly slid to my knees.

 “What have I done?”

I rocked.

“What have I done?”

Rocked.

“What…have I done?”

Rocked.

“…have I done?”