Broken

By Juda Maha 😜

I slowly crack my eyes open, waking up from what felt like an eternity of slumber. I look beside me. My obnoxiously bright pink phone case hurts my eyes. I look out of the window. The rain pours down heavily, pounding against the window. Almost like something is trying to get in. It’s a Monday, and I know I must prepare my children for school. I roll out of my bed, grabbing my phone off my coffee table. I walk downstairs, rubbing my eyes. I’m barely awake. Without thinking I trip on the last step, face planting onto the floor. I slowly lift myself, groaning. I check my phone, and my day is made instantly worse. A large crack has formed down the middle. I put my hand on my head and continue to my kitchen. It’s Fred’s first day of kindergarten today. His room is very close to the kitchen, so it’s easy to pack his bag. I slowly push his door open, trying to prevent it from creaking. It’s amusing to see him sleep. We built him a king bed, and he looks like a mite in the bed. He’s clutching his favorite plush, the dog from the Muppets. The contents of his bag are scattered across the floor, a colorful piece of paper in the center. I slowly creep into his room and look down at the paper.

My eyebrows slant. I’ll make sure to ask him about it in the car. I put the drawing into my pajama pocket and pick his bag up. I stuff the notebooks and crayons around the drawing into the bag, bending over each time. My back is going to be so sore later. I throw the bag on my shoulders and slowly close the door. Not another 3 hours until I’ll need to wake him. I place the bag on the kitchen island and open the fridge. I skim the contents of the fridge for bread. I pull the drawer out, but it doesn’t come out. I pull it again, getting more infuriated by the second. I pull it too hard, yanking the entire drawer out.

The contents spill out, including Tupperware full of bread. The transparent plastic is shattered. I think it’s broken. I curse to myself in my head and pick up the broken container. I bring it up to the counter, taking two slices of bread out of it. I hold the slices in the palm of my hand while reaching for our expensive plates. I throw the slices onto them. I turn back around to the fridge, grabbing a container of peanut butter and jelly. I take the butter knife from the nearest drawer and spread the peanut butter on one slice, and jelly onto the other. I put them together and go into the pantry to get Fred’s lunchbox. It has a picture of an astronaut on it. It used to belong to Dolores, my daughter. She’s in high school now, so she’s outgrown it. There’s a large crack down the middle of the astronaut’s face. It’s been broken for a bit now, and we should probably get a new one soon. I place the lunchbox down onto the countertop. As I open it, the thing creaks loudly. I do need to get a new one. Once Black Friday comes. I place the sandwich in a Ziploc bag, then place it into the lunch box. I scavenged the pantry for things Fred likes: A bag of crisps, a small juice pouch, and a cookie from the bakery I went to last night. I then take a small piece of paper and write a note for him: Dear Fred, have a good day. Love, Mum. As I write the message, I can’t help but feel empty inside. I don’t feel these feelings I’m writing on paper. It’s something I’ve been feeling for my whole life. People always tell me about how much family matters to them. How much they love their spouse. How much they love their children. But I’ve never felt that. I mean, I don’t hate my family. I still like Dolores. Fred is the only one I can say I love. But still not as much as a Mum should. I just like them. I don’t really love them. I quickly shake off the bad thoughts and place the paper in the lunch box. I then threw it into his bag. I need some time to clear my brain. I walk out onto the patio, still in my pajamas. The cold air wakes me up a bit. But as soon as I step out, rain hits the road. I mumble in frustration. As I walk back in, something catches the corner of my eye.

 

A black blur. I quickly snap my head around. The figure is still there. It’s almost like a dark void. A dark void in the shape of a person. It has a tall top hat on. I walk backward, and my breath turns shaky. It looks like what Fred drew. I quickly ran into the house, slamming the door shut behind me. To my surprise, Dolores got up early. “Molly?” she asks. She started calling me Molly when she hit high school. So, about a year ago. We’ve never been close, but it feels like we’ve drifted apart even further now that she’s reached high school. “What are you doing?” she asks.

 

“Nothing,” I say. I reach into my pajama pocket and pull out the cracked phone. 7:00 am. I rush past Dolores and into Fred’s room. I look back at Dolores. She walked out of the door, her bag hanging on her shoulder. I entered Fred’s room, turning the light on. He slowly rises from his bed. His pajamas have a large slash on them. I just got the pair a week ago at Target, so I’m not sure how it happened. In the back of my head, I think of the drawing. I think of the thing I saw. “What happened to your shirt? I asked him. He’s slow to respond, but after crawling out of his bed he answers. “Mr. Hat,” he says in a completely calm way. The sudden weight of the situation hits me like a sack of bricks. Something or someone is stalking us, and it’s already broken into our home. I pull the drawing out of my pocket and look at it. “Mr. Hat” has his arms extended into Fred’s room. “Mr. Hat is funny. Sometimes he’s scary, but sometimes he just looks at me. But it’s worse when he talks. That’s scary.”

 

“What does he say to you?” I asked Fred. My voice trembles. I find that my hands are shaking as I hold the paper. “I can’t tell. I guess I haven’t learned it yet,” he says. “Can you draw it?” I ask. He silently walks to the floor, taking a fresh piece of paper. After a few minutes, he showed me his drawing.

My stomach sinks as I look at the drawing. As if on cue, the thunder booms loudly the second I look at it, and the rain pours heavier.  I stuff it into my pocket. “Well, change into your school clothes. It’s time to go,” I say. Soon enough Fred is ready for school. He stands behind me as I open the door, revealing the harsh rain. The car is hardly visible through the thick fog and rain. All the umbrellas are broken, So Fred must use his hoodie. I don’t have a hoodie, so I must suck it up and walk in the rain. As we step out of the house, the heavy rain immediately hits my head and within seconds I am drenched. I look to Fred. The hoodie seems to be doing him well. Suddenly, I noticed something. We aren’t holding hands. Aren’t parents supposed to hold their child’s hand? Or do I not care that much?

Suddenly, my brain reminds me of the shape I saw. The thing my son drew. And the thought of holding my son’s hand seems more trivial than anything. I unlock the car and open the door for Fred. He sits down and takes his plush dog out of his bag. He shouldn’t be taking it to school, but I don’t care to return it to the house. I start the car, and the window wipers turn off almost immediately. The traffic is heavy. At a red light, I flip down the mirror. My dirty blond hair is flat and stringy from the rain. The bags around my eyes are more noticeable than ever. After a few minutes, we got to Fred’s school. Lucky for me, it’s close to our home. After dropping Fred off, I drove home. The rain is pouring hard, and it makes it hard to see. The traffic is much lighter now, so it’s not long before I pull into my driveway. I park my car and step out. The rain is gone. I look up, confused. The sun is shining bright like the middle of summer. I rushed into the house and shut the door behind me. I quickly retreat up the stairs, and into my bed. I lay in silence for what feels like hours until I finally fall asleep. 

I am awoken to the sound of thunder, crashing in the sky like symbols. I sit up in bed. A bead of cold sweat rolls down my forehead. My room leads directly into a hallway, where Dolores’ room is. Currently, someone is standing in that hallway. It took me a while to realize what I just thought. Something is in my house. My eyes grow as wide as dinner plates. I jump out of my bed, and throw myself at the door, shutting it. Again, loud thunder roars in the air. I push my entire body weight against the door. I can feel something knocking against the door, in a synchronized manner. 1, 2, 3. I don’t dare to utter a sound. The knocking at the door gets louder and louder, until it and the thunder are almost unrecognizable from each other. Silent tears flow down my eyes. It’s getting harder and harder to keep it from coming in. I can’t hold it anymore. The door bursts open, knocking me backward. I quickly stood up and rushed to the window. I rapidly finick with the window, trying desperately to get it open. I then realized what happened last week. I put a child lock on every window in the house. The key is in the kitchen drawer. I turn around, just to look at what’s currently in my room. I freeze in fear, and my hands drop to my side. It’s my dead husband.

His face is mutilated as it was from the accident. Only 5 days after we had Fred, there was a harsh thunderstorm. It knocked over a dead tree, and it fell right in our house. It destroyed the right of the house, beyond repair. He was on the right side of the house. His face is mangled and unrecognizable from the man I loved so dearly. I cover my mouth, frozen in fear. He towers over me, his body pitch black like the figure I saw in the rain. It’s just his face with excruciating detail. I must convince myself that it’s not him. It’s not him. But he just stands there. Staring. “Nathen?” I ask. He raises his hand, pointing at me. “It’s your fault,” he says. The rain pours down outside. Without thinking, I ran out of the room and shut the door. I won’t stop running, either. I won’t stop until I’ve made it out of the house, and into the pouring rain. I put my hands on my knees, exhausted. But when I look up, it’s back. The same position it was earlier. Nathen’s face is gone. But my fear isn’t. I dash in the opposite direction, into the open street. As I run, I look back. It’s just as fast as I am. Suddenly, a car appears on the open road. I dive out of the way and end up rolling into some grass. I look up at the sky. It’s bright. I feel the grass below me. It’s dry. Suddenly, the pressure of my situation hits me like a sack of bricks. I roll over onto my back, and I cry. On the night of the accident, we fought. A fight that ended with him sleeping in the guest bed. A fight that cost him his life. I cry even harder. But as I close my eyes, I see his face. His face is so mangled it almost looks like something out of a movie. I keep crying on the grass for what seems like hours, the sun beating down on my pajamas I didn’t change out of. Suddenly, I hear footsteps behind me. My heart sinks in my chest, and I look up. It’s my daughter, Dolores.

She makes a face. A mixture of concern, anger, and confusion. She makes the loudest, obnoxious sigh. “Get up,” she says. “Did you see him?” I ask, my voice is shaky and desperate. “Did you see it?” I ask again, louder this time. “See what?” she asks, in an irritated tone. I lower my head, knowing my efforts are futile. It doesn’t want Dolores. The walk home is awkward and silent. I guess I ran farther than I thought because the house is a mile away. She doesn’t mention how dirty my pajamas are, or how I was crying when she found me. She looks worried. Reasonably so. Suddenly, Dolores asks me a question. “Want to eat dinner together?"

“Sure,” I reply, without much thought. And by the time we reach the house, it’s time to pick up Fred.

I drive the car slowly. It’s still sunny, but a bit darker. The roads are still empty. It’s peaceful. For once in the day, I don’t feel awful. I’m excited about the dinner with my daughter. And I smile. Maybe it’s not so bad. I drove to Fred’s school. He’s waiting at the front, smiling. The second he jumps into the car; he starts to talk. “Hey, Mom! I made another drawing.”  Another drop of sweat rolls down my forehead. “May I see it?” He throws it in front of the car. I grab it and look at it.

“I didn’t have any crayons, so I couldn’t color it in,” he says. I look back at him, my eyes wide once again. I never told him about his father.  “I don’t like Daddy. He scares me.” I look back at the road, trying to think of anything to take my mind off the situation. It’s raining again. The roads are suddenly full of cars again. It isn’t long before I reach a red light. When I do, I look back at Fred. Despite all of this, he’s smiling. “Can you tell me what happened?” I ask him. “I saw something in the window. He said he was Daddy. He had a funny look to him, though. I didn’t like that,” he says. Soon, the cars start to move again. The rain isn’t as heavy as it was last time. After waiting for the red light, the roads are mostly empty. Normally, I would be confused as to where the cars went. But after all that’s happened today, I hardly notice it. When we arrive home, Fred runs out of the car. I follow him. The rain is gone again. I look up at the sky. The sunset is beautiful.

 

When I walk in, I find Dolores has already set up the table. A bag from some burger joint I’ve never seen before sits in the center of the table. “Thanks,” I say while sitting down. Fred runs out of his room, his plush dog in hand. “Dolores!” he shouts. He runs up and hugs her. Dolores is always at school or off doing something, so Fred rarely sees her. We all sit down at the table. I look around. I don’t think we’ve done this since the accident. “So, Dolores, what’s going on with you?” I ask. “Nothing you don’t already know,” she says. After she says this, I realize something. I don’t know that much about Dolores. My daughter and I hardly know her. I try to shake the thought loose, but it stays like a bad omen. The thunder outside briefly illuminates the pitch-black darkness. “Wasn’t it just sunny?” Fred asks. I shrug it off and eat the burger. I don’t think I’ve eaten anything all day, come to think of it. The table is completely silent. Suddenly, Dolores breaks it. “I’m just going to address the elephant in the room,” she says, standing up. “What’s going on, Molly? I’ve seen you twice today, and both times you look like something horrible happened to you.” I turn my head away. “Can’t you just call me Mom?” I ask her, trying to change the subject. “You know full well why I don’t call you my mother,” she says. The anger in her voice rises. “Why, then?!” I shout. “No. Tell me why.” She looks at Fred. He’s squeezing his stuffie so hard it might burst. She then looks back at me. “Because you’re the reason Dad is dead.” I look at her with pure anger. I refuse to believe she just said that. I stand up from my chair. “Don’t you dare start with that.  You know full well not to bring that up in front of Fred,” I shout.

“Stop using Fred as an excuse for you to ignore it! If you hadn’t argued with Dad that night, he might have still been with us. But no, you just had to argue about some stupid grade I got on some stupid test 5 years ago!” I can feel the tears forming in my eyes, as I sit back down. “You’re a bad mother. And all you’ve done for the last 5 years is whine and moan about something YOU caused.”

She storms up into her room, slamming the door loudly. I’m left alone with Fred. I look down at my food and silently sob. All I can hear is the deafening rain. I stand up from the table, and walk to the guest bedroom. “Go to bed Fred,” I say. He quickly scampers to his room, leaving his stuffie behind. I shut the door to the guest bedroom, and colapse on the mattress. The guest bedroom has big windows besides the bed. Outside next to the window is the streetlight, making it easy to see the pouring rain. I’m too exhasted to cry. So I lay on my side, staring at the thundering rain.

After what feels like a eternity spent looking at a window, something happens. It appears. It at first stares into the room, not looking at me. Maybe if I cover my face it’ll think the room is empty. I slowly lift the blanket off of my face. It’s staring right at me, this time with peircing red eyes. It then starts to speak to me. It’s voice is deep, and garbled. It’s speech is complete gibberish to be, but it still fills my body with fear. The rain pours all around him, but he stays completely dry. “Please, leave me alone,” I say. My voice sounds defeated and small. And too by surprise, it dissapers. I breathe a sigh of relief. But the rain pours harder, again as if trying to break into my house. I shrug it off and close my eyes. Untill I hear footsteps outside my door.

Of course it didn’t leave. How foolish of me to think it would have left me alone. It’s footsteps get louder and louder, untill they come to a full stop. Then I hear knocking at my door. But only once. The rain is so loud, it tunes it all out. After a few minutes of me staring at the door, the power goes out. It’s pitch dark. Even the streetlamp outside has turned off. I sit in silence. What is going to happen to me? The door slowly creaks open, as it puts one boney hand around the knob. The door is now fully open, from what I can tell based on sound. Then, it latches on to me.

I am in an almost dreamlike state. I shout loud crys of agony and fear, but nobody comes for me. I feel a horrible burning feeling in my eyes and mouth. The thing claws at my face, each scratch worse and worse. The rain outside completely deafens me as to where I cannot hear anything else. I barely make out the sound of the genorater we installed beeping, but it’s still darkness. Not a sliver of light touches my eyes. I hear a faint squelching sound through the rain. Like someone eating. But soon, almost all sound but the rain goes away. And that’s the last thing I hear. The sound of heavy rain on a Monday night.