Southpaw
6/7/11
Linda was out front, dealing with the movers, so Sam and Chris took the opportunity to run inside and pick out their bedrooms. There was one less in the new house, with Sandi off at college and, as Linda said "out of our hair." Linda's office was downstairs, leaving the upstairs with three bedrooms, two baths, and a guest room.
Chris ran into the room all the way at the end of the hall, on the right of the stairs. It was a smaller room than the one he and Sam shared at the old house, but for just one person it was perfect. He grinned and ran over to open the closet. That was when it happened for the first time.
Chris froze as the creeping feeling of eyes swept over his back to the nape of his neck. He felt an itching between his shoulder blades, almost as though waiting for a blow to fall. He swallowed thickly and started to turn his head, a milometer at a time, and nearly screamed when Sam bounded into the room.
"Hey, dork!" Sam crowed as he looked around. "You got the smaller room."
Chris only stared, cold sweat standing out on his forehead and upper lip. Sam noticed his brother's discomposure, frowned at his unaccustomed silence. Sam opened his mouth to speak, but before he could utter a syllable Tom walked in.
"Boys, if you've chosen your rooms, let the movers know where to put your things. Then your mother and I will take you out for lunch."
The brothers muttered their compliance, and neither could explain the sense of relief they felt when that room was behind them.
o.o.o
The dream came a week later.
Chris was standing before the west wall, and reached out a hand to lay it on the wood paneling. Just before his hand made contact, someone knocked on the wood from the other side. Chris snatched his hand back, eyes wide, and the knocking came again. The frightened boy stepped back, and the knocking steadily grew in strength and volume.
Knock-KNOCK
Knock-KNOCK
KnockKNOCK
KnockKNOCK
KnockKNOCKknockKNOCKKNOCKKNOCKKNOCKKNOCKBAM!
Covered in sweat and darkness, Chris awoke screaming.
o.o.o
"There's someone in the wall."
Sam looked up from his cereal, mouth agape, and stared at his brother. The unceremonious pronouncement would, under normal circumstances, have been an open invitation to ridicule. But looking into the younger boy's bloodshot eyes, taking in the heavy bags and drawn face, Sam could not laugh. He lowered his spoon into his bowl and bit his lips.
"They want to get out, Sam." Chris's voice began to tremble, eyes burning fever bright. "They want to get out, and they won't leave me alone until I find them."
A long moment of silence followed Chris's revelation, then Sam pushed back from the table and dumped his bowl in the sink.
"Come on."
Chris frowned blearily. "Where?"
"The garage." Sam grabbed his brother's untouched bowl and placed it beside his own in the stainless steel basin. "We're gonna need tools."
o.o.o
Cursing with effort, Sam pried the baseboard away from the west wall by degrees. The crowbar was slick with sweat and, after several minutes of heaving, Sam stopped to don a pair of work gloves. Then he took the proffered hammer from Chris's shaky grip, replaced the crowbar and hammered down three heavy blows.
"Come on, you cocksucker," Sam gritted between sweaty lips. "Come! The fuck!OFF!"
With the last blow, the baseboard came away with an ear-splitting creak and fell to the floor. Sam put it aside, careful to avoid the rusted nails jutting from the heavy wood, and clicked on a flashlight. Lips pursed, he peered inside, Chris right beside him.
What they found was a long, narrow box tucked back into the wall. It was like the boxes that had come for their sister every so often, long and white, usually filled with roses. Sam grabbed the crowbar and used it to hook the box and pull it forward.
Once clear of the wall, the boys sat side by side and peered at their peculiar find. It took a few minutes of shoving and half-hearted bickering, but they finally decided to open it together.
Eyes locked, the boys counted to three, then flipped off the lid.
"One," Sam breathed, mouth suddenly bone dry. "Two...THREE!"
The boys peered inside, then scuttled backward away from the box, clutching at one another and screaming.
o.o.o
Once the police had gone and things settled a bit, Sam and Chris sat in front of the computer in the elder's room, reading an old newspaper article online.
...ute during the end of his life. He and his wife worked out a system of simple communication that wouldn't have to rely on writing, due to his failing eyesight. One knock for yes, two for no.
The day nurse, who cared for Mr. Kersh while his wife was working, was told of this system. She would often use it to decide what to make for lunch that day, Mrs. Kersh told our own Kimberly Twinn during an exclusive interview.
"Would you like tuna today? Knock-knock. Turkey? Knock. Easy things like that."
The stroke that had taken his voice also took much of the use of the right side of Kersh's body, which was, his wife confided, a happy accident.
"He was left-handed, his right hand was always practically useless unless he was driving, anyway."
On Tuesday the 27th, Mrs. Kersh arrived home a few hours early with carry-out from one of the couple's favorite restaurant.
"It was our anniversary," Mrs. Kersh said, smiling a sad smile. "I wanted to do something special."
So, it seemed, did her husband. She entered his room to find her recumbent spouse in the middle of some rather intimate business with his busty home attendant. She was the first to notice their visitor, and according to Mrs. Kersh, her husband did not appreciate the abrupt cessation in joviality.
"Knock-KNOCK knock-KNOCK knock-KNOCK!" She shook her head, blonde hair now clipped short so that it brushed the shoulders of her jumpsuit. "He didn't want her to stop."
Driven into a mad rage, Mrs. Kersh took the dinner knife from the tray she had carried up for her prone spouse and drove it into the nurse's ample chest. Kersh was spared, only for the time it took for his enraged wife to travel to the garage and retrieve their power saw.
When police arrived on the grisly scene, they were shocked to find that Mrs. Kersh had been the one to dial 911.
"I was in a trance," Kersh claimed with a shrug. "I completely blacked out. When I came back to myself, I was standing in my husband's room, and there was blood everywhere...the only thing I could think of to do was call the police."
The coroner reported the cause of death was extreme blood loss, which made sense to all involved.
Mr. Kersh was missing his left arm.
Sam and Chris shared one long, haunted glance, then switched off the monitor.
End.
PPMB "Dream Story" iron chef.