I Done A Terrible Thing
I done a terrible thing. A bloody thing, a diabolical thing…no one will ever forgive me…it too damn late to go back.
Started the night that I lost my job at the damn restaurant, the damn restaurant. Waiters loved me, boss hated me. He was a fat bloke; I didn’t very much care for him. He offed me, offed me, and that night I went to my favorite place, the bar. Had me a few drinks, picked me up a few girls and away I went; except the next thing I know I’m face up on the bed, lookin at a girl rocking up on top of me, smiling and making a game out of it, a game. Cept’ me wife Barbara's in the next room crying and I got me a divorce comin’ anyway.
It was the most terrible night that I can remember. Morning came and went, came and went, Barbara was gone by then and the moon kept lookin at me like an eye that aint stop starin. Was a mess myself, a mess. Presently I got me to bein so goddam hot I had to take me a bloody ice bath. Burnin, just burnin away. The thoughts kept comin to me, those thoughts you get when you ponder death. Those thoughts so taboo you keep them out of your mind for fear of them. Razors and guns play on your shoulder, dancing so fast you can’t keep up…makin ya all the madder. Cept tonight I wasn’t afeared of em. I was bathing in them. And I dint care…I dint care.
That’s the night I done make the worst mistake there is to make. I was in that damn ice bath, the ice bath, and I was in a most demoralized state. Drunk, maybe, but certainly coherent enough to stay above the surface. And I hear this noise: this suckin noise. Came from out the bathroom door, and it done started comin in to the bathroom. Wasn’t much of anything till I started feelin it. Feelin it. Like the creeps you get on the back of your neck when you step feet first into a cold pool, stead a jumpin in. I’ll be real, its the scariest feelin I ever did felt. Terrible, like icycles forced down yur throat, the feelin. It crept up on me, crept up on me, caught me unawares, and when my senses were at their highest, the cold sucked out my chest was the only thing I could feel anymore. Like as to my very soul bein sucked out a me…
My head was above the water, wide eyes stretched in their strained sockets, my hands feeling along the edge of the tub, the edge of the tub. Cold air kept n'vadin me throat, and it began to get harda to breathe, harda to breathe. Slowly, labored, I brought meself up to a sitting position, catchin me breath, catchin me breath. I looked up at the dial on the wall: Read 62! It couldn’t have been that hot. Couldn’t believe that dial. Impossible. It was cold. But then all things were becoming less and less…what was the word? Maybe tangible. Yeah. Less and less tangible these last few days.
That’s when I heard it, though. A hiss at the beginning, a moan the next second, a slow, cold, silver voice. Was it a voice? It cut the air in half, leaving no other sound there to express itself. The crack in the air was more than audible, more than…tangible. It filled the room, the cold voice, leavin me to cower low into the cave of the tub. Shadows played on the walls, played there, and there only be one light in the room. And it waddn't movin. Them shadows came from nowhere.
The temperature rose acutely up and down, giving the cowering figure in the warm water the chills. The light began to flicker, and then, with a flicker and a puff, it extinguished itself. But still the shadows played on, on the walls: somehow they were still darker silhouettes than the darkness itself. So tangible... Moaning now, the figure in the tub leaning back into the wall, shading his face from the impending darkness.
"Oh God…Mary Mother a God, no…" And closing his eyes, his flustered lips began to recite the Hail Marys he was taught in that church, that church. But it didn’t seem to help: with every passing word, the darkness closed faster, the walls darkened more with the ever presence of the shadows that were darker than black. The hissing accentuated itself more, becoming sharper, higher… deadlier. The closest thing the man could compare it too was a dying woman, and he had only heard those screams once before. Never again, oh god, never again. Please no…
Barbara…
He’s comin closer! That fuckin hissing is a comin closer! What in the hell do I do. The noise! The fucking screaming!
Barbara, go away!
And with a rush of wind that previously didn’t exist inside the small bathroom, a crash of glass erupted in the mirror, destroying it, cascading it all over the floor. Now the room deafened with a crescendoing pitch, swirling and rising with the wind, wailing around the room. The man flailed in the water, seeing now a tornado of wind and dust emerge from the floor, rising to greet him eye to eye at opposite ends of the bathroom.
And it sickened him what he saw. He turned away, imagining they were not there, but they were. His throat and neck spasmed, heaving their contents to mix with the bath water. He turned away, but his eyes could not. The racing, visible wind begin to take shape, it rose from the ground, leaving the charred remains of what appeared to be baby’s legs where the wind flew seconds earlier. With painfully slow agony, the man was forced to watch - fighting his eyes to close - still held against the wall by his fear. The wind rose further, forming the ripped layers of swaddling clothes - black rags - around the torso of the figure, and the blistered, bleeding, finger tips of an infant’s hand shown through the rags. The terrifying dark infant had no color save gray and black hues. His nose bled black down his gray lips, his eye sockets held only dark voids, his stomach was bloated from starvation, and larvae escaped down a hole in his navel. The petrified figure in the water saw that the dark baby shined with an unseen reflection now and again, still unquestionably facing the tub and its inhabitor. The baby smiled, revealing charcoal teeth and a severed tongue. The wind and sound began to die off slowly, and the baby took his first steps toward the tub.
I done a terrible thing. A bloody thing, a diabolical thing…no one will ever forgive me…it too damn late to go back. Or maybe she will forgive me someday. I sold my soul to the baby with no eyes. I wanted to die, so I could see her again. He said I was unclean. Said I wasn’t fit for a life with Barbara - yet. Said I missed Barbara too much to kill anyone again, least of all my shitty self. I let him climb in those dark waters with me. I let him clean me…and I’m still there-today-, cleaning myself until I’m ready to see her again. He said I ain’t ready till I’m washed dry. He said I wasn't ready to see Barbara yet. I spose it’s goin to be a long time…isn’t it?
But, God…I just didn’t want Barbara to cry no more.