A House on Eden

21. Bruce

The nights when Kevin stayed at his apartment were lonely nights. It was getting colder and I burned logs in the fire place, watching the orange flames color the walls from the sofa.

I spent my evenings on the porch wearing my kaftan, drinking a glass of wine, listening to the splash the fountain made in the pond.

I watched the dark form of Max straddling the fence, begging for my touch. Sometimes I went out to him and stroked his neck, whispering words into his perked up ears. Sometimes I talked to Beth who had more news from Marjory.

In the midst of this I had a deep found peace. The house wanted me here, had opened its doors to me, had become complicit in my struggle. The house had saved me, and now I understood that Marjorie had been telling me the same.

The detective did not show his face again and I was not surprised. I knew he did more than suspect: he knew, but could not prove it. Neither could I.

It was Wednesday evening when the house suddenly shuddered. It groaned, gathered itself as if against an unseen adversary. Branches and twigs came falling on the roof, making the sound of hail stones. The windows contracted, vibrated, the kitchen door flew open.

I went inside and there was a hole in the floor. It was churning, spinning, growing, spitting out pieces of wood and concrete. I stood motionless, paralyzed, watching the head appear. It was red, flayed, loose skin hanging from its cheeks. Its eyes were pits of darkness, its mouth an endless hole.

Impossibly, two flayed hands appeared, the bones moving in their sockets as they grabbed the edges of the floor. They were pulling the head up, the neck, the hideous shoulders. The creature strained, stretched, screeched and began pulling itself out of the hole.

Then it focused its gaze on me, licked its lips and lilted: "come to daddy, Jessie! Come to daddy for some sugar. It's gonna be a long night, yes sir."

I sped past him as he be began lifting himself out of the hole. I ran into the living room, opened my purse and took the gun. Then I stood before him, trembling, horrified by what I was seeing.

Bruce's body was twisted, gnarled, partly dissolved. I could see his naked muscles and nerves, see the organs in his chest, see his heart beating through his veins.

"Jessie," he murmured. It almost sounded tender. "For ever."

"Forever in hell!" I screamed and shot him in the head. I kept shooting, my finger moving mechanically, my fury raging in me until I heard the metallic clicking of an empty chamber. I lowered my arms and wept.

Around me the house gathered itself, the floor around Bruce's body swirled like a whirlpool, pulling it down under. The bony hands lost their grip on the edges, the arms and neck disappeared.

I stood above the hole in the floor watching the body descend like a black spider on its thread, watching the basement floor open to receive him. I walked down the basement steps and saw the concrete melt around it, envelop it, bury it deep under the ground.

Then the house fell silent. There was only the briefest sigh of someone who had completed a daunting task. The house stood satisfied, its foundation firm, its walls solid, its secret safe.

I went back upstairs. The kitchen bore no marks, the hard wood floors shined with luster. It had never happened but I knew it did. And I knew another thing: that my life had just begun.

At eight Kevin called. "Have you eaten anything yet?" He said.

I laughed, and could not stop.