Witchcraft

Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

JUDAS

My father is laughing at me. I scowl at him, but really, the scowl is directed to myself. I never meant to yell at the girl, I don't know why I did. I've never felt such natural rage until her words bit through me, gnawing into my chest.

The absurdity. To call me a distributor of loneliness. Above all things, a coward! I sit at the dining room table, with my jaw clenched. I am not a coward, and it certainly isn't my choice to live in solitude as I do.

I can feel my father staring at me like he is reading my thoughts. I hear his voice through the silence of the home, as he says, "You are a coward." He speaks it matter-of-factly, as if it is such a simple statement.

I spin my head towards the being of bones, sitting restlessly on the stained chair. "I am not."

"And yet you hide from her."

I laugh, a humorless, cynical laugh, "Where is there to hide?" I beckon to the room around us, "The fucking house is falling apart. There are holes in the walls. How could I hide myself anywhere here?"

"You know what I mean."

I frown, "I should have buried you in the fucking walls."

"You won't."

"Are you so sure?"

"You're a coward, of course I'm sure. I raised you, my imprint is on your being."

I say nothing. I can feel the sockets where his eyes once were stare through me like I am glass. My guilt is in evident form. How could my father, even dead, remind me of all the things about myself that I am too stupid to acknowledge?

"Let the girl go." He tells me, "Don't be greedy."

"Sorry, father." I say, standing up, "I was never taught altruism. I think that may be your imprint on me that just never rubbed off."

I hear him call me a coward again, but I mold his insult into a barrier, and I hide behind it, refusing any sort of self-reflection. Yes, my cowardice and carelessness is perhaps a bigger part of me than I initially thought. That does not mean I will better myself.

I have no reason to become a good person, for there are no substantial moments in my future that will reward me for being kind.

Instead, I return to my garden. My father and I had transformed one of the back rooms into an indoor greenhouse. My father feared what would happen to me if something were to happen to him, so he made sure I was prepared with an entire storage room of seeds, and dirt, and taught me as young as the age of four how to grow my own food.

Food is not something that I need. I've gone months without eating in the past, and I've died many times because of it, but there is something about gardening, something about growing a thing that is almost living that enthralls me. It is almost charming to see a small seed grow into a larger thing. Something that will nourish me, be kind to me and my body.

Sometimes I become too attached to the foods I grow, that I can't bring myself to eat them. I don't know why I do that. I do not know why I grow attached to items, but I do. I know now that I can't get too emotionally connected to the plants that I bring up. I may not have to eat, but the girl does, and so I will sacrifice the only things that have ever been kind to me, so she can live.

I pull out a metal bucket and fill it with water from the indoor well my father and I had made together. He wanted to make sure I had a constant source of clean water, which means nothing to me. Dying from dehydration is a very interesting way to die. Hunger only shuts my body down, but dehydration makes you see things. You begin to hallucinate. Hallucination is the closest thing I have ever got to speaking with another individual that is not my father, and the girl in my basement.

Sometimes I hallucinate being on fire, just like in my dreams. To be awake and your mind is convinced you are burning when you really aren't is a bizarre experience, and not one that I entirely enjoy.

I use all my strength to pull up the bucket which is full of water, but a wave of vertigo sweeps through me, and I fall back, leaning on the wall for support to keep myself standing. I accidentally drop the metal bucket, and water spills out across the floor.

I curse, and once the vertigo passes, I get on my knees and begin to clean up. I have not eaten in a while, and I know I should, not because I don't want to die, but because the dizziness becomes annoying, and my body gets weaker, and weaker, until I'm stuck on the couch and I die for good -and then I come back, and the process repeats itself.

I can feel my heart pounding against my chest from lack of nutrients, but I only feel irritated. I fill up the bucket with water again, and this time I'm able to bring it towards my rows of plants, and water them all generously. I force myself to eat the vegetables that are overripe, and nearly rotten. I keep the pristine vegetables for the girl. The food is bitter on my tongue, and the more I chew the more it resembles the texture of mud. I force myself to continue eating because I don't want to pass out near the girl. If I'm out, she'd no doubt try to escape, and that's the last thing I want.

She is all I have.

I fill an empty bowl of more plants and take a steadying breath. I'm ecstatic to have another human being to speak to, but, it is also the most daunting thing in the world. I have to convince myself that I can speak, sometimes I forget that my words mean anything at all. Will she understand me if I open my mouth? I remind myself that yes, I could be understood, she is not a pile of bones, she is a human being, and she can hear me.

I swing open the basement door and lock it behind me. It is a precaution. I can not bear the thought of her leaving, even if it is abundantly clear that she hates me.

I know her ideas. I may not have much history with people, but I'm not entirely useless on the subject of human motive. I have read enough books to know where her thoughts lie.

She wants to leave. She wants to trick me. I have my whole life to get to know her. I could keep her here until we both die. I'm not so mentally inept to think she could ever grow fond of me, but I am certain, that with time, that we can come to a mutual understanding that I am not just Judas Sloan, a senseless man locked in a mansion. I am Judas Sloan, a man with nothing to lose.