Storymania - Mind's Shadow by J Shartzer

Mind's Shadow (1)
J Shartzer

The wind softly whispered secrets into in Erin's ear as she lay in the numbing, shallow bath water, no longer feeling its sharp bite as it rippled around her. The trees swished and rustled and danced their tree dances beyond the open window, silver moonbeams pouring in through their golden-brown leaves, casting leaf-shaped patterns on the floor. She shuddered as frigid air traced the length of her exposed, bare body with a frostbitten finger.
With her arm supported by the soap dish, she held clenched in her hand a small razor blade, its tip coated in blood that was still warm, despite everything else succumbing the bitter cold. Her other arm dangled limp over the side of the tub; a dark red puddle grew ever larger beneath it. She lifted this arm and examined it, proving to be a more demanding task than expected, for it felt as if it were made of lead. A thin red line ran the length of her forearm, spilling the last of her blood and standing out garishly against her unnaturally white skin. She regarded it apathetically, almost with a laugh (had she had the strength, she would have laughed), then let it fall. It hit the side of the bathtub with a hollow, resonating thud. What little pain there was from this was distant, like it was being broadcasted from a far away region of her mind.
The room was veiled in darkness, but Erin could make out the creamy white of the note she'd left for her mother on the sink. With a hair brush resting in the center of it, the edges of the paper danced with every breath of wind exhaled from the window above her. The sight of the hastily written note recalled an image of her mother. One of her leaning against the kitchen counter and reading a magazine, a steaming Styrofoam cup of coffee in her other hand. Her blonde hair was pulled taught into a ponytail, with one feather lock loose and hanging in front of her face.
Erin slowly shook her head and these thoughts drifted away from her, a single leaf on the current of her thoughts. Thinking about her mother filled her with a pang of regret, and she wanted the last few moments of her life to be blank. She rested her seemingly leaden head against the porcelain wall. She stared up a the ceiling and found that it had grown quite difficult for her to hold open her eyes. With all the will she had, she pried them open, and staved off the enroaching wave of sleepiness. Nevertheless, her grip on the razor blade loosened, its purpose fulfilled, and fell into the water with a barely audible clink of metal against the bottom of the bathtub. The room began to grow darker still, with shapes appearing in the darkness with hatred filled eyes looming at her, but she no longer felt any fear towards these creatures. They had no power over her, if they ever did.
Erin suddenly felt as if she were floating, like she were being lifted toward the ceiling---or to Heaven. This is dying, her mind thought absently, I've always been curious. She relinquished control over her eyelids and finally let her weary orbs close for the last time. The floating sensation intensified, and she could no longer feel her body at all.
For one terrifying second, she regretted what she had done. She prayed silently for a chance to take it back, to undo what she had inflicted on herself. But the brutal slash down her arm remained, though it no longer mattered. She drifted into the sleep of finality and one last breath slipped through her slightly parted lips. There was only the steady drip of the faucet and the melancholy song of the wind to see her off.

With a tearful sigh Erin's mother, Claudia, explained to Erin's long time boyfriend, Malcolm, that a smaller house---and one that wasn't completely saturated with memories of her recently departed daughter--would be better for her. She'd requested his aid in moving this smaller house. He, of course, had accepted.
Over the last few days of the move, Malcolm had been drawn away from where the work lay and to Erin's bedroom instead. Claudia seemed not to notice, or perhaps she was letting him vent his sorrowful mind. He fought a losing battle within as he tried in vain to convince himself not to go into that room, and to try to move on with his life---at least until the packing was done. How can you forget someone you'd known all your life so quickly? Malcolm knew that was impossible, but he also knew that climbing the stairs everyday to sit alone in her bedroom wouldn't bring her back. To think it would was madness---although a madness that Malcolm would have welcomed with open arms. But it was the rational part of him that held this knowledge, and it was the grief-stricken part of him that was pulling the strings. Particularly, a string tied to Erin's doorknob.
Malcolm sat in a small wooden chair in the corner to take in the entirety of the bedroom that was so much like a museum; everything in it seemed to be on display, frozen in time, full of things to be looked at, not touched. The feeling that the room was suspended in time grew as Malcolm gazed upon it. Like its occupant had merely stepped out for a bite instead of died unexpectedly. The scent of perfume still hung in the bedroom, though it had been a week since it was last sprayed upon Erin's person. Several sticky notes clung to the large vanity mirror across from Malcolm, written in the girlish handwriting that Malcolm had always found adorable. Numerous reminders that would go on unremembered, dozens of to-do lists that would never get done. Even her bed was yet unmade from the last time she slept in it. But it was the smell that drove him insane. It was the smell that hammered down that last nail of denial, the smell that seemed to shout in his face Hey, Erin is DEAD. Get over it. It was the scent that she'd worn everyday since he first bought it for her on her fourteenth birthday. It was as if she was only inches away, waiting for him to reach out and touch her...
To the right of the mirror was a bathroom. Erin's bathroom. The bathroom. Feet away from where he now sat, Erin had unfairly ended her life without so much as last goodbye to him. Too easily could Malcolm envision his bonnie lass, drawing a red gash down her arm as her mother sat oblivious in front of the television, not a thing to worry about. Maybe sipping her beer or having a smoke. He forced himself to suppress this all too plausible thought. In its place, a recurring nightmare rose to the surface of Malcolm's mind. A nightmare in which he pulled back the blanket upon waking only to be greeted by Erin's dead, rotted face at the foot of his bed.
Childish fears seem to become less childish in grief. A sudden, irrational need to see what was behind the door to the bathroom arose in Malcolm. He stood from the chair and his feet took him across the room to it, all the while his mind protesting frantically beneath the surface. If he didn't see inside, he explained to himself, rationalizing more than anything, and prove his nightmares false, he would go crazy. It would be as simple as that. He wouldn't be able to continue functioning until he saw behind that door.
He grasped the doorknob and found that it was warm under his grasp. This alone was almost enough to cause him to jerk his hand away but instead he steeled himself and turned the knob. With a deep breath, he pushed the door an inch of the way open. Cold stale air seeped from the crack and sent chills down his back and a fresh batch of gooseflesh down his arms.
Malcolm closed his eyes and opened the door enough for him to step through it. When he opened them again, he half expected to see Erin, sporting the fatal design on her arm, her sunken eyes fixed on him with a ravenous hunger. A brief memory intruded into Malcolm's thoughts of an old movie in which walking cadavers ambled along screaming BRAINS! MORE BRAINS!
Malcolm fumbled to the left of him and flicked the switch. Light exploded from the tubes alongside the medicine cabinet and he was temporarily blinded.� The room was empty. He squinted, letting his eyes adjust to the harsh light then surveyed the room, finding it utterly unremarkable. That was, except for the piece of folded notebook paper lying on the floor in front of him. Strange, that the rest of the "mess" had been cleaned up while this trash had been left behind. Maybe with the intention of him finding it, thought Malcolm, who was at times a bit of a fatalist. Despite himself, he snickered at the thought. He picked it up and unfolded it. Written in Erin's small, neat scrawl was this:
i let you all down. i'm sorry, but you don't understand, and i don't expect you to. i feel so isolated from everything, but i'm never alone. even as i write this note, i'm being watched by un friendly eyes. again i'm sorry. you'll understand soon, i'm sure of that. i love you mom, love you malcolm.
Malcolm stood for a long time gaping at the note in stupidly. He let it drift lazily to the floor and squeezed his eyes shut to hold back tears that would betray him, tears that would finally drive that last nail of denial home. He was forced with the realization that Erin, who had always offered him a smile despite her own bad mood, was dead, and that he would never see that beauteous smile again. Malcolm felt a tremendous sense of loss overwhelm him, and his knees grew weak. He stepped out of the bathroom, hating it and hating himself for going in to it in the first place, and closed the door gently, only dimly aware that he'd left the light on.

Sunday morning, according to Claudia, was the apotheosis of insanity. The morning had begun innocently enough, and with only the smallest trace of a hangover. She pulled herself out of bed, wondering if Erin had come home the previous night. Looking through the window at the end of the hall upstairs, the one that looked out onto the driveway, she found Erin�s car parked beside hers as it always was. Perhaps a little crookedly this time. She had then gone into Erin's room to wake her up and to ask her what she wanted for breakfast, and was greeted by the sight of her daughter huddled in a corner, crying helplessly. When Claudia asked her what was wrong, Erin mumbled, almost inaudibly, "That's not me, that's not me..."
After accepting the fact that she wasn't going to get an answer from her that made sense, Claudia led Erin into the kitchen and seated her at the breakfast table. She sat with her head supported with her hands, her hair hiding her perpetually frightened face. Claudia offered her some juice, but she declined with a hardly perceptible shake of her head.
Claudia left her alone for the rest of the day, always with one watchful eye on her. An eye which caught some bizarre behaviors from the girl. Screaming at shadows, jerking away from nothing, conversing with an empty room. All of which unbeknownst to Malcolm, of course. It was only afterward that Claudia had divulged to him all of the unsettling occurrences that had plagued their household the last day of Erin's life. One incident that had particularly unnerved her happened while she was stuffing a load of clothes into the dryer. She heard Erin shriek and a shatter of glass and ran into the living room to investigate. She found Erin kneeling on the ground, sorting through the broken pieces of one of the large vases that had rested on a shelf above the television. Some of the smaller pieces were cutting into her knees and leaving bloody patterns on the carpet.
"What are you doing? You're cutting yourself to pieces!" said Claudia.
Erin jerked her head up from the shards of the vase. "He was in here! I know it!"
"Who was, hun?"
"Malcolm." Her frustration at not being able to find her boyfriend amidst the ruined vase was apparent. "I saw him jump into this thing, but now he's gone..." She threw the pieces she'd been holding to the ground in disgust. Claudia came over to her and got down beside her, putting a tentative arm around her shoulder. Erin began to cry. It was then that Claudia sought professional help.
The doctor that had met with Erin declared that it was merely stress that had caused the hallucinations. It was a logical explanation, but Malcolm (and the doctor himself, Malcolm was sure) didn't believe a word of it. Erin had no pressure to cope with, nothing that would cause her any stress. There was the fact that she would have been leaving for college in less than a month, but she was more excited than anything. No information could be drawn from Erin herself, for the only person she would even consider talking to was Malcolm and he was unreachable. "Everyone else is infested," she'd said. It wasn't until that night that she finally got to talk to him, but despite this, she wouldn't live to see the next day.
Claudia had been reading a magazine in the tattered recliner that had belonged to her husband later that night when Erin came up to her.
"I'm taking a bath, Mom," she murmured.
"Are you feeling better? Are the pills the doctor gave you helping?" A quick excursion to the trashcan in the kitchen would have alerted Claudia to the fact that the bottle of little green pills were buried there. Of course, she would make no such excursion.
"I feel all right. A little dirty, though." She gave Claudia a smile that put all of her worries to rest.
"Alrighty then, you go and take your bath," Claudia said. "Maybe when you're done we could play Scrabble?" Erin agreed and smiled another comforting smile and climbed the stairs to her room. Claudia watched and was completely unaware that Erin wouldn't be coming back down them alive.

Malcolm had taken a break from the back-breaking labor and the assembly of seemingly useless, if not abundant, things and was relaxing his tired, aching muscles on the couch. The couch itself rested in Claudia's new living room and was the only piece of furniture in the room that wasn't congested with junk.
In the nearly empty space, the thick ticking of the large grandfather clock in the corner reverberated around him, lulling him into a daze. His eyelids drooped, and he soon felt his body swaying back and forth, as if he were on a hammock being pushed lazily by the wind. The note he'd found on Erin's bathroom floor was crammed into his hip pocket, temporarily forgotten. He'd retrieved it when it was finally time to actually began on Erin's room. Ironically, it was at this time that Malcolm decided he'd had enough of that particular room and only went in when something heavy was to be lifted. He'd tried giving the note to Claudia, but she wouldn't accept it, and seemed to regard it as if it contained a terrible curse. He had read it several times himself, but it seemed to bring up more questions than it answered.
"Do you want to go home, Malcolm? You look like you could use a good night's sleep, and you've done so much for me today," Claudia's soft voice startled him out of his trance. Malcolm tilted his head up toward her and gave her a sheepish grin. He consulted his throbbing body, and decided that's exactly what he would do.
"I guess I will," he said. "Will you be okay here by yourself, Claudia?" She sighed and nodded.
"I do have my bed here so I have a place to sleep tonight," she said. Her voice was tired and haggard, and it demanded sleep more than she herself did. "But before you go, there's something I want you to have."
"I don't want your money, Claudia," he protested. He'd been waiting for her to try to pay him for his work, and Malcolm felt that he couldn't in good conscience take it. But Claudia shook her head. She went into the master bedroom and Malcolm could hear her rummaging around in one of the boxes that sat on her bed. She came back a moment later with a book in her hand, which she held out to Malcolm. He looked up at her, then at the book.
"What is it?" he said.
"It's Erin's diary," she replied quietly. "I gave it to her about a week ago."
"Why would you give this to me?" he asked, unable to suppress the perplexity in his voice. "Have you read it?"
"I can't force myself to even open it," she said, and a single tear rolled down her cheek. "I didn't want to throw it out because I figured you'd want it." Malcolm reluctantly took the diary from Claudia's slightly trembling hands. He wished her goodbye and left.
When he pulled into his driveway he switched off his headlights and sat in the darkness; the pressure of it was comforting. It wrapped itself around him like a thick blanket, drowning his thoughts and worries, and Malcolm relished it. After ten minutes or so he turned on the over head light and saw the diary, like an obedient dog, lying in the passenger seat. He picked it up and examined the front cover. The black leather on it was unblemished. He turned it over in his hands and on the bottom left hand corner was Erin Eberly written in silver sharpie. He flipped back to the front and with a deep breath opened to the first page. On it was written this:

Tuesday, June 3rd
Mom bought me a new diary. Thought I'd kill some time and write in it a bit. I'm going to a party this Saturday. But I guess since there's only going to be five people there you can really call it a party. Malcolm doesn't know if he'll get to go. He might have to go to a funeral. His Grandma's, I think. Well, I gotta go. Somebody's calling me. I hope you can go to the party Malcolm!

He was blindsided by this last sentence; it was almost as if she were talking to him. He snapped the book closed.

Malcolm had indeed gone to his grandmother's funeral---it was, in fact, him that had called, telling her this---and it was after he returned that he noticed a difference in his girlfriend. She seemed very drained, and she wore dark circles under her eyes like too much makeup; the look of an insomniac, Malcolm had thought when he saw her. He'd been unable to call her from his aunt's house where his family had stayed (they didn't have a telephone) so the first thing he did when he came through the door of his house Sunday afternoon was pick up his.
"Hello?" said a voice after a dozen rings had passed.
"Hi, Claudia. Is Erin in?"
"She is, but she's asleep." Now, what do you want? Her voice added. Malcolm ignored her tone.
"It's four o'clock in the afternoon. Is she sick or something?" Malcolm could hear a girl's voice in the background, but he supposed it could have been the television. Claudia usually watched her soaps at this time of the day. There was silence on the other line for a moment, then: "I think she is, Malcolm. And I think it would be best if she got some rest." Then with a soft click Mrs. Eberly hung up on him, but before she did he heard the girl's voice again, but this time he was sure that it belonged to Erin.

Despite Claudia's obvious attempts to get Malcolm to leave her alone, he drove over to Erin's house an hour later to check on her anyway. The way Claudia had abruptly terminated their conversation didn't sit well with Malcolm.
When he pulled into her driveway he noticed right away that Claudia's car was gone, so he parked his beside Erin�s.
Upon opening the car door a blast of frigid air cut at his face like knives. With his face pointed at the ground and his hands jammed into his pockets he trotted up the length of the sidewalk. He stepped up to the door and rang the bell. Malcolm heard soft, timid footsteps slowly approaching the door. It opened about three inches, exposing half of Erin's weary face.
"Malcolm!" she blurted excitedly but weakly and pushed the heavy door open. "What're you doing here? I thought my mom told you I was sick." Malcolm shrugged.
"She did, but a rampaging pack of wild boars couldn't keep me away from your pretty face," Then sarcastically: "But if my presence offends you that badly, I guess I can hit the road."
"You shut up," Erin smiled.

"I tried calling your cell phone but I guess you turned it off," said Malcolm. He took a drink of his diet Coke and cringed, not being a fan of any thing with the word "diet" in it.
"Uh, yeah. My phone's broke."
"How'd that happen?"
"Long story." Malcolm nodded and let the subject drop. He took one last drink of his soda then set it on the coffee table.
"So where'd your mom go, anyway?" Erin looked around nervously, ignoring his question and stared for a long time toward one of the plants in the corner. Her eyes grew wide, then finally met Malcolm's again.
"There's something you really need to know. I tried to tell you sooner, but you were away and I didn't know how to reach you."
"What is it, Erin?" Malcolm took Erin's shaking hands in his own. He braced himself for what was to come and prayed it wasn't what he thought it was.
"Well, I went to Jamie's yesterday and---"
The front door burst open, severing her statement in mid-sentence. Erin's mom came into the living room, holding a brown paper bag, the neck of an also brown bottle protruding from the opening.
"Okay, Malcolm, I need you to leave. Erin needs her sleep,"
"No, Mom, you can't---" Erin was once again cut off, this time by a sharp look from her mother. Malcolm had, for some reason, expected Claudia to react this way so he did as he was told. "It's alright, Erin," he said. "Love you." He kissed her cheek and got up from the couch. As he passed Claudia he could smell alcohol wafting from her.
"Bye, I'll call you later." he said over his shoulder. He looked at Claudia and she gave him a smile that seemed to say Just try it. He gave her a small wave and she continued to smile emptily at him. When he was on the porch he turned toward Erin. She looked at him from the couch with apologetic eyes. Malcolm remembered that expression above all else during the next few weeks.
Claudia closed the door in his face without saying another word to him. The deadbolt locked and Malcolm heard muffled voices arguing from within. He went back to his car and stood silently beside it for a moment. He glanced towards Erin's bedroom window and saw her there looking down at him. With a wave he got into the car and backed into the street, and as he sped away, watched her shrink in the rearview mirror. Malcolm decided that he'd come by the next day and try again. If Claudia was still just as unreasonable, he'd wait until she left before coming over. She was bound to eventually. After all, it's not like he didn't have all day to spend with his girlfriend.
It's amazing how wrong we can be sometimes.

Sunday, June 8th
This is crazy. I'm so unbelievably tired, but if I even close my eyes for a second, I see horrible things. It's bad enough that they're keeping me awake, but I also see them when my eyes are open. It's kind of like my house is haunted. Floorboards creak, whispers when I turn my back. I wish that's all it was. I went into the kitchen to get a glass of water a while ago, and when I opened the refrigerator to get the pitcher, my old dog (the one that ran off) was lying behind everything. It had one of our stake knives in its head and there was blood all over the fridge. Needless to say I forgot about the water. The worst part of that was when I got back up to my room. I opened the door and there were at least thirty people hanging from the ceiling from nooses that seemed to just appear out of the wall. Even now I keep expecting their dangling feet to kick me in the head, although they're gone now.
All this crap started at Jamie's party, I guess. From what I can remember, this guy came over and offered to sell Jamie some kind of drug. He said that monks in India smoked it so they could become enlightened, or something. Or something indeed. They said they wouldn't let me go home until I tried it, so I took a puff off of the little cigarette thing. At first everything was cool. But then I heard this crunching sound and I turned around and the entire wall was covered in cockroaches. Those big fat hissing ones. At first, although I couldn't figure out how THAT could possibly be enlightenment, I thought it was cool because it was actually working. I told Jamie about it but he said that I was being a dumb chick and that I should stop messing with him.
I sat in my little chair while the guys watched tv, completely forgetting me. I was tripping out over the little man that kept hopping around and poking everybody, when I heard somebody throwing up in the bathroom to my right. I looked in (which I still regret) and I saw a little girl, who couldn't have been a day over five, kneeling down with her head resting on the toilet seat. Her eyes were rolled back into her head. Although I don't know why, I looked into the toilet and saw organs floating in it. I'm surprised I didn't throw up myself. I just backed out of the bathroom and fell back into my chair. The guys were still watching tv, although it looked like it had gotten a little bigger. The tv, I mean. But they still ignored me.
I was getting scared, but I didn't freak out or anything. Well, at least until the woman on the ceiling, that is. I felt something drip on my head and I looked up. There was a woman lying on the ceiling. Not nailed or glued, but lying on it. Like she didn't have to obey the laws of gravity. She was cut up and half of her face was gone, blood dripping from all of her wounds. A lot of it even dripped on the guys, but they, of course, didn't notice it. It was then I decided to go home and sleep off the effects of the drug. I thought then at least that I could do that. I took off and on the way home I saw what looked like a dead naked chick lying in the ditch wearing some kind of plastic dress.
When I finally made it home, my cell phone started to ring. I picked it up, and I heard Malcolm's voice. He said something about a werewolf and then hung up. I know it wasn't him, though. He's at his aunt's. I hung up the phone and it rang again. I answered it and this time I heard my mother's voice. I don't remember what she said, but I know it scared me really bad. I hung up again and again it rang. It was my father's voice when I answered it. I remember exactly what he said. He told me he was glad he was dead, that way he didn't have to put up with me. I, being really freaked out by the whole experience, flung the phone as hard as I could. It smashed against the wall and shattered. I lay down on my bed, and as soon as I closed my eyes, I saw a flash of images, like every scary thing I'd ever seen in my whole life, or something. This effectively made sleep impossible. And somewhere in the middle of the night, my phone began to ring again. I really hope this drug wears off soon. I'd really hate to have to stay up until three o'clock every morning. Definitely wouldn't be good for my nerves.

Malcolm's heart was thundering in his chest and with each beat it felt as if it would burst from it. He could hear it slamming against his skull like an insane drum beat. He let the book rest on his lap, his thumb holding the page. His parents were asleep, and all the lights in the house were off save one, the one he was reading by. He sat in the den, in the large La-Z-Boy his father reclined in while watching television. It had begun to rain and Malcolm could faintly hear it sheeting off of the roof. It was a soothing sound, but he was nonetheless unnerved. He flipped through the rest of the diary, but all of the other pages were blank. Flaring up inside him was a sudden anger that surprised Malcolm. Anger towards Erin for leaving him, but mostly towards Jamie, the reason behind all of this. He decided to pay a visit to him fisrt thing in the morning.

Malcolm's heart, which had not burst from his chest, skipped a beat as he made his way to the decrepit residence of Jamie Kellner the following day. He rapped his knuckles on the door and was surprised when the dull red paint didn't chip off. He waited for a minute or two and when no one came he knocked again, harder this time. There was a rustling from inside and Malcolm saw a face peer at him from between the closed curtains to the right of him. A moment later the face opened the door in front of him.
"Whaddaya want?" said the rather unkept young man at the door, his voice groggy with sleep.
"We need to talk," said Malcolm. His eyes were anchored onto the man at the door's.
"About what, Malcolm?"
"I think you already know," Malcolm said, pushing past Jamie and into the house.
When both he and Jamie were seated in his kitchen (a scant little thing that seemed to reflect the rest of the house's condition) Malcolm began:
"Tell me about the Saturday night Erin came over. I want to know exactly what went on." Jamie looked apprehensively at him. A dozen lies surfaced in his mind, lies that could make him out to be a good guy, but he decided that the truth would probably be best, judging by the look in Malcolm's eyes. He sighed and started his story.
"Okay, the Saturday that Erin came over, this guy I know sold me this big bag of junk and---"

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