Jake
Oh God, what have I done?
Panic and desperation crash over me in unrelenting tidal waves, dragging me under until I’m drowning in them. I’m sitting on the bed in the guest room, holding my head in my hands and rocking back and forth.
I don’t know how long I’ve been here. Hours, probably. At some point, I’d stumbled down to the kitchen to grab a bottle of whiskey. It sits on the floor by my feet, the amber liquid significantly drained.
The alcohol hadn’t helped. I’m unable to numb the tumult that roils inside of me.
I hit my wife.
She deserved it.
The cold, foreign voice slithers through my mind, and I groan, trying to drown it out.
I’ve done a lot of questionable things over the years, some more legal than others. And maybe, just maybe, I’d said things to intentionally hurt Julia in the past, but I’d never physically harmed her.
Until tonight.
She was asking for it.
“Shut up!” I whimper, clawing at my temples. “Shut up!”
I stand and start pacing in the small space between the bed and the window in a weak attempt to distract myself. On one pass, my bare foot hits the bottle of whiskey. The hefty glass vessel teeters and falls, spilling the spirit out onto the beige carpet. I make no attempt to stop it from spilling or clean it up. Judging by the way the world is swimming around me, I’ve probably already had enough to drink.
As the sharp scent of alcohol fills the space, the room begins to feel more and more claustrophobic, as though the walls are closing in. I stumble to the window and throw the sash open before sticking my head out into the humid night air.
I draw in a few gulping breaths. The scent of the swamp curls around me, accompanied by a chorus of insects singing in the brush. The storm has lulled, and now there’s only a gentle pattering of rain on the roof. The drops are cool and refreshing, and I blink against them like a newborn seeing the sun for the first time.
My mind clears a bit more as the seconds tick by, and my eyes adjust to the darkness. I stare out at the driveway down below, and a sense of déjà vu slides over me. Isn’t this where that contractor fell and broke his back during construction? I think it was.
Unbidden, the skin on the back of my neck prickles to life as I imagine what it must have felt like for the man when he’d realized that he was at the mercy of gravity and nothing more. If I’m remembering correctly, there was even a rumor that the guy claimed he was pushed, though I never put much stock into it.
My eyes trail over the gravel where the worker landed before sweeping over to the garage. To my shock, the door, which had been completely shut after the whole car incident, is open.
“Fuck,” I mutter. I’m absolutely sure that the door closed, albeit on its own. Maybe there was some sort of electrical malfunction. Either way, I can’t just leave it open. Who knows what kind of wildlife might crawl in out of the muck of the swamp? The rain alone is bad enough, but there will be hell to pay if I go out to find little muddy paw prints all over my precious cars.
I lean back into the room and close the window. Sidestepping the growing puddle of whiskey that mars the carpet, I snatch my phone off the bedside table and make my way out of the room.
The hallway is dark and quiet. Even as I descend the stairs and pass by our bedroom, the shadows remain still. A thin crack of light spills from under the door, but there’s no sound coming from within. I wonder if Julia has fallen asleep or if she’s just lying there, thinking about what I did to her.
Shame washes over me as I slink past the threshold and down toward the ground floor. I hadn’t meant to hit her. I really hadn’t. It felt like somebody else jumped into my body, if only for a split second. It was as if I was a puppet, as if the rage I’d felt in that moment wasn’t my own.
But I’d felt the sting in my hand when my palm connected with the soft skin of Julia’s delicate cheek, and that pain was mine and nobody else’s.
The sound of my hand against her face rings in my memory, playing back again and again in my mind’s eye. Did it hurt her? Or were those tears from shock? Did it left a mark? God, I don’t think I can face her if she ends up with a bruise. I don’t want a physical reminder of what I did every time I look at her.
When I reach the front door, I turn on my phone’s flashlight before stepping out into the dreary night. The light doesn’t do much, but it’s better than nothing as I step gingerly across the driveway. Gravel bites into my bare feet, and I stumble several times over ruts and potholes. Finally, I reach the garage and duck inside.
Everything is exactly as I’d left it earlier. The car gleams in the low beam of the phone’s flashlight. Lucky for me, it doesn’t look like it’s dirty, but I decide to check again in the morning once it’s light out.
Satisfied that there’s nothing wrong, I hit the button for the garage door and step back out into the rain through the side door so I don’t signal the door to stop.
Nothing happens.
I reach inside and slap the button again, but the door doesn’t budge. Even after a third, harder attempt, there’s no change.
“For fuck’s sake,” I groan. Why did the garage door opener have to give up the ghost tonight? Why couldn’t it have chosen a better fucking time? I consider going back inside and dealing with it tomorrow, but the thought of leaving the door open and exposing the vehicle to the elements for so long doesn’t sit right with me.
Resigning myself to my fate, I step back inside the garage and make a beeline over to the stepladder leaning against the wall. I drag it over and fold it open underneath the door. I figure I’ll yank the door down just far enough for me to reach it from the ground, put the ladder away, and then close it the rest of the way from outside.
The metal of the stepladder is cold and gritty beneath my naked soles. I register dimly that I probably shouldn’t be doing this when I’m drunk, but I quickly push the thought aside. I’m climbing a ladder, for fuck’s sake, not Mount Everest. It’ll be fine. It’ll only take a minute.
I balance on the top step, swaying from the alcohol in my system. I reach up as high as I can until my fingers brush the edge of the garage door. Catching the lip of it, I pull down.
The ladder rattles underneath me. For a moment, I’m simply confused, but then the surface is yanked out from under me and I’m flying.
I land on my back on the damp concrete. Air rushes from my lungs on impact as the wind is knocked out of me. I find the ladder with wild eyes, trying to figure out what happened.
For a split second, I swear that there’s an old lady standing next to the toppled stepladder. There’s a triumphant smile on her face. But then I blink, and she’s gone.
I really must be fucking drunk.
Gasping for air, I manage to sit up. One shoulder aches in protest, and I think dismally that Julia isn’t going to be the only one with a bruise tomorrow.
Once I’m able to stand, I decide that I’ve had enough of ladders for one night. The garage door can stay open. If a raccoon gets inside and shits on my car, so be it.
I stagger out into the night. It isn’t until I’m halfway back to the house that I realize that something isn’t right.
It’s completely silent.
Though I can still feel the gentle drizzle of rain against my skin, it makes no noise against the leaves or the ground. The insects have ceased their chatter, and even the leaves seem to be holding their breath.
Goosebumps crawl across my skin as I get the distinct impression that somebody is watching me.
I spin on my heel, sending up a spray of gravel. “Who’s there?” I call toward the swamp.
There’s no reply.
I squint toward the tree line, trying to make out any discernable shapes. At first glance, there’s nothing there. But then a shadow detaches from the rest, and I realize that I’m looking at the outline of a man.
“Hello?” I shout again. My voice seems so loud against the silence.
The figure raises one hand and beckons me to approach.
Angrily, I pick my way across the driveway, only lengthening my stride as the gravel shifts to the soft grass of the back yard. Fear eats at me with every step, but I feel compelled forward, as though there’s a rope reeling me in like I’m nothing more than a fish on a line.
When I’m close enough to see the man’s face, terror overpowers my momentum, and I stop in my tracks.
I recognize this guy. It’s the head contractor who built the house, the one who went crazy and disappeared. What was his name again? Tyson? Tyler?
He smiles at me, and the blood freezes in my veins. Even though he looks human, there’s something off about his smile, as though he’d been fashioned out of mud and painted to look like a person.
Whoever this is, I don’t think it’s the builder.
I think this is the thing that drove that guy crazy in the first place.
“Good evening, Jake.” The thing greets me in a voice like the wind through the cypress trees.
There is nothing good about this evening, but I’m not about to tell this creature that. Feeling like I’m going to piss myself at any second, I manage to stammer, “What… what are you?”
The thing’s grin widens. “Call me Amos,” it slithers. “All my friends do. And I think you and I are going to be very good friends. Don’t you?”
It’s all I can do to shake my head no.
A parody of a pout stretches across its face. For the first time, I notice its eyes are matte black. “But I could give you so much, Jake. Power, money, prowess. Anything you’ve ever wanted could be yours.”
“Yeah, right,” I scoff.
“You doubt me?” it questions, cocking its head. “You can sense it, can’t you? I have the power, Jake. Reality bends to me.”
It waves one hand, and we’re no longer standing in the rain at the edge of the swamp. Instead, I’m standing in a spotless modern office overlooking the New York City skyline. A huge desk dominates the space, and written on the placard beneath the title CEO is my name.
“Isn’t this what you want?” Amos purrs as it gestures to the grand space.
I nod, too blown away to even try to form words.
“You work so hard, Jake, and you’ve been quite successful, but you haven’t made it big yet, have you? All you need is a push in the right direction.” It gestures again, and the scene melts away.
“Why me?” I ask, no longer doubting this thing’s ability.
“Because you have something I want,” it grins. “Something special.”
My mind flickers through the many items I own, but I can’t think of anything that Amos could possibly want. After all, what could I offer that it couldn’t just conjure for itself?
“What is it?” I press. “What do you want in return?”
Amos’ eyes sparkle in the darkness. “Julia.”
And then he’s gone, leaving me alone in the darkness to consider his terrible offer.
The fate of my wife rests in my hands.