Darker Things - Excerpt

THEY SAY

It’s all your fault Ned. That was the thought that always cropped up when he was at a funeral. It didn’t matter how long ago the accident was or how distant the memory of that night became; He would still hear that inner voice. It’s all your fault Ned. It was too. He understood that explicitly. The road was wet, they were screaming at each other. No one checked to see if Gayle was buckled in properly. The report said she was ejected and thrown 130 feet. Dead on impact.

Thank god for that, they say.

Even now, as Ned sits on the wooden pew, he could hear them talking; rehashing the same empty words filled with the same fake sympathy. “He passed away in his sleep. No pain. Well, thank God for that.” They say. As if a peaceful death is some great reward that we should all covet. Let us bend our knees now and thank the very same god that tortured and murdered his son. Yeah. Thank god for that. They say.

These people didn’t even know his grandfather; or so he assumed. Maybe it was Ned that was the real stranger. Estranged from his mother’s side of the family ever since they ditched Nebraska for the great deserts of New Mexico. That had to have been, What? 29 years now, maybe more. Since then his mother had another son and experienced a divorce. Since then, Ned and Ryan’s father hung himself from the family jungle gym he built in the backyard. Since then his mother died mixing sleeping pills with her alcohol.

The Bennett curse strikes again, Ned thought. How surreal it must have felt for him to sit there on that pew. His grandfather had the itch to drink too. He too had issues with sleeping. Maybe it’ll come for me next, Ned’s inner voice teased. If only he could be so lucky. He hated drinking. 

Ryan was only 4 years younger than Ned but his stature was intimidating. Nearly six feet three inches he had moved back to Nebraska to help the old man in his last days. Real estate had been his game, his choice poison, and as someone who struggled to pay their rent, Ned resented him for it. Ryan wasn’t just a salesman, but a landlord. He became a parasite. He moved so easily around the crowd, all smiles and jokes. Hugs and cheek kisses. 

He’s dead, ya know; Ned’s voice chuckled. The old man is dead and you’re acting like it’s a fucking mixer. Why do you care Ned? You don’t even know the old fucker.

“NED, 

I’m hoping you’ll sell it.” Ryan screamed over both the radio and his truck’s engine. Ryan had divorced his wife a few years earlier. The truck, a jacked up dually, of which he didn’t need; was his latest impulse purchase. “I’m not saying you have to, but the soil is prime stuff. I’m sure I could get an investor on the farm in less than three days ready to write a fat check.”

Ned was only partially listening. He kept a tight and firm grip on the door’s handle. The ‘oh shit’ handle. Ryan was an aggressive driver. The road was an old farm to market road. It was a two way street. It didn’t stop Ryan from swerving between traffic, including oncoming. “Why did he leave it to me?”

Ryan shrugged. “You’re the oldest.” Ryan had an inkling, a small suspicion that maybe the old man was confused. Ryan had only come to Nebraska to get as far away from Albuquerque as he could after the divorce was finalized. Ned wasn’t going to take him in. And to be frank, Ryan didn’t want to stay with him. Back then, it had been 5 years since his niece died and Ned was still the mopey depressed mess he had always been. The old man didn’t even believe Ryan at first. Hell, by the end of it all, the old man called him by his brother’s name; a lot. 

“Rye, can you please slow down?” Ned’s voice interrupted.

Ryan glanced over to Ned. His knuckles were white, gripping the small leather loop handle attached to the door. He eased off the gas pedal, watching the RPMs drop. “Sorry, it’s just a bit far.”

Ned relaxed a little as the engine’s roar faded to a relaxing purr. He hadn’t seen that house in some time. “What happened to Grandma?” Ned asked.

Ryan gave another shrug. “She went missing about 8 years ago.”

“Damn, 8 years and he never contacted us?” Ned asked.

“Well, it’s not like he knew where to find us. To be fair, communication is a two-way street.”

“Much like this road, so please slow down.” Ryan sighed and rolled his eyes. He eased off the gas more. He hated this. It felt like they were crawling. The scenery on either side was nothing more than flat, unending fields. Most had corn stalks, slowly browning in the early August wind; others must have just harvested or were left to fallow.  “So no word as to what happened to her?” Ned asked.

“Well, to be frank I think she just left the old man.” Ryan explained. “He wasn’t exactly pleasant.”

 “Ah.” Ned exclaimed. “So, what’s the place like?”

“It’s,” Ryan stopped for a moment. His words caught in his throat, “spooky.”

“Spooky?”

“It’s just, like, old and shit.”

“Okay, but the condition.”

“Listen, the house isn’t the selling point.” Ryan interrupted. “What’s going to sell for you is the soil. I’ve got people offering over 9k an acre and that’s because of the soil alone.”

“Maybe I want to live there.” Ned admitted, now more relaxed, that the truck was going below the speed limit.

Ryan chuckled, flicking the radio off. “What the fuck do you know about farming?”

“I didn’t say I wanted to farm. Maybe It’d be nice to just get away. Plus, mom did grow up there.” Ned admitted. Ryan opened his mouth to rebuttal, but stopped himself. A look of annoyance washed over him and he gave out a long and exaggerated sigh. 

“Think it over at least, okay?”

“No promises.” Ned’s favorite catchphrase.

“Oh my god.” Ryan groaned as he eased his foot onto the break. A small white sedan was cruising along the road. “We’re already 15 below the limit. How much slower do you want to go, grandma!” Rye screamed. He whipped the wheel of the truck around and slammed on the gas swerving around the vehicle, blaring the truck's horn as he sped past.

Ned gripped the leather loop again, “For fuck sakes Rye.”

“I’m just gettin’ ‘round her.” Ryan explained as he slowed the carriage once more. A shit eating grin on his face. Fuck did Ned hate that fucking grin on his face. “How’s work been?”

“Pretty fucking rough Rye.” Ned admitted with a bit of bittered annoyance in his voice. He hated talking about that place. Thinking about that place. That smell. He had given 14 years to the slaughter house, for what? At least you have a union. Ned chuckled. “Let’s just say I’m glad I don’t own a gun.”

“Whoa, whoa, buddy. Slow down!” Ryan barked. “That’s not funny. Mass shootings are a serious problem in America and NOT a joke!” 

“What?” Ned asked. He made a mock gun with his fingers and pointed it at his temple. “On myself idiot.”

Ryan pondered that for a moment and then let out a big hearty laugh. “Oh, you were making a joke!”

“Yeah.” Ned turned back to the window, admiring the sea of plowed, but empty, fields. “How big is the farm?

“50 Acres.”

“I don’t know shit about farming.”

“Yep.” Ryan let out a sigh, a release of pressure and frustration. “Shame to let that land go to waste.”

Ned rolled his eyes. Ryan never had to worry about rent. Not your brother’s fault he was smart with his money. Ned’s voice bit back. Another eye roll. “Do you remember the stories mom would tell us about that place?”

Ryan couldn’t “Nope.”

“That there were monsters in the basement that grandpa fed people to.”

“The fuck are you talking about Ned?”

Ned turned around. Ryan’s face was contorted into confusion. He threw up his hands, palms out. “The story about the monsters from the star that grandpa would feed people to? She’d tell us that when we were younger and misbehaving. Said she would send us there if we didn’t shape up?” His voice was pleading, searching for some sign of life in his brother’s thick skull.

“Oh shit, that unlocked a core memory.” Ryan said, his face snapping to attention. “Yeah, she said they rode in on a falling star and tended to the soil. Said it couldn’t grow anything back then too.” Ryan scoffed, “Clearly she was wrong about that.”

“DId you find any?”

“Find any, what?”

“Monsters?”

Ryan chuckled, “Only the one I left back in Albuquerque.”

THE HOUSE

Was in poor condition. The front porch was slanted forward, the wood rotting along the doorframe. The paint was peeling and turning a deep dingy gray color. The roof was the only thing that seemed to be in decent condition. Though the sharp angle at which it sloped made the house look like the tip of a spear. Behind the house was a massive field of corn. Its stalks had gone golden brown. 

“The roof is new,” Ryan began as he pulled his truck onto the property, “I replaced it a few months ago for the old man.” He pointed a beefy finger at the fields behind the house. “This stuff is ready to harvest, I’ve already got ads out looking to hire folks for the job. No need to let it go to waste.”

Ned could hear the frustration in his brother’s voice. He wanted Ned to sell the place. He wanted his commission check. Rye had never been a money oriented soul. Ned believed it had to do with the divorce. Maybe it led to an identity crisis. What better way to find yourself than through Alpha Male seminars that preach the wrongdoings of modern womanhood. All for a variable rate of $1500 a month.

Money won’t bring her back. Money won't make you desirable, brother. You're rotten from the inside now.

When the truck had parked, the pair had climbed out from the cab. The ground was dry and cracked, each footstep kicked up a bucket of dust around their feet. What little grass that was around had become withered and golden, crunching beneath their boots. “It’s dry.”

“Yeah,” Ryan began, “Happened after the old man passed away. This all used to be green grass all year ‘round.”

Ned glanced around, looking at the flat fields. There were no neighbors, there hadn’t been for the last 20 minutes of the trip. Just endless seas of golden grass. “Superstitious?” Ned asked.

Ryan tested the stairs with his boot, slowly putting more and more weight on the rotted wood. “No, there just isn’t anyone around here to care for the land.” The wood groaned under his weight, but it held.

“I thought you said 50 acres? this looks like a lot more than 50.”

“Don’t get your hopes up, the other parcels of land were sold off over the years. Don’t go changing the fence line, you’ll piss off a bunch of inbreds with shotguns.” Ryan fumbled with his keys before inserting one into the door and twisting the lock to the side. 

The inside of the house was in much better condition. No sign of decay or rot. The entrance of the house was a small hallway. To the right wall was a staircase that led up to the second story. Up there were three doors, two for the bedrooms and one for the bathroom. At the end of the hall was the kitchen/dining room combo. Its linoleum flooring and floral wallpaper had yellowed with nicotine. Grandma was a smoker after all. To the left was a narrow archway that led to the living area. 

All of their furniture was still here. There were small parts of the house that jostled very few memories. The first was the family portraits on the staircase wall. Ned could recall how they were always just a little off, never perfectly centered. The smell of the house, the stale air of aged nicotine came back in droves. He could remember smelling breakfast in the earliest light of morning. A light gray fog from grandma’s chain smoking licking the ceiling of the house.

“This place looks a lot better on the inside.” Ned admitted, following his brother deeper into the house. They passed the stairs, moving towards the kitchen.

“Yeah it wasn’t always like this.” Ryan admitted. “When I moved in I hired a cleaning service to clean this place out. It was a mess.”  They stopped at the entrance of the kitchen. Ryan slammed his beefy palm against the stair’s wall. “Right here is the entrance to the basement,” Ryan explained, “It’s been sealed up.”

Ned examined the wallpaper. He could see a small crease in the floral wallpaper, as if it were overlaid on something creating a faint rectangular outline..  He ran his fingers against the rectangular outline.  “Ned! You get away from there ya hear!” He could hear his grandmother yell from the kitchen. “Why is it sealed?” Ned asked.

Ryan pushed through into the kitchen with Ned trudging behind. “Well the old man said it was from mold. He fucking freaked out on me when I had scheduled a mold inspector to come handle it.” Ryan sat at the old kitchen table. It had a floral tablecloth over it, hiding the cheap aluminum legs. The chair creaked against his brother’s weight, wobbling with every adjustment Ryan made. “If you’re gonna be living here, we’ll have to get that mold infestation under control.”

Ned settled into the seat across from him. “What was he like?”

“Who? The dead guy?” Ryan asked, pulling his phone from his pocket, locking his eyes onto the bluelight.

“Yeah, the dead guy.”

“Fucking cranky.” Ryan admitted as his thumb idly scrolled against his screen. “His head wasn’t all there near the end. Kept finding him outside talking to the basement window.”

Ned’s curiosity peaked. “Talking?”

“Honestly fucking screaming his head off. Like a lunatic. It got to the point where I just stopped going out after him.” He slid his phone into his pocket. “I had to move out, Ned. I wasn’t getting sleep here.”

“I get it.” Ned answered. He didn’t, he and Ryan both knew that. It’s just a saying, an empty platitude no different than ‘Well, thank God for that’.

“Well,” Ryan began,  “I’d love to hang out and catch up, but I do have like a two hour drive back to Lincoln.” Ryan stood from his chair, walking around the table to pat his beefy palm on Ned’s back. “So get your shit out of my truck.”

A GHOST

Is what Ned felt like. Wandering around the empty rooms, cataloging memories of people who no longer exist. The living room reeked of tobacco and stale coffee. The carpet, once a light blue, was now a gray color, with large yellow and brown stains scattered as if it were a topographical map. The TV was about ten years out of date. A shelf filled with old movies converted to DVD stood out like a scar in the backdrop of the old. Ned ran his fingers across the dusty tops of the wooden furniture. Most of it was old furniture from great grandparents whom Ned never had the pleasure of knowing.

He couldn’t bring himself to be in the master bedroom. When he walked in there and sat on the bed, he felt like an intruder. Like his grandparents would be home from some distant vacation and then scold him for being in their bed. But they're gone now. Still, he opted to sleep in his mother’s old bedroom. It was only half the size of the master and it still held many of his mother’s old things.

A shrine to the daughter you pushed away…

An oak dresser, emptied, stood at the far wall in front of the window that overlooked the corn fields. A metal bed frame with an aged and yellowed mattress was pressed against one corner of the room. So many of his mother’s things plastered the walls around him. Posters of Hall and Oates, vision boards, polaroids of friends and family. Her bed sheets, pink and white were neatly folded on the mattress. Ned made the bed, looking over the posters and pictures as he did so. A nightstand stood next to the bed, an old desk lamp with no shade stood stalwart against the darkness. 

Ned unzipped his suitcase and began to place his folded clothes into the dresser. The sun was rapidly setting and the night sky began to tease its display of twinkling promises. That was when he found the letter. It tumbled out from between a pair of shirts. It had been folded into a neat square with his name written on top.

Why are you doing this to yourself?

He set the shirts aside and grabbed the paper. He had read it a thousand times, maybe more…

To Ned,

Every time I look at you, all I can think about is what you stole from me. I’ll never smell her hair again. I’ll never hear her laugh or be able to soothe her when she is scared. You couldn’t calm down could you? You couldn’t just admit you were wrong and just stop screaming. No you had to hit me, you had to scream at Gayle. You had to keep driving faster and faster. You took her from me. You stole something good from this world. 

And now I’ll take all that you have left,

Joan

She shot herself. Ned found her corpse slumped against the wall, her face painting the ceiling above her. A shotgun between her legs, a big toe wrapped around the trigger. He couldn’t help but think of how useful those monkey feet ended up being for her. Since then, Ned sold all of his guns. Since then, Ned kept that letter next to his bedside. Since then, Ned curled into a ball on his bed and screamed into his pillow. Since then, Ned hasn’t slept the same.

No dreams came to Ned that night. He was used to it. He simply closed his eyes against the dying light of the sun and when he next opened them the first light of day began to shine through. He hadn’t changed or climbed under the blankets either. The last thing he could remember was…

He turned over looking at the little nightstand. Underneath the yellow glow of the bulb was a perfectly folded square piece of paper with his name written on it. And now, I’ll take all you have left. The sentence twirled around in his head, beating against the greymatter of his brain. Losing Gayle wasn’t punishment enough. God had to take you both, he thought to himself. It was easier that way. Easier to blame a deity than to accept the simpler facts of life. 

It’s all your fault, Ned. You did this.

Ned rose himself from the bed, kicking his feet over the side so he could rest his elbows on his thighs. He rubbed sleep from his eyes but then he just sat there for a while, his face in his hands. He could see swinging loafers swaying in the harsh wind. He could see blood dripping from the ceiling. He could see Gayle’s blue eyes, soulless, an empty window of what was once there. 

He pulled his hands down, dragging the fat of his cheeks with him. It made his eyes droop, blurring his vision. He groaned loudly and stood from the old mattress. He stretched, letting the gas escape from his spine, making satisfying popping sounds as it did so. 

But that wasn’t his spine. He stopped, his ears straining. It was faint but there was the soft sound of grease popping. Quickly the smell of ham began to seep in through his nostrils. He quietly moved to the door, cracking it ever so slightly. The noise was louder and the smell stronger. He swung the door open more and walked out onto the second floor landing. “Hello?” He called down but no one responded. “Rye?”

THe sound of sizzling grease still assaulted the air. A soft gray haze was kissing the underside of the ceiling. If Ryan were down there cooking, that gray haze would be black smoke. But the haze didn’t smell of ham. It reeked of tobacco. 

He began to stomp down the stairs. He hadn’t heard anyone moving around. If they were in the kitchen they could easily have slipped out the back door but the screen door was on a spring. It would have slammed shut and if anyone was making a run for the front door Ned could have easily spotted them. “Hello?” Ned called again when he reached the bottom of the stairs. As he turned to face the kitchen, the sound of sizzling grease stopped, the gray haze dissipated and the smell of ham faded away. 

Ned stood there in the hallway, expecting to see a shadow or some person peek around the corner. But nothing. He walked into the kitchen. The stove top was off and the dishes were still in  their respective cabinets. All was undisturbed. “Hello?” Ryan called out one last time. 

The house groaned, its wood creaking as it started to adjust to the slow crawling heat of the day. It was just Ned, all alone in that house. A phantom in his memory playing audio snippets of ghosts long passed. Ned’s phone vibrated against his outer thigh. He reached into his pocket and pulled it out. The caller ID read ‘RYE’.

“Hello?” Ned answered with the swipe of his thumb.

“How was your first night there mouth breather?” Ryan replied, his voice sounding thinner over the cellphone’s speaker.

Ned sauntered over to the small fridge, opening it. The shelving laid bare against the soft yellow light inside the fridge. “It was…” Ned thought for a minute, “spooky.” He answered, closing the fridge door.

“See, I told you! That place is rightfully creepy. I think it’s the roof.” Ryan chimed in. “Anyway. I’ll be there a little after 3pm today to take you into town.”

“That’s good because -”

“The fridge is empty, I know.” Ryan admitted. “If I didn’t have to plan a funeral all alone…”

“Yeah, yeah.” Ned sighed with the roll of his eyes. He found himself doing that a lot lately. Rolling his eyes anytime someone or something frustrated him. “Hey, no rush; there’s plenty of corn.”

Ryan chuckled. “Don’t eat that, that’s as good as gold.”

“Is it?”

The silence lasted longer than either of them expected. “Shit, I don’t know. I’ve never sold corn before.” Ryan’s horn blasted from the speaker. “It’s fucking green!” Ryan screamed. “Use your fucking gas pedal you invalid!”

“I’ll see you a little after 3.” Ned replied, hanging up the phone. I do not want to hear that. He thought to himself.

The light was slowly starting to overtake the day. It filtered in from the Eastern windows filling the rooms with a soft golden light. Dust particles danced in the godrays as if they were circus performers, twirling and dancing as they floated to their resting place.

Ned sat down at the kitchen table. He looked around at the yellowing linoleum flooring and the wilted wallpaper.  The underside of the table cloth was cotton, Ned toyed with a strand of it between his fingertips. “Well.” He said out loud. “Now what?”