The Black Lake: Tales of Melancholic Horror (7 page)

Diana stood from her seat, then tossed her black bag over her shoulder. She held her hand to her mouth and sniffled as she tried to fight off her tears. Disappointment bellowed from the bottom of her heart and echoed through her body.

Diana whispered, “You never change... You
never
change.”

Diana strolled past Daniel, swinging her hips as she attempted to confidently strut away to no avail – her strut dithered with the overwhelming pain. She silently whimpered as she moseyed towards the hallway. Daniel stood by the table, glaring at the mounds of steak on the aluminum pan. Tears swelled in his flickering eyes. Irrepressible sorrow and anger blended within to create an unbearable concoction of despair.

Daniel whispered, “I changed. I changed more than you could ever imagine. You don't know what you've done...”

Diana knocked on the wall and shouted, “Mary! Mary, it's mom! You can come out now! Everything's okay, sweetie! I have an allowance to give you!” Mary did not respond. Diana turned towards Daniel and said, “She must be listening to music
very
loudly, Daniel. Are you sure she's okay? Are you sure she's even home?”

Daniel's short torso and spindly limbs moved with each heavy breath as he stood by the table, completely disregarding Diana's inquiry. Diana shook her head and scowled at Daniel, then strolled down the hall. She stopped at the third door, then slowly shoved it open.

“Mary?” Diana asked as she poked her head into the dimly-lit room.

The room appeared to be her daughter's bedroom. There were posters with pop stars plastered on the pink walls, photos of Mary and her friends clinging on to the smudged mirror, makeup on the dresser, and pink bed sheets on the mattress. Aside from some specks, the room was unusually clean. Mary was nowhere in sight.

Diana asked, “Mary? Mary, are you in here?”

There was no response. With a furrowed brow, Diana continued to gaze into the room as she slowly shut the door. With each passing inch, she hoped Mary would hop out of the closet or crawl from under the bed and surprise her. The door shut and Mary never appeared.

Diana sighed, then whispered, “Where are you, sweetie?”

Diana's mind raced as she traipsed back to the living room. Her steps were slow and ponderous as her mind swelled with terrifying thoughts of uncertainty. Diana sauntered back into the living room, then leaned on the wall by the hallway entrance. She examined Daniel from head-to-toe with narrowed eyes – she refused to be duped.

Diana said, “Mary's not in her room, Daniel. I thought she was listening to music in her bedroom, but she's not there. I thought you were taking good care of her. I guess I shouldn't be surprised. You've never been good at keeping track of anything.”

Gazing at the pile of tantalizing steak, Daniel said, “She's certainly here.”

“No, Daniel, she's not.”

“
She is.
”

Diana nervously chuckled as she rubbed her moist brow with her fingertips. Her anxious perspiration was slowly drenching her body. The cold sweat streamed down her curvaceous figure. Daniel shared Diana's chuckle, never taking his eyes off the meat on the pan.

Diana said, “Daniel, I know you're hurt about everything. I know you've been trying hard to... to 'fix' everything, but we have to think about our daughter first. Even if we never kiss and make up, we have to take care of Mary. You can't let her slip through the cracks like this. You know, some teens, when they see weakness in their parents, they'll lie and...”

Daniel interrupted, “I'm telling you, she's here with us. She didn't sneak out, she didn't take advantage of me. In fact, I took advantage of her.”

Diana's stony-face suddenly became an infuriated glower. Her blood boiled with vexation, fizzing in her veins like a carbonated beverage. She couldn't conjure a single word as she shambled away from the wall. Her throat was smothered by her uncontrollable fury.

Diana asked, “What... What did you just say?” Daniel snickered as he stood by the dining table. Diana loured and shook her head as she asked, “What the
hell
did you just say, Daniel? You took advantage of her? Huh? Who the hell do you think you are?”

Daniel held his hand to his mouth as he cackled, hopelessly trying to distort his disrespectful guffaw to no avail. He leaned forward, gripping his stomach with his other hand. A vein bulged down the center of his brow as he struggled to breathe from his hysterical laughter.

Diana slapped Daniel, then shouted, “
Stop!
Stop it! Tell me what you did to Mary! Tell me!”

Daniel staggered away from Diana as he rubbed his crimson cheek. He explained, “I told you already, sweetheart: I fixed that problem. Mary's gone. She's not going to bother us anymore. I think, deep down, she really wanted this. She wanted to... to be a martyr for our relationship.”

Diana's eyes watered and her teeth chattered upon hearing Daniel's sinister and ambiguous explanation. In a soft, dubious tone, she repeated, “
Martyr?
”

Diana scrunched her face as tears gushed from her eyes. She lunged at Daniel, tightly gripping his white button-up shirt from the chest. The pair recklessly hurtled towards the kitchen. Daniel grunted as his back collided with the protruding granite countertop.

Diana glared into Daniel's indecipherable eyes and asked, “Where's my daughter? What did you do to her?”

Daniel responded, “Part of her is still with us. She's in this very room. Another part... Well, a
small
part is within us. She wanted to stay with us forever. It won't work out that way for her, but we probably got some protein out of it.” He pointed towards the aluminum pan on the table, then asked, “The meal was delicious, wasn't it?”

Diana gazed at the mountainous meat. Her bottom lip quivered as the terrifying thought clung to the back of her mind. She shook her head like a dog out of bath as she staggered to her knees and struggled to breathe. The idea was too sinister to accept.

Diana stuttered, “You–you wouldn't... You wouldn't do that... Where... What...”

Diana wildly sobbed as the dubiety of the situation clouded her mind. She glanced at the countertop adjacent to the stove. There was a black plastic bag hidden beside the refrigerator. A pink shirt and blue jeans protruded from an opening on the bag – the clothing of a young girl. Diana retched as she considered the possibility.

Daniel knelt down beside Diana and explained, “She... She didn't know what she was getting into, but she was willing to do anything to get us back together. I knocked her unconscious while she listened to her loud music... I've told her a
million
times to turn it down. Anyway, I didn't want her to feel any pain, so I had to knock her out...”

“Stop...”

“Then, I cut her throat in the bathroom. I drained her blood and everything. It was like a... a movie or something. Then, I sliced her up and baked her in the oven. If you got here an hour or two earlier like you were supposed to, you could have stopped it. You wouldn't have tasted her 'heavenly' flesh, you wouldn't...”

As she dry-heaved, Diana hopelessly cried, “Stop... Stop! Pl–please... Stop...”

Daniel smirked as he wrapped his arm around his estranged wife. He pointed at the aluminum pan and joked, “Come on, it's not that bad. It's steak cooked rare like you like it.” He diabolically chuckled, then said, “The meal of the day is...
Mary.
The meal of the day is
love.
Welcome home, sweetheart.”

The scorching sunlight caressed the bustling cul-de-sac with a blistering heat. The pavement sizzled with a mere droplet of sweat. Birds happily chirped from the lush trees in front of every home. Kids happily scampered across the street, bickering and bantering as they played hide-and-seek and freeze tag. The parents stood on their porches, sipping pungent lemonade with rapidly melting cubes of ice clanking in the liquid.

“I almost had you!” Richie Caldwell shouted as he smiled and stomped his foot on the kempt grass of the backyard.

6-year-old Richie pranced along as he played with his older siblings – Jonathan and Cecilia. His black sneakers squished and thudded on the grass with each hurried step. His blue jeans were rumpled and begrimed like his black short sleeve shirt. The soothing breeze whooshed past his buzz cut dome. His brown eyes glimmered with joy and innocence.

As he ran ahead in a curve, 9-year-old Jonathan glanced over his shoulder and shouted, “I don't think so! You're going to have to be faster than that!”

Jonathan stood four-seven with a lean figure. He had black curly hair completely obscuring his ears and his forehead. He wore a red-and-white striped long sleeve shirt tucked into his denim jeans. His black sneakers were muddied from the rousing game of tag. He had piercing, baleful black eyes, like black holes waiting to absorb anything in their path.

From the sandbox at the farthest corner of the backyard, 12-year-old Cecilia hopped and waved towards Richie. Her blue sundress swayed with her frantic movements and the refreshing wind. Her bare feet sunk deeper into the sand with each bounce. Her elephantine ears protruded from beneath her short black hair.

She inspected the game of tag with her lustrous brown eyes. She pointed forward, then drew Jonathan's path with her fingertip for Richie. Richie grinned as he darted to the right, then lunged forward and tapped his brother's shoulder. Grass and mud spiraled into the air as Jonathan skidded to a sudden stop.

Jonathan glared at Richie and sternly said, “You cheated.”

Richie shook his head and responded, “No, I got your fair and square.”

“
You cheated.
You could never catch me. You're not fast enough. It's impossible. Admit it, Richie, or else. You cheated, didn't you?”

Richie huffed and crossed his arms, then asked, “Or else what?”

Cecilia skipped towards the bickering pair. The ambiance had suddenly shifted from merry to gloomy. Clouds formed from nothing, blocking the dazzling sun and drenching the backyard with melancholy – from cloudless to overcast within seconds.

Acting as the mediator, Cecilia said, “Richie's right, Jonathan, he got you fair and square. I saw everything.”

Jonathan glared at Cecilia with a soul-penetrating stare – a menacing scowl fueled by hatred and fury. Cecilia shuddered from the mere sight of Jonathan's wicked eyes. She could see the malicious thoughts running through his mind, she could feel his malevolence. Her brother was sinister.

Jonathan glanced back at Richie and said, “Fine. I'm 'it.' No more cheating, though.”

Richie nonchalantly shrugged, then scurried away. Jonathan inhaled deeply and smiled, then bolted towards him. Cecilia swallowed the fear clogging her throat as she slowly walked towards the sandbox in reverse. She glanced up at the skies. The clouds were slowly dissipating with Jonathan's bad mood.

Cecilia glanced back at Jonathan and whispered, “I knew it...”

Jonathan ran as fast as he could, slipping and sliding on the grass as he chased after Richie. Richie was quick and nimble, able to evade Jonathan's grasp by an inch with his sly movements. Every time the pair reached one end of the backyard, Richie slipped past Jonathan and hurtled towards the other side.

Jonathan's breathing intensified with each missed opportunity. As she noticed Jonathan's mood, Cecilia glanced towards the sky. The gray clouds were miraculously returning, swallowing the warm sunlight with each passing second.

Jonathan muttered, “No more cheating...”

He chased after his younger brother, his eyes locked on Richie's right leg. Richie happily giggled as he sprinted ahead, teetering left-and-right to confuse his older brother. Jonathan glowered as he focused solely on Richie's leg. His protuberant eyes practically bulged from his skull – fiendish eyes glistering with uncontrollable rage and a lust for vengeance.

Jonathan whispered, “I've got you...”

Suddenly, Richie's bloodcurdling shriek reverberated through the cul-de-sac. From the kitchen window overlooking the backyard, Patricia Caldwell gasped and trembled as she watched her son tumble to the ground. She held her hands to her mouth as she staggered in reverse from the unexpected shock.

She grabbed her long black dress at her thighs and lifted the garment towards her shins, then loped towards the back door. Her silky black hair bounced on her narrow shoulders, caressing her petite figure. Her dark brown eyes were surrounded by webs of red veins, her eyelids were leaden with exhaustion. Her bare feet thudded on the moist grass as she ran towards Richie.

Richie held his kneecap and rolled on the ground as he shouted, “Mom! Mom!”

Leaning over Richie, Cecilia glanced towards their approaching mother and said, “I think he broke his leg.”

Patricia knelt down by Richie's side and caressed his forehead, then said, “Everything's going to be okay, baby. I know it hurts, I know. Just breathe, okay?” She glanced at Cecilia and asked, “
How?
How did this happen?”

Without moving her head, Cecilia glided her eyes towards Jonathan. Jonathan simpered, pleased with his mystifying actions. Patricia gazed at her eldest son with perturbed eyes. She couldn't conjure the words to scold him due to the severity of his actions and the inexplicable force he harbored.

Patricia stuttered, “You–you...”

Suddenly, the back door swung open. The bickering siblings and distraught mother turned towards the home. Lawrence Caldwell stood at the doorway with a sullen expression plastered on his face – an expression of anger and disappointment.

Lawrence stood five-eleven with a burly physique. His biceps bulged and his chest protruded forward. He donned a gray-and-white checkered shirt. The sleeves were rolled up, revealing his bushy forearms. His light khaki pants were freshly-ironed. His brown dress shoes gleamed from the recent polish. His brown eyes were brimming with uncertainty. The confusion and frustration were evident.

As he approached, Lawrence asked, “What happened?”

Cecilia responded, “I think Richie broke his leg.”

Lawrence strolled past Patricia, Cecilia, and Richie. He stopped in front of Jonathan and asked, “You did this, right? You did this to your little brother, didn't you? Why?”

Jonathan crossed his arms and gave off an insouciant smirk. Lawrence's eyes swelled with exasperation from Jonathan's blithe disregard. He raised his arm, preparing a savage backhanded slap for his son, but found himself incapable as he gazed into Jonathan's rancorous eyes. The father of the household was successfully challenged by the middle child – a power struggle.

Lawrence slowly lowered his hand and demanded, “Everyone, get inside.
Now.
”

***

Lawrence strolled through the back door, carrying Richie into the living room in his brawny arms. Patricia followed closely behind, caressing Richie's forehead and swiping the tears from his cheeks. Cecilia ambled through the doorway, keeping a keen eye on Jonathan as the pair trailed the family.

Patricia pointed through the kitchen arch entrance and instructed, “Cecilia, grab some ice from the freezer and bring it to mommy.”

Lawrence carefully placed Richie's timorous body on the black three-seat sofa in the living room. Patricia slid two couch cushions beneath Richie's leg to elevate the injured limb. She ran to the opposite end of the couch, then slid under Richie's head – resting his dome on her lap. Cecilia nonchalantly skipped into the living room, humming and capering about as she brought a bag of ice to her mother.

As she placed the ice on Richie's kneecap, Patricia explained, “This will make it feel better. It'll stop the swelling and pain for a while.” She glanced over her shoulder and asked, “Did you call 911?”

Lawrence stood by a black console table with a black landline phone planted on his ear. He shrugged and said, “We're disconnected. We'll have to take him to the hospital ourselves. No point in wasting time here.”

Patricia grimaced and stuttered, “I–I don't... I don't know, Lawrence. I...” She bit her bottom lip as she struggled to speak. She said, “We shouldn't leave... We can't go out again. We can't risk leaving with or without...”

Patricia glided her eyes towards Jonathan. Without uttering a single word, she delivered her explanation – an adequate unspoken word. Lawrence sighed as he glanced towards his gleaming dress shoes. He understood his wife very well.

Lawrence turned towards Jonathan and asked, “What happened out there?”

Jonathan leaned on the kitchen archway with his arms crossed. He clenched his jaw, refusing to answer to authority. Lawrence's lip curled as his body swelled with anger – the irrepressible fury coursed through each limb.

From the adjacent recliner in the living room, Cecilia responded, “I think it was Jonathan. I think he...”

Lawrence glanced at Cecilia and interrupted, “I know. I know, sweetie.” He turned towards Jonathan and asked, “Why? Why'd you do it this time? Why would you hurt your little brother like that?”

Jonathan inhaled deeply from his nose, then responded, “
He cheated.
You should never cheat. That's what you taught me and that's what I taught him. It's not right. I warned him, so it's all his fault anyway.”

Lawrence tightly clenched his fists as he glowered. His protruding fingernails pierced into his palm. A droplet of blood dribbled from the self-inflicted wound. Jonathan smirked and huffed as he watched his infuriated father, like if he were watching a peddling jester from a golden throne. He happily called all of his father's bluffs – intimidation was nothing without the actions to back it.

Lawrence sternly said, “You can't always have it your way, boy. I swear, I'll...”

Suddenly, Richie cried, “It hurts! It hurts! Please, mom, it hurts so much!”

Teary-eyed, Patricia said, “I know, sweetie, I know...” She loudly swallowed the lump in her throat, then said, “We... I guess we
have
to go. We should go to the hospital. I don't want my baby to feel this pain. I can't do anything here. Not this time.”

Lawrence nodded and said, “Fine. Let's go.” He turned towards his unscathed children and said, “Cecilia, you're in charge until we get back. Don't open the door for anyone, answer the phone when we call, and don't mess around with anything. We'll be back in a few hours.”

“Okay,” Cecilia whispered.

Cecilia glanced over at Jonathan with narrowed eyes. The luster in her eyes had vanished as she gazed at Jonathan's nonchalant but vindictive demeanor. She knew she was not in charge of the situation. She was a puppet, like her father.

Lawrence lifted Richie from the couch, cradling his son like a newborn baby. Patricia grabbed the clanking key ring from the console table, then bolted through the adjacent archway leading into the main hall. The keys clicked and clanked as she unlocked the front door.

Standing at the archway, Lawrence asked, “What are you doing?”

Patricia frantically tugged on the doorknob and said, “It won't open.”

She tightly gripped the doorknob and leaned her entire body away from the sturdy door, but to no avail – the door would not budge. Lawrence handed Richie to Patricia, then proceeded towards the door. Lawrence kicked at the door with brute force, then rammed the door with his shoulder. Despite his mighty effort, the door did not rattle or wobble. The unwavering door remained unmarked.

From the neighboring archway, Jonathan explained, “I don't want you to take him to the hospital. You treat him like a king, like if he's better than me.
He's not.
He's an idiot. I'm tired of him cheating. I'm tired of you pretending like it's okay.”

Patricia's bottom lip quivered as she asked, “Wha–What are you doing, sweetie? We just want to help your brother, okay? Is... Is that okay?”

“No, it's not okay. I don't want you to help him anymore. He can help himself...”

Suddenly, the hardwood floorboards rattled as Lawrence stomped. His cheeks were flushed and his ears were crimson from the uncontrollable anger. He scowled as he wagged his index finger towards his truculent son.

Lawrence shouted, “Open this damn door! Now!” As Jonathan chuckled, Lawrence yelled, “I swear, you will regret this, Jonathan! You cannot keep us hostage! You cannot stop us from helping your brother! I won't tolerate this bullshit anymore!”

Jonathan nonchalantly crossed his arms and legs as he leaned on the archway and said, “I already stopped you.”

Lawrence marched into the living room, Patricia followed closely behind. Lawrence gritted his teeth as he pulled on the bay windows overlooking the kempt front lawn. Thick veins protruded on his brow and his jugulars bulged as he exerted all of his energy to no avail – the windows did not budge. He breathed heavily as he turned towards the black end table by the sofa, then yanked the sturdy lamp from the tabletop.