Buried On My Land Page 2

  "She might think they're sleeping, at least the woman. And the guy went off to take a leak."

  "Hope so," said Jesse, barely audible.

  "Jerk wants to sell his sandwich. He'd make 'em come back from the dead to pay up."

  Willy chuckled.

  "Sooner or later, we're gonna be outta options, you know that, don't you, Jess'?"

  Jesse said nothing, concentrating on the road ahead. In the cold car, only the rhythmic swish of the windshield wipers was heard. Back and forth, back and forth they went.

  Chapter 7

  Jesse suggested switching cars, but Willy declined.

  "Don't take this the wrong way, Jesse," he said.

  "But I don't think the house will work out."

  "Hey!"

  "Fucker's haunted."

  "You think so?"

  "Got a bad feeling about this one."

  "No."

  "Tom's dead or he's left town."

  They came to the street on which Tom's old spacious house stood waiting for them. Few of the other houses had their lights on. Jesse envied their warm living rooms and long driveways.

  "Let's eat in the car on the next street," suggested Willy.

  "Tom's home now?" asked Jesse.

  "Or the shed."

  "No."

  "Jesse girl, you deserve better. No. We are not going back into the shed."

  "Let's go in and get it over with. What about the police?"

  "Hard to say."

  "I don't want to leave and not know what happened to Tom."

  "Here's the plan: we park in front of the house. We get the stuff from the shed. We eat inside, lights on. We look for him. If he's in there, okay. We introduce ourselves. If not, we go to bed. Real natural like. As if we belong."

  Jesse agreed and did as she was told. When she exited the car, she looked around nervously, but it was dark and raining, and most people were inside and leading their lives.

  The backside kitchen door stood ajar.

  "Jess', did you leave it like this?"

  "Sorry, Will, can't remember."

  I lock the door behind me. There are so many bedrooms on this the second floor, they won't be bothered by the idea one of them is locked. Some doors are locked in this house ? They will be too spooked to go checking everywhere.

  Or will they ? they are brutish, after all.

  I am so tired. I was up all night last night burying another nosy customer. The pillows look so soft. I will gladly lay my head down on them. Tomorrow I will deal with the new intruders - my way. Tomorrow, or maybe the day after ? (maybe never), but for tonight I am through with them. Let them eat like pigs and drink and smoke pot and make love and whatever primitive things a skank and an idiot will do in a house that does not belong to them.

  What if they do go through all the rooms? I'm tired of worrying. I am tired of giving it another thought.

  Chapter 8

  "Tom! TOM!"

  "Anyone up there?"

  Silence. Jesse and Willy were standing at the bottom of the stairs.

  "We've got some delicious food here, and the back door was open!"

  "Tom! Come on down and get it!"

  They listened.

  "No one home. Now let's eat."

  Jesse nodded and turned on the light in what looked like a dining room. Repairs had been made, but the tools were still on the table. With a stroke of his arm, Willy swept all the things off the table. He sat down and unwrapped his food.

  Jesse took a white plastic fork and picked thoughtfully at her piece of pie.

  Willy, chewing on his cheeseburgers, said:

  "Mmh. These are good."

  "Are we going to go from room to room?"

  "This place is huge. From the looks of it, he isn't here."

  "What if he comes out of his hiding place and finds us in his bed?" asked Jesse.

  "Well, then he'll just have to fuck us or kill us."

  Jesse giggled.

  "I'll put on my good dress tomorrow. For old time's sake."

  "Did you check Facebook again?"

  "My phone's dead. He had a laptop upstairs, and wifi under the desk covered with layers of dust."

  "Seems we have the manse all to ourselves."

  "Are you just a little bit jealous?"

  "Why would I be?"

  "I'd be Tom's girlfriend."

  "Just like that?"

  She looked at him defiantly.

  "You hit me."

  "You needed it."

  Willy was finished and lit up a cigarette.

  "What if the neighbors call the police because they're not used to seeing the lights on in here?"

  "We'll deal with it," said Willy, blowing out smoke through his nose.

  "I'll go see if the showers work, and if there's hot water."

  "I wouldn't count on it."

  Jesse scraped together the trash and cleared the table. Willy was working on a bottle of whiskey, mixing it with the Coca Cola. Stretching, Jesse looked up the staircase, scanning for any sign of life. She jogged up the steps and searched for a bathroom. She found one at the end of the first floor hallway. Something was trickling down the walls. It looked like blood, dark red and thick. Jesse glanced at it and chose to ignore it.

  She could not, however, ignore the red letters smeared on the bathroom mirror:

  "He will always be my baby."

  Chapter 9

  Jesse found a sponge and wiped away the letters slowly and carefully. She dried the mirror with toilet paper, of which there was an abundance. There was hot water, too. She felt pangs of disappointment. She had secretly hoped the house would be abandoned, and they could stay, if only for a little while, and pretend it was theirs.

  She was wary of the shower, stopping every so often and opening the stall to peek out, turning off the water and listening. She could have sworn she heard someone whispering. Another time she heard a slap, as if someone had slapped another person in the face.

  Willy came to look for her and he dried her off. She pointed to the toilet paper.

  "This house is a pile of shit," remarked Willy.

  "It has nothing. But it has lots of toilet paper?"

  "Go figure," laughed Jesse.

  "So we should conduct a thorough search of the house? More likely now ? he is hiding."

  "Please not tonight," Jesse cooed, kissing him on his scruffy cheek.

  "Yeah, let's hit the sack."

  He wrapped the towel around Jesse's shoulders. Then he picked her up.

  "Good news is the bed sheets are fairly fresh, too ?"

  By the time he had reached the master bedroom, Jesse was asleep in his arms.

  Willy left the lights on and took a little tour of the house. Before closing the bedroom door behind him (with satisfaction he discovered it could be locked from the inside), he called out into the hallway:

  "Tom? Can you hear me, you wuss? Tomorrow is the day. It's showtime. I'm a comin' for ya! Don't bother hiding. You can't hide from me."

  Chapter 10

  Willy remembered stretching his tired old bones all the way down to the end of the mattress and cocooning himself into the quilt that covered the bed, not caring if it left Jesse with only a thin sheet. He remembered the sensation of release, of finally being able to sleep in a real bed, in a real house, for free.

  Later though, images started to flood his mind. He tossed and turned, woke up, fell asleep again. At one point, he had trouble breathing. Something was clogging his nostrils. It smelled fresh, and he knew the smell ? It was all over. He was covered. He was covered with a quilt. No, he was covered with something heavy. A woman was lying on top of him.

  "Jesse? Not now, hun," he mumbled.

  What was on top of him was not Jesse. She mostly smelled like bubble gum and menthol cigarettes, sweat and cheap deodorant. This bitch reeked of ? earth?

  The image of a flower pot came to mind, of flowers. He was ? buried.

  "You're buried on my land!" a
female voice hissed.

  "You need to go!"

  Willy felt all his alarm bells go off, he was on the verge of a panic. He remembered the voice, it had whispered to him before in the house.

  "Sophie," he said out loud.

  Jesse turned and asked:

  "What? Who is she?"

  She was too tired to stay awake. She pulled the quilt over to her side, but she did not get much of it, Willy was tarped in it like a mummy.

  In his dream and in reality, Willy tried to move his arms, but he could not. He screamed. Jesse sat up, rubbing her eyes.

  On Willy's stomach a specter sat, in long skirts and a corset. Jesse stared at her, then rubbed her eyes again.

  With yellow, rotten teeth (most of them stained, many missing), the ghost grinned at her with a wild tormented expression in her emaciated face. Jesse would have screamed, but she could not believe what she was seeing.

  "It's a dream. A stupid dream," she said, and turned over on her side.

  Willy was fumbling furiously with the quilt, and in his dream he found himself tied with duct tape and plastic handcuffs. Masses of fresh soil weighed heavily on him; he had been buried in a shallow grave, but he had been buried well. He tried to scream again, this time, however, the nightmare was merciless, he choked on a mouthful of dirt replete with writhing worms and a substance he could only identify as feces.

  "Wait," said Jesse, sitting up again.

  "I remember a Sophie ?"

  "Of course you remember Aunt Sophie," the ghost cooed.

  "You were a Halloween costume."

  "No! You foolish girl!"

  The ghost of Aunt Sophie shrieked, cackling like a witch as she flew to the ceiling, and flew through the ceiling. Jesse shook her head.

  "A dream. A really stupid fucker of a dream."

  Confident she would remember nothing come morning, she once again turned on her side away from the thrashing Willy and tried to get back to sleep again.

  Willy was suffocating. His body undulated in utter horror like a caterpillar's, growing more frantic by the second. Suddenly, he was ramrod stiff, as if having an attack or a climax, then he slacked again and began to undulate once more. The movements rocked the bed. Jesse, sighing, ran her fingers through her hair and realized he would not let her sleep.

  "What is wrong with you, Willy?" she wailed.

  His voice was muffled, the words came out muted and garbled. Jesse sat astride his stomach, as Aunt Sophie had. She tried to find the end of the quilt, tried to start freeing Willy. He was writhing, convulsing, and then she slapped him, left and right, and again. He started to relax.

  Jesse grabbed him by the shoulders, lost her grip and put a hand on each side of his head. She yelled at him:

  "Willy! Willy! Wake up!"

  And then:

  "Come back to me, baby!"

  Willy's eyes were suddenly open, staring at something awful in the distance.

  "Sophie isn't real. She's just a costume, thrown on a mannequin doll."

  "Sophie?"

  "I think I remember where Tom stores her for Halloween."

  Willy was still having difficulty with his breathing. Jesse got off of his stomach, and helped him sit up in bed.

  "Oh my God!" he shouted.

  He coughed and retched. A gurgling sound came up from the insides of his throat.

  "What was THAT?"

  "A nightmare."

  "No ? it was so REAL."

  "Seems that way sometimes, baby."

  "That shit was real, I swear."

  "It's just nerves."

  Willy took deep, grateful breaths of air, trying to regain his composure. Jesse rubbed his back.

  "I ? I ? was ? they ? I ? was buried alive!"

  "Yeah, baby, now you're here. I'm here."

  He looked at her with wide open eyes, as if he did not recognize her. The early morning light was a mellow mix of pink and blue and gray.

  "You're still alive, Will," Jesse said and laughed.

  "Guess so."

  He was slowly returning to normal.

  "And that friggin' bitch ? sat on my ? couldn't breathe."

  "Aunt Sophie."

  "That was her name."

  "A family joke in this house."

  Jesse smiled. She was playing with her hair, braiding it, unbraiding it.

  "Go get coffee," Willy ordered, his voice rough and cold.

  Jesse dressed quickly and left the room, hurt.

  Willy held his head in his hands. He returned in his mind to the grave.

  "Tell me about it, Sophie," he said softly.

  Chapter 11

  So she has found the last of my coffee. It's enough for one cup. When she sees me standing behind her, and I am inching closer ? she will surely scream. She has been rehearsing this scene over and over in her head ? when she finally gets to meet her new money machine. All the words she will use to spin her web, promising me an end to my loneliness and despair, just enough bullshit and cajoling so I cough up some cash.

  There. She spins around, steaming coffee in her hand, and sees ? the Tom of her dreams. Her face pales. No, no, no, she had ? already written me off. Hoped I had left or died, and she could stay in the house, pretend it was hers. Fuck that stupid moron of a boyfriend of hers day and night, on my sheets, in my bed. In my rooms. Right next to my corpse?

  Wrong house, my dear. Wrong family.

  "Why Tom! There you are!" gushed Jesse.

  "It's good to see you! You remember me, don't you?"

  "Yes."

  They stand silent, frozen. Jesse sets the coffee cup back down on the counter, the top of which is peeling off.

  "I'm sorry we just ? barged in here and slept here and all ?"

  "Why did you do that?"

  "We didn't know where else to go."

  Tom takes a step back. They stare at each other.

  "I'm not a hotel, you know."

  "I understand. We're leaving after this one cup of coffee? Please?"

  "I get the first sip."

  He took the cup she offered from her hands and their fingers touched. Jesse frowned. Tom grinned and sipped thoughtfully. He handed the cup back as Willy appeared in the door frame, dressed only in jeans.

  "Willy?"

  "That would have to be me."

  "Hello. I'm Tom."

  "Nice to meet you."

  They shook hands. The coffee cup went around, and they stood in the kitchen, the faucet dripping.

  "How long do you intend to stay?"

  "We're moving on, no problem."

  Tom nodded. He moved to Jesse and put his cold hand on her shoulder.

  "Thanks for making coffee."

  He cleared his throat.

  "You guys have transportation?"

  They nodded and said yes.

  "Then do me a favor and run down to the store. There's a big one six blocks down, you can't miss it. Buy some coffee, breakfast for tomorrow, lunch and dinner for today. And sandwiches. Money is in the jar in that cupboard."

  Jesse and Willy smiled. Tom shook hands with Willy again and marched out of the room awkwardly. Jesse let Willy hug her.

  Willy looked up at the ceiling.

  "Thanks, Aunt Sophie."

  Snorting, he added:

  "Jesus, this place gives me the creeps ?"

  Chapter 12

  Tom looked down on them from a first floor window as they hurried along the street to their old wreck of a car. When he was fairly certain they were gone, he turned grudgingly around in the dingy room and peered out into the hallway. The house was unusually quiet. Even for the daytime. He had to do it now.

  They would be back soon, happy to have found a place to return to.

  The gallery has never been moved. Not in all the time this house has stood on this very spot. Jesse and Willy will get bolder and noisier with every day they stay here.

  I will have to make them leave, if Aunt Sophie doesn't. Now Jesse, I'd like to have her for a little whi
le longer. But not that ape. He thinks I'm weak, and he'll try to take advantage of me.

  I have been so very lonely for so very many long years. Inhumanly lonely. I so need the touch of another ? the soft loving tenderness of a woman. At the same time, I know it would never last.

  I am not made that way.

  Tom bit down hard on his knuckles. He was getting soft. He could not allow himself to dabble in such petty emotions. He had to be strong. So much was at stake. He had to open the gallery and see for himself. Go there with a fresh set of eyes, so-to-speak, imagine he were Jesse or Willy. What would they see? So much work and toil had gone into the Gallery.

  He ran out of the room and past all the doors in the hallway and up a flight of steps, then up another. At the end of the third floor hallway was a pull-down attic ladder. Below, a glass door led into the sacred display. Tom's eyes were moist with tears. His mother was in there, too.

  He knocked softly, reverently. He thought he heard someone whisper. Leaning against a wall, Tom tried to wrestle with his innermost fears. They won. He screamed. His face was eerily twisted and contorted.

  "What's wrong with her?" I asked.

  "Oh, she's fine," Aunt Sophie had dismissed my question with a wave of her hand.

  "She'll be living in the gallery now."

  "Why?"

  "It's cooler there."

  I cried and she wanted to spank me.

  "Why, you ungrateful boy!"

  Uncle Umberto nodded solemnly.

  "So many children are orphans. They never get to see their mother again! Ever!"

  Tom raised his hand and ran it across the glass door that led into the 'Gallery'.

  "Oh, I can see her anytime."

  He touched the glass door for a while, comforted by the certainty, and hoped he could gather strength enough to face what was in the Gallery.

  The Gallery was an oblong room, with floor-length windows and heavy red velvet curtains. Amongst the marble statues and (now dehydrated) plants, tall-backed wooden armchairs stood, elaborately carved and decorated, and in these grand old-fashioned chairs embalmed corpses were seated. They were all family members of Tom's.