Horror Stories

Handicapped (start)

This short horror story was originally published in "Soon: Four Chilling Tales" (2013).

***

A deep, hollow-sounding chime echoed inside the Huck residence when Rob rang the doorbell. It sounded fancy for such a modest ranch-style home. Charlene would have mentioned the chime as a selling point, Rob thought.

He wished she were here. The police were searching for her, but after a day, dark possibilities were already edging into the corners of his mind. Charlene wasn't the type to vanish overnight. Their son required constant care--so if Rob wasn't home, Charlene had to be. She traveled with a cell phone in case of emergencies. Now calls to that number went directly to voicemail.

A breeze swept down from the hills, causing the 'FOR SALE' sign in the lawn to creak. A missing dog poster fluttered on the nearest tree trunk. Windows gaped blindly in some of the houses, and Rob realized that the street was full of realtor signs. In the recession, that seemed unusual.

He pressed the doorbell again. A woman shouted from inside the house. "Who is it?"

Rob assumed this was Ms. Huck, one of his wife's clients. He hesitated. According to the police, Ms. Huck was the last person to see Charlene. The police had already questioned her, but maybe he would turn up a clue if he acted like the realtor he was.

"I'm Rob Lithgow," Rob said. "My wife Charlene met with you. I'm following up."

"Come in, Mr. Lithgow!" The woman shouted. "Door's open."

Rob tried the doorknob, and it turned. He stepped into a foyer that smelled of talcum powder and urine. It made him think of the assisted care home where his son sometimes stayed. Heavy curtains blocked all the windows, but a dim glow came from the far end of the hallway.

"I'm back here!" yelled the forceful voice. "The kitchen."

As Rob ventured down the hallway, he noticed a set of handrails, like the ones he'd installed at home. They would aid a person in climbing in and out of a wheelchair. He relaxed a little. Ms. Huck had some common ground with his son. Maybe she would sympathize and offer a clue about Charlene.

The kitchen had outdated appliances and dirty yellow wallpaper. Rob focused on the woman seated by the table ... and his realtor's smile died. His heart kicked like a horse. Not possible. It was the only thought he could manage.

Above the neck, she resembled an elderly woman. Below....

Obscenely long arms served as her legs. She walked towards Bob in a swaying, spider-like motion, flat on her palms. Her grotesque torso dangled uselessly between fleshy shoulders, pendulous as she shifted from hand to hand. Her malformed legs belonged on a baby. She was at once withered and overdeveloped in all the wrong places.

Rob backpedaled and grabbed the wall for support. His guts lurched. This creature couldn't be human.

She squinted up at Rob, reading his shock. The normalcy of her head was perverse, with her gray hair swept into a loose bun.

"We can talk in the living room," she said in her forceful rasp. "It's more comfortable for me in there."

Rob's face burned with embarrassment as Ms. Huck hand-walked past him. She was just handicapped. Just handicapped. He let out a breath. If Charlene had seen him overreact, she would be so ashamed of him. He was ashamed of himself.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Huck," he forced himself to say. "I'm sorry my wife isn't here instead. I'm not always good with people."

She didn't turn, and her voice was cold. "Would you mind turning on a light in the living room for me?"

"Of course." Rob hurried past Ms. Huck, conscious of her swaying walk, like a daddy longlegs with six of its eight legs plucked off.

Charlene would have handled Ms. Huck with elegant diplomacy. She'd probably only met Ms. Huck once before, or she would have mentioned the strangeness of it. Human beings weren't supposed to look like Ms. Huck.

They're not supposed to look like our son, either.

Rob switched on a pillar lamp, trying to banish his thoughts. There must be thousands of birth defects in the world. Some people had parasitic twins. Some had extra breasts, or tails, or hairy pelts. Some kids were born with hydroencephalitis. If he could accept his own balloon-headed son, he could accept Ms. Huck's deformities.

She had to shift her balance several times in order to back onto a chair. Her head sunk between her massive, vein-roped shoulders. Her blue tank-top sagged around her chest, hanging below her baby-small rear end.

"Need help?" Rob asked.

"Nawp. I'm fine." Ms. Huck grabbed the chair's arms and hoisted herself up in one ape-like motion. Her small body appeared to crumple beneath the weight of her shoulders. Something cracked. She didn't seem to notice.

Rob sat on the opposite couch, trying not to stare. In the dimness, the woman's eyes were as flat and expressionless as glass. A brown sore marred one corner of her mouth. What if she'd had something to do with Charlene's disappearance?

You're being ridiculous, Rob thought, disgusted with himself. Ms. Huck had to walk on her hands. She'd be unable to harm a healthy, fit woman like Charlene. Besides, why would a client attack the person she'd hired?

He opened his briefcase, chagrined. "Did Charlene handle your paperwork the way you wanted?"

A nod.

"Let's see." Rob sifted through papers. "Do you have any questions for me? Or concerns?"

"Nawp." Ms. Huck waved dismissively. Her arm was apish in length, splotched purple with varicose veins, ropey with fat deposits. "Thank you for coming, Mr. Lithgow. I know my appearance is unsettling. I won't make you stay long."

Rob attempted a smile. "I'm sorry for my reaction."

"Your wife did the same thing," said Ms. Huck.

Rob cleared his throat, and shuffled papers to avoid looking up. "What time did she leave your house?" he asked. "I know the police questioned you, but ... just for my own piece of mind ..."

The cuckoo clock in one corner of the room ticked. Ms. Huck watched Rob.

"Around four," Ms. Huck said after a long moment.

"Okay."

"Let's talk about selling my house," Ms. Huck said. "That's what you came for, I hope? Your wife said I can get three hundred for this property."

"Uh, right," Rob said. He looked around, as if assessing the place. "I noticed a lot of your neighbors are moving, too. Is there a reason for that?" He flipped through the file, trying to focus on business.

Ms. Huck measured her words. "Well ... it's hard for families to live so close to someone who looks like me."

She spoke in a dead tone, similar to how Rob's son spoke of his lack of friends, his hospital visits. Rob dropped the folder closed. He was scoring all kinds of negativity points with this client. "I'm sorry."

Ms. Huck shrugged. Her arms rested on the table like bloated corpses.

"I'm really sorry," Rob said.

"Don't worry about it," she said. "Maybe you should come back another time."

Rob scooped up his papers. Ms. Huck was right. He was too distracted to do his job, and he ought to just ask if Charlene had been acting strange, or--

"Eeeeeeeeeeeeeee!"

A pained wail traveled through the house, around unseen corners. It ended in a womanish sob.

"I have a movie going," Ms. Huck said.

[Story continues]