LITERAL REMAINS

Mitchell tucked the three one hundred dollar bills into his wallet and then stuffed the tattered leather thing into his back pocket. “Thank you, Mr. Laverty,” he said, a mannerly smile etched across his unblemished face.

Laverty laughed. “You’re welcome, Mitch. You may want to buy you a new wallet, that thing of yours looks like it’s about had it.”

“Yes, sir,” Mitch agreed with him. “I guess I do. But it was my dad’s, and I….Maybe one day soon.”

“I understand, son,” Laverty said. He patted the hood of Mitch’s ragged truck. “This wasn’t your daddy’s too, was it?”

Mitch smiled big. “No sir, I bought this myself. Right before I graduated last spring.”

Laverty nodded. “Well, maybe you should replace the truck.”

Mitch smiled and nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Laverty looked back to the barn and stables. Mitch read his thoughts. “We’re all done, Mr. Laverty. I’m the last to leave. Everything’s put up safely for the night.”

“All right, son.” Laverty kicked the front tire. “First here, last to leave.”

“As always.”

“As always,” Mr. Laverty repeated.

Mitch climbed into his truck, squeaking the door closed. Laverty rested his hand on the cab. “Mitch.”

“Yes, sir?”

Mr. Laverty smiled. He shook his head. “Nothing. It’s going to hurt if you ever find another job. Some job that you don’t have to shovel horse shit.”

“I don’t plan on doing that, Mr. Laverty,” Mitch smiled and turned the ignition key. “I know how much you need someone with brains on your crew.”

Laverty snorted. “Get out of here son, before I fire your ass,” and laughed as he watched his best worker leave for the day.

#

It was one o’clock when he woke. It was always one it seemed to him. He had fallen asleep on the couch again, the television playing an infomercial for a new and revolutionary kitchen appliance. Mitch searched for the remote and clicked the set off. He reached to turn off the lamp, but decided against the idea. He could go upstairs, go to bed. He thought he didn’t feel like it.

The horse stirred in the corral as he crossed the yard to the barn. His father had bought him that horse as a graduation present, just three months before he had died. Mitch leaned against the plank fence and the horse sauntered over to him.

“How you doing, boy?” he stroked his muzzle.

Mitch opened the barn doors and searched for the light switch. He flicked it and the bare bulbs skittered on, casting dim light and submerging the corners in shadows. Mitch closed the doors and barred them.

#

It was Friday, and just like every Friday that he had been working for Mr. Laverty, the boss told them they could all leave at noon. Mitch and his coworkers went straightway to Dale’s Steak and Spirits. By five most of the men were beyond plastered.

Mitch sat in the corner, drinking a soda. Dale had let him drink beer before, but he just didn’t have a taste for alcohol. He sipped his soft drink, listening unconnected to Julio and his thick-accent rants.

“What do you think, Mitch, huh?” Julio was staring at him.

Mitch perked up. “What?”

Julio motioned with his head to the bar. “What do you think?” Two women had wandered in and were leaned against the counter waiting for their suds.

Mitch nodded. “They’re okay, I guess. Too old for me, but go for it, Julio.”

Julio flashed his helter-skelter smile. He crouched close and low, like a dog on the attack. “Look at the one with the big titties, man.”

“The old one?” Mitch said.

Julio said, “Fuck man, the one with the big titties. I’d put my dick in that shit.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Yeah,” he said to Mitch, “the old one.”

Mitch choked on a swallow of soda. “Too old for me.”

“You could hit that, man,” Julio was estatic. “Older women, they like young dick. Your shit is strong, ain’t it?”

“Yeah.” Mitch could feel his cheeks getting warm.

“Fuck yeah!” Julio yelled. “Shh,” he quieted himself. “Forty year women like to ride eighteen dick, know what I mean?”

Mitch tried not to laugh. “I know what you mean, Julio.”

Julio leaned back in his chair. “You are so goddamn lucky, muchacho, and you don’t even know it. You can get young pussy, old pussy. Any kind of pussy you want, man.” Julio swigged his beer and grabbed his balls. “Me and myhombre,” he shook his crotch hard, “we get nasty pussy. You know what I mean?”

“Yeah, Julio,” Mitch was sympathetic.

Julio shook his head, still holding himself. “No, man, you don’t understand. I mean nasty. We get stinky pussy. Pussy with scars and warts and shit, man. That kind of pussy, is not right, man.”

Mitch said, “You might want to drink some coffee.”

Julio stared at the two women. He belched. “I’m getting a hard-on, man. I’ll be in the bathroom.” He stood and stumbled off, clutching to the wall for support. “I’m gonna puke,” his voice receded.

Mitch was finishing his soda when Charisma came in. Charisma Laverty, his boss’s daughter, tall and slender, long blonde hair and blue eyes that filled Mitch with sorrow. She saw him through the smoke, through the gloom, and smiled as she waved, as she walked slowly to him, as if she had been searching for him.

“Hey, Mitch,” Charisma said and eased into Julio’s vacant chair.

“Hi,” he said.

Charisma smiled. “I thought that was your truck outside.” She glanced down, then those sapphires pierced him again. “I knew it was your truck, I see it almost every day.” Her cheeks were rosy.

“Yeah, it’s mine.” Mitch rolled his eyes. She laughed. “Start over,” he said. “Hello, Charisma.”

“Hello, Mitch,” she said.

Julio came shuffling from the back and fell against the barstools. The front of his shirt was wet and his mouth smeared with dried vomit.

Mitch met her eyes again. “Why do you come here?” she asked him.

He thought of his empty house. Of the barn. “I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

#

Picnic tables lined the pond in the park. Street lamps lined the walkways, and strands of clear Christmas lights ran the length from tree to tree year round.

Mitch and Charisma sat on a table, tossing stones into the pond, listening to the frogs croak and skip across the water, lilypad to lilypad. She lit a cigarette as he popped the top of another soda.

“Those aren’t good for you,” she said.

He fanned smoke from his face and faked a cough.

She grinned. “Point taken.”

“To each his own,” Mitch said.

Silence passed between them. Charisma kept looking at him, but Mitch only stared out across the dark water reflecting the lights and echoing the hollow call of the frogs and crickets.

Charisma sighed. “You hardly ever talk to me when I see.”

“I’m at Laverty Stables to work.”

“What about when you’re in the park?”

“I’m here for the soda and second hand smoke.”

She nudged him with her elbow.

“Were you looking for me tonight?” Mitch asked.

“Yes,” she answered.

“Why?” he sipped his soda.

Smoke crawled over Charisma’s cherry lips. “I wanted to see you.”

Mitch glanced at her and she was looking at him. He quickly looked away.

“I like talking to you,” she said.

“When I talk.”

“You used to talk all the time.”

He looked at her then away again. “Yeah.”

“Yeah,” she mocked him. “I keep waiting for you to ask me out again. But I don’t think you ever will. I thought after your father….I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

She joined him gazing at the lights wavering on the water. “I thought you’d ask me out again, but you didn’t. You don’t even talk to me anymore.” She stared at him, hoping he would look at her. “I don’t like knowing you’re all alone all the time. It’s a sad way to live.”

“Thank you,” he said. “It’s nice to know you care. But I think we’re better as friends.”

“You mean we’re still friends?”

Mitch looked at her smile and smiled himself.

#

It was a full moon that followed him across the yard to the barn. He was shirtless and his tanned skin broke out in bumps as the late air blew across his chest. Mitch opened the barn doors and found the light switch easy with the moon’s assistance. He flicked the switch and closed the doors.

The musk of earth and hay pricked his nostrils, tingling, sending sensations across his brain and down his spine. He didn’t know if it was electricity, or some other vibration in the air, that crept through his nerves, it didn’t matter. Natural, or unnatural, he felt it, and it was unlike anything he had ever known before. Just standing there, the blood was rushing, beating drums on his brain and their echoes resounded throughout his arms and legs. The lights were already glaring in his head. The recessive shadows seemed to call him.

Mitch barred the door. He unfastened his jeans to ease the ache of his erection.

#

It was nearly noon before Mitch woke up. He was in his bed. He didn’t remember finding his room, or falling asleep. He threw back the blankets and discovered he was naked. There was a scratch across his left shoulder and he was filthy with dirt, it was ground into the creases of his knees.

Mitch got up and showered, scrubbing hard until his skin was red. He thought that one day he would peel the flesh clean from his bones.

He toweled off and dressed, and made his way downstairs. He snatched an apple from the counter and cleaned it on his shirt. He sat on the front steps outside, eating his breakfast and watching the horse. The sun was high in the sky and the day was as close to perfection as anyone could imagine.

Half the apple was gone and he tossed it, barely making it over the fence to the horse. As the horse ate at it, Mitch let his eyes wander to the barn. No, he thought, not right now.

He stood and went back inside, back upstairs, almost running. On the landing, he stopped before a picture of his parents. Mitch never knew his mother, she had left not long after he was born. The face in that photo, though pretty, was a stranger, a phantom standing beside his dad. She had called only a handful of times throughout the years, that was all; she never expressed a desire to see Mitch, never wanted to meet. Their conversations were always brief, lasting mere minutes, and always very insignificant. Her last phone call had been six years ago. Mitch did not care for another.

He went to his father’s room and stood in the doorway. The drum was sounding in his head. He could see the red lights staring him eye to eye.

It wasn’t until the telephone rang that he realized he knew what he wanted to do.

#

Mitch looked himself over in the mirror. Showered, shaved, clean shirt. Cologne. He was ready. He jogged downstairs and out the door. The sun was just now setting.

Down the drive, he saw car lights. They came closer and he smiled.

Charisma stopped and got out. “I hope you like Chinese take-out,” she said.

“Anything is fine,” he said.

#

The small boxes of food, some empty, some half picked, littered the kitchen table. A single lamp lit the den, and the radio was tuned to an old country station. Charisma was stretched out on the couch; Mitch sat the floor at her side, resting on the edge of the cushion, lightly holding her hand.

“I never realized how big your house is,” Charisma said.

“I guess it’s kind of big.” Mitch sunk low in himself for a split second then surfaced. “For one person, I guess it is big.”

Charisma propped up on an elbow, making sure her hand didn’t slide from his. “Don’t you get lonely?”

“No,” Mitch said. “Why would I?”

“Here all by yourself, you don’t get lonesome?”

Mitch cocked a thumb. “Didn’t you see the horse?”

Charisma laughed and laid back on the couch. “I would get lonely,” she said, her eyes darting over the ceiling. “I would get down right scared all by myself.”

“I do okay.”

“Says you.”

Mitch replied, “I have plenty of friends to keep me company. You’re here.”

“I’m glad you let me come over, too” she said. “You know, my daddy is awful watchful over me-”

Mitch smirked, “With good reason.”

Charisma playfully bopped him on his head. “Just what are you saying Mitchell?”

“Nothing,” he grinned incessantly.

“That’s what I thought, boy,” she said trying to look stern. “Anyway, as I was trying to say, my daddy practically offered to carry me over here tonight. You know he thinks a lot of you.”

“I know,” Mitch’s voice was far off.

The horse whinnied outside. They could hear him stomping the ground.

“I’ll be right back,” Mitch said, getting up.

Charisma was hot on his heels. “You’re not leaving me in here alone,” she said. “This is a big damn house.”

Mitch chuckled as he lead the way onto the porch.

The horse stomped again, and snorted.

Mitch reached inside and flicked a switch. A flood light came on over the corral.

“What is it?” Charisma asked from behind him.

“He wants attention.”

They strolled to the corral, Charisma searching for anything that might jump from the darkness. The horse met them at the fence. Mitch propped his arms on the fence and the horse nudged him.

“What’s his name?” Charisma asked, stroking the horse’s chin.

“He.”

“He?”

“Yeah, I never really named him.”

“You know that’s a shame,” she said.

“I know.”

The horse lowered his head, wanting to be petted more.

“Can I name him?” Charisma asked.

“Sure,” Mitch said.

Charisma smiled. “All right. He needs a good name. A stately name.” She thought a minute. “He’s your horse….” Thinking, thinking. Her eyes brightened. “I got it!”

Mitch half smiled. “What?”

“The perfect name,” Charisma said, proud.

“What is it?”

She met Mitch eye to eye. “I’m With Stupid.”

Mitch titled his head sideways. “You’ve had it now,” he said.

Charisma raced off, screaming, as Mitch gave chase.

#

Mitch stood on the porch, his hand resting over his heart. Charisma was asleep upstairs in his bed. He could still smell her on his skin, sweet and esurient. They had made love tenderly, the way she wanted. It was foreign to him, tender, but she had felt so fragile in his arms, fragile underneath him, on top of him, beside him. He had had the fear that if he was firm, or forceful, in a manner more than what she had wanted or expected, she would have collapsed there in his arms like porcelain. Or worse, she would have run.

His chest was hollow to the touch. His heart was sleeping. It thumped loudly as he thought things through.

Mitch quietly opened the door and crept upstairs. Charisma was still asleep, curled up under the blankets. He bent down and brushed loose strands of hair from her face. She didn’t stir.

#

Charisma woke at the lightning strike, thinking it had hit the house. She thought she was dreaming in those first few seconds, because she was in the barn, not the house, not Mitch’s room.

Mitch stood over her, a bullwhip in his hand. He raised it, swung it in a wide arc over his head and snapped it again.

“Don’t you love that sound?” he said. “I do.” He wound the whip around his fist. “I do.”

Charisma couldn’t talk, her mouth was gagged. She couldn’t move. Her hands were tied behind her back, her ankles bound. She was naked, propped up on a post, and a rope coiled around her like a snake from her ankles to her neck where it formed a snug noose. As she tried to move, Charisma learned the noose was secured to the post.

She began to cry, sobbing around the gag. Mitch sat down beside her. “What’s wrong?” He was plaintive. “Don’t be afraid.” He stroked her cheek. “There’s nothing to be scared of. I love you. I want to share this with you.”

Charisma sobbed louder, trying to cough, feeling nauseous. Mitch placed his hand on her chest. “Your heart is racing,” he said evenly. “That’s good.” He stood up, draping the whip on his shoulders. “That’s how my heart does. It races!” He spun around, eyes gleaming. “It feels like it’s going to burst from your chest, doesn’t it?”

Charisma nodded, crying.

“Do you see the lights?”

She looked up.

“Not these,” he said firmly disappointed. His voice was like a shock that snapped at her, getting her attention. “The lights. You’ll see them soon.”

Mitch stretched his arms out, flexed his back. He dropped the whip and began to strip his clothes off. “I used to not see the lights either, except when…I was in here. But the more I did it, the more I pushed it….I began to see the lights even when I wasn’t here. I see them everywhere now. Like a beacon. Calling me back.”

He was naked now, and kicked the pile of clothes to the side. He went into a dark stall and drug out a heavy trunk. He wiped dust off the lid and sat down.

“This,” Mitch said and hit the trunk lid. “This is one of my dad’s little secrets. One.” He smiled, “You’ll see the other in a little bit.”

Charisma sat up straight, pushing hard against the post, wanting to back away, to escape.

“You see, after I got a certain age, eighteen to be exact, my dad let me in on a few things. He told me he would have shared sooner, but I seemed like such a gentle spirit. So quiet and shy. He didn’t want to hurt me, you see.” Mitch was calm, informative, as he spoke. “You know how parents are. If he hadn’t of gotten sick, he may never have told me. But he didn’t want me discovering these things on my own. He didn’t want me being surprised and wondering what kind of man my dad really was.” Mitch took a breath, running his hand along the trunk. “But, as it turned out, me and my dad….” His voice was dreamy as he said, “Like father, like son.”

Mitch jumped up, semi-hard, and flung the lid open and rummaged through the contents.

Charisma couldn’t see inside the large trunk from her position on the ground. But she feared what might be buried in there, and she feared not only for her safety, but for Mitch completely.

“Most of this is just stuff, you know,” he said then turned around. He held a magazine and flipped through it as he approached her. “These are just odds and ends things.”

He straddled her lap and held the magazine up for her to see. She closed her eyes and turned from him.

“Just look,” his honeyed voice coaxed. “I want to share with you. I know you won’t judge me. You’re the one person who won’t think bad of me.”

Charisma tediously faced him and opened her eyes.

On the magazine page was a woman tied in the same fashion as Charisma, but somewhere in a basement, masked and anonymous. Her eyes weren’t tearful, though, as Charisma’s were, her eyes were ecstatic.

Mitch flipped the pages. “This one,” he said, “this one. Look.”

Charisma felt his dick harden on her thigh.

On this page, the woman was drawn wrists and hands, dangling in the air. A sweat-glistened bald man with a painted-on clown face was inserting a life-size mold of an arm and fist into her.

Mitch turned the pages, Charisma watched as the man fucked her with the rubber arm.

Mitch laid the magazine to the side. He lightly ran his fingernails over Charisma’s breasts, stomach, and thighs. Her flesh pimpled and her already erect nipples stiffened even more as shivers caressed her nerves.

Mitch went back to the trunk. He pulled out the rubber arm. He coyly intoned, “Don’t worry.” He rapped himself on the head with it as he said, “Knock, knock.” He chucked it back in the trunk. “Just a joke.”

Mitch slammed the lid shut and pushed the trunk out of the way with a huff. “There’s a lot of stuff in that thing,” he said, dusting himself off and absently stroking his erection. “You can look through it later, if you want.”

Charisma shuffled uneasily on the ground.

“But,” Mitch’s face lit afire. “This you have to see!” He sprinted to her. “I have to show you this!”

Charisma could feel the tears welling up again as he jogged off to the far end of the barn, to the shadowy wall. She thought she would choke on her own heart.

Mitch made for a small door at the back, then stopped just as he was ready to unlatch the lock. “I said to myself just the other day, I had to share this with you. I just had to!” His face glowed, and Charisma thought she could see, even from this distance, even though he was half out of the light, a red tint to his eyes.

“Trust me,” he said. “You’ll like it.” He pulled the latch. “At least I think you will.” Mitch let loose of the door and it swung open of its own accord, groaning on its hinges.

Charisma stared at the difficult dark of the small doorway. Her chest hurt. She heard herself breathing, her heart thumping, ready to split cracks in the sides of her head.

Something moved in that secret place. Something moved. She heard it moving over the earth.

Charisma blinked, clearing the tears from her eyes. Her head was going to explode. But she looked anyway, trying to pick apart the black abyss.

Then she heard it breathe. Not heavy. Unruffled and temperate.

Charisma shuffled on the ground, squirming, trying to move against her bonds.

“It’s okay,” Mitch said serenely, but she could not tell if he was talking to her or whatever was in the dark.

Two red eyes opened in the darkness and looked at her.

Charisma tried to scream, tried to yell, try to break her neck with the noose. She lashed about, choking herself, grunting, digging her heels in the ground. She felt arms around her and she urinated on herself.

“It’s okay, Charisma.” It was Mitch. It was his arms that embraced, that held her in place. His flesh to her flesh. “It’s okay.” His strong arms closed around her like steel jaws.

The red eyes blinked.

Charisma buried her face in Mitch’s chest. “Why?” she tried screaming, but the gag defeated her cries.

Mitch stroked her head. “It’s okay.” He kissed her gently. “I would never hurt you.”

She lifted her tearful eyes to him, pleading. “I would never see you hurt,” Mitch said. He guided her gaze to the eyes.

The red eyes blinked once more, glowing ethereally. They moved. The thing shifted, and inched forward languidly. It crawled from the dark room into the low light, being born before Charisma’s eyes.

It scaled the ground on its hands and feet. It was female from all appearances. Its head was charcoal, the skin leather wrinkles over its face and scalp; eyes lidless, and its pallid tongue slithered out to wet them. The thing’s naked body was gray and too thin; its bones twisted like snakes under its skin as it moved.

If Charisma’s mouth was unrestrained, she still would not have been able to speak. Fright possessed her. Those eyes penetrated her.

“She won’t hurt you,” Mitch said.

Charisma willed her soul to God. She prayed for something to rupture inside, to lose consciousness in any fashion necessary. Death or coma, she didn’t care.

It crawled closer, bringing with it a moist odor of hay, sweat, and flesh. It flicked its tongue at Mitch and Charisma. It fixed them with its eyes, those red orbs pulsating.

Mitch removed Charisma’s gag. Saliva pooled around her limp tongue.

The creature came within inches of her, sniffing her hair, her breasts, the stale urine.

“Don’t be afraid,” Mitch said as he squatted behind the creature and took it by the thighs.

#

Mitch was curled up, lying on the dirt in a stall. The creature brushed his hair back, stroked his face then ran its hand down his shoulder and along his ribs. He stirred in his sleep, faintly moaning. It flicked its tongue, tasting the air. It turned and met Charisma down on her knees, a blanket around her shoulders, staring at Mitch. She met eyes with the creature, her face frail and dreamy. Charisma raised her hand, shaky and chilly, and touched its face. Its tongue tasted the flesh of her hand and she smiled.

 

 

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