Silent Nightmares and Morbid Fairytales

Sitting by the icy creek a while later, watching Uncle James sit on the bank with his line in the water while I perched atop a boulder a few yards away, feeling the feeble attempts of the sun trying to warm my skin.

He didn’t talk too much, and neither did I. Just not to scare the fish.

He did however comment once on the weather, which for the most part, was overcast, with small rays of cold sunlight breaking through. Not exactly my kind of day.

We’d been sitting there patiently for around an hour when the bow of his pole began to bend in the direction of the current. He began to steadily reel it in. “Anaya, grab that bucket.” He nodded towards the tin bucket a few feet away from him. I clambered down from my resting spot, and carried the bucket to his side just as he pulled a large grey fish from the icy water.

Forcing the fish down into the bucket, he unhooked it and prepared a new bait to toss in.

“Have you ever been fishing?” He wondered after a few minutes.

“Not in a long time.” I admitted.

“I used to take Mary fishing every other week.” He recalled fondly. “Though we never had much luck, it was always a nice experience.”

I didn't pry, and I certainly didn't expect him to continue after bringing up his wife. “We’d go up to the same lake in the mountains each time... One day we wanted something different, and we could use a vacation. I reserved a room in the Lake Side hotel by Toluca Lake. We spent all our freetime on the dock, watching the boats go by, the people fishing and couples walking together in the sand. It was so peaceful.”

"Sounds like it would be.” I agree softly, hesitating.

“We went up there mere weeks... Before Mary would start showing symptoms.” He stuggles with the words, eyes glazing over immediately just by thinking of his deceased wife, best friend and partner in crime.

I remember when she was sick. My Mom finally peeled herself from our couch, breaking from her drunken stupor to pack up a few of our things and head for the East Coast. Mary was already being hospitalized by the time we got there, and things weren’t shaping up too well.

My mom smoked cigarettes like candy the entire trip there, but as soon as she saw her dying sister in that hospital bed, she seemed to sober up. Like a hard smack of soberity had just collided with her cheek, knocking some sense into her.

For the remainder of our time in West Virginia, she didn't so much as breathe a gust of smoke or even look at a liquor bottle. She was dedicated in caring for her sister, and for the first time in years, she amazed me. She showed me how much she could truly care for another person, and after a week and a half in that environment, that love begin to rub off on me and we'd share small moments of laughter, making jokes.

I guess in my stupid childish head, I expected that feeling of being loved and wanted to last. But as soon as we got the news that Mary had passed during the night, she turned cold, and I don't mean gradually, I mean like someone flicked a switch, it was that fast.

One moment we were laughing, and the next thing I know I'm getting smacked around again. I blocked out the memory for years, but now that I'm living in her home, seeing Mary's memories, it's impossible to completely forget the horrors that had taken place on these grounds years earlier.

As soon as mom heard the news, she marched right into the living room where I was playing with my toys and straight up smacked me with no introduction. No apology followed, just a cruel, angry warning that if anyone were to ask what happened to my face, I was to say I walked into a door handle.

And I did use the excuse, but gained a few weirded out looks from everyone I said that to, and now that I'm older, I see how damn stupid the excuse was. If you walked into a door handle as a small child, you would not look like someone had just thrown a golf ball at your cheek.

Uncle James was already gone, mentally... He didn't hear anyone when they spoke to him, and he didn't speak, at least not loud enough for anyone to hear, but if you got close enough to him when he was sitting in the armchair in the living room, you could hear him whispering things under his breath to himself.

Most of it you couldn't understand, but every now and then you'd make out a few words. Most of the time it was just him repeating "Mary, I'm sorry."

He loved Mary more than he loved himself, so it wasn't hard to tell that when she died, he died, too. Except, his body remained, and so did his mind, and he had to keep drawing breath while she was in a fantasy world somewhere.

"I'll get you enrolled in school by the first week of March." James speaks up, nodding towards me a little. "So in the meantime, you'll have some time to spend here at the house. There's lots of hiking trails to explore, if you're tired of being cooped up, just... Anaya, please, stay away from the road in the trees, it's boarded up for a reason."

This catches my attention, but I try to maintain a calm, careless composure as I interrogate him for more information.

"What do you mean? What road?"

"That road will wind way up into the mountains above Brahams, and you'll find yourself somewhere you do not want to be. It's very ordinary in looks, but it will pick your brain and show you things you don't want to see. If you avoid that road, you can avoid that place."

I furrow my brows, but nod in agreement anyways. Although it sounds disturbing, I feel oddly intrigued by the idea of an adventure. My home town didn't harbor many secrets besides the other kids who were also being secretly beaten at home, behind closed doors and sealed windows.

That town and the people in it didn't have voices to protest the terrible things happening to them, so they lived in poor suburb neighborhoods and the parents worked crappy jobs to provide for the families they'd go home and beat out of frustration. It happens more than you'd guess.

"Brahams ain't got much, because it's not a town for the young. There's a police station, court house, library, gas station, fire department, two grocery stores and an old antique store on Main Street. All the other businesses are either closed or are lawyer and real estate offices."

"The library could be fun," I murmur, "that's where I spent most of my time back home. Just stay there all day reading anything and everything I could."

"I'll bet you're a smart kid now, huh?"

I shrug, feeling a familiar bitter anger seeping into my heart. "I don't know... I read all the self defensive and child abuse books they had but it never did me any good."

He gives me a long, sympathetic look, and sighs, patting my knee, returning his eyes to the rushing icy river. "I'm sorry I didn't get you out of there sooner, kid... How old are you now, anyways?"

"Thirteen as of last month. It doesn't make me feel like I've solved all the world's problems, though, I still feel like the kid who spent her who childhood getting her ass whipped. Anyways, it's not your fault Uncle James. It's nobody's but the hand that delivered the punishments."

"I hope your mother gets the help she needs." He murmurs.

"I hope she rots in hell." I reply through gritted teeth. I see him shift uncomfortably a bit.

"Be careful who you say that to, Anaya. You'll never know when it'll come true. Any trust me, seeing your demons up close is not a fun experience."

I nod sullenly and don't speak anymore. I didn't want to talk about my Mother or think of her again now that I've gotten the fresh start I've been searching for ever since I was old enough to understand that hurting someone innocent because you're angry is wrong.

I'm finally out of that fucking house thank God. I don't know how I went thirteen years without becoming a runaway case.

Now I have a lot of 'I don't know's. I don't know why I never reached out for help or told anyone the truth when they'd ask why I was hurt so frequently. I don't know why I never called the police or took action, or even tried to defend myself.

Maybe because no matter what is happening to you, your parents are still your parents and hurting them in any way would make me feel more guilt than if I'd just kept my head down and accepted my beating with some grace and dignity.

... Not that you can have too much of either of those getting your head slung into the the front glass panel of a grandfather clock, then again just because she's angry that you broke her clock with your head.

I know she loved my father deeply, but how deeply? So much that she would over-medicate in the evenings, muttering a prayer to herself in another drunken rage how she wishes she won't wake up, but she always did, every time.

She loved him so much that she wanted to kill the last remaining piece of him. So many times the anger in her eyes turned to blind rage and she'd weave her fingers into a firm grip around your neck, squeezing until your face had turned a nice shade of violet.

I grit my teeth and stand up, backing away from the edge of the water. All this thinking has got me light headed and feeling like I'm gonna fall in.

"Feeling okay?"

"Actually, uh... No... Mind if I go inside for a bit?"

He nods and gestures towards the cabin at the top of the slope. I quietly thank him and start hiking bake up, gripping my temples in my palms, trying to silence the hurricane headache forming between my ears.

I push open the front door and go to the bathroom to find some Aspirin. I find the bottle in the compartment behind the mirror and take the appropriate amount, swallowing them dry, frowning at my reflection as they go down.

Even the bathroom is cluttered with more boxes. It'd be a pretty spacious room if it weren't for the piles of brown boxes stacked haphazardly on top of one another almost to the ceiling.

I turn to leave, pulling open the door a crack, but my elbow knocks into a box that I thought had more weight in it. It topples over on the grungy blue tiles, spilling out an assortment of envelopes and neatly folded sheets of paper.

"Oh shit..." I mumble, crouching down to gather them up, tucking them neatly into the box. An envelope catches my eye before I can complete my task... It's a simple white, business style envelope with hand drawn flowers on it, and a name written in neat, precise cursive in the middle.

Laura.

When the backside of a hand is the reward for even glancing at someone else's things, I wasn't raised to even think of it at all... But these letters are covered in several years' worth of dust, so surely all their secrets have been exposed by now.

I tug out the top fold of paper keeping it shut, and slide out a piece of white, lined notebook paper. I unfold it, careful and cautious not to bend the corners or anything.

"My dearest Laura, I'm leaving this
letter with Rachel to give to you
after I'm gone.

I'm far away now.
In a quiet, beautiful place.

Please forgive me for not saying
goodbye before I left.

Be well, Laura.

Don't be too hard on the sisters.

And Laura, about James...

I know you hate him because you
think he isn't nice to me, but please
give him a chance.

It's true he may be a little surly
sometimes, and he doesn't laugh
much. But underneath he's really
a sweet person.

Laura...
I love you like my very own
daughter.

If things had worked out
differently, I was hoping to
adopt you.

Happy 8th birthday, Laura.

Your friend forever,

Mary"

Confusion comes over me like a great, big storm cloud for a moment. "Laura?..." I echo, the name foreign on my tongue. I'm certain that Mary and James never mentioned a little girl by that name, nor were they planning on adopting. So who was this mystery girl?

I glance through the other envelopes, searching for a similar name or hand writing, but it looks like the rest of them are simply sympathy letters written to James after the passing of his wife.

The other weird things James has been saying come back to mind, and I can't help but wonder for a moment if it's all connected... Connected to what? That place James mentioned?

Mom did tell me the story years ago about how he'd gone crazy after Mary died and secluded himself in an abandoned town in the mountains... Yeah, it's definitely the place. The place where your demons come to life and you see terrible things... Things you do not want to see.

Unless it was all just an hallucination of his, the town has to still be there.