"My Visitor"

This is an excerpt from a novel I'm in the process of writing. Based on true events.

    I remember the first time I ever watched my parents fight. Not fight in the way siblings sometimes do, but fight to the point to where I was convinced that a loving relationship consisted of split, bloody lips, things being thrown, and tears. These aspects came to play a major role in most of my adolescent life, and impacted me in many ways. One period of time stands out to me more than any other...
    The day was September 20th, 1999. A cool, Autumn day. The type of day where the weather was warm enough for me to sport my oversized Jnco jean shorts but still cool enough for me to mimic it with my equally cool Pokemon jacket. I was only 6 years old at the time, living the dream of every child. This was back when waking up for school was still exciting because I'd get to catch the best of the early morning cartoons. To this day, Scooby Doo and Tom & Jerry play tug of war with a special place in my heart. I woke up the same as any other, and went downstairs to watch today's new episode, which more than likely consisted of a cat trying to catch a mouse, and the mouse mocking him in the process, followed by a werewolf trying to snag some of the finest blood diamonds around. Now, I have no idea what a werewolf would need blood diamonds for, but we all know that he would have gotten away with it, had it not been for those meddling kids and their stupid dog... Anyway.
    My mom was up in the bathroom pulling on her scrubs while my grandmother was in the kitchen snubbing out a Newport cigarette. The smell of the smoke combined with the bacon made for an odd pair. Somehow, I didn't notice it until now. My older sister, Ashley, was also getting ready for school and screaming the Spice Girls at the same time. My other two siblings, Autumn and Nick, were both still young so they had the pleasure of staying in bed while all of this was taking place. My father had already gone to work. He was an employee of a factory that made art supplies, and he was usually already gone by the time I would wake up. Inside all of the ruckus that takes place in a home on a morning before school, the phone seemed to have never stopped ringing. This was odd to me. We would maybe get one or two calls at most, but today it was constant. Nobody had the time to answer it, but once we all assembled downstairs, my mom finally did the deed. On the other line, I imagine, there was my uncle Vinny. Frantic and hysterical. I watched as my mom's expressions ranged from annoyed to shocked to confused to hysterical herself.
     The rest of us slowly stopped what we were doing and started to gather around her in curiosity at what the other caller could be saying. Remember, at this point, nobody except my mother knew that my uncle was on the other side of the phone call. That's when my mom broke down and hung up the phone and looked at all of us in disbelief. She told us that my cousin, Brandon, who had just celebrated his first birthday a few days before, had drowned in his bathtub. My grandmother was the first to get hit by the mixture of emotions that this type of news can deliver, then my sister, Ashley. Now, for some odd reason, maybe it was because I was so young, or maybe it was because I was the only "man" in the house at that moment, but that mixture of emotion seemed to skip right past me. I didn't know how I was supposed to react. The next thing I know, we weren't going to school. Instead, we were headed over to my uncle's house which was in the very wealthy section of the Lehigh Parkway, just a few miles outside of Allentown, Pennsylvania. The ride there was hellish.
    We all piled into our brown rust bucket of a Buick Century. This thing was a piece of s**t. If you didn't have the keys for it, that was okay because you didn't need them to unlock the doors, let alone start it. As long as you could grip the ignition and turn it, you were golden. I climbed in behind Ashley, and my mom followed me. My Grammy took control of the death trap.
    The amount of sobbing and yelling that was endured in that 25 minute ride was more than any six year old child should ever have to see. I remember it happening as if it were slow motion. I sat between my older sister and my mom in the back seat while my grandmother drove. Everyone was hysterical as my head bounced between everyone's emotions, like a dog watching two people throw it's ball back and forth.
    After a ride I would never forget, we made it to the house, which seemed empty. Maybe that was just how we all felt at the time and that's why I saw the place this way. I was the last to walk in, and when I did, I saw my dad standing there with my uncle's head on his shoulder, hugging him with tears of his own running down his face. My aunt, Tammy, came running up to me and instantly collapsed at my feet and let out so much sadness in such a quick amount of time, and it was all too much for me to take in. I looked around at my surroundings, the people I looked up to were all falling down.
    We only stayed there for about an hour, just long enough to get the full story. What happened was that my aunt was running a bath for Brandon, and she heard a knock at the door. Brandon was standing in the bathroom doorway, and she ran to the patio where the knocking came from. Apparently, the FedEx man knocked on the backdoor, but by the time she got there, he was on his way to the front door. She was confused and opened the backdoor to look around and see what could've made her think someone was there. Now like I said, this was in the wealthy section of town, where the doors were all security ridden, so when she opened the backdoor and stepped outside to investigate, it closed and locked behind her. Brandon was still upstairs in the bathroom with a tub of water filling up, where he eventually fell in to his own death.
    Nobody wanted to believe any of this. It was the biggest tragedy that my family had ever endured. The next half of the day was a blur. It consisted of all of my aunt's family eventually showing up and bearing more tears than a teenage girl's first heartbreak. I remember thinking to myself "What the hell is going on right now? Why is everyone else crying but I feel nothing?" It made me feel heartless. I didn't know how to mourn someone in my family dying.
    As I said before, my aunt's family was very wealthy. They owned a nationwide chain of hair salons, so they were very well off when it financially mattered. This luxury gave them the ability to have Brandon's funeral just two days after he had passed away. It was held at a funeral home in center city Allentown, just two blocks from William Allen High School, where my mom and dad had both graduated.
    This was the first time I was ever at a funeral. When we got there, most of my family was already in their seats. I couldn't help but notice that my dad was nowhere to be found as I looked around at everyone's blank faces. I could feel this tension and thick sadness in the air that infected everyone in sight. My eyes followed the black cloud of death that entrapped everyone to it's root, and there it was. A smooth, mahogany box, about four feet long and 36 inches deep. It had a beautiful, solid gold trim that caressed the wood, and a line of people waiting to peer inside, as if in it laid the 8th wonder of the world. My eyes scanned all of this until I felt someone grab my hand and pull me towards the back of the line.
    It was my uncle and he was angry. I could see it in his face. He led me towards everyone else and told me that he wanted me to say goodbye to Brandon. He took me by the wrist with a fairly rough grip and we went right up to the casket. He was crying now, and I peered in to see Brandon. He laid there and looked so peaceful, like he was in the deepest, most angelic sleep anyone had ever been in.
    He rested upon a light blue, satin cushion with a white pillow under his head. I didn't know what to say. I just stared at him, almost in disbelief. I said to myself "This is what a dead person looks like." My uncle picked me up and I leaned over and gave him a kiss on his forehead and told him I loved him. My uncle did the same.
    Once we said our farewells, I went outside with my mother because she was complaining to her mother that she didn't want to be there and was worried about my father since she couldn't get a hold of him. She told him about the funeral but he didn't show. I didn't think this was right, especially because my uncle and father were very close. He was the first one at my uncle's side when he found out Brandon had passed away.
    It was getting late now, at least for a six year old, about 8 p.m. and I wanted to go home. The past three days of my life had left me exhausted, with little to no sleep. My mom, sisters, brother, grandmother and I were some of the first to leave. She had too many children on her hands to be able to sit around in the mindstate that everyone shared, and so we left.
    This time, my mom was the pilot of the Buick bucket and on the way, everyone except her and I fell asleep. We pulled into the gravel driveway in the back of our house and she flicked the ignition down to kill the car for the night. She had to get ready for work, as she was working overtime at the nursing home to make some extra money to help my aunt and uncle. She asked me and my grandmother to help get the two little ones up into bed. We agreed, of course.
    After Nicholas and Autumn were tucked into their bed and fast asleep, I went downstairs with Ashley. My grandmother was laid across the couch which was directly across from the TV. I could hear her drifting off into her own slumber. I had asked Ashley if she wanted to watch a movie, Wayne's World 2, to help get our minds off of the chaos that had trapped everyone lately, plus, who doesn't love Wayne's World 2? She took the movie out of its cardboard sleeve and slid it into the VCR. The VCR took it slowly, as if at first it didn't like the way it tasted, but then gave in and swallowed it whole with a bunch of weird sounds to follow.
    Once the opening previews started to play, we started to get ready for bed. Ashley lay directly in front of the television, on a few blankets she had laid down to make the floor a bit more comfortable. I had my favorite Power Ranger blanket and pillows and was looking for a place to lay down myself. On one end of the couch that my grandmother lay, there was a coffee table with a lamp, and on the opposite end, there was a dark green, wicker Papasan chair (you know, the wicker, bowl shaped ones that you could slide into different positions?) that was caddy-cornered and facing the TV. Well, I guess my child instincts kicked in, and I told myself that it would be a good idea to lay down in between the couch and the chair, with my back propped up against the couch and my feet outstretched behind the Papasan. This was not the ideal place to rest, but I felt safe and I could still see the TV perfectly, so it worked for me.
    About an hour had passed and the house was now silent. I could hear Ashley and my grandmother breathing, as if they were synchronized and took turns exhaling. I stayed glued to the movie, it was at the part where Waynestock was starting to take place. This was one of the best parts. These guys were pulling it off, their dream was molding into something. As comedic as they were, I admired their determination. That's what I told myself as I could feel my mind starting to drift off. I was at the stage where I couldn't tell what was real or a dream. I slowly became victim to sleep.
    Then I was awake and terrified. I looked around, the movie was over, the screen black. The faint light from the TV lit up what little parts of the living room I could make out. Everything still seemed in tact and untouched. I heard rustling at the back door. My two dogs, Midnight, an old blind, black lab, and the other, Pebbles, an elderly Shih Tzu, started to scratch and claw at the gate used to keep them in the short hallway from the kitchen to the screen door which led outside. I was confused. I didn't dare move from my spot.
    The sounds I heard made my mind think of the worst. I panicked but still couldn't move. I was too petrified. Then I heard the door open from the back of my house, and the dogs take off into the back yard. Now I was certain that someone was in my house, and I tried to whisper to my grandmother and Ashley to wake them up, but my mouth couldn't form words. My heart was in my throat as I slumped into my corner and waited. What was I waiting for? Death? Happiness? I had no idea...
    The next thing I heard were footsteps coming into the living room, slow and heavy footsteps. I prayed that somebody else would wake up and discover this intruder before me.
    Then it happened.
    My grandmother let out a weak inhale, the kind that sounds like you have a very bad cold and your chest is full of liquid. I heard loud thumps, as if she was being hit with something and with each thump, a wheeze would escape. This happened over twenty times. I couldn't put together what was happening. The wheezing stopped, but a few more thumps sounded off.
    The silence that followed was deafening. My ears were ringing at the thought of what may have just happened. I was in disbelief at how Ashley still hadn't woken up to whatever my Grammy was doing. Still too afraid to peek my head out and see what was going on, I only had my thoughts to taunt me.
    My pessimistic ideas were interrupted by what sounded like someone being thrown around and deep grunts, followed by a high pitched squeal. From my view of the television, I could see the blankets that Ashley slept on being shuffled and her feet quickly left my view. Whatever was in my house, made it's way from my grandmother to my sister. I could hear her fighting for herself, but whatever this thing was, it was winning. This only went on for about a minute or two, as she was just a small girl, and had little to no chance of defeating this intruder. I heard her stop fighting, and once again, silence. That's when I saw her feet slump back down onto the floor and into my view. They didn't move.
    I listened more closely and the feeling of terror was at it's all time high. Was I next? Am I about to meet whatever was inside of my house?
    I heard shuffling on the carpet, and then the slow footsteps sounded like they were headed upstairs, where my other two siblings were fast asleep. I decided to make a move, I slowly peered my head out from the side of the couch just slightly enough to get a quick view of whatever this thing was. I had to prepare myself for this.
    My head carefully moved out just an inch or two, just in time to see a black boot disappearing into the darkness at the top of the steps. In my moment of investigating, I quickly scanned the room. Both my grandmother and sister were strung out across the couch and floor. Both were lifeless with eyes wide open. My jaw dropped and I had to raise my own hand to cover my mouth to keep from making any noise. I quickly shot my head back into my corner and tried to make sense of what I just saw, or if I really did see any of this. Could this have been a bad dream?
    In the swirl of anxiety and fear, I heard footsteps right above my head, Autumn's room. I couldn't fathom what was going on. I looked up at the ceiling and heard a sharp scream, the kind that comes from a little girl in terror, and as quickly as it came, it was gone, and I was back in the silence that left me with mystery.
    I was sure now that everyone in my house was dead, and the murderer was saving me for last. My mind was racing and forming thoughts was no longer an option. I pulled my knees to my chest in an attempt to make myself as small as I could, and sank back into the corner, out of sight.
    The footsteps sounded again. Making their way down the hall and turning the corner. They were at the top of the steps now. What followed was the descent back into the living room. Kind of an ironic name for a room given the circumstances, wouldn't you say?
    The footsteps were slow and clumpy. I could make out that this person was most likely a male, probably tall and heavy. They made their way down into the room and I sat there, fetal and waiting. As afraid and confused as I was, I had to keep my breaths slow and quiet. My visitor was in the room with me now. I had no idea if they knew I was in this corner or not, and I didn't want to find out.
    Once they reached the room, they must have stopped and stood there for a few minutes because I heard nothing. This silence was beginning to become more terrifying than my own surroundings.
    Then the footsteps started up again. Only this time, they were moving away from me! I pondered if this was really happening. I listened more closely and heard them making their way into the kitchen. Was I off the hook? Did this person really not know I was there? Once again, I felt the urge to peer out and see if I could see anything, because my visitor was no longer in the room with me. What I saw made me cringe.
    When my eyes got past the couch just enough to see into the kitchen, I could see on the walls that the TV lit up, that there were hand prints. They were large, and looked like they were stamped on the wall with blood. Right next to them, the words "I'll see you in Hell" were sloppily finger-painted with what also looked like blood. This observation took me a few seconds, then I looked down into the kitchen.
    I could see the edge of the table that sat in the middle of the room, and the same black boot. This told me that the person was sitting there! I kept watch for a few more seconds, as my visitor wasn't able to see me. Curiosity had overcome fear and I couldn't help but keep watch. I was no longer focused on the silence or even the death that lay all around me. I heard the sound of glass on the table, followed by a burp. They were drinking something. I could only imagine what kind of person would harm people in their own home, and then sit down at their table and have a drink. Now they finished and got up. I kept watch.
    My visitor's arm now came into view. They walked next to the sink, where the garbage can was and I watched them throw an empty bottle of Henieken into it. Their drink was identified. I pulled my head back a little bit, to ensure that my visitor would not be able to see me, but I kept my eyes glued to them. They slowly moved into my full view, with their back to me and I felt my heart stop for a minute.
    My eyes started at their feet. The black boots were there. They looked old, dirty and untied. Slowly I worked my way up the dark, black jeans that sat low on their hips, followed by a black crew neck sweatshirt, baggy and tattered. Then I saw the only thing I wish I never did. The same curly hair that laid on top of the head of my own father was also on this man's. He turned his head towards the garbage can and I got the first view of his face. Ruffled, brown hair that silhouetted his grim profile, with large, thick rimmed oval glasses that covered his eyes and a bit of scruff on his face, he hadn't shaved for a day or two. It was clear to me. I was staring at my own father, the man who had given me life.
    I slowly moved back into my corner and had no idea what to do. Shock took over my body and mind. Rational thinking went out the window, along with the ability to cry. I just stared into the darkness as the once terrifying silence was replaced with the footsteps of my drunken father as he made his way back across the kitchen. I didn't even care to listen anymore, but it was all I could hear. He was headed back out the door. I heard him make his way outside and close the door behind him.
    I started to convulse and my mind shut down. Breathing was much harder now, and my heart was like a frog trying to jump out of my chest. I fell over on my side and clenched my teeth and my head. I could feel my thoughts getting light and my body filling up with sweat. I tried to scream but nothing was left inside of me, all that came out was a pathetic grunt. That's when everything went black and I drifted off.... To be continued.

Author's Note

This is my first attempt at this type of writing. Please take the time to enjoy it and be entertained. Thank you.

Reviews

[A. Amos]

Compelling and enjoyable read. Well done!