Bury the Children in the Yard (7 page)

“I’ll say it’s a shame. I tell you, if they ever catch whoever did that I think he should be tried for double homicide.”

“Why’s that?”

“Oh, I guess you really hadn’t heard about Mary in a while, had you? She was pregnant.”

Memories of that night came thudding back to Joe, a flash here, a flash there.
The spot.
He suddenly felt sick.

“That certainly is a tragedy.” Joe tried to keep his voice steady. “Listen, if you hear anything more about it, I’d like to know.”

“I imagine it’ll be all over the papers soon enough.”

“I guess so.” Joe leaned in and hugged Shirley. “Give my best to Abe. It was nice seeing you.”

Shirley returned to her former beaming self. “You need to stop being a stranger, Joe. Come up to the house sometime.”

“I’d like that,” Joe said, turning to walk home to his apartment.

3.

Joe went home and found himself anxious. He funneled his attentions into an elaborate dinner. It wasn’t until it was almost finished that he realized he didn’t want to eat alone. He went to the phone and called Melissa who said she would be right over. Joe had not planned on calling Melissa. They had gone out for a few months and she still refused to do more than kiss him goodnight. After leaving her apartment on their last date, Joe found a hooker and sought relief from her. He decided the relationship between him and Melissa was not necessarily a healthy one. But tonight he needed company.

It didn’t take her long to get there. They ate dinner in virtual silence and slowly sipped some wine afterward.

“Thank you. That was delicious,” Melissa said.

Afraid she was preparing to leave, Joe quickly spat out, “You want to watch a movie?”

“I guess I could stick around. What did you have in mind?”

“You pick.”

Together, they went into the living room and Melissa browsed through his collection while he paced around the buffed oak floor.

“You seem agitated. Is something the matter?” she asked, tilted sideways to stare at the movies on his bookshelf.

“No. Well, kind of, I guess. Somebody I know, really more of an acquaintance, died last night.”

“That’s terrible. You want to talk about it?”

“No. Not really. I really need something to take my mind off of it.”

“I’ll make sure to pick a comedy.”

She brought the DVD over and they sat on the couch, Melissa leaning into him. Joe watched the movie a lot more intently than he probably should have, running his hands through Melissa’s dark hair, forcing himself to laugh at parts he thought were supposed to be funny. It wasn’t long before she was asleep. Maybe the wine went to her head, Joe thought. He dozed off not too long after thinking that, leaning awkwardly against the arm of his couch.

They both woke up to someone beating on the door.

“Uh, someone’s knocking on your door,” Melissa said groggily.

“Sounds a little more brutal than knocking,” Joe said.

“See who it is. I was getting ready to go, anyway.”

Joe didn’t want to go to the door. He didn’t know why. It was probably just the crazy lady with all the cats from the floor below who wanted to yell at him for having his music up too loud last Tuesday. Surely, he didn’t have anything to worry about. Maybe his run-in with Shirley had sparked an impromptu visit from Abe.

The pounding continued as Melissa went into the kitchen to get her coat and purse. When she came back into the living room, Joe was still standing there, staring at the door as it visibly vibrated.

“Come on, open it,” Melissa said. “I need to go.”

And then the door exploded inward, breaking in half, showering Melissa and Joe in splinters.

“Oh my God!” Melissa screamed.

Joe couldn’t even muster a scream. He had expected something, true. He couldn’t say what but whatever it was was completely overshadowed by the thing standing in the doorway.

It was the spot, grown to hideous proportions, glistening a whitish-gray. But it wasn’t just the spot. Around its waist, as though it had torn straight out of the womb, was Mary. Her middle swelled around the monstrous fetus-like thing’s waist, her torso and head hanging down, back to the floor, her eyes milked over, her deathmouth a twisted rictus.

“What is it, Joe?” Melissa asked, grabbing his arms, expecting him to defend her.

The thing continued to move in toward them. Joe grabbed Melissa and pushed her toward the kitchen, not really feeling like they would be much safer in there but at least there were sharp implements, something to defend themselves with. Once in the kitchen, Melissa scrambled toward the phone. Before she could even press the first number, the thing screamed into the kitchen and launched itself at her. Melissa let go a blood-curdling scream that quickly came to a stop. With shaking hands, Joe finished selecting a knife and turned to see the phone sticking out of Melissa’s eye socket, a pinkish-gray glop hanging from the antenna that protruded out the back of her skull.

He sprinted out of the kitchen, trying to make it into the hallway. The spot was too fast for him. It pounced on him at the doorway, crushing him under its weight, the back of Mary’s head bashing the front of Joe’s face hard enough to draw blood. He tried to stab at the thing, but his arms were pinned. Crazily, he thought of that Monty Python movie where John Cleese sings about every sperm being sacred while his army of children dance and sing around him. He wanted to say something to it. Something that might stop it from ending his life but he couldn’t think of anything.

What Joe felt next wasn’t death. He felt something snaking up his penis and moving around in his lower stomach. He felt a sickening movement down there, like things were being rearranged. All the while, around the head of Mary, Joe watched as the faceless thing stared at him with dim concentration or what Joe thought passed as concentration on that slick, gelatinous caul. Joe felt the thing withdraw from inside him. The spot picked him up and threw him across his apartment, where he crashed into his bookcase and slid into unconsciousness.

4.

Months later, Joe sat on the edge of a bathtub with a razor in his hand. He knew that, in order to do it right, you had to draw it vertically along the veins, really lay them open. His suicide thoughts were based on crazy logic, but nothing else had made sense since that night. There were the police asking about Melissa. There was this hospital where they lobotomized people with drugs. And then there were other things – the morning sickness, the cramping. This morning, Joe was pretty sure he’d felt something move somewhere just below his stomach and when he looked down, he could see the small rounded dome his belly had become. He thought about removing it and realized he couldn’t knowingly unleash something like that upon the world. He imagined it slithering up out of the trashcan, ready to destroy anything in its path. He had raided the nurse’s station this morning and taken what he felt was an ample amount of pills. Now, with the drugs already dulling his senses he watched as if from someplace else as he drew the blade along his arm from wrist to crook, watching the wound blossom like a long pair of bloody lips.

As he lost consciousness, he felt the thing within him struggle. And, he would never really be sure, but he thought he felt it tearing at the inside of his skin … maybe even breaking free.

Laundrymen

“Have you seen my shirt?” Barry asked.

“Which one?” Michelle returned.

“The brown one. You know, my favorite shirt. The button-down one?”

“Good Lord. It probably curled up and died.” She walked over to the blinds in the western-facing window of the apartment, closing them against the last fragments of that day’s sun. “Are you sure you washed it? I mean, that thing like never leaves your back. Speaking of which, I think I left my black bra over here the last time. Have you seen
that
?”

“Yeah. Here you go.” Barry tossed her the black bra.

The rest of the laundry was organized and sorted on the kitchen table in front of him. He rubbed his forehead.

“No,” he said. “I know I washed it. I specifically remember grabbing it from that chair in the bedroom. I’m missing those pants too.”

“Which pants?” Michelle collapsed onto the couch, grabbing the remote and turning on the TV.

“The gray corduroys. Have you done something to them?”

“You figured it out, Barry. Yes. I have your clothes. I love them so much that I stole them and, on days that I’m not over here, I’m wearing them all over the place. A big brown shirt and gray corduroys. I’m trying to start a new trend. I hear the frumpy look is coming back in style.”

“You don’t have to be
so
sarcastic.”

“I wasn’t being sarcastic. I was being completely serious,” she said absently, flipping through the channels. “You probably just left them at the laundromat. Why don’t you call?”

“No. I guess I’ll just go back over there. That’s almost where they have to be. I know I took them. I know I washed them. Probably just left them in the dryer.”

Barry grabbed up his keys and headed for the front door.

“You coming?” he asked Michelle.

“Think I’ll pass on this one. The Great Clothes Hunt. Nah. Not today. Maybe if it were those jeans I like so much …”

Barry ran back over to the couch and gave Michelle a quick peck on the mouth. “Be right back.”

“I hope your clothes aren’t some part of an international conspiracy.”

“Never underestimate the power of Mr. Brown.”

Michelle chuckled. “Oh my God, you’ve
named
it.”

“I’m very close to it. I’m sure he’s been very lonely, trapped in that dryer all by himself.”

“But your pants are there to keep him company.”

“Still, they shouldn’t be left unsupervised.”

“You better hurry.”

“To the Batmobile.”

Then Barry rushed out the door, regretting the fact he had to leave Michelle alone in his little apartment and hoping she would be there when he returned.

Barry rolled the car windows down and enjoyed the early summer breeze as he drove to the laundromat. Children ran throughout the town, happy to be out of school. There weren’t any parking spaces directly in front of the laundromat so Barry circled the block and ended up parking a few doors down.

He got out of the car and took in the smell of the clean night air. He looked up at the sky, deepening into purple, casting a twilight glow all around him. Taking his time, he strolled down the sidewalk to the laundromat.

Once there, he stood outside, staring in to the laundromat’s harsh fluorescent lighting. He didn’t know why he didn’t just walk right in. Was he hoping to spot his clothes lying around somewhere? Did he think they would have them hanging in the window like some flyer from someone who had found a stray dog?

Barry reached for the door to go inside when he saw the man.

The man, standing back at the line of dryers embedded in the far wall, was wearing Barry’s clothes.

That’s ridiculous, Barry thought. It’s entirely possible someone else has the exact same clothes. Besides, he figured, he wasn’t even really close enough to be sure those
were
his clothes adorning the man.

Barry opened the door and stepped into the humidity of the laundromat. Instead of walking directly toward the man, Barry wandered off to his right, around the islands of washers.

Christ, he thought, I’m sneaking up on this man.

And that’s exactly what he was doing. The closer he got to the man, the more Barry realized he
had
to be wearing his clothes.

The man was perfectly normal looking, close-cropped black hair, tan skin. Somewhat thinner and shorter than Barry, the clothes were baggy on him.

Barry moved up next to him, prepared to begin his spiel by saying, “Excuse me …”

Just as Barry opened his mouth, the man turned and saw him. Then, lightning quick, he reached out a hand and shoved it into the middle of Barry’s chest, taking him by surprise and knocking him to the floor before taking off and running through the laundromat’s side door. Barry fought to stand up as quickly as he could and follow the man out the door. Now, everyone in the laundromat looked in his direction.

Barry burst through the door and out into the twilight. He saw the man running off to his right and ran in that direction himself.

Barry had not run in a number of years and the man lost him by cutting into the first alley he came to, disappearing into fresh shadows.

“The clothes!” Barry screamed. “They’ll never fit you!” As if that statement would cause the thief to have some sort of understanding, some complete change of heart and come running back.

Then Barry had another idea. If the man was at the laundromat, surely he must have some of his own clothes there. When Barry had first approached him, the man was bent over one of the tables. Maybe he was folding his own clothes. He had to have been wearing
something
when he entered the laundromat.

Barry went back into the laundromat, his head hung low, trying to avoid eye contact with all the people who had seen him get shoved down. He crept over to where he had seen the man. He looked for something on the table, the same table Barry had used an hour ago, but didn’t see anything. He looked at the row of dryers and saw one with a few meager items lying lifeless at the bottom of the stopped dryer.

Those must be them, Barry thought.

He stepped toward the dryer but just as he got ready to reach out and open the door, a burly woman beat him to it, shooting a dirty glare at him. Barry watched her pull out a giant thong with hearts on it and a blue halter- top. A shiver ran over Barry’s skin.

“You can use it now,” she barked at Barry. “If that’s what you was wantin.”

“Thank you,” Barry said, but he felt numb. Absently, he turned and wandered out of the Laundromat, back to his car.

By the time he sped back to his apartment and raced up the stairs, Barry was sweaty and out of breath.

“Good God, what’s the matter with you?” Michelle asked.

Barry slammed the door behind him, went over to the couch and collapsed onto it. “You’re not gonna believe it,” he said.