Whispers Of The Damned

Chapter 5: Heaven to Hell

When mom and dad were happily married, dad would frequently help her make dinner, their specialty being cannelloni and cream. He would always come up behind her, whisper in her ear, take her hands in his, and dance with her. It didn't matter what was playing on the radio, they always danced.

My mom laughed, and laughed. My father held her in the air by her hips, and afterwards, she would ruffle his hair and give him a sloppy kiss on the cheek.

Being the mature child I was, I would always point towards my mouth and make gagging sounds, or scream,

"Cooties! Daddy gave mommy cooties!"

Sometimes, they would let me join in on the dancing, twirling me in the air or tickling me. I would giggle and my face would get red, slobber dribbling down my chin.

"Daddy, stop!"

I would say, but he didn't stop until I was practically running away, laughing.

Afterwards, we set the table with red and white chinaware, clean, fresh glasses, and silver tableware.

The smell of the cannelloni was rich and heavenly, and the taste was even better. Dad usually always got the largest serving, enough for me and mom both. But, this time, mommy got the biggest serving. She had to have enough for her and Brandt. He also loved cannelloni. Who knew fetuses could have a favorite food?

When we were finished, dad cleaned the dishes while me and mom laid on the carpeted floor, watching Oprah or Law & Order. I felt her watermelon of a stomach, seeing Brandt kicking, his little toes making indentions in her belly.

"Mommy?"

I squeaked,

"When can I play with Brandt?"

She laughed and held my face in her hand, thumb caressing my cheek.

"Soon,"

she answered,

"Soon, indeed."

Life was as good as it should be. It all went to shit in just a couple short months. Dad would come home red-eyed and careless, both drunk and notoriously high.

He had became frustrated with his dead end job at the office. It made things harder on my mother, with her being pregnant with Brandt. She was supposed to be happy, but that wasn't the case with my asshole father.

She went into labor at work, and a co-worker sped her to the local hospital, and my dad never showed up for the birth of his second child.

After that, while my dad was rarely sober, they decided to "take a break."

Me, baby Brandt, and mom packed up our belongings and shipped off on a giant steam engine, or train, to New Jersey. I was always afraid of trains, with their big whistles and monstrous roars from the engine exhaust.

I complained to my mother, but she reassured me what seemed like a bajillion times in my tiny head.

Oh boy, was she wrong.

Halfway to New Jersey, the train derailed. There was a screaming screech, a thrusting yank, and a heaven-like airy feeling. Then there was black.

I woke up several weeks later in what looked like an infirmary, with stark white walls, the smell of hand sanitizer, and the beep of a heart monitor. I moved my arm, just to make sure it wasn't broken, and noticed a tiny, clear needle with clear tape sticking out of my arm and trailing towards a bag of plasma.

The doctors confirmed that I sustained no injury from the accident, but my mother suffered first degree burns, a broken arm, and a sprained neck.

It turned out we were only 2 of the total 100 survivers from the derailing, the other 146 dead or lost. The investigators said if the train wouldn't have burst into flames, atleast 50 other victims would've survived.

I didn't know any of this at the time, and only one person was on my mind: Brandt.

"Where is my baby brother? Is he okay? I never gave him his pacifier he wanted,"

I asked, unaware of the tragedy that my young self didn't comprehend.

The nurse gave me a sympathetic, pitiful look. She had almond eyes and chestnut hair, high cheekbones, a diamond smile, a round face with a pointed chin, and small square glasses with a flower frame. She also wore purple and pink kitten print scrubs. Her tag read, 'Hello! My Name is Nurse Cole!'

She came over to me and kneeled next to my hospital bed, and took my hand. Smooth and warm, it was almost motherly.

She took a deep breath as tears welled in her eyes. She blinked, and looked in my eyes. In the most gentle, softspoken voice i've ever heard, she whispered,

"He didn't survive the accident."

She said nothing more, closing her lips. A tear streamed down her face, dripping onto my sheets.

I stayed still in my bed, frozen like a statue. I was in complete, udder shock. My mouth stayed closed, but my pupils sized to pinpricks. Tears welled in my eyes, and my throat felt like it was stuffed with cotton. But, I did not cry.

I sat there in silence, the beeping sound mocking me. The nurse left, leaving me to the walls to keep me company. I shut my eyes.

I wanted mom, and I wanted dad, but most of all, I wanted Brandt.

I opened my eyes. I really wish I didn't. What once was a hospital room, was now a all white room, decorated with blood and saliva splattered walls. Faces in the wall appeared, entering the room. Their bodies were pale and naked, stomach completely ripped open and cleaned out. Their skin hung off them like it didn't fit their bodies, and their eyes looked like they were gouged out with scissors. They had no jaws, just skin hanging off their skulls. The only thing holding them together was deep, black stiches. There are about 10 of them, all conjoined by torsos. They spoke as one, with the same, deep, dead, grumbled voice. They whispered something ancient and old, barely enough to make out. They started getting louder, and louder, reaching out for me. I felt in a trance, accepting their gift. Their clammy, clawed hands grabbing me, and tearing my skin off of me. They started screeching, "ad deos alienos et placeat. quia materia non sacrificium. patieris in perpetuas aeternitates. veni nobiscum puer semper nobiscum. Deum expectant!" I felt ripping and tearing, and blood, blood and skin everywhere.