Don’t Close Your Eyes, page 34
Lucy was fascinated as they circled low and landed noisily onto the lake. She shook the boat as she stretched out to get a better view, creating ripples in the dark water. Steve grabbed hold of her life jacket before she toppled over the edge. He looked down at the murky depths below them, and a shiver slid down his spine. Despite the shiver, it had been a good day, and they had created good memories, but soon it would be dark. Chase was still concentrating on his fishing, but Lucy was starting to look bored.
Steve was filled with pride as he watched them and admired the nice pile of fish on the baseboards of the boat, but suddenly he wanted to be back on shore. It was a strange feeling, almost one of panic, and he had no idea where it came from. “Who’s ready for going back?”
Chase sighed and cast out again. “I could stay here all night.”
“I gotta pee,” Lucy whispered.
“Me too, pumpkin. Come on, let’s call it a night.”
“Oh, Dad!” Chase protested.
Steve raised his eyebrows and Chase nodded, reeling in his line as slowly as he could. Steve could see that he hoped for one last bite, but at his side Lucy was giggling on the seat.
At last, the line was in and Steve gathered the rods, stowed them in the base, and sat the kids safely ready for the journey back. He started the engine with one easy pull and steered the boat for home. Lucy sat next to him. Leaning on her dad, she started to drift asleep. It had been a long day. But Chase happily examined the catch.
“Mum’s got lots of fish to cook. They should make a great pie.”
Steve felt a moment of nausea as the taste of the previous night’s meal repeated on him. “I’m sure she’ll be pleased, but you two have to help me clean them.” Lucy stirred against him.
“Cool,” Chase said.
“No, that’s the yucky bit. I think that’s a boy’s job,” came a sleepy voice from Steve’s side. He was about to disagree, when Chase said,
“It’s okay, Dad. I like doing it.”
Steve ruffled the boy’s hair and opened the throttle, steering the boat across the smooth waters and back to shore.
* * *
Steve walked toward the cabin. The kids were chattering excitedly at his side, but he could not join in. The door was closed. The place looked dark and unwelcoming. He felt a sliver of dread deep down in his guts. How would she be? He took the fish around to the side of the cabin where an old, battered steel sink sat against the wall. He dropped them into the bowl, smiling with pride; Chase was becoming a real fisherman.
“Chase, you start on the fish.” He grabbed a chair and moved it close to the sink, out of sight of the cabin’s door. “Little Lucy Loo can sit here and watch.”
Chase had already started, a gutting knife in his hands.
Steve hesitated. Should he leave? He knew Chase was sensible and proficient, so he would be fine.
Lucy sat in the chair, her legs curled up beneath her. She looked tired, and Bunkie had appeared in her arms. Had she had him on the boat? Steve couldn’t remember. Gradually, her eyes closed and she looked ready to fall asleep. The sight brought a smile to his face and he wanted to scoop her into his arms and take her to bed but something stopped him.
It would be safer if she stayed here for a while.
Where had that thought come from?
He turned to face the cabin. That sliver of dread seemed to spread, and he wanted to just sit down with the kids. He shook his head. This was ridiculous. He felt a pull on his shirt. A spike of adrenaline set his skin all a tingle, and he jumped inside. He looked down to see Chase tugging his shirt, his hands covered in fish blood and slime.
“Dad, can you fetch me some juice, please?” Chase asked.
Steve sighed heavily and calmed his heart. “Sure, kiddo, be back in a minute.”
He walked to the cabin, and as he stepped onto the deck the chair started to rock. He felt an animosity toward it or from it; he could not decide which but shook his head again. Sure. The chair hates me.
Cautiously, he opened the door and peered inside. It was almost dark in the rustic kitchen. Only the small counter light chased away the gloom. He could see Lauren’s outline across the room. She was facing away from him, looking at the stove.
“Hi, honey, that smells great.”
She turned, distracted, and waved, dismissing him. He breathed a sigh of relief. So far, all was fine. “I’m just gonna get some juice. Do you want anything done, or need any help? You know the kids caught—”
Her voice sliced through his words. “Peace to finish one bloody meal.” She had turned to face him, her hands on her hips, her face contorted with anger. A neat scarf decorated her neck.
The words stung and he stepped back, headed toward the door. Something stopped him. “Damn it, Lauren, what is wrong?”
There was no reply and he dithered on the spot, wondering what to do.
“Can I help?” he asked, almost out of desperation to keep the memories of the day good.
“Just get out.” Venom dripped from her voice.
Steve took another step toward the door. How should he handle this? She had always been possessive of her time in the kitchen, so maybe he was being unfair. Then anger sliced through him. No, the fault was not his, and damn it, the kids were thirsty. Annoyance turned him from the door.
He stepped past her and grabbed the juice from the fridge and three glasses. “Take all the time you need.” He walked out and slammed the door behind him. It shook the cabin and reverberated beneath his feet.
* * *
Steve and Lucy sat on the grass drinking orange juice. They watched Chase as he meticulously cleaned and prepared the fish, an empty glass at his side. The boy was proud of his catch, and Steve was so proud of him. He wanted to go help but knew that Chase wanted to do this alone. He was doing well, despite the fact that he was covered in fish slime.
“Why is Mum mad at you?” Chase asked over his shoulder.
“I ... I think she is upset that we have to sell the cabin.”
Chase dropped the fish into the sink and jumped into his dad’s arms. Steve pulled him close, ignoring the smell and slimy feeling of the fish innards that pressed into his clothing.
“I like you being around more. We rarely used this cabin anyway; Mum likes hotels,” Chase muttered into his neck.
Steve laughed slightly and hugged his son close. “Well, we can’t afford hotels now, with me being at home more.”
Lucy tugged her dad’s arm. “I don’t care. I like it.”
“Me too,” Steve said, and he did. They needed to economize. But if they sold the cabin and he started some consulting work, they would make it, and they would have a good life. A better one than they had before, if he was honest, as some things were worth more than money. He squeezed Chase to him.
Chase pulled himself away from his dad and sat on the grass. He noticed how slimy and bloody his hands were and colored a little. “Why does Mum want to keep the cabin?”
“We always want something most when we’re about to lose it.” Steve sighed and rubbed his forehead. “That’s not fair. Your mum is worried we won’t be able to afford expensive things. Things we need.”
“Like what?” Chase asked.
Steve pointed at Chase’s jeans and trainers, currently covered in fish innards.
“They’re just things,” Chase said. “I would like it if you were both at home more. And if you were less, well, you know ...”
“What?” Steve asked.
Lucy tugged his arm. “Less hissy.”
Chapter 60
Steve and the kids sat at the table and watched the sun go down. The sky turned from a deep blue, through a crimson so intense it stung the eyes but lifted the soul, to a dark royal blue. “Red sky at night, shepherd’s delight,” Chase pointed out to Lucy.
She was tired and hungry, but the sunset enthralled her. The sun hung on the horizon, a deep orange ball while she wowed at its magnificence. She was cuddled up to Steve and delighted by nature’s spectacle, forgetting her hunger for the moment.
Chase was also tired but enjoyed his sister’s joy and wonder at the resplendent sunset.
“Why are shepherds delighted?” Lucy asked.
“Because it means tomorrow will be a lovely day.” Chase beamed at his knowledge.
Steve shivered. The weather might be nice tomorrow, but something told him it would not be the best of days. It was getting late; there was a chill in the air and Steve was past ready for the meal. He knew he would have to go back into the cabin and see what was happening. He had put it off for as long as he dared, but the kids were hungry. If things weren’t ready then he would fetch out some snacks.
He steeled himself and pushed back his chair, but before he could rise Lauren came out of the cabin with platters of vegetables. She placed the steaming dishes on the table. “Get serving while I fetch the pie.”
Lucy looked at Steve with her eyes wide and wondrous and said, “I hope it’s better than last night’s.”
Steve breathed a sigh of relief that Lauren appeared normal, and he hoped so too. What had been in that pie? It had almost tasted like the rotten crow, but that was just stupid. “Well, let’s all try and eat a bit, just to boost Mum up. I think she deserves that, working so hard while we’re having fun, don’t you?”
Nods ran around the table. Chase had washed his hands and wiped the worst of the fish from his clothing, but he still smelt a little, and both of the kids looked exhausted.
“I still love Mummy, even though she’s being hissy,” Lucy said.
“Well, we all get hissy at times.” Steve gently tweaked her nose for emphasis.
“Not me. I just get pretty.”
Chase groaned, but he was smiling when he said, “That is so girlie.”
Steve laughed. “Yes, but it’s true.”
The door opened and Lauren walked out, all smiles. The pie was held out before her like a precious jewel. It looked and smelt delicious. She seemed happy, bright, and proud of her dish as she placed it on the table.
“Right, Dad, you do the honors.”
Steve stared at the pie. It looked magnificent, with golden pastry and a leaf decoration in the center. It was a deep dish, and the filing bulged the pastry nicely over the rim of the brown ceramic. But … did it move? Fingers crawled up his spine, and the hairs on his arms and neck rose as he served a baked potato half on each plate.
He found himself staring at the pie, trepidation staying his hand as he slowly served the vegetables. He was sure the pie was moving. He served a spoonful of broccoli on Lucy’s plate, staring at the pie, currently, not moving.
Lauren’s face darkened as he delayed. The vegetables were all served, and Steve sat dead still.
“Should I do it, Dad?” Chase asked as his hand reached out for the knife.
“No.” Steve said a little too harshly. He must be just stressed. Of course the pie could not move. It was steaming from the oven, the crust golden brown and flaky, Lauren’s own special recipe.
He reached for the shiny steel of the knife and held it above the now still pie. He swallowed and sliced into the crust. The pie crunched as he cut down. His hand started to shake, but he held himself together. It’s just a pie. He made another cut, and heard the same crunching noise as he pressed down with the knife. It seemed tough, and then something skidded away from the blade. It did move.
Steve pushed the knife under the portion of pie and lifted it out of the dish. He moved it over the table toward Lauren’s plate. A cockroach dropped out of the steaming pastry and landed upside down on Lauren’s plate.
Steve froze at this black obscenity on the pristine white of the china. It spun on its back, around and around; spiky black legs clawed at the air.
Lucy screamed, a high-pitched blast of horror. Her hands rose in front of her and then she pulled Bunkie to her chest, hiding the bunny’s eyes.
“Jesus,” Chase shouted and pushed his chair back so violently that it fell, thumping on the deck.
Steve shouted as a centipede and a few maggots followed the cockroach, falling down and down onto the plate. The centipedes’ many legs allowed it to scuttle its brown, flexible body across the white plate; the maggots rolled over and stopped. Steve dropped the pie, and it split open. Inside were all manner of insects, and what looked like rotten meat. Most of the contents were alive and skittered or crawled around on the china. The pie itself seemed to squirm and move across the plate.
Steve froze, the knife in his hand, his eye unable to leave the pie. His skin crawled as if the insects were walking all over him. He dropped the knife and jumped back.
“Shit.”
Unable to stop himself, he brushed his clothes down as if the insects were already on him.
Lucy’s eyes were wide and a tear ran down her cheek as she stared at the table.
Chase stood back, his hands raised as if he wanted to fight the insects, and his mouth opened and closed.
On the table, the insects crawled out of the crust and spread from Lauren’s plate and across the wooden surface.
Steve grabbed Lucy. “Come on, Chase,” he shouted, but found he couldn’t move. The scene pulled his eyes and froze his muscles.
The whole table now teemed with insects. They had streamed out of the cooked pie and run, hopped, and skipped across the wood and china. Maggots seemed to roll out of the pie, bringing the stench of death with them.
Chase grabbed his nose; Steve could see him fighting back the urge to vomit. He understood that very well, for his own sick threatened to join the insects swarming the table. How could so much come out of one pie? How could they be alive and so active when the pie steamed fresh from the oven?
Lauren looked at them as if they were all mad. Chase backed away. Steve held Lucy; they were fixated on the sight before them.
“Chase, now, to the car,” Steve said, at last able to move. He sprinted to the SUV and strapped Lucy in her booster seat. He looked at Chase. “You okay?”
“Dad, what’s going on?” Chase’s bottom lip quivered and his eyes were moist, but he was trying so hard to be brave.
“I don’t know, son. Mum’s not well. Will you be okay while I get her?”
Chase nodded. “I feel really crawly. There were insects … did you smell that?”
“I know. Don’t think about it.”
“Dad, Bunkie feels really poorly,” Lucy said, her voice so low he had to lean into her.
“I know, honey, but we are going home now.”
“Dad, what should we do?” Chase asked as the tears nearly escaped his eyes.
“Get in. We’re leaving.” Steve wanted to hug him, to pull them both close and tell them everything was okay, but he was worried about Lauren. Would she eat the pie? What would that do to her? Something told him that she was a danger to herself, but was she a danger to the children? For a moment he wanted to get into the car and drive away, leaving her there, but he knew that was crazy. He ran around the car and headed back to the deck.
Lauren sat in the chair, rocking and eating the insect pie as if it was perfectly normal. Her hair looked different, straighter, old-fashioned, and almost a bob.
“Your hair?” Steve asked. Even with all that was going on, her hair seemed so very strange, almost surreal.
She bit into a piece of pie. It crunched as she chewed and swallowed.
The sound went through Steve, grating on his nerves, and he swallowed the bile that formed in his throat. This had to be a nightmare. It couldn’t be real, and yet he knew it was … what was happening?
“Honey, let’s go for a drive.”
Her plate crawled with squirming insects and that rotten, putrid meat.
“No, I’m eating,” she said, as calm as a cucumber. “Sit down. We don’t want it to go cold.” She smiled and continued crunching down the insects.
Steve shuddered; each bite set his nerves on edge and his stomach roiled with the thought of it. The insects crunched as she bit down on hard shells or spindly spider legs. Each time she chewed, he wanted to be sick, and it was pushing him to breaking point.
She took another mouthful. A centipede was half in and half out of her mouth. It wiggled, a black-legged string against the white of her chin. He watched, stunned, as she used her tongue to scoop it in.
“That’s it.” He gently reached for her wrists. “Let’s go,” he said.
She stabbed at him with her knife, grazing his arm, and in a deeper voice than usual, she said, “Not until I’ve eaten. And you’re not spoiling the kids. They either eat up, or no food for a week.”
“I think they’ll take the second option.” Steve tried to catch her hands.
“You bastard! You’re turning them against me,” Lauren screamed. She turned the knife at him and slashed at his arms.
Steve dodged the blows, unsure what to do. He looked at the car and started to leave. No, he couldn’t leave without her; she needed help.
He stepped behind her and tried to pin her arms. She flung her plate at him, covering him with rotten meat and crawling insects. A piece hit his cheek. He fought the urge to claw it off and pinned her arms to her side. The meat stank and slid down his cheek. The sensation was so intense that it took all his nerve to not wipe it away as he felt insects crawl onto his skin.
A quick step to the side and he lunged, pinning her arms and holding her for a moment. Once more, it seemed unreal. What was he doing? And yet he knew he had to get her away. Before his nerve could fail, he pulled her out of the chair.
“You dirty bastard, you just want to use me,” she yelled.
“Lauren, calm down.” Steve held on as she bucked in his arms. “Let’s just go for a drive.”
She relaxed in his arms. At last, he thought.
She leaned forward and then brought her head back with her full weight, trying to smash his nose with her skull. Steve hugged her tight, holding her with ease, but she struggled and bucked in his arms and he knew that soon she would break free.
What should I do?
Desperately, he searched for something to help him, anything to hold her and keep her calm, for the more she struggled, the more he feared she would injure herself. The table was a writhing mess and all his eyes wanted to do was stare, but he dragged them away as she thrashed in his arms, screaming and shouting out filth and insults.
