“Hey sweetheart,” Simmons sat his briefcase down and returned her broad smile with one of his own. She clung tightly around his neck, kissing him warmly on his cheek. Simmons looked up with a smile at his wife, Jennifer, who stood waiting her turn. “Hello dear,” she said giving him a small peck on his lips. “Dinner will be on in a minute,” she continued walking back to the kitchen. Simmons followed her stopping off at the dining room table. He loosened his tie and sat with Tina while Jennifer served up the evening meal. The evening progressed, as did most. Talk around the dinner table, the evening news, a sitcom or two, and a board game of Tina’s choosing. Snakes and Ladders were this evenings challenge. Bedtime came and Simmons read a story to Tina as Jennifer cradled her. Simmons kissed his little girl good night and began his evening with Jennifer. It was a night like any other. A night like most. ~ ~ ~ Simmons woke with a fright. Beads of sweat clung heavily to his brow. His sweat soaked T-shirt clung tightly to his body. Quick burst of air blew through his lips as he tried to regain his composure. He looked into the darkness, his vision blurred; the shadows appeared as they might if he were looking through a fishbowl. He steadied himself, rubbed his eyes clear, then looked down at Jennifer; who lay wrapped in a sheet. Simmons sat up, swung his legs over and sat at the side of the bed. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he released a deep breath and smiled, “feel like a damn kid.” A nightmare he thought something he hadn’t had in years. Whatever he dreamt about was enough to cut through the thatches of deep sleep and wake him in the midst of a cold sweat. He thought for a moment, trying to capture the visions of his nightmare. It wasn’t something one would chose to remember, but for Simmons it made him wonder what could have scared him so. Simmons stood, shook the cobwebs from his mind and quickly dismissed his attempt. The cool breeze that filtered through the aluminum blinds was comforting. The day had been long and hot, as they always were during the late spring. However, just as likely were the evening thunderstorms and tonight wasn’t any different. He licked his parched lips, deciding a glass of water would do him some good. He made for the bathroom. Shutting the door behind him, he squinted his eyes from the rush of white light. “What a dream huh?” He asked his reflection, through narrowed eyes. Finishing his glass of water he shut off the light and exited the bathroom. He walked slowly across the bedroom, allowing his eyes time to adjust to the darkness. He reached out a hand and held the bedpost. Then he stopped dead, his eyes moved to the bedroom door. A whisper floated across the room. He looked over at Jennifer; her body was still, wrapped as before. Again, the same whisper. He moved towards the door, his heart raced. “There.” He heard it again, this time more clearly. Someone was downstairs. Someone was in the house. The sweat rolled down his cheek. “Shit,” Simmons moaned under his breath. He looked around the bedroom in search of something he could use as a weapon. He found nothing. He stood, thought for a moment of waking Jennifer, but thought better of it. “Handle it, man.” He urged himself. Quietly he opened the door wider, slipped his head out and peeked around the door jam. Nothing became obvious; he sensed no movement, no whispered conversation of what to take, and what to leave behind. “There.” Again, the word scouted through the darkness. Simmons swallowed deeply, pushing himself into the hallway. Standing at the top of the stairs, he tried to penetrate the shadows. Still he saw nothing. Cautiously he moved down the stairs, one riser at a time. His eyes were wide, absorbing what little light melted the darkness. His ears tuned into every sound. “There.” From the kitchen, he decided. Still stepping silently down the stairs, he reached the bottom, landing him in the living room. He walked slowly along the wall, inching closer to the kitchen. He could hear movement in the kitchen, who ever it was, was in the kitchen. Simmons moved just enough of his head around the corner to give him a look into the kitchen. He saw a shadow, a figure, a small figure kneeling on the kitchen floor. “There,” the whisper of a child calmed his nerves. He exhaled easily, flipped the light on and walked casually into the kitchen. It was Tina. What a night of frights, he thought as he chuckled to himself. “Tina? What are you doing?” “There,” She repeated in the same whisper as before. A whisper which Simmons noted as eerie. “Tina?” Simmons repeated. “There,” she said again, oblivious of her father’s presence. Simmons walked over to her, peering over her shoulder, “Tina?” He stumbled back, smacking hard into the counter. “Oh God,” he exclaimed, placing his hand over his mouth. “There,” Tina repeated, plunging a paring knife into the torso of their dead cat. “Jennifer, Jennifer,” he yelled frantically looking down at his daughter in horror. She looked up at him; all emotion was drained from her face. Her eyes were rolled back in her head, all that was visible was white. She clutched the paring knife in her blood dripping hand, her knuckles white from the force. Simmons did the only thing he could do at that moment; he stared back at her. Blood stained her lips, like red from a Popsicle. Her hands drowned in cat’s blood. Specks of flesh clung feebly to the paring knife, falling from the stainless steel onto her nightgown. She didn’t move, only stared. Simmons turned, “Jennifer!” He was able to squeeze out another call before burying his face into the kitchen sink. The fluid in his stomach rushed from his mouth over the evening’s dishes. The pink vomit splashed against the Teflon pan splattering the splashguard and onto the counter. Simmons flipped on the faucet sipped a mouthful of water from his cupped hand and spat it back out. Wiping his mouth with his hand, he looked back at Tina. She was gone. All that remained was the cat. It’s body pitted with a dozen or so wounds. It lay in a pool of its own blood and entrails. Its fur matted down from the puncture wounds, and escaping blood. Simmons stood for a moment, “There,” his daughter’s voice whispered the word again. “Jennifer!” Simmons called as he moved quickly up the stairs.
Small handprints dotted the wall leading back into his bedroom. Simmons’ shoulders sank, his eyes turned to the bedroom, but his feet wouldn’t give pursuit. “There.” Simmons felt his body tense, so much so he could feel his blood as it traveled rapidly through his veins. “Jennifer,” the name fell dead from his lips. “There.” Simmons closed his eyes, “Jesus.” He said as he reached a hand into the bedroom. Light spilled out into the hallway. Simmons pushed the bedroom door open. Jennifer lay in the same position as she had when he left. He looked around, but didn’t see Tina. The bathroom, he thought. He shook his head, “Tina,” he called. “Come on dear.” Simmons pushed the door to the bathroom open and hit the light, nothing. “Tina,” he called for her again. He looked over at the bed. The sheets were stained, his wife’s face bloodied. “Tina, where are you?” He called again. He ran his hand through Jennifer’s hair his eyes welled. Pulling the sheet back, he drew a breath. Simmons fell back into the closet door. He looked away from his wife’s pitted body. “Ahh!” The pain screamed from Simmons’ body. “There.” He fell to the carpet, clutching his side. “There.” Again, she plunged the paring knife into him. Simmons gasped for breath. He held his hands in front of him, trying to fend of his daughter. “There.” Simmons screamed at the sight of the knife tip as it penetrated through the back of his hand. “Tina…” The word stuttered through his lips. “There.” Again, the knife plunged into his torso. “Stop.” Simmons tried to push himself up and through her. He couldn’t. Her strength was unnatural, her eyes glazed, possessed. “There.” She pushed the paring knife into his eye socket, sending Simmons onto his back. He looked at her through crimson. She walked towards him, knife ready. “Tina.” His body convulsed with each penetration. He watched the face of his five year-old daughter as she plunged the paring knife into him, until his last breath escaped his murdered will. “There.” Tina returned to her room. Set the paring knife on her nightstand and climbed into bed. “Good-night,” she said as she pet the head of their cat that lay on the pillow beside her. She smiled broadly as she did when her father came home, snuggled her stuffed bear and fell into slumber. Febraury 2000 HofP |