All the knives That have rusted in my back, I drive in yours
The night looms. I've entered SCW a relatively obscure reference to days long past. I'm a relic and the thought has never been more present in my mind. I had run through my first opponent like an old man wrecking machine. Just like I said I'd do, and up till now I've felt unstoppable. But now, before my second match, I doubt every bone in my body; I second-guess every decision I make. I'm turning into that shell of a man I claimed I'd never be. Alone and awaiting death. On the outside I must look pretty determined, on the inside I'm suspicious of every corner, every turnbuckle and every rope. Which one of these things will aid in my demise, seeing as I'm almost positive it won't be Donovan Kayl. I'm told I shouldn't wait for death, live my life with the foreknowledge that my likelihood of dying is raised exponentially anytime I pretty much do anything. But I won't harp on it anymore; It'll happen when I'm good and ready to let go of this life of mine. When I'm facing just the right opponent strong enough to push this 'bear' to his breaking point, when my stolen heart finally says to me "Okay, I've had enough, time to stop." I just hope the poor bastard who had this organ before me was as strong a willed motherf*cker as I am.
Slamming the yellow city cab's trunk and gathering my duffel bag in my hand I turned to look at my home. I was here for a few days to relax while the media wheels churned in my favor seemingly; My producer would begin marketing the Comeback to various networks in conjunction with the SCW. Apparently, all I had to do was suffer having cameras carted around with me everywhere I went while they taped me trying to 'comeback' to wrestling. A lot they'd see with me at home with my kids. The wind picked up, rustling leaves behind me on the center lawn as the cab sped off into the evening leaving a quasi-soothing trail of exhaust vapor around me and my camera crew who collectively opted to stay in the background and roll film, out of my way, as if they weren't even there; How convenient, better remember that. Walking up the small group of steps I opened the front door to a warm house lit by lights in the kitchen, living room and upstairs; The comforts of home never cease. I closed the door and took off my shoes, glancing around quietly before entering the kitchen and sighting my third ex-wife Marie by the sink washing some dishes to the sound of Prince. I put my bag down and approached her silently. I still loved her, just not enough to want to marry her again. Years ago it had been ordained by the both of us that we'd live together for the children, even if we both were a little scarred by the past and incapable of showing our love for one another, we could still show it to them together. Quietly reaching forward as I slipped across the kitchen tiles and gripped my hands on her shoulders leaning in and whispering in her ear.
"I'm going to remarry you." I smiled to myself as she turned in surprise, if only from the hands gripping her shoulders.
"Only if you promise to divorce me immediately." Her response was quick, well-timed and left me perplexed momentarily before she grabbed a hand towel and dried her hands.
"I didn't know when you'd be home so I didn't bother holding off on having dinner with the kids, I hope that's all right." My wife, a very blunt woman when she has no reason to be anything else smiled and hugged me warmly. My home was a pleasant one.
"The kids are all upstairs. They've been waiting for you to tell them all about your television show and reemergence into... into wrestling."
She spoke callously for a moment when addressing the show and wrestling. They weren't her most favorite of things I'd decided to undertake in my middle age only because she figured they'd only serve to make a mockery out of all I'd earned in my youth. I'm not some comedy stooge and she was sticking up for me in her fenced in hatred for all things involving this comeback. I sighed as I craned my body to open the fridge and fish myself out a bottle of water
"I'm going to tell the kids the story tonight." I had managed to reach the stairs before she plodded out of the kitchen after me.
"Jack, no! Don't, you'll give the kid's nightmares with that wretched story of yours. For once I just wish you'd say it wasn't true." I stopped in my tracks and turned to face her, a frown lining my brow as I read her expression.
Wasn't true?
Who was anyone to say it wasn't true if I saw it with my own two eyes. Besides, she didn't want me talking about T.V. or wrestling to them, why not tell the kids the reason I can tell when something bad is going to happen.
"Oh, come on I'm home so rarely, I probably won't get to see the kids again till after this match or the next one. If I don't spend an hour with them a month they'll forget about me." I drooped my eyes and pouted like a saddened dog, hoping she'd allow me this once to tell the kids about a defining moment in my life: My first real memory. She searched my eyes and nodded.
"Fine. You'll do it anyway... just... don't scare them too much." With a sincere but appreciative smile I headed up the stairs to the family room. A large recreation room with a pool table, and a nice entertainment center. All the kids would be in here. Striding into the room I stepped in front of the television, flicking off the power button and glancing sternly at them.
"Hello young'uns." I glanced over there faces proudly. It's an amazing feeling to be able to stare down at little beings you had a hand in creating, and know they're turning out better than could be expected. Thomas age nine; My youngest son with his bright eyes was the baby born one year before my little 'accident' in the ring, I'd be lying if I said I didn't cherish him the most. Dylan, ten, second youngest and most energetic of the bunch; He was my favorite victim for practical jokes, and hopefully my story would liven him up something fierce; Alena, fourteen and rebelling against everything but her family now it seemed; My harshest critic, and most authoritative daughter she was the first child I had with Marie. Then the three elder children from my second marriage. Samantha my rather buxom eighteen year-old with an eye for money. I had a feeling she'd steal from me eventually... a strange senile prediction perhaps? And on the end of the couch sat my twenty-three year old daughter Rachel, and twenty-four year old son to round out the bunch, Algonquin, a name I'd managed to get away with before my ex-wife (Bless her soul) realized it was the name of a Native tribe. They all look resonantly at me, beaming and happy I'm home if only for the short while I was allotted. The past few weeks were spent mostly with physical conditioning workouts and meetings to discuss how to promote the show. I was a busy man whose life had nearly been taken by an accident, and now seemed to be taken by another entity. Smiling down at them I leant against the wall unit.
"Dad, you're going to kick ass in SCW!" Dylan blurted out causing me to snicker.
"Maybe, Dylan. Daddy's body isn't feeling so great lately." Mine was an ominous chuckle, that seemed to effect the entire audience into a somber sobriety before they could even give me their respective hellos. My face growing smug in front of them as my head hung lowly, finally beginning to pace carefully in front of them, the flickering fireplace lit up the wall behind me, trapping my shadow in a clash of vibrant colors. One of the girls finally piping up in all seriousness.
"What's wrong, Dad?" Alena looking concerned stopped me, my eyes on hers for a good long time as I held my chin in thought. These kids save for Dylan and Thomas all witnessed my 'accident' in the ring eight years ago, now there concern for there father grows with every passing day.
"I don't know, honey. I get worried easily I guess." I smiled a comforting smile but kept my brooding scowl. Algonquin rested his head on his elbow, sealing his lips and glaring at me. I shrugged at him innocently and panned the faces seated on the couch.
"Did I ever tell you kids anything about the Dog Rib tribe?" All looking up at me expectantly, my question hung unanswered.
"See, when I was younger than any of you. I went to live with them." Thomas, held his hand up as if this were a classroom.
"Where was your daddy and mummy?" My eyes grimaced at the mention, my spine tingling for just a second as I pulled up a chair and sat down in front of them, heaving a sigh of relief at some comfort.
"Well. My daddy did some things, and said some things that made me not very complacent with him, shall we say. And I ran away from home; But all that is a different story, for a different day. I mention the Dog Rib because these people were amongst the more mystical natives of the bunch. They had a wide array of belief systems and often believed that not only was the land there to provide for them, but there to protect them. Often placing curses on people who tried to harm any of the Dog Rib." I had all of their attentions focused solely on me as I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees and clasping my hands as the fireplace projected it's dancing light around the room and did the rest.
"Now, you're probably asking yourselves how I found out about this curse and if it's really true or not. Aside from spending most of my young life with these people. This isn't a curse that is spoken of lightly in that tribe. In all seriousness if certain words were to be uttered they would illicit a grave reaction and a prompt order to leave the area. No... your dad found out about it the hard way." Raising my eyes in a distant gaze, my eldest daughter Beth voiced her sarcastic opinion.
"What is this curse, I don't understand. The earth protects these people?" I smiled, glad they were asking all of the right questions.
"Well, it's kind of a symbiotic relationship really, or at least that's what they believe. Something about looking after the Earth, and it will look after them by any means necessary. Now, I've never heard it summarized. And I've never heard it described. But I can tell you what I know from experience. And it goes all the way back..... back to 1955. Your daddy, me... I was four years old; Fresh-faced, young, exuberant and wanting nothing more than to go with my dad hunting. My dad hunted to put food on the table for us, and he was good at it. With the animals he'd kill he'd often keep the furs, too, to sell where he could but at that time fur trading wasn't exactly a lucrative business anymore, so for the most part my daddy kept us with food in our mouths, a roof over our heads and tried to keep me and my mother as sheltered from the great big world as he could; He could keep us away from the government, but not the Indians though since we lived in a log cabin up in the chillier aspects of Churchill, Manitoba. Oftentimes I heard of my dad having disputes with Indians over game he was hunting that he wasn't supposed to be. So I guess my daddy never liked those Natives much being that they were trying to tell him he couldn't hunt to keep his family alive, which in essence was what they were doing, I eventually found out that those natives didn't like my daddy too much, either. But with us living so close to their territory it was next to impossible not to encounter them more often than naught. And I'm going to tell you about the time when I first encountered an Indian. It wasn't on very kind terms but it'll be a moment I remember till the day that I die. Because that Indian, and his tribe put their curse on me..." The younger kids looked frozen, staring up at me in awe whilst the eldest kids wondered quietly in fascination about my story and where it was going; Only Algonquin sat with a knowing gaze. He'd heard this story once before and still wasn't fond of it I guess. I smiled devilishly as I pulled my chair closer, nearing them as if to confer quietly with colleagues about secret deals. This wasn't a story to be told loudly. It required hushed tones. I inhaled deeply, reminiscing over this particular story to make sure I had all of the details right before telling these kids anything.
"Where we lived, in the Northernmost parts of Manitoba, snow was pretty much a constant. I remember the snow on that particular day like it was yesterday. Blowing, cold, torrential snow that should have instantly dictated to my dad to turn back and forego hunting for just this one day. But he didn't. He was just as eager to hunt with his son as his son was to hunt with him. My first hunting trip wasn't about to be ruined by weather, my dad, as I recall kept telling me to 'ignore the damn weather, we're going to bag us a trophy buck'. So with confidence imbued we set off walking across some of the harsher tundra, me following sheepishly along behind my dad as best I could, occasionally losing my footing in the deep snow, but anytime I'd fall my dad would turn, grab my hand and hoist me out. Why, this was probably the only time in my life when my dad was a dad for me. Anyway, as we marched, my dad I'm pretty sure began to lose sight of where we'd been and where we hadn't. The fresh snow falling right into our footprints, covering them faster than we could make them almost. And so it came about that we'd park ourselves out amongst a small circumference of pine trees, for shelter and possibly a location to bag our illustrious 'trophy buck', and he didn't say but a rainy-day shelter in case we had to spend the night out here. My dad prepared his rifle, polishing it, loading it and finding a suitable location to sit and wait for our deer or what-have-you to pass on by; While I camped beneath a pine tree and blew small trails of steam out of my mouth and nose, watching it curling upwards through the pine needles. I remember waiting here for hours, with nothing but the sound of snow falling, and wind rustling through pine needles above us to keep me company while my dad did his thing. Glancing up, I watched the cloudy sky slowly blacken as night was about to descend upon us, and this is when my dad called out in a whisper to me. he said;
'Come 'ere Jacky... I think we got one.'
Now mind you, kids. I was a stranger to hunting procedures at this time, so I wasn't sure how to proceed, if cautiously or if I should just amble on over to him. Opting to crawl quietly through the snow, taking a cue from my dad, I slithered up beside him where he had his rifle braced against his shoulder, his eye through the sight. As I followed his gaze I laid eyes on the sweet sight of an animal, obscured heavily by the falling snow about a hundred or so yards in front of us. Time froze at this moment, slowing down to a crawl as my dad turned, looking pensively at me, then at that deer and leaned in closely to me.
'Jacky' He said.. 'I want you to shoot this one I need to use the john.'
My dad was a gruff man, looking for nothing more than to teach his son how to shoot, and how to provide for his future family, disregarding the way of the world. I didn't know anything, I just wanted to make him proud but asking me to shoot his 30.06 was a task I'd soon find I wasn't fully suited for, what with the fact the length of the rifle would have been as tall as me if we'd stood back to back. But my dad was also a large, heavy-set man that rarely disobeyed the call of the wild. Standing up he made his way for a group of trees to relieve himself, leaving me with that big Winchester rifle to hold, steady and use on my own. He had only spotted this damned thing and now I was going to be the big little boy that I was and make my daddy proud. So, as he left me for just those matter of moments I held the butt of the gun against my shoulder as best as any four year old could, leaning in and glancing through the sight, lining this distant animal up in the crosshairs and holding my finger against the cold steel of the trigger. I was scared, having never shot anything before I was more nervous than anything on this planet at that time and I shook from the cold, and my own youthful fear of the unknown. Without my dad's watchful eye I trained the horizon with the barrel of the gun and picked out what it was he'd seen off in the distance. I was as patient as I could be, singling that deer out as best I could amongst the clods and clods of falling snow as far as the eye could see. It was a wonder my dad had even sighted the damn thing, had I been watching I may have dismissed it for just another snow bank if it hadn't moved so quickly, and discernibly. Calling to me from the bushes where the sound of a man's bladder was being emptied, my dad gave me some last minute instructions through hushed tones.
'Now, son. I want you to aim for the legs. Take it down by the kneecap, we don't want to damage the fur any.'
For some reason, those words of my dad made me hesitate; I'd never heard of him wounding an animal first. But at that time it didn't seem strange in any way other than maybe he was going easy on me. I know now why he wanted me to aim for the legs... But I did as he asked because he knew more than me. Placing my eye along the shaft of that rifle, I lowered the barrel enough so to take out a leg. In a moment of pure bloodlust I closed my eyes and pulled the trigger, knowing instantly something was wrong when I heard that loud gunshot almost stop dead in the snow drifts, the hollow sound still ringing in my eardrum, and then the sound of that 'animal' groan so loudly not like any animal at all in the distance. I opened my eyes, a shooting pain coursing through my shoulder as the recoil felt like it had taken my weak little arm off and watched as that animal fell humanly forward like a domino, an arm appearing out of nowhere to grip it's leg as it rolled from side to side, in obvious pain and discomfort. I gasped, clutching my shoulder in pain, knowing I had probably just broken my arm but I still didn't know something was wrong till my dad walked over to where I lay and breathed heavily. Holding his hand over his eyes to look at that thing I'd just dropped. I'll never forget looking expectantly up at my father for some sort of praise even through the shooting pain that found my arm hanging limply along the snow was enough to bring tears out of my eyes before he glanced down at me with the most worried look I'd ever seen on his face.
'What the hell did you just do....' He wasn't asking.... I don't know what he was doing to tell you kids the truth. But he set off bounding through the snow towards this thing as if his life depended on it and me, being the naive four year old that I was I ran off after him, my arm dangling at my side, my hand clutching my elbow as I winced in pain, tripping amongst the snow wherever it got higher or lower. He reached the downed animal before I did, crashing his knees into the snow, sending a plume of powder up and over the white, snow-like sealskin garment that covered this 'animal'. I was still a ways off but I could hear the audible groan of a man in pain and my heart sunk. Finally realizing why my daddy was in such a hurry to get to the poor thing. I hadn't just shot a caribou in the leg, not a wolf, not a bear... I'd shot a human. Looking back on it now, it's a slightly common occurrence in instances like this. Hell, my daddy had probably done something similar plenty of times in his day, but I still didn't understand the gravity of the situation till I finally set myself down beside my dad and laid eyes upon the cracked and weathered old face of a poor native, clutching his bloody leg and mumbling gibberish. Maybe it was Indian... suffice to say it wasn't a language I'd heard and could only look dumbfounded at this man who looked from me to my father with a scorned, lonesome gaze that told me he knew he was going to die. At that very second I knew one of the two still healthy amongst this trio was going to have to finish what I'd started.... My heart was pounding, my shoulder pulsing from the pain a broken or sprained arm can give you as my dad set to work feverishly, tearing off a piece of his wool jacket as best he could, tying a knot around this man's thigh in an effort to stop the blood leaking out from this man's skin onto the pure white snow making a ghastly little painting with human blood. I could only watch in horror as this man rolled awkwardly from side to side, his chest rising and falling in short, hurried heaves; Wisps of breath flying out of his mouth along with that battery-acid saliva you get when it seems your muscles themselves are crying out in agony. And then, after my daddy had done all he could with his limited first aid out here amongst the Arctic wastes, he glanced down at the man I'd shot with a reassuring glance and leaned in. I couldn't hear what he fully whispered into this Indian's ear but the last thing I heard was...
'...I'm so sorry, please forgive me.' My dad said this through a withered voice, sounding guilty, pained, and more afraid than I'd ever heard or will again. The Indian, still moaning like a banshee clutched at my father's chest and sat up; It was as if he ignored the pain for a second, and laid his eyes upon me, letting them fall directly on mine and he raised his arm... and pointed at me with a shaky finger. I'll never forget the look on his face. It was by far, the single most damning look I've ever received. Like that of a man who'd just been stabbed in the back, and found the culprit. 'Et tu', Jack? Now, maybe I was hearing things... maybe the howling of the wind as it turned darker and colder in the arctic night played tricks on my ears, but I clearly saw this old Indian's lips move, and utter the words that would haunt me to this very day... he said with crackled vocal chords, coughing and sputtering with his finger still directed at me...
'The knives in my back... It will drive in yours....' and then he leaned back, his eyes slowly rolling into the back of his head as he collapsed back into the snow and closed them. I watched as his hand closed and opened around the still gushing wound in his kneecap and I looked at my father through a cloud of tears covering my eyes, not willing at this point to say to my dad how much my arm hurt and definitely not comprehending this Indian's rambling. My dad looked down at me with concern as he slowly placed his hand over the Indian's mouth and turned his head to look at me. He almost looked reassuring; Comforting somehow as he tried to keep the native from saying anything else with his hand clamped tightly over his lips.
'Ja...Jacky.... you didn't do anything wrong.' He said to me, only making me start to cry more; I was young but I wasn't stupid. I'd just shot a man who would now die either slowly or quickly depending on my father and me. And he placed his hand on my sore shoulder, his eyes lifting to survey the horizon that only got blacker as nighttime drew closer. 'I... I want you to run home.... I'll take care of this. I want you to run home... and don't look back. Not for anything. Go.... go be with your mother.' The situation had turned so horribly frightening to a child of my age. Moments before this all happened it seemed like my dad and I had all the time in the world and now he was telling me to run home faster than I could... but why, I thought, that guy was as good as dead.
'Why do I have to leave you, daddy?' I asked, crying with remorse as I stared from my father to the Indian that had opened his eyes and peered them from side to side inside of his eye sockets awkwardly, as if in his dying moments his body had chosen to cease to cooperate with the rules set upon it at birth. This was definitely not a moment for me to be leaving my dad I thought.... not when I'd just disappointed him so badly, and shot a man to boot. But my dad raised his voice to a low growl now, as he slowly stood up, keeping his hand on the Indian's mouth, even as mumbles and groans wheezed out of the fallen man's dying lips.
'Jack! GO HOME NOW.' My father looked even more worried now than he did when first knowing what it was I'd wounded. His eyes constantly training across the landscape in intervals as he glanced at me with a growing anger. 'You go... the fuck home now boy before I give you something to really cry about.' I stood up at this point, clutching my poor arm... so curious why my dad was getting so angry at me. I glanced nervously behind me at the blackness that he wanted me to run into; Scared about getting lost, about meeting something I didn't want to... and scared of being alone, possibly not even finding home. My hesitation was fear, but I don't think my dad cared about what I wanted at this point. At the time I thought he didn't want me to see what he had to do despite already knowing what was necessary. It was night time, probably about 7:00 PM now, getting colder where we were and this Indian would either die from the cold, loss of blood over a drawn out period of time, scavengers... or my father's gun. The very instrument that had been used to put the man in this sorry predicament. Still so scared, the cold only making my arm hurt worse sending shivers up my spine and down to my feet that felt frozen completely off; I looked through my tears at my father who raised his large hand above him threateningly.
'Get out of here, you little shit. NOW!' And then he brought his hand down across my face, toppling me off my feet and landing with a thud in the snow. My face stinging, my arm pounding and the cold wind howling louder and louder. I didn't care now though... my dad had hit me, the first time out of many but it was enough to make me ignore any pain I was feeling and turn, lift myself out of the snow and start to run towards home. Or at least I hoped so. I didn't want to look back but I did; Seeing my dad turn towards the blackness and the snow defensively... as if waiting for something to come along... Still so confused, I turned, a spot of blood trickling down my nose forcing me to sniffle, my eyes closing tightly as I felt a head rush come over me. But again, I didn't care about the pain.... I now wanted to know why my Daddy was as worried as he was.
'Daddy??' I called for the last time before he turned and raised his gun. Not at me.... a bit above me; I'm not sure if he'd have never actually shot me, truthfully.
'JACK! GO HOME!' The gun did go off, splintering a tree to the left of me enough to set me running like a hare escaping a wolf. My body already tired as I disappeared into the night, running endlessly away from my father, away from the Indian... and away from the night that had my dad so spooked. I stopped as I reached another large embankment of trees and turned.... crying more now than I was minutes before. Startled by the sound of the gun going off again. Then again. And then silence. Nothing but me, the wind and the sound of it running through the snow and the trees. I whimpered and sat down cross-legged. After-all I was just a kid... so scared at what I'd done, of making my dad angry enough to point a gun in my direction. He must've been as scared as I was to do something like that.... I held my head in my hands for what seemed like hours. My arm surging with the pain of a lesson learned, my face stinging from the reprisal of my up-till-now invincible father and my heart beating rapidly inside of my chest... long before it would ever serve as a hindrance."
I stopped to glance at each of the kid's face, gauging their reaction with whether to continue or not. Each looked so interested.... all except for Algonquin, my eldest. The one who knew this story already and the one who seemed least wanting to hear it again. Maybe it gets dumber each time I tell it... but I've only told it a few times. And these kids need to hear about all things under the sun. I smiled slyly as I stood, walking over to the window and opening it a tad, letting some cool air blow in through the curtains, creating a better atmosphere for these kids. Then sitting back down, I leaned in closer, they all followed suit till we were just feet apart from each other. And I continued.
"So I cried... and I cried not caring to heed my father's instructions anymore. I was a kid for God's sake. Now... I'm told... that in the wild everything is against you, even your senses. So at first, when I heard it... I figured it was just my ears deceiving me. That slow... withered breathing that didn't sound like anything I've ever heard before. It was as if the wind itself had stopped howling to make way for this new, haunting inhale and exhale of some animal that to me... sounded like it was getting closer. I bolted up to my feet when I finally established it wasn't a trick and hid behind a tree, waiting, and watching to see what it was. I thought it was my father.... I was justified in thinking so, a gunshot or two had sounded, he had to have been following along after me eventually... didn't he? But as I peered around the bark of that tree, I saw nothing. Just the sound of slow, moderated gasps met me, like the trees themselves were whispering and breathing all around me.... I could swear I could make out what they were saying too....
'run... it's going to find you...it's going to get you...' Being four, hearing voices like that was enough to make me run. Even as that gaited breathing got louder, and louder. So I stole off back into the direction of my home; Again I hoped I was right.... or else I was trekking off further into the wilderness with an already broken arm and more fear than a child in a haunted house. My mind raced as I ran through those snow drifts that only got heavier as the snow fell, slowing my pace down to where I was almost wading through the snow as it were an ever-deepening ocean. It was like the breathing was all around me now... right beneath the hood of my parka and whispering into my ear to keep some sort of firecracker lit inside of me. My dad had known.... he had known something... that's why he wanted me to run... that's why his eyes panned the expanse of the tundra... and that's why he shot at me. To make me run. Maybe shooting at me was his way of protecting me.... sending me off home so whatever it was he knew would be coming would deal with him first. My little heart seized as the thought crossed my mind: What if it already had? What if this was some beast the Indians set on those that wronged them? What if I was being hounded by that dying or dead Indian's spirit.
I know now I was right, no matter what anyone tells me...
My tears flowed freely, freezing along my cheeks as I kept running, my arm dangling painfully, flopping about as I ran without concern for anything else. Being four, being followed by some chaos monster was enough to make you forget how much anything else in your body hurt. Then I heard it, the breathing getting louder... only it wasn't breathing at all... it was a voice. Whitherered and raspy like the age-old Earth itself was calling to me from below the snow....
'Jack........... Jack.......' And for a split second I stopped running... stopping and turning to see what was taunting me so. My feet sinking deep into the snow as if grabbed by hands, my entire body frozen... I thought whatever this thing was it couldn't hurt me anymore than I already was. So I stared into the blackness ready to confront whatever it was that wanted me so badly. And it was then that I saw it.... something moving amongst the trees like a cloth blowing on a clothesline. It was blacker than the night itself, making it hard to pick out, but I'm sure it was there. It didn't run, it didn't ramble amongst the snow like me though. It merely moved. It had eyes that I picked out only after careful squinting; Glinting in the moonlight like knife blades. And for a split second.... whatever it was that seemed to be coming closer, stopped in mid-air. And stared at me over a distance. Those eyes.... I'll never forget those eyes as they looked at me coldly... intelligently... and thirsty, whiter than lightning .This thing's head.... whatever it was, cocking to one side like a dog's as it stopped, in mid air some 30 yards from me and merely stared. I was transfixed with horror... before it took off again. Almost hopping along the snow banks like a hare. It was impossible to see how far it was or how fast it was because I turned and took off, myself. My fear now personified by a being that seemed as separate from this world as I was from it's realm. In the distance, maybe about fifty or a hundred feet I could see a faint, glimmering light that instinctively I knew was my cabin. My mother would be inside.... and whatever it was that was after me... couldn't hurt me wherever she was. With some hope instilled within me I charged, squealing like the little boy I was, hoping my mother would hear me and open the door to save me. But nothing just yet. The wind picked up as I neared the cabin, it was only twenty feet and I didn't want to have to look back again, only to see this... thing so close to me. In my heart I knew it could catch up to me. I knew that the second I laid eyes on it. I yelled at the top of my lungs hoping my mother would hear me and come to my rescue.
To my relief my mother must've heard me and she opened the door with a smile I could see now ten feet away. She looked at me and with that mother's instinct of hers knew something was wrong. Her gaze falling on my jostling arm that flopped about like a rag in the wind and she looked over my shoulder, for my father who wasn't anywhere to be seen and concern filtered through her. Without looking back I leapt into the door, pushing my mother backward and slamming the heavy wood door behind me, shutting the locking latch and resting my back against the door to make sure it couldn't come in. Panting heavily I looked at my mother good and long, she simply soothingly looking back at me with worry, and I erupted into tears, the events of the past thirty minutes coming back to me in a torrent. She lurched forward, scooping me into her arms, awkwardly squeezing my hurt arm unaware, causing me to flinch as she nestled me into her shoulder.
'Jacky... what's wrong.... what happened? Where's your father?' The comfort of the fire, of my mother's warm body and voice made me forget about the thing that was after me. It couldn't get in here. My mother was a safe barrier. Holding me here as I cried into her neck unabatedly. So scared about my dad, about that Indian and about the monster that had followed me home. But I was safe.
'Jacky? Why are you shaking, honey.... it's all right calm down tell me what happened?' In this moment I was the happiest I have and ever will be. In my mother's arms when I was four. She was the sole reason I loved my father... because with her around he never seemed as grumpy as he was when she was gone. I couldn't respond though; I must've been shaking like a leaf in her arms as she slowly rocked me from side to side, calming me by sliding her loving hand along my back.
'There, there, boy..... it's okay. Momma's here.... momma's here...' I smiled, slowly opening my eyes to see it. The wall in front of me and behind my mother slowly fluttering... like that cloth on the clothesline I had seen in the night. It was here.... and it wasn't stopped by the cabin whatever it was. I gasped, my eyes shooting open widely as I looked on... watching as ever so slowly this darkest black creature seized control of the walls.... and stepped through them. Not standing, not floating. It was just there, up close, and looking straight at me. Faceless, shapeless, formless and I could finally see the intelligence in it's large, opaque white eyes that seemed so cold, like the eyes of a doll. Regarding me without expression, as it's odd, misshapen head slowly cocked to the side, regarding me in my mother's embrace without a hint of care.
'Aren't you going to tell momma what's wrong, Jack?' My mother said to me as this thing reached forward. It's hand, or at least what must have been some sort of attachment of this creature reached into the back of my mother's chest, it's eyes plainly on me before slowly moving forward. I could feel my mother tense up as I rested in her cradled arms before she practically dropped me, her eyes wide and her body stricken as I stood before her, looking up as my mother seemed to feel the greatest pain she'd ever suffered in front of me. This creature slowly seeping into the back of her as the fingers in each of her hands clenched slightly, locked in some arthritically posed claws. Her eyes widening before dropping forward, face first on the hard wood floor in a loud thump. My heart pounded as I watched my mother convulse on the floor before me, the last of that blackened thing oozing into her body, sending quakes and shivers and spasms throughout her body. My mother became a contortionist before my very eyes good enough to make the devil blush and I could only watch in pale horror as she flipped over onto her back like a pancake, her chest heaving out inhumanly as she coughed and sputtered... just like that Indian had. I was locked here, in place watching as my mother let out one final loud gasp, reaching up for me before her body finally set down on the floor with a last brutal exhale and at that moment I knew my mother was dead. Right before my very eyes this thing had killed her somehow. And I was left standing over the body, still cold, still shaking, holding my limp arm tight against my body for some sort of support before I dropped to my knees beside my mother's body and cried. I didn't care anymore what this black thing wanted, if it was done setting about it's brutal task or if it had more still to do. I only knew that my mother had been taken from me. And I rested my head on her chest, wishing upon anything that would listen for her chest to move again, breathing and full of life like it had been moments ago. But there was nothing and my worst fears had been cemented. My mother lay cold and silent before me.
As I sat here, hunched over my mother.... the breathing set in again and my heart skipped a beat. It wasn't done. My eyes closed tightly like a steel door, hoping whatever was going to happen was going to happen without my seeing it. But suddenly my mother's chest heaved, forcing me to recoil backwards and regard her with the same expression you kids have now. Her lifeless head slowly lifting off the ground, her face gaunt, her skin taut against her bones as her eyes opened wide and pierced right into mine. She coughed, and wheezed, her neck twisted so awkwardly it had to be broken... but here she was sitting up, regarding me like death itself.... and she opened her mouth, saliva dripping down from the roof of her maw like a bloodthirsty beast. And she said to me, in a voice hollowed by death, reverberating off the walls of this wooden cabin...
'I'll..... come..... for you.... again....' And her body dropped back down to the floor as lifeless as it should have been, leaving me shaking, firmly ensconced with the message."
At this point, the youngest, poor Thomas started crying, getting up out of his seat and running out of the room leaving me with the other kids. I felt guilty.... but enjoyed the reaction deeply... my mission accomplished I leaned back in my chair and regarded each and every kid before me individually, stopping on little Dylan.
"And do you know what? She has come for me.... twice..... on cold, windy nights like this one.... to tell me.... to warn me.... of impending danger to me personally. I always know when she comes, because there's a change in the air whenever that ghastly apparition appears before me... kind of like the one in this room now...." I glanced about the room curiously, the kids all following suit to peer over the back of the couch fearfully.
"She always has bad news for me, kids.... first she came to me before my first wife died....... then she came to me before my heart attack..... and it's only a matter of time before she comes for me again. Possibly to finally take me, or someone else I love. Whether it's my mother... or that black thing that enveloped her in it's grasp, it knows me inside and out." Stopping... I glanced behind each of them after their gaze had returned to mine and stood up quickly.
"Oh my God there she is!" With screams, the two youngest still within the room bolted up and out of the room faster than a speeding bullet. Leaving me with the other kids, Rachel and Samantha both looking chilled as Algonquin frowned and shook his head.
"Great, dad. That story gets better every time you tell it, but maybe it's time you let go of it, eh? Tell them it isn't true. You tried to scare me like that fifteen years ago." He was the eldest, most mature and most responsible, even above myself in this house and I hung my head shamefully, knowing he was at least half-right.
"I don't tell lies, Algonquin. But if you want to tell the kids that their daddy's a liar then you go right ahead. That's stuff they need to know possibly....hell, for all you know I could've seen her before coming here?" I smiled innocently as my eldest son stood up in a huff and stormed off out of the room, the two girls following suit, making me feel rather dejected suddenly. I stifled a chuckle as I closed the window, and glanced outside along the street....
Wasn't true?
I saw it all with my own two eyes... My dad made it home safely hours after I had that night. When we got my mom to a hospital the next day, they figured she'd died of a heart attack.... What a way to go... how ironic for me to have the same problem. Of course my story was true... no one else could tell me any differently. I only told it because.... with my first match completed... I'm expecting my mother soon..... very soon...
With my first match, I was assured victory, it was the only one that mattered; But now? All bets are off. With my now second match on the horizon I wondered if she'd pay me a visit soon to tell me my time was up.... maybe this match would be the one that ends me? Perhaps this match is the one Donovan Kayl gets right? Wouldn't that just suck for both parties? Beating an old man... Donny's parents would be proud.
