Fearful Things

Cries

She weakly pushed open her front door and staggered into the house. A wave of fatigue washed over her, the usual pounding headache coming in full force. She dropped her purse and the case of beer on the floor unceremoniously. Whatever she had planned to do, she forgot. Now all she wanted was to sleep. She lurched from the door and down the hallway. Pictures lined the wall—dusty frames holding images of a past life. The timeline played out as she walked: her wedding, vacations with her husband, her pregnancy, baby photos, their young son on his first day at kindergarten, in a school play, on his birthday. Then the pictures stopped. A testament to when her life ended as well. The last photo was of her son in their backyard. Had he always been crying in that picture? The wall narrowed with the descending stairs, and now she stood in the living room. To her right was the archway into the kitchen. She briefly thought of the beer but it left her mind just as quickly; there was plenty more in the fridge.

Everywhere was evidence of their absence. White spots on the carpet where furniture once sat, where her husband would relax, where he would welcome her home with a kiss. Toys still lay scattered in strange places where her son would look up from playing with a bright smile and accusing eyes. The early afternoon sky was gray, and the dim light it provided left the colors of the world flat. Lifeless.

She turned left and lumbered up the stairs. She entered her bedroom. The closet doors were open wide, not the way she left it. Inside hung the black dress she wore to her son's funeral.

She ignored the unmade bed and stepped into the bathroom. She stared at the stranger reflected in the mirror. Her face was thin, too thin, with eyes sunk far too deep into her skull. Pale skin and dark shadows. Unkempt hair and filthy clothes.

The sink before her had products strewn haphazardly across it, but the sink to her left was spotless. Her husband had taken his side when he left her.

The bathtub faucet dripped. The shower was separate from the bath and blocked her view of the tub, but the sound stabbed her brain viciously. She began to remember. Images of her son playing in the bath. The sound of splashing water and his chirping laughter. His blue body floating in red water. She had been gone for only a moment. What happened? Didn't she know what happened? Didn't she remember-

Moving with a disturbing desperation, she yanked the drawer below the sink open. She clawed through it until she found a plastic bag full of pills. She grabbed a handful and swallowed them dry. Almost immediately the memories started dissipating.

But I didn't want them to.

She grabbed her head and pulled at her hair, her eyes shut tight. Pathetic whimpering escaped her throat.

Drip, drip, drip.

"Ma...."

She froze. Her heart hammered; from the dripping or the pills?

"Maaa....."

From the bathtub. She looked.

A monster. A gigantic mass of flesh sat in the tub. It pulsated with the dripping water. Two eyes sat at the head of the flesh peaking around the corner. My eyes. A slit, its mouth, opened, and water poured out and splashed all over the floor. By the time it pooled around her feet, the water had turned a dark red. She began hyperventilating.

When the thing saw her, it repeated it's call.

"Ma..."

It weakly tried lifting itself up and over the lip of the bath. It struggled miserably, but couldn't move. It slipped and banged its face on the edge. I made her remember the sound. A moment passed, and then it started to cry.

A horrible wailing echoed on the tile of the bathroom, surrounding her and pressing on her. A baby's cries, all too familiar cries. Its crying turned to screaming as it squirmed faster, trying with all of its infantile strength to reach her. She couldn't take it anymore. Its screeching was driving spikes into her head, each pulse, each drip ripping her mind away from her. With sobs racking her body, she ran from her sins.

She reached the stairs and practically fell down the entire flight. She tripped into her living room and crawled rapidly into the kitchen. She collapsed against the island and panted heavily. The creature's cries continued in the upstairs bathroom.

"Maa....."

The memories bubbled from the dark corners of her mind. The corners that were kept dark by drugs and alcohol. She wanted to forget. Forget. Forget.

But I didn't want her to.

I made her remember. I whispered into her mind the memories that would drive her mad.

Remember watching me play in the bath.

Remember the feeling of your hands wrapped around my throat.

Remember the sensation of my muscles straining against your squeezing fingers.

Remember me clawing at your arms.

Remember the question in my eyes.

Remember my cries.

"Ma...ma..."

Remember the sound of my skull cracking on the edge of the tub.

Remember my pain.

Remember how you killed me.

She screamed. Sobbing, she scrambled to the counter and ripped the drawers out. More pills flew through the air and scattered across the tiled floor. On her hands and knees, she grabbed handfuls at a time and shoved them down her throat. She threw the refrigerator door open and pulled out bottle after bottle. She needed to forget, no matter what.

She popped open more bottles.

She grabbed more pills.

She drank.

And drank.

And drank.

Until she could no longer hear my voice.

Or anything else ever again.