The Stranger

    My quivering hand clenched Sam’s Medal of Honor. I felt the firm metal digging grooves into my flesh. I wiped glistening beads of sweat off my brow. I admired my morbid task with an immense sense of accomplishment. I do not regret this. I cannot say that I thought it through. It was an abrupt deed which I did not plan, but as I looked down at my accomplishment I felt the burden from the last few weeks lift off my shoulders. Why did I not do this sooner? The stranger lay motionless without a sound. A wide grin spread across my face as I set down my tools. You may ask why I did this. You may think I’m crazy, sick and twisted, and maybe I am. However, I believe that my actions were entirely justifiable. It is not as complicated as it appears.

   It all started with the Vietnam War. Last year my brother Sam was drafted. He went dutifully with honor for his country. I respected Sam for going so proudly. I used to aspire to be exactly like him. He was my big brother, my best friend and the only father figure I’ve ever had in my life. Eleven years ago my dead beat dad drank himself to death, so Sam stepped up to the plate and taught me everything from fishing, to basketball, to how to build an epic campfire. My mother was left raising two boys while juggling three jobs. She did a decent job. Sam was an upstanding man who risked his life for his country and I… I was a stocky fourteen year-old boy with glasses and freckles, who had an affinity for model airplanes and comic books.

I was tremendously devastated when Sam left. For months I awaited his letters. I would idle in the room we used to share anticipating their arrival. When a letter came I would open it slowly absorbing every moment, for I knew that eventually I would finish it and the sensation of this new letter would be over. I admired his steady script. I ran my hands over the paper thinking about how far it had traveled. I would read it over and over again. Oh, how I relished experiencing Sam’s letters. At first his letters were full of pride and soul. I loved reading them because it made me feel close to him. Gradually, his letters changed. I had a difficult time believing that he actually wrote them. There was no trace of Sam. His spirit was gone from his writing, and what was left was bland and thoughtless. Eventually, the letters stopped arriving altogether.

On the eve of my fourteenth birthday my mother and I ate at our kitchen table. Our dinner was silent like always. I studied her face. It was worn and anxious. Her eyes were bloodshot, and her eyelids heavy. I guessed she was getting about as much sleep as I was these days, which wasn’t much.  Sam’s absence left a huge hole in our small family. I caught her glancing at the chair where Sam used to sit. Her eyes darted back to me, and she covered it up with a halfhearted smile.

“Shall we have some cake?” She asked, rushing over to the refrigerator.

I nodded, and she set the cake on the table. It was a misshapen circle with “Happy Birthday” written across the top in messy cursive. She lit the single candle sticking out of the uneven vanilla icing, and opened her mouth to begin singing. At that moment, the phone rang. We snapped our heads up to look at it. We were always on the edge of our seats these days. My mother forgot about the singing, and got up to answer the phone.

“Sam? My son Sam?” She asked in alarm.

I felt my heart skip a beat. “Sam, what about Sam?” I thought to myself. I suddenly felt sick to my stomach. My hands became sweaty. I just sat there and stared straight ahead at the pathetic melting candle in the middle of my cake.

“Oh no” She groaned. “Liam, please go in the other room”

But I would not go in the other room. I needed to know what was going on. I continued to stare straight ahead at the melting candle. I watched the quivering flame eat away at the wick, as white molten wax spilled down the side. I felt my eyes get hot as I kept them locked on the flame. I clenched my jaw so hard that I thought my teeth might break. Sam cannot be dead. Sam cannot be dead.

“Okay, thank you!” My mother exclaimed through sobs as she hung up the phone.

“What’s wrong?” I asked in a panic, shooting up from my seat.

“Sam is injured, but he’s coming home!” She said as tears spilled out of her eyes.

I felt relief take over my whole body. My jaw unclenched, and my body relaxed. Sam was okay. Everything was going to be normal again! I melted back down in my seat. I licked my fingers and used them to put out the candle. I didn’t need to make my wish anymore.

    I will remember the day I went to retrieve my brother from the airport indefinitely. I waited in the Chevy for my mother for what seemed like forever. It was a bitter November morning. A light snow tauntingly danced in the sky, falling on a foundation of decaying leaves. The sky was grey and mottled with unhappy looking clouds. There was something about the woods surrounding our home that was eerily majestic. It was alluring. What was in the depths of this peculiar forest? The trees were old and tall; they seemed to go on eternally. Trying to find an outlet to the forest was like trying to find the end to a rainbow. Every time Sam and I explored, we would end up going in circles.

My mother stumbled out of the house gathering her coat around her as the forceful wind snapped at her. I sighed as she got in the car and ruffled my blond hair.

“Ready to go?” she asked unsteadily.

I nodded silently as I smoothed out my now unruly hair.

“Sam will be okay.” She told me and then repeated as if to reassure herself “Sam will be okay.”

   When we arrived at the airport, I pushed past anyone who was in my way. My mother trailed behind me calling my name as I wove through the crowd of unending bodies. I searched for the familiar face, Sam’s face. I breathed heavily as the eternal question echoed through my mind: Where was he? I studied the faces of everyone who passed me. People became faceless, androgynous blurs with no features just labels on their unremarkable faces… NOT SAM, NOT SAM, NOT SAM… Suddenly, I collided with the back of a stranger in uniform. He turned to face me. His face was heartbreakingly miserable. His eyes were filled with dread, wisdom and horror. His frightful stare struck terror into my heart. I sucked in breath and turned to my mother. Then I saw her running, with tears in her eyes. She embraced this stranger and sobbed into his chest. I stood speechless as I came to the realization that this stranger was Sam. It was Sam… but it wasn’t. This wasn’t the Sam I knew! Not at all. This was a stranger.

“Liam…” The stranger said uneasily looking in my direction.

  My mother nodded at me with a nervous smile on her tear streaked face.

“Come on Liam,” she urged “Greet your brother, greet Sam.”

  I stiffly walked towards the stranger with remorse in each step. I did not recognize this man as my brother. I tried to find a warm feeling for this stranger somewhere in my heart, but I could come up with nothing. This was not my brother. I stopped dead in my tracks when I realized that the stranger had one bandaged stump where his right arm was supposed to be. An alarm was sent through my whole body, chilling me greatly. I couldn’t bear myself to touch that thing, that stranger. I had to do something. I could not let myself stand there like a fool. 

“Welcome home.” I stifled out, forcing a timid smile.

  The stranger smiled back. It was a foreign smile; I did not see a trace of my brother Sam.

  When we got home, my mother ordered me upstairs to help the stranger get settled. I reluctantly carried his bag upstairs and into my room. A dismal man followed. He did not have much of anything in his duffle. Then I noticed a peculiar mahogany box. With caution I opened it. I glanced over at the stranger. He didn’t seem to mind. The box contained five items, dog tags, a carton of cigarettes, a lighter, a hunting knife and a medal of some sort.

“Medal…of….Honor,” trailed out the stranger sarcastically.

“What is this for?” I asked purely out of curiosity.

“I suppose I did something honorable,” replied the stranger in a monotone.

“Oh,” was all I managed at the moment.

  Dinner was awkward. Mom forgot that the stranger was an amputee and could not efficiently cut up his own chicken. She rushed over to him, fixing every little thing. When she began to tuck his napkin into his lap, he slammed his single fist on the table and left. Holding back tears, Mom sat down and shoveled in a mouthful of asparagus. There were plenty more episodes similar to this. My anger grew each time he snapped at my mother or screamed out in his sleep. The stranger was irritable and morose. The only time he talked to me was when he needed me to light his cigarette or help him open a bottle of rum. 

One Sunday, I was sitting in the living room painting my newest model airplane. It was a P3B- Orion. It had taken me weeks to put together, and even longer to save up for in the first place. The stranger lounged on the couch across from me and slept. I looked at his ragged appearance. His beard was long and matted. His eyes were always bloodshot and heavy. He twitched and moaned as he slept. He was repulsive. As I was putting the finishing touches on the rudder I knocked into one of my paint jars. It rolled across the floor under the couch where the stranger was sleeping. Orion in hand, I made my way over to the couch, and crouched down to pick up the jar. As I stood up I locked eyes with the stranger. He panicked and growled, as he swung his good arm in to me, knocking me backwards. As I fell, Orion slipped from my hand and crashed to the ground. I looked in despair at my airplane. It was ruined. I looked back up at the stranger. He stood upright looking shocked at himself.

“Sorry” he said in a monotone “But you should never wake me up like that.”

I watched the stranger leave the room, and then I fell to my knees. I looked through the broken bits of airplane, but I couldn’t salvage a thing. I was deeply hurt. Sam would have cared. Sam would have helped me build my airplane again. Sam never would have hit me like that in the first place! Tears made their way down my cheeks as I cleaned up my destroyed creation. Everything was ruined.

   Nighttime was the worst. I lay on the bunk above the stranger listening to him moan and shriek in his sleep. I hated him. I hated his glum face and his cheerless eyes. I hated the fact that my brother was dead and his ghost was a terror. Every night got worse and worse. My hatred grew rapidly for the foul beast that took over and dismembered my brother’s body. The screams and horror that I had to stomach every night became unbearable. Something had to be done.

  One afternoon a phone call came for my mother. Her older sister Elizabeth had been fighting cancer for years and the doctors believed she was on her final days. My mother had to travel four hours to New York City to see Elizabeth for the last time. That meant I had to stay home alone with the ghost of my brother for a few nights. I was aghast; I couldn’t be home alone with this stranger. When I relayed this to my mother, she was appalled.

“It’s your brother, Liam!”  She had said with great sorrow in her voice.

“That’s NOT my brother,” I whispered beyond audibility.

  That night was the worst of many horrendous nights. The stranger moaned, roared, bawled and shrieked. He shook so vigorously that my bunk wobbled in the air creaking and moaning like the breath from the stranger’s throat. I wanted him out. I couldn’t take it any longer! His screams echoed eternally in my brain. Shut Up! Go away stranger! I don’t want you! I want my brother! I want Sam! The cries grew louder. My head ached from the terrible sounds. I squeezed my eyes shut and began screaming myself.

Then something happened. My eyes shot open, and I felt a surge of heat go through my whole body. My skin was hot, and my veins bulged through my skin. I could feel blood rushing through me like a raging river. Pressure built up in my head, and I began to shake rapidly. My fists were clenched so tight that my finger nails punctured my skin. I had never felt this way before. I was transformed. I was enraged. I was limitless.

The next thing I remember was picking up the Medal of Honor from the mahogany box on the dresser and thrusting it into the monster’s face. The blow was powerful. There was a jagged bloody line in the middle of the stranger’s forehead. The stranger began to awaken and he swung his nasty stump of an arm at me, but I forced the medal into his face again and again. I felt warm blood splatter on my skin. His face crumbled and became even more atrocious to look at. I hated him, this ghost masquerading as my Sam. I wanted him dead. I swiftly grabbed the hunting knife from its place next to the medal and plunged it into the gut of the monster. Then I placed the knife under the lobe of the stranger’s left ear and I slit his throat from ear to ear. His blood seeped out from the wound. The stranger choked and coughed just a few times before taking his last breath. His eyes glazed over and his head hung limp. He was dead.

   So here I stand, towering over the body of a stranger. The disposal of the body had to be done cautiously. I sat down and fabricated an elaborate plan. First, I would burn the body. There would be no remains, just ash. I would wrap his body in a sheet and drag him to the clearing in the woods. I would build a campfire and watch his body burn. Of course, I had to clean up the awful bloody mess with great caution. I would write my mother a note in Sam’s script. I thanked myself for studying his letters so compulsively. It would be a goodbye note, full of sorrow. It would say that he is sorry, but he can’t stay here any longer. I would burn his duffle, his cigarettes and some of his clothes along with his body. It was a perfect plan.

    As I dragged my brother’s body to the clearing in the woods, I felt no sense of remorse. I knew that night I would sleep better than I had in weeks. To kill one’s own brother is an act of insanity. That is not what I did. My brother Sam was a casualty of war. I didn’t murder my brother. I murdered a monster…And I do not regret this.

Author's Note

I wrote this when I was around 15 years old as a school assignment. We were supposed to write an Edgar Allan Poe inspired short story. This story has undergone many revisions in the past 4 years (although I haven't touched it now in about a year). I took away some of the Poe inspired language, and tailored it to make it more my own. I also added a couple scenes that I thought would make the story more effective. This story has matured along with me, and developing it helped me become a better writer. I hope you enjoy.

Reviews

[conversations with her ..]

wow... this is pure talent.


youre amazing.

I'm new on here, so it would be an honour if you could review some of my poems!

[Angad Waraich]

Well this is really really good.
I can not believe you wrote this when you were 15. You are talented Carly.
A really nice read.

Well done.

Thank you for sharing.
Angad

[Richard Man]

I certainly enjoyed the story... less detail than in tales of late... which I appreciate deeply. Only one comment which muddled my thinking.... Liam seems to start off the story as a 14 year old and then has his 14th birthday. Of course on another level Sam's time away during this vulnerable time in Liam's transformation from boy to early teen would return an apparent stranger....because Liam wouldn't know himself let alone his brother/father figure... loads of anger... resentment ... and confusion.

[Carly]

Thanks for reading!

[Not Your Typical New Yo..]

YES, I can see Poe in this awesome piece. I really like it when Poe really gets into his character's mind, such as "you think I'm crazy, sick, twisted, and maybe I really am." Anyway, what an awesome piece of the human mind and heart that really questions the human race, just like Poe did in his stories: do we know who we are, or are we just crazy and twisted as the wild?

[Carly]

Thanks for reading!

[krish]

NICE.......

[Carly]

Thank you!

[krish]

"it was pleasure ,u gave me thank u,
i hope u'll further publish some story's more as alike too,
i know it's all b happen by u,
coz....ur's thinking is so bright with the clue........."
take-care....

[Marie]

This is very good. Long--but worth reading.