S.L. Kletz

It sits in a box in my passenger seat. It hums like a heartbeat under floorboards, scratching, begging me to peel them up.

It first arrived on my porch three weeks ago, wet, red, and with wings sprouting out of its back. I didn’t have the room within myself to interpret it as a joke. I knew somehow it was some sort of sick punishment for what I have done.

It’s little body shook with each breath — the pinhole it had for a mouth croaking, the bone-hardened ridge above its black dots for eyes creasing. I glanced down the street to make sure none of my neighbors were out to see me snatch it inside by the end of its tail.

*

I brought it upstairs to the hallway bathroom, locking the door shut so none of my housemates could see what I was doing with it. I held it by its distended, albeit ribbed, stomach in my palm — its head and shrunken limbs limp, hanging down towards the linoleum tiles. It whined, echoing like a song. I ran the bathtub faucet and held it underneath, rinsing the blood off of its skin and down the drain, but the blood never seemed to wash away fully. It’d run rusted orange into the tub, staining the porcelain, but as soon as the water carried the blood away, more oozed up to the surface of its veiny skin, growing thicker and darker.

It croaked when I turned the water off and shrunk itself into the warmth of my palm, shuddering. It let out a low moan, awful. I flipped the switch to the fan to mask the noises it made. What was it? I did not know. All I know is that however it got on my porch had something to do with what happened last month.

*

I stood in front of her, naked, goosebumps scattered down my legs, my body alive under her gaze. She was a mystery woman, passing through like whisper when the night fell upon this dreadful place. She did not speak to me — she only commanded me with her face, transmitting words whispered in the back left corner of my mind. I shivered under her black eyes as I laid back upon the bed. She opened her mouth and sang and my vision went black. Maybe this was a dream, I thought.

*

The thing quivered on my bed sheets, tilting its head back and forth like the automaton fortune tellers stuck in boxes at the carnival that comes to town every July. It emitted a clicking noise from the hollows of its throat. I vomited all over the floor.

*

I got fired from my job. I hadn’t shown up to work ever since the thing arrived on my doorstep. I’ve been sitting awake in my room in a chair across from my bed, transfixed by it as it writhes on my bed. I don’t recall when I’ve last slept or ate. I’ve been here years, hours. My housemates have knocked on my door, checking on me. They eventually go away after awhile. The thing’s mouth expands, trying to suck on its hands that are too short to meet its face. There’s nothing but black in there, empty. It croaks.

I tried to drown it, but the convulsions it made in my grip frightened me so much I dropped it into the bathtub and shut the water off. I dried it off with a towel and wrapped it up tightly to carry back to my room.

*

I decided a few days ago it has to go. It must. I bought wood from the hardware store and nailed the pieces together to make a box. This morning, I put it in the box. It gazed at me curiously and mewled before its cheeks twitched like a smile, its wings compressed to its quivering body. I placed my final piece of wood above it and nailed the box shut.

*

It sits in my passenger seat as I barrel down the dirt path in my creaking sedan not meant for potholes, let alone off-roading. Dusk passed us a long while ago, and my headlights only reach so far ahead upon the winding road, the trees narrowing in, creeping closer to the edges of the lazily paved dirt. I’ve been driving all day, only stopping at a gas station to refuel. When I handed the attendant a twenty to cover my pump, he stared straight into me. For a moment, his eyes flickered black and looked at me with a knowingness that sent my heart racing faster than my car out of that place.

The thing coos in the box. Its wings flutter and beat against the sides a little. It squeaks.

My eyes are growing tired when the dirt road pinches off to an end. I shift my car into park and cut the engine. Its just me, the darkness, and this thing in the box. I grab it and make for the trees.

*

I went so far in the woods that God could not find me. Not even the moon shone above. Just the pitch black of the forest, the trees standing like the legs of giants. The insects don’t make a sound here. Dead silent. It whimpers.

*

I dig with my hands into the earth, desperately tugging at the ground as deep as I could go, my hands wet with cold dirt and worms slithering between my fingers. I turn towards the box beside me on the ground. The box is silent, unmoving. I place it in the hole.

I lean my head into the hole, neck stretching as my shoulders hit the ground and block me from going any further. I pucker my lips big enough to brush them against the box. Steadily, my tongue creeps from behind my teeth and grazes over the spot on the box I’ve kissed. I sigh and run my tongue along the edges of the box, feeling for the nails. The corners sting the fleshy, soft pink of my tongue with splinters. I don’t realize my eyes are closed until I feel my eyelids pinching so hard they hurt, my eyebrows creased with careful concentration. The box is wet, woody. I moan, curling my bottom lip against it as I push my shoulders into the dirt, aching. My mind grows loud, laughing. The world is screaming but God can’t see what I’m doing. I’m far too lost for Him to find me but I can certainly find new gods here in the dirt.

I break from the lid, swallowing the blood and splinters on my tongue in one gulp. I wipe the sweat from my forehead with my right hand, getting dirt across my face and in my eyes. I breathe out, at first rapidly, and then slower and slower until my heart feels still. It is at this point I come to do what needed to be done.

I scooped wet handfuls of earth into the safety of my palms. They made soft sounds, like quiet taps of rain upon a roof, as they landed on the box. It didn’t take long for the ground to be made flat again and the thing to be gone.

*

I walked for one hundred years back to my car. Don’t ask me how I knew the way, I could do it with my eyes closed. The scent of stale cigarettes and the pattern of faded brown stains welcomed me back into the interior of my sedan. I closed my eyes and exhaled, leaning back into the driver’s seat. I let myself linger like that for a moment before slowly opening my eyes. They lifted to the rear view mirror to meet a familiar black gaze in the back seat. I hummed and a smile tore at the corners of my lips upon seeing the mystery woman and I knew I’d let this happen all over again for centuries and centuries and centuries just to hear her sing again.