Jacob

“Come on, Jacob,” mom called from downstairs. I was gathering toys to go to my Uncle Rob’s for the first time. I had never met my Uncle Rob before, I hadn’t even heard of him.  

“Coming,” I called back from my bedroom. Mom was having Uncle Rob watch me while she ran errands. I zipped up my Avengers backpack and ran down the stairs. My mom was waiting in the front doorway holding my green jacket and light-up sneakers. She helped me get my coat on, and then tousled my bright red locks.

I was excited about getting to spend time with my new Uncle Rob. I wondered what games we were going to play, what shows we were going to watch, what snacks we were going to eat. We pulled up in front of a small one-storey house with its light blue paint all but chipped away. My excitement dissipated when we walked in the front door and a repugnant smell overtook me. Plastic bags of pop cans were haphazardly thrown on top of one another in the porch and stacks of damp newspapers lined the tiny hallway.

“Rob,” my mom called from the porch. “We’re here.” She turned her attention to me. “Your uncle is in that room,” she pointed to the second last room on the right. Then she left me there, standing in the porch with my backpack at my feet. Against my better judgment, I took off my shoes and made my way down the hall. I came to a room with a large man in a white tank top and plaid boxer shorts sitting in a recliner, taking swigs from a can of beer.

“Hey, kiddo,” he said. “I’m your Uncle Rob.” He took his chair out of recline mode and scooted to the end of the seat. “Just push those magazines out of the way and have a seat over there,” he said, pointing to the far side of the burgandy loveseat perpendicular to his recliner. I set my backpack on the cleanest looking part of the floor and sat down. I wasn’t sure what we were watching, but I knew mom wouldn’t be happy if she knew how many curse words were in it.

“You want some stew, pal?” Uncle Rob asked while getting out of his recliner. He was balding, but had scraggly bits of grey hear near his ears. I shook my head “No,” but he came back with a bowl of stew for me anyway. “Eat up,” he said, as he handed it to me. I had one spoonful and stifled a gag. Pushing beer cans out of the way, I laid my bowl on the coffee table.

“I’m not hungry,” I said, hoping he wouldn’t argue. Uncle Rob smiled.

“No problem, buddy,” he said. “I’ll just grab you a can of soda.” My mom never let me have soda, so I wasn’t going to turn him down. Uncle Rob came back with an opened can of orange soda with a thin, white straw sticking out the top. I felt the sugar running through my veins as soon as I took my first sip. It was magical. The more I drank, the weirder I felt. No wonder mom didn’t let me drink soda.

The phone rang and Uncle Rob went to the kitchen to get it. Being a nosy kid, I snuck into the hallway and listened from just outside the room.

“Yes, he’s drinking the soda,” Uncle Rob said into the phone. “Look, I’ll call you when he’s passed out.” A lump formed in my throat. I tiptoed down the hallway, heart racing, and slowly opened the door at the end. I closed it as quietly as I could and felt around the walls for a light switch. As I searched, my hands found a rail. I realized I was at the top of a staircase. I sat on the first step and shimmied down each stair until I reached the cold, concrete bottom. I stretched my arms up and flailed around until I felt a string. I gave it a pull and the entire basement was illuminated. A stack of wooden crates filled one corner and a white sheet covering a pile of what looked like sticks filled another.

The basement door opened and Uncle Rob’s voice came bellowing down the stairs.

“Kid?” he called. “Are you down here?” He began ambling down the stairs, so I hurried behind the stack of crates, trying to quiet my breathing. He lost his footing and stepped into the pile of sticks, dragging the sheet with him as he came away. Except they weren’t sticks at all. They were bones.

I started to feel woozy and must have blacked out because all I remember is waking up to my Uncle Rob dragging me by the legs into an unfamiliar room. It was damp and cold, and the walls were made of bluish grey cement. A bright light shone in my eyes, completely blinding me. I heard Uncle Rob having a conversation behind me.

“I’ve only got one pot of stew left, Nancy,” Uncle Rob said. He was talking to my mother. “Don’t you want the $10,000?”

“But do you have to do it while he’s alive?” she asked.

“Yes, Nance,” he replied. “That’s when the meat is the freshest.”

Abby

How am I going to survive two weeks with that woman? Abby thought to herself. Her plaid suitcase was open on her bed and she was throwing in balled-up T-shirts one by one. She knew Paul liked a neat suitcase.

Abby heard Paul open the front screen door so she decided she should pick up the pace. She began grabbing handfuls of T-shirts from the dishevelled pile of clothes on the floor. 

“Abs! Can you bring your suitcase to the porch? I don’t want to take my boots off!” Paul called from the front of the house. Of course, he doesn’t, Abby thought. He had purchased new hiking boots a week ago in preparation for the trip. He had barely taken them off since he bought them. Abby zipped her luggage closed and carried it to the porch where Paul was standing, shirtless. He looked great.

“Neatly-packed, I hope,” Paul nudged Abby with his elbow and flashed a grin.

“Yes, everything is very tidy,” Abby rolled her eyes. “Even the barf bags I packed for when your mother tries to poison me again.” Abby watched Paul’s expression change from jovial to hurt. She secretly wished she could take back what she had said. Nevertheless, she had too much pride to concede.

“Oh, Abs.” Paul sighed and carried Abby’s suitcase to the car.

The drive to King’s Point was about two-and-a-half hours. Abby sat in silence the entire trip while Paul devotedly sang along to the Van Morrison album he has had on repeat for years.

“Mom’s house is just at the end of this street,” Paul said eagerly.

“Yes, I remember,” Abby replied under her breath. I’ve been trying to forget, she thought.

As they pulled up to the house, Abby arched an eyebrow at Paul’s mother who was sitting on the doorstep in a checkered nightgown and fuzzy, periwinkle slippers.

“Finally!” Abby watched Paul’s mother hop off her step and scamper down the driveway with her arms outstretched. Abby got out of the car and leaned against it while Paul’s mother embraced her son.

“Abby, nice to see you,” Paul’s mother said. Abby noticed her tone had completely changed. Abby flashed her a smile and began walking up the drive to the house.

“I’ve got some chili on the stove,” Paul’s mother announced. “It should be ready in just a few minutes.”

How the hell am I going to get out of eating that? Abby wondered to herself. I’m not missing any countryside hikes. She took her shoes off in the porch and sat at the kitchen table. It was a dark mahogany table with the leaf taken out. It looked like it belonged in a dining room, not a dinky little kitchen like this one.

“Would you like a teaspoon or a soup spoon for your chili?” Paul’s mother turned around from the stove to face Abby.

“Actually, I’m not hungry,” Abby replied, trying to sound convincing.

“Nonsense!” Paul’s mother exclaimed. “You kids have been driving for almost three hours.” Abby could hear Paul walking up the front steps.

“Let’s worry about unpacking later, Abs,” Paul set two suitcases on the kitchen floor. “I’m anxious to get out for a hike before it gets dark.” Abby’s ears perked up.

“Great, well let’s go now then while it’s still warm.” Abby stood up from the kitchen table.

“I’m not letting you two hike on an empty stomach,” Paul’s mother called over her shoulder while she was stirring the chili.

“I’m really not that hungry.” Abby made a face at Paul expressing her annoyance.

“You know, mom, we were grazing on snacks for the entire drive.” Paul walked over to his mother standing at the stove and put his hand on her shoulder. She turned around with two full bowls of chili in her hands.

“Well, it’s taken up now. I can’t put it back in the pot,” Paul’s mother replied. She set the bowls of chili on the table, one in front of Abby and one at the spot directly across from her. Abby stared at the bowl of chili and felt a knot in her stomach. Paul’s mother went back to the stove and continued stirring her pot. There’s no way I’m eating this, Abby thought. Then she got an idea.

“Can you get me a spoon?” Abby asked Paul.

“You’ve got a spoon right next to your bowl,” Paul raised an eyebrow at Abby.

“Yes, but this is a soup spoon and I want a teaspoon.” Paul shrugged his shoulders and got up from the table. Abby switched the bowls of chili while both Paul and his mother’s backs were turned. Paul returned to the table and slid a spoon across the table to Abby.

Halfway through the meal, Paul got up from the table and darted for the bathroom. Abby walked to the bathroom and put her ear to the door. She heard Paul retching.

“I knew it!” Abby cried as she came back into the kitchen. “You crazy bitch, you’ve been making me sick on purpose!”

“Abby, listen,” Paul’s mother put her hands up in an act of surrender. “Paul’s ex-wife died from an accidental fall while she was hiking with Paul in King’s Point four years ago.”

“So?!” Abby was shouting. “That proves nothing, you psycho!”

“Wait.” Paul’s mother gestured for Abby to sit own. Abby obliged. “Paul had a childhood friend who went into the woods with him when they were kids and never came out.” Abby became confused. Paul’s mother continued. “Because he was a foster kid from an underprivileged family, the whole town concluded that the boy had just run away.”

Abby sat in silence, attempting to make sense of the information she just received. This bitch is nuts. She’s got to be lying, Abby convinced herself.

“I’ve been making you sick so you don’t end up alone in the woods with him.” Paul’s mother began to tremble.

“I’m not dealing with this,” Abby snapped. “You’re so full of shit.” She began walking away but Paul’s mother put her hands on Abby’s shoulders and halted her.

“Let me ask you one question,” Paul’s mother started. “Has he recently purchased new hiking boots?”

Abby heard the bathroom door open. Her heart pounded with each step Paul took toward the kitchen. His voice came from behind her.

“Hey sweetie,” Paul said. “You ready for that hike?”

Jack

Jack rolled over and hit the snooze button on his clock radio. His copy of The Flyer Saucers Are Real fell off his nightstand onto the floor. He groaned, pressing his face into his pillow. He hadn’t gotten a good night’s sleep in what felt like months. He decided to forego his morning shower for an extra fifteen minutes of sleep. Before he could get back to sleep, he heard Shauna coming up the stairs.

“Jack, it’s after six,” she called into the bedroom as she walked past. Jack and Shauna had been out-of-sync for the past couple of weeks. After a fight last month, Shauna spent two weeks at her parents’ house and had returned as someone Jack didn’t recognize.

“Be up in a few,” Jack mumbled into his pillow. When his alarm went off again, Jack hopped out of bed and hauled on a pair of pajama pants. As he hauled on a T-shirt, he decided he’d call in sick to work. He couldn’t work on three hours of sleep. He ambled down the stairs into the kitchen and saw Bear patiently waiting by the front door.

“Has he been out this morning?” Jack asked, brushing his dark brown hair out of his face. Shauna was facing away from Jack, loading two pieces of whole wheat bread into the toaster. She shook her head “No” without turning around, her short, auburn curls bouncing as she did.

“Come on, boy,” Jack said as he opened the door for Bear. He felt the sun warm his cheeks. Bear hurried down the patio into the front yard to do his business. Breathing in the fresh air, Jack stepped out onto the patio and stared up at the sky, looking for signs of alien life. It had become a habit of Jack’s after watching a Bob Lazar documentary on Netflix.

“Ow, shit!” Shauna yelped from the kitchen. Jack ran back into the house to Shauna clutching a balled-up dishtowel in her left hand.

“What happened?” Jack asked, reaching for Shauna’s hand. She stepped backward, holding her hand close to her chest.

“I was trying to pit the avocado and I got myself with the knife,” Shauna said, clutching the white dishtowel. Jack took a small step toward her.

“Here, let me see,” Jack said.

“No,” Shauna snapped. Jack took a step backward and put his hands up to signal he wouldn’t try anything. “I’m sorry,” Shauna said, changing her tone. “I just don’t want blood everywhere.”

“Love, please come to the bathroom,” Jack sighed. “I’ll fix you up, I promise.” He offered a smile. Shauna met his gaze.

“Alright, fine,” she replied, reluctantly following him down the hall to the bathroom. Jack put the toilet cover down and motioned for Shauna to take a seat. He grabbed the peroxide from the medicine cabinet and unscrewed the cap.

“Okay,” Jack said, holding out his hand. “Let me see.” Shauna clutched the towel, but eventually loosened her grip and turned her head away. Jack took the dishtowel from Shauna’s hand and immediately fell silent.

“Is it really bad?” Shauna asked, sensing the tension. She turned her head back around. Jack was staring into her hand, mouth agape.

“What the hell?” Jack stammered. His face grew hot.

“What’s wrong?” Shauna asked, looking down at her hand.

“What is this?” Jack asked, pushing Shauna’s hand into her face. “Who are you?” He began squeezing Shauna’s hand.

“Jack, you’re hurting me,” Shauna whimpered. “What is wrong with you?” She’d never seen that look in Jack’s eyes before. She snatched her hand out of Jack’s and grabbed the dishtowel off the floor. As she raced down the hallway toward the kitchen, she heard Jack’s footsteps behind her.

“No wonder you’ve been acting weird,” Jack snapped. He grabbed Shauna’s shoulders from behind, forcing her to turn around. “Where’s my God damn wife?” He shook Shauna so hard her head seemed like it would roll right off her shoulders.

“Stop,” Shauna shrieked. “You’re scaring me.”

“Shut up,” Jack said as he threw Shauna hard against the kitchen counter. Her head caught the corner and split open like a coconut. Her twitching body fell to the floor. The same green sludge that covered her hand was now leaking from her cracked skull.

Exhausted, Jack poured himself a glass of water and sat at the kitchen table. He stared at Shauna’s lifeless body, a green puddle forming a halo around her head.

“You think I wouldn’t find out?” Jack asked the corpse, lighting a cigarette. “Extraterrestrial scum.” He spit at the body then leaned back in his chair, letting out a satisfied sigh.

A moment later, the phone rang. Jack answered it.

“Yes, hello. This is Darla from Dr. Samabala’s office,” said the voice on the other end. “I’m looking to speak with Jack Turpin.”

“This is he,” Jack replied.

“Great,” Darla said. “I’d just like to confirm your mailing address so that we can send you a hard copy of your diagnosis.”

“Alright,” Jack said. He was barely listening. “What diagnosis is this?”

“Well,” said Darla. “For your total colour blindness, sir.

Charlie

Charlie awoke in the middle of the night to his newborn baby crying. He let out a groan and rolled over on his side to check the time. The clock radio read 3:13 AM. He turned back around to see if the noise had woken Jane. Thankfully, she was sound asleep, her mouth open just enough for Charlie to catch the glint of her teeth. Jane’s skin was like porcelain and her lips were a pale pink.  Charlie had always thought she was hauntingly beautiful.

Charlie gently slid his legs off the bed then slowly stood up, careful not to wake Jane. She had gone through so much during the pregnancy that he wanted her to sleep as much as she needed. Charlie grabbed a plain T-shirt from the top of the dirty clothes hamper and slipped on his plaid slippers. He tugged at his boxers, unbunching the fabric from around his crotch, then grabbed his special diaper bag and tiptoed out of the room, closing the door softly. During her first trimester, Jane had made Charlie his own bag with everything he’d need to change a diaper. Charlie felt better about daunting tasks when he was over-prepared, and Jane was happy to humour him.

As Charlie walked down the hall to Baby Aidan, the crying got louder. Charlie got to the end of the hall and opened the door. He walked over to his crying son and picked him up, rocking him back and forth in his arms.

“What’s wrong, little buddy?” Charlie whispered. “Are you hungry?” He was a brand new dad, so he had no idea how to tell what Aidan wanted. Jane had only given birth two weeks ago; they were still figuring all of this out. A strong smell began creeping up Charlie’s nose. He winced. “I guess you need a change, little guy,” Charlie said, laying Aidan back down. He walked himself through the process aloud.

“Remove dirty diaper, wrap in plastic bag, wipe bottom thoroughly, apply talcum powder, put on fresh diaper.” When Baby Aidan was changed, Charlie picked him up and rocked him in his arms for a few minutes before putting him back down to rest. Charlie crept back up the hallway and into his bedroom, quietly closing the door. He crawled into bed next to Jane and gave her a kiss on the cheek before closing his eyes and drifting off.

The next night, a crying Aidan got Charlie out of bed once again. Making sure Jane was asleep, Charlie grabbed his diaper bag and headed down the hall. He caught a strong smell off Aidan again, so he changed his diaper, walking himself through the steps like always. He picked Aidan back up and let him drift off in his arms, staring into his face with adoration. After what felt like hours, Charlie put Aidan back down and retired to his bedroom. He got back into bed and kissed Jane on the cheek.

“Where were you?” Jane whispered.

“Shh,” Charlie said. “Go back to sleep, sweetheart.” Jane put her hand on Charlie’s chest then fell back to sleep almost immediately. Charlie stared at her for a few moments, completely smitten.

The third night, Charlie woke to Aidan’s crying again. Yawning and rubbing his eyes, Charlie resolved to buy more absorbent diapers in the morning. The kind that makes babies sleep through the night. Don’t be mistaken, Charlie was more than happy to take the night shift so Jane didn’t have to, but he was beginning to lose too much sleep. He grabbed the diaper bag and crept out of the bedroom. When he got to Aidan, Charlie changed his diaper then picked him up and rocked him back and forth. Charlie was staring into Aidan’s sleeping face when he heard Jane’s voice behind him.

“What are you doing?” Jane asked, shivering. She tightened the ribbon on her bathrobe and crossed her arms tightly for warmth. She was standing in the doorway of the house, calling to Charlie in the back yard. Charlie turned around to meet Jane’s gaze and her mouth fell open. Charlie was covered in dirt; his shaggy, brown hair blowing in the wind. In his arms was the stillborn baby that he and Jane had buried two weeks ago.

Kim

                Driving home from work, Kim’s eyelids felt heavy. She was grateful to be only a few blocks away from her apartment. She had been working long hours and her sleep schedule was suffering because of it. She rounded the last corner toward her building and was met with two wooden tripod barricades blocking her way. She pulled up behind the roadblock, got out of the car, and joined the growing crowd of bystanders on the sidewalk.  

From what Kim could tell, a car had collided with a tree on the opposite side of the road. The tree had cracked in half from the impact and looked like it was bending over at the waist. The other end of the street was blocked off by two police cars that were parked nose to nose. Police tape was tied to several trees surrounding the wreck. Two officers — one male, one female — were pacing in front of the wreck in silence, stopping every so often to say no more than a few words to each other. The male officer had a brunette buzz cut and a slight beer belly, and the female officer had shiny, mahogany hair that she had twisted into a low bun. Her uniform hugged her curves like it was made for her body. Kim realized how disheveled she looked having just come off a twelve-hour shift and felt self-conscious.
Turning her attention back to the wreck, Kim zipped her purple winter jacket up to her chin. A few strands of her strawberry-blond hair got caught in the zipper, but she didn’t notice. The condition of the car made it clear to Kim that whomever was in that car had to be dead.  The thought of standing just fifteen feet from a dead body made Kim’s heart race. She had spent hours browsing morbid forums on Reddit, reading up on missing persons and unresolved murders.  That stuff excited Kim to no end, and she wanted to get closer to that dead body. Almost reading Kim’s mind, the horde of onlookers began moving forward. The female officer noticed the shuffling crowd and walked toward it, arms outstretched at her sides.

                “Folks, please keep a respectful distance,” she shouted. Her hair caught light from the sun and shone a beautiful crimson.

                Unsatisfied with the view she had, Kim wanted to find a new vantage point. She changed positions so that she was standing on the side of the crowd furthest from the police cars. Toying with her nose ring, Kim wondered what could have caused the crash. She bet it was texting and driving. It was common in her town, even among adults. Kim was thankful her parents had instilled safe driving practices in her sister and her when they were teenagers. As a thirty-something, she’d never text and drive now. The wind picked up, blowing Kim’s strawberry-blond waves into her face. She took an elastic band from her wrist and tied her hair into a sloppy ponytail.

                Suddenly, a speeding vehicle flew around the street corner and came to a screeching halt behind the blockade of cop cars. Kim couldn’t see much from where she was standing, but she heard a woman get out of the car and begin shrieking like a wild animal. The shrill screams gave Kim goosebumps. The two officers raced toward the woman and tried to calm her down. Kim assumed she was a family member of the driver. The officers began escorting the hysterical woman toward the wreck. By the time they came into view, they were back on to Kim. Bundled in a black winter coat, hood and all, the woman inched toward the car flanked by two officers. When she got to the driver’s side window, the woman fell to her knees. She began screaming like an animal again. Kim’s heart raced as the sound stung her ears. The woman finally calmed down enough to speak.

“That’s my daughter,” the woman said. Kim’s heart dropped into her feet. She immediately recognized the voice. It was her mother’s.

                Kim’s blood ran cold as she realized her sister must be in that car. With the taste of bile in her throat, Kim raced toward her mother. When she got to the car she stopped dead in her tracks. The windows of the car had been busted out allowing Kim to see right into the vehicle. She studied the driver. Purple winter jacket. Strawberry-blond hair. Silver nose ring.

                A blaring horn startled Kim awake. That was the fifth nightmare she’d had that week and they were getting worse. This one was so bad that her sleep-laden eyes didn’t adjust in time to notice her car heading straight for a tree.

Spook

            Holly placed her hands on the planchette and took a deep breath. Maile, seated to Holly’s left, did the same. Maile was wearing a black sweater zipped all the way to her chin. She had her hood up to shield against the damp cold of the attic. Holly wore a black sweater as well. It was a hand-me-down from her older brother. It was so big that she had it draped over her knees as she sat cross-legged in front of the Ouija board.

With their hands gingerly resting on the planchette, Holly and Maile circled the board three times.

“As friends we gather, hearts are true; spirits near, we call to you,” they chanted. They circled the board three more times, then set the planchette at the top of the board, keeping two fingers each on top.

“Spook,” Maile called out. “You there?” Spook had been Holly and Maile’s best friend. Spook wasn’t her real name; it was a term of endearment Holly had come up with when they were kids. Even through high school, the name stuck.

            Holly and Maile stared at the board waiting for something to happen when a loud creak gave them a fright. They turned around to see what made the noise. Susan had climbed into the attic and was making her way toward Holly and Maile. She sat down next to Holly. Before the girls could say anything, the planchette began to move.

            “I-M-H-E-R-E,” it spelled out. The girls looked at one another in shock. Holly took her hands off the planchette in terror.

            “Put them back,” Maile whispered sternly. Holly reluctantly placed her fingers back on the planchette. “Close your eyes,” Maile whispered, then took one hand off the planchette to give Holly’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Spook,” Mailed called out. “Is that you?”

The planchette slowly pointed to “YES.”

            “Holy shit,” Maile whispered.

            “Is this real?” Holly whimpered.

The planchette pointed to “YES” again. Susan couldn’t believe it was working. She sat across from Maile in her dark wash skinny jeans and Blink 182 shirt that she’d been wearing for the past six days straight. The planchette began moving again. 

“I-M-I-S-S-Y-O-U,” it spelled. Maile’s heart was pounding, but she didn’t want to let on that she was scared.

           “We miss you, too,” Maile replied, steadying her shaky voice. After a few seconds passed, Holly cleared her throat.

            “Are you in heaven?” Holly asked softly. The candlelight was reflected in her silver glasses. The planchette moved.

“NO.”

The girls looked at each other with raised eyebrows.

“…Are you in hell?” Holly asked hesitantly. The planchette moved again.

“NO.”

Susan looked at Holly, then at Maile. They both sat in silence. Holly pushed her round glasses up the bridge of her nose and took a deep breath.

            “Are you okay?” She asked, her voice cracking. The planchette didn’t move. A tear rolled down Holly’s cheek. Maile noticed.

            “Spook,” Maile said loudly. “Are you okay?” The planchette began to move.

            “YES.”

“This is too much,” Holly said, sniffling. “I can’t do it anymore.” She got up from her spot on the floor and climbed down the hatch ladder.

            “Holly,” Maile called after her, following her out of the attic.

            Susan sat alone on the floor, thankful for what she had just experienced. It had been less than week since she’d died at the hands of her stepfather, but purgatory had made it feel like years. She was grateful for the chance to speak to her friends again. She stared lovingly at the tattoo on her wrist. “Spook,” it read.