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The Visit

Jennifer walked up her porch and unlocked her front door. She walked in and dropped the groceries on the ground in the kitchen. She sighed in relief as she hung her coat on the hanger and put it in the closet. She remembered that her son was going to visit, so she decided to take a shower. She noticed that it was 2 o’ clock, and he said he would be over at 4. She looked in the mirror, seeing her sweaty face. Her hair was crazy, and she hoped that the shower would help straighten it out. She got undressed and stepped into the shower.
As the luke-warm water ran down her body, she closed her eyes, reveling in the comfort the water always brought her. Suddenly, she heard a strange noise. It sounded like the plastic bags that the groceries were in rustled. She turned off the water and listened. There it was again. Surely her son wasn’t there yet. She grabbed a towel and wrapped it around herself.
Panicking a little, she looked around the bathroom, trying to find something that she could use as a weapon. All she was able to find was a tube of toothpaste and a brush. I guess I could blind them with the toothpaste, then hit them with the brush, she thought, letting out a shaky laugh. Making sure the towel was wrapped securely around her body, she ventured out of the bathroom. She followed the noise, which now sounded like someone in the living room. She peeked around the corner of the wall, into the room. There was a well-built, and very tall man standing there, wearing all black, and rummaging through drawers in a cabinet. She realized that the drawers contained most of her expensive jewelry.
Gripping the brush tightly, she turned the corner. She ran face first into the man’s chest. She looked up into his blue eyes. He smirk a very cocky smirk. She dropped the toothpaste and brush, frozen in fright. How did he know where I was? was her last thought before the man picked her up and slung her over his shoulder. She kicked and screamed, hoping someone would hear her, but no one came. He walked down a long hallway and opened the door at the end. She realized that it was her bedroom. She started kicking and struggling even more. He just let out a laugh and closed the door behind him.
James looked at his watch while climbing the steps to his mother’s house. It was 4:30. He noticed a broken window by the front door. He decided that he would pay for it to be repaired.
“Mom? Sorry I’m late!” he yelled as he closed the door behind him. Silence. “Mom? Are you here?” he called, still gaining no response. He walked into the kitchen and saw the groceries on the floor still. Getting a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach, he walked into the living room. It was a mess! There was empty drawers scattered everywhere, and papers all over the floor.
He proceeded down the hallway towards his mother’s bedroom. Maybe she took a nap? he thought nervously. He knocked on the door. “Mom? Are you in here?” he asked, opening the door. He looked at the bed and saw it covered in blood. He ran over and searched the covers. There was no sign of her body anywhere. He looked everywhere, under the bed, in the closet, even out the window, but no such luck. He ran to the phone to call 911, but it started to ring. He answered it hesitantly.
“H-hello?” he said, still in shock.
“James?” a voice said. He recognized it as his mother’s. “Mom?!? Are you ok?” he yelled into the phone.
“James, stay away from my house!” she said, sobbing.
“Mom, what happened here?” he asked.
“James, get out of my house now! He’s coming back!” she begged.
He looked at the caller ID and copied down the number. “Good, I’ll see him here,” he said, hanging up. He ran to her mom’s room, and tore through the closet. He found the baseball bat he stored in there, just in case something like this happened. He went back into the living room and sat in the chair, waiting.
The man walked into the front door, and came face to face with James, his baseball bat in hand.
“Well, well, well. What have we here?” the man said in a mocking tone.
“What did you do with my mother?” James blasted.
“Don’t worry, she’s fine,” he said, smirking.
“Don’t lie to me. I saw the blood in the bed,” he retorted.
“Yes, if she only laid still, I might have not beat her so hard,” he mused.
“What did you do to her?”
“Isn’t it obvious, boy? Let’s put it like this. She will give birth to my child, then I will kill her,” he explained.
James let out a roar, then swung at the man’s head, but he ducked out of the way
“Temper, temper,” the man laughed. James swung again, and missed a second time. The man then pulled out a gun. James caught sight of the gun, and froze.
“Drop the bat,” the man said, pointing the gun at James. He instantly dropped the bat, scowling at the man.
“Good boy,” he said. “What’s your name anyways, boy?”
“James,” he said through clenched teeth.
“Well, it was nice meeting you, James. Goodbye,” he teased. James closed his eyes and heard the gun go off. But there was no pain. He opened his eyes and they widened with shock. His mom stood before him, holding the man’s arm in the air, making the gun point towards the ceiling.
“James, run!” she yelled. Ignoring her plea, James went to take the gun from the man. But he threw her into James, sending them crashing to the floor. The man laughed, pointing the gun at James once again.
“You should have listened to your mother, boy. I already told you I wasn’t going to kill her, yet. But, I’ll kill you now,” he said simply.
Once again, James closed his eyes, waiting for the inevitable. But it never came. Instead, he heard a thud. He opened his eyes to see the man laying face down on the ground, blood gushing from a wound on the back of his head. He looked up to see his father standing there, baseball bat in hand. Fresh blood was splattered onto the end of the bat.
“James, are you ok?” he asked, seeming to ignore his wife’s existence.
“Y-yea,” he answered, then turned to his mother to see if she’s alright. She was staring up at her husband, crying. She seemed afraid of him for some reason.
“What’s going on?” James demanded, looking from mother to father.
“Actually, James, I’m here to right a wrong,” his father said, picking up the gun. “I’m sorry James,” he said solemnly, pointing the gun. He closed his eyes, and pulled the trigger. There was a loud scream heard around the neighborhood.



Mother

"Railey Lianne Kimly! It's time to get up~!"

I woke up with a start, and sure enough the light was streaming through my window. With a quiet curse, that mother somehow always manages to hear, I rolled off the bed and landed on the floor with a muffled thump in a tangle of arms, legs, and bedsheet. With a groan I sat up, and unraveled myself from the mess, stretching each of my freed limbs until a satisfying 'pop' noise could be heard from each. I twiddled my toes, reluctant to relinquish my grip on the lazy morning that was just out of reach.

"Railey! If you think that just because your father is the headmaster, you'll be excused from being tardy on your first day, I assure you you're wrong!"

With a muted groan, I got up and padded over to my dresser and started raking a brush through my snarled hair. Once my hair looked more or less presentable, I scurried around my room getting ready for school. A stray sock here, the top half of my uniform there, my bookbag tossed over the chair……. A few passes around the small square that was labeled 'mine' in this household, and I was ready to face the day.

I marched down the steps in an exaggerated robotic motion, half to show my protest against this ridiculous school uniform, and half to annoy my mother, how prepared I was on my first day at Baium. Mother was at the counter, clearing up the remains of already finished dishes. Damn, she didn't bother watching me come down the stairs. She turned around and shot a glare at me, as if she knew what I had done even if she hadn't cared to watch my performance.

"Nice try, sit down and eat. The carriage will be here in 20 minutes, so hurry up."

I shoved the majority of what's in my plate into my cheeks and attempted to chew. Failure was immediate and obvious. I drank water in an attempt to wash down enough food down my throat so I could make some kind of noise that sounded like speech.

"Mmph, mmm drrnnn"

Mother glanced at me and my puffed up cheeks. I made a grand sweeping gesture toward my plate indicating my plate. It was empty sans some remains of egg yolk that had leaked during the brief trip from plate to the gaping caverns one might call, my mouth.

"Really Railey, the last time I checked your father and I were human, I wonder how we managed to birth a chipmunk?"

After a couple miserable attempts at voicing something vaguely comprehensible without expelling edible matter, I settled for swallowing some of what was in my mouth before retorting.

"Momma, you wanted me to eat, and I ate. You never said anything about chewing."

With a roll of her eyes Mother tossed me the cardigan that completed my jailbird's outfit. It landed with a flap across my face before I had the time to react. I ripped the lump of wool off of my face, and tied it around my waist.

"Carly's waiting outside, don't do any magic and get yourselves in trouble. Last time you made it rain Carly almost killed herself trying to pull you out of your field."

I ran out the door before Mother could launch into one of her "Magic needs to be used responsibly blahblahblahmwopmowpmwop...." speeches. Considering that Mother didn't have any magic she sure seemed knowledgable. Most likely it came from being my father's wife for 18 years, since her life as a ordinary farm girl from the western shore probably didn't give her much chances to study anything. It was the scandal of the year when my father decided to marry a small town nobody with no magic whatsoever. Daddy was the heir to one of the most powerful witch/warlock clan in the continent. He was supposed to be married to the witch from the Parkim clan, his best friend and the current deputy headmistress at Baium.

Before I could pursue this train of thought, Carly appeared at my side, worried by the glazed look in my eyes that she usually associated with trouble. Especially since the last time I looked like this I managed to flood the town without an inkling or what I was doing. Thank god for Carly, and the fact that she was a strong enough witch to stop me. We made such a good team as each other's familiars. I gazed at her for a full minute, just taking in her presence before I realised that she was saying something.

"Railey, let's go, the carriage is here, and we should, ummmm go!??!!??!"

Carly and I clambered in the carriage and it started moving with a flick of the driver's wrist. Carly and I chatted animatedly about our first day, jabbering about the witches and warlocks, as well as the sorcerers and sorceresses, not to mention the wizards and enchantresses. Baium was the only school where all three classes were taught in the same school. Everywhere else, they were separated accordingly. Now that we entered the higher educational phase of out lives, we could experience different ways of doing magic beyond our own. As the carriage rattled on across the streets of Askor, towards the empty plains , the colored shadows that indicated the location of our school came closer and closer.



Different Kinds of Dead

Brrrrrrrriiiiing.

My eyes snapped open as the phone, not a foot and a half from my head, rang with the explosive intensity of a low-grade nuclear weapon. A moment ago, I nestled comfortably in the warm oblivion of sleep. Now, I lived beneath the bloody bells of Notre Dame.

Sleep-dazed and numb from the chemical stew that flooded my dream-riddled mind, I swung an arm toward the hated form of my alarm clock, rolling onto my side in the process. The smug blue digital display didn’t read seven a.m. Instead, 3:33 stabbed at my night-sensitive eyes like little azure needles.

Brrrrrrrriiiiing.

With renewed urgency the phone rang, the metallic clamor of the digital facsimile of bells set my teeth on edge. It was far too early to be getting calls. My hand walked blindly away from the alarm clock and toward the telephone receiver. I lifted it from the cradle and collapsed onto my back, sprawling against the still-warm sheets and drawing the earpiece against my aching skull.

In my best early morning rasp, I answered. “Hello?”

“Good morning, Alex.” The voice was friendly enough, but a wave of static broke apart the amiability of my name, making it come out in a harsh buzz. I didn’t have a clue who was on the other line, but they obviously knew me. I decided to play it cool. I’d figure it out in a minute.

“Do you have any idea what time it is?”

“Actually, not really.” Definitely a male voice, a light, lilting baritone. That is, beneath the buzzing hiss of interference, of course.

“It’s three o’clock in the morning, man.”

“Is it really?”

“It is, really. What the hell do you need?”

There was a pause on the line, a heartbeat in which the disembodied voice seemed to contemplate. In a whisper like crumpling paper beset by honey-bees, the voice asked simply, “Do you know who this is?”

Damn. I’d been called on it.

“No. Who is this?”

“This is William calling, Alex.”

Something cold and sharp crawled along the slender avenues of my central nervous system, winding its way between axons, dendrites, and naked nerve endings. I ran my tongue over my lips to wet them, but found it had gone dry too. My jaw worked furiously to expel my cracked reply.

“That’s not funny.”

“I know.”

“You can’t be William.”

“Why not?”

“Because William is dead. I helped carry his coffin!”

It seemed then that the line went slack for a moment, even the interference fading out like the last embers of a starving fire. Then the voice on the other end heaved a small sigh.

With calm, even tones, William began to speak. For fifteen minutes, he recalled things that only he would know: The name of his first girlfriend at the tender age of twelve, the color of his mother’s hair, my sister’s middle name, our high-school football team’s record for our senior year, the name of the mediocre garage band we had started together, even a detailed retelling of the first time we had gotten high in his father’s garage, right down to the spilled bong-water that had gotten us busted. It was William. There could be no doubt.

Clutching the sheets closer against the chill that crept through my blood like a legion of icy army ants, I sat up and put my back firmly against my headboard. “Alright, you’re William. Tell me how.”

“I called.” He paused a moment, just long enough for me to flex my jaw for a disbelieving retort. “The phone is a tool, one that takes signals, processes them, and unscrambles the code into something that approximates human speech. It was just a matter of figuring out what signal was necessary.”

The buzz was back, and getting louder. It was like a thousand angry wasps through a bullhorn by the end, a hellish, grating approximation of human speech.

“Alright, Will. Why? Why call me? Your mother I could understand. She took your death the hardest. Your ex, maybe? I mean, she was sort of responsible. Hell, you and I weren’t even best friends. Close sure—“

“Because I have to tell you something.” The buzz subsided until it was just like the old days; William calling his buddy to come over for poker or to get a beer. “I want to tell you that it’s beautiful.”

I felt my brow furrow. “What?”

For a moment, the question hung, unanswered in the soft velvet black of the bedroom. Hours ticked by, or perhaps minutes, or seconds.

“Death” The buzz crept up behind the word, the faint clicking of a million tiny razor-blade mandibles. “It’s beautiful, Alex.”

“William—“

“No, Alex. Hear me out.” The voice on the other end drew a breath. Do the dead breathe? “Ever since the rope went taut, as soon as the world began to melt away, I knew killing myself was the best decision I ever made. I didn’t have to think about grades, or homework, or the future, or my cheating girlfriend, or my alcoholic father—“

“William—“

“No, damn it. Let me finish. I just felt the black close in.” The buzz began to distort the words so heavily that it sounded like a warped cassette, some careless thumbprint on the tape which broke the words of my dead friend into chilled daggers. “I’ve been watching, Alex. Ever since the funeral.”

“William, you’re scaring me.”

The curtains that covered the window billowed ominously, a night breeze turning the blue fabric into grasping claws which cast their gnarled shadows on the wall in the half-light of the alarm clock.

“I’ve seen how hard it is for you. You lost your scholarship…slacked off a little too hard in economics, huh? You really needed that money, didn’t you?”

“I got a job. No big deal.”

“A dead end job that you hate. You get up every day knowing that no matter how much you put aside, it’ll never be enough. And your love life?”

“Gloria and I split under good terms.” Damn him, he thrust his fingers into the bitter little wounds that dotted my heart.

“Good terms for who? She’s dating again, you know. Has she told you that? No, of course not. Three months with a guy named Tom. She’ll marry him in two more. Three kids. Soooo happy.” It couldn’t be William on the other end of the line. The hissing buzz became a metallic grate, a trash compactor made of nightmares.

“How? You don’t know that! You can’t know that!”

“Time is fluid here. I see how the pattern goes now that I’m not part of it anymore. You can see it too. It can be just like old times. The two of us! Together again. God, you can’t even imagine how beautiful it is. No pain, no fear, no hate.” All of a sudden the grate shifted back into the familiar baritone. “You use manual razors, right?”

I slammed the phone onto the cradle, swung my feet out of bed, stood, and tore the phone out of the wall. With a bestial howl, something boiled from the animal core of my being, the basic survival instinct; I grabbed the entire phone and dashed it against the wall, shattering it into twisted plastic shards and tangled wire.

Wracking sobs tore at my lungs as I sank down beside my bed, my chest heaving. I cradled my head in my hands and tried with all my might to calm my breathing, to stop the rush of adrenaline through my veins, to slow the beating of my pulse as it hammered in my chest, my throat, my temples.

“I don’t want to die, Will.” My whisper flowed between my lips without conscious thought, a creature with a mind of its own, bent on escape.
“I don’t.”

“There are different kinds of dead, Alex. There are people who feed the worms, sure. Others just shamble on, husks and shells with no meat in the middle. Some people just don’t have the courage to accept that their life is already over.”

The disembodied voice was so close, just behind me. Had he gotten in through the window? Was he perched on my bed like a bird of prey? Did he have my razor in one cruel hand? I heaved a sigh, or perhaps a final prayer, and decided that, in the end, it didn’t matter.

And you will too.

See, William was right. When the razor-blade bit into my skin, reality sank away, blurring out like an out-of-focus movie on an old school projector. What was left was the warm oblivion of…well, you’ll see. You see, I have to tell you something.

I think I hear the phone ringing. You had better answer it. It could be important.



Starched Eyes

Tight from the salty dried tears, Pepper's eyes blinked a few times to get the red to disappear. It was the third time she had cried that night.

The first time was from not using the right towel to clean the bathroom with. Her mother called it ignorance, that common sense should tell her that that certain towel out of all the cleaning towels was used for the floors only.

The Second time was when Pepper failed at being an obedient child.

The last time she cried was because her mother couldn't get her computer to work and asked Pepper to help her. Pepper tried but it was useless, and her mother reprimanded her for not doing it. It wasn't her fault that Pepper could only work pins and needles and not wires and buttons.

Pepper cried at least once a day. It was mostly because of college now. The economy when down and Peppers' mother's confidence in her work went down the hole too. Her mother recruited people at hospitals and banks and what not. But nobody was hiring thanks to the 32% drop back in September. It was not March and Pepper failed to follow her mother’s orders to apply for scholarships. Through verbal punishment, Pepper saw what she did wrong, and now she works every night balancing the work of homework, weekly chores, and scholarships. Going to bed every night for the past month at midnight or later so she may have time to do things she enjoys doing. Such as sewing, reading, writing, or drawing. Pepper's dreams were with the arts, she didn't care for any particular one but she did care for express her self and her emotions through a canvas or a piece of literature
Getting accepted to a college up north was great, but she wasn't accepted to a college on the east where her father lived. She was sick of living with her mother and her constant tyranny and verbal abuse. Every night, Pepper prays to God, asking for strength to love and forgive her mother and to wait out for only a few more months. She hoped in the summer she would be able to spend some weeks with her father and some weekend with her boyfriend. Spend as much time away from the witch that hovered over her, nagging away. Until then, Pepper's fears are killing her own self, or getting an ulcer from the stress of her daily life. She tries to keep happy with her gift of song, and her other arts. Sometimes accepting the reality is hard when screaming overbears the silent imaginary worlds Pepper dreams, or reads about.

Pepper keeps trying to please her mother, often back talking when she can't get enough. Pepper has made it so her memory forgets the bad, but in effect it forgets the important. Such as when her mother say she is retarded and that only losers want the easy way out. Like the time Pepper suggested she should go to a junior college that way her and her mother could afford everything they need. It doesn't help her to forget when she tries to talk to people. The only person Pepper is able to talk to is her grandmother, who sometimes Pepper is skeptical about, but trust more than her Aunt her betrayed her and told her mother everything Pepper confess to her aunt. The constant abuse, and her side of the story, and the funny thing is her mother had a funny habit of twisting every tale she heard or experienced. Saying things such as 'that is why her father or her grandmother don't want her, because she fails at life.' That's what she always hears.
At school it would never show on her face. Because Pepper's mother would hate her one moment, so Pepper felt, but her mother would later say she loved her. Either Her mother's love was tough love, or her mother loved her too much. 'There is such a thing as too much love. Loving someone so much you hurt them, but you are not able to see it, because you are too busy hurting them.' Pepper heard that from a girl at school, but the girl was talking about her boyfriend. Yes, Pepper knew she had it hard, and she knew that her mother was the many reasons why she had so many psychological problems. Such as her sexism and anti-socialism, and her organized-chaos. Pepper wanted to be everything her mother is not, yet at the same time couldn't help be like her mother. Having been raised by her mother. She couldn't escape. She was her mother and her mother was her. How the saying goes 'The apple doesn't fall far from the tree.’ Her mother was in her blood. Pepper knew that, and with those thoughts in her head Pepper feels guilt creep upon into her body when she would think she wanted her mother dead or wanted her mother to suffer for the pain she caused her. With those thoughts, Pepper would hurt herself. Punches, and bruises up and down her legs, falling all over her arms. More punches then bruises since Peppers dark complexion ineffectual her to bruise easily.
Pepper was a coward, too afraid of the consequences or the people she would hurt if she were ever to cut, or kill her self or injure herself severely. Yet, Pepper sometimes wishes she would get a bad disease or hurt herself one time. 'Just one time!' She would think. 'With an ulcer or cancer maybe, just maybe for once that women would love me.' Then Pepper would cry again, with her father living with another family on the other side of the country, and her grandmother traveling with her work, and her other family she never sees or talks to much, all Pepper has is her mother to support her and for Pepper to receive love from. 'I guess you can never have you cake and eat it too.' Pepper sometimes thought, when she wanted to run away but couldn't because she had no job or money. Her mother's income was her income, so Pepper would stay and endure the abuse to get an education, and to become something, so that one day she can move and live with somebody, anybody, that fully loves her for who she is, what she has become, what she's done, and loves her mistakes, her faults, her thoughts, her voice, her body, and just loves Pepper. 'Just love me.' Pepper thinks as she stares at the stuffed kitty that her boyfriend, the only one she felt loved her no matter what, gave to her for valentines. Pepper blinks her starched eyes, and falls asleep.


The night is awake, the garden outside Pepper's house sings under the moon, and in the wind is the sound of fluttering wings. The sound of this nature is heaven's voice, which can always be heard when a visitor comes from the sky to guide people through life.

Pepper's guardian angel had arrived. It took 18 years for the heavens to respond to her prayers, but better late then never. Examining his client, the savor breathes onto the glass window, then floats through the wall and kisses Pepper's dried tears. "I have to wait a week, then a month after that after the change that is to come settles into your heart." He hears her pulsing heart, and the savor longs for the warmth he once felt in his time. "Your will for life, and your hearts strength are incomparable. I am glad you have chosen me. You are¬ a brilliant breed of human, but a dyeing breed none the less.” He brushes his fingertips upon Pepper’s resting face; with the savor knowing the touch is unfelt in his stealthy angelic state. “You look like mother Mary in you slumber.” He kisses her cheek in parting, and flies off to prepare himself to be the next chapter, the best yet, in Pepper’s life.