Warning: self harm
When I stepped out of the community center into the alley around noon it was sweltering. We had never adjourned. I’d spent the last three hours giving every shred of information I could about the people that raised me.
I don’t know what to call them. Thing one and thing two? Mom and dad? Whoever they were, after scouring my memory I was certain they’d never said anything about grandparents or other family somewhere else in the country.
They never suggested moving and we’d never even gone on a vacation. I had no leads on where they might have vanished to.
Detective Casey said they were still searching the house for any DNA and were asking around town for six-year-old surveillance footage to hopefully get some pictures but that was it. There was little to go off.
It seemed incredible that these people could raise me for as long as they did and leave so little evidence of who they were. They had gone by my parents’ names, William and Lisa, and used my parent’s social security numbers and bank accounts. They had taken their lives and, in the process, scrubbed any evidence of who they actually were.
The police had confirmed my bio parents were real. They had shown me photos of them and had their birth, tax and driver license records from Massachusetts. But I didn’t want to know about them. I didn’t want to know about the normal life and loving parents I was supposed to have.
When I was excused from the room, the police told me they were going to let the media know about the age of the bodies and the DNA results.
Standing in the alley I heard the roar of the reporters from the other side of the building as the news broke.
I was asked to come back to the community center for more questioning at 2pm. In the meantime, I was heading back to my motel room for a liquid lunch.
When I got to the mouth of the alley a woman was standing alone on the sidewalk staring at me.
She wasn’t all that old, but her face was heavily wrinkled, and her hair frayed wildly.
“Sam? Sam Martin?” She took a timid step towards me.
She didn’t look like she was with the news, but I figured her as some amateur true crime chaser.
“No,” I said. “My full name is press, Fuck Off.”
“I’m not a reporter. You must be Sam. You have the same eyes of that baby! “Sam,” her eyes were misty. “I’m your aunt. I’m your biological mother’s sister.”
I paused. “I’m sorry, but I’m a little skeptical about familial relations these days. If you think I’m your nephew, you can give a DNA sample to the police.”
“I can do that, of course. But please, just look.” She pulled a picture from her pocket and held it out to me. It was creased with a cross from being folded into a square. I squinted. In the picture was a baby, held by a much younger version of the woman I saw before me.
But sure enough, smiling next to us were the faces of my biological parents.
As relieved as I was for a lead, I was mourning the delay of my liquor. I took her into the community center with me and the 2pm meeting was moved to that second.
My aunt’s name was Sharon. She said after my parents had moved from Massachusetts, she never heard from them again.
She was sitting to my right as she told the story.
“William and Lisa were busy people so not hearing from them didn’t set off any alarm bells at first. But after about six months Lisa still wasn’t returning my calls. I had promised my sister I’d visit anyway so I bought a plane ticket.”
Casey was standing in the front of the room and looked at Sharon gravely. “And William and Lisa, did they say why they moved?”
Sharon frowned. “No, they never said. Or maybe I never asked. They had a lot of money from William’s father and I was told his family was from the Midwest. Why exactly they chose to move here I don’t know. I only spoke with Lisa a couple times a year.”
“So, what happened when you came to visit?”
“Well, I got a rental car, and drove all the way to their new address. Their car was in the driveway which I remember gave me some relief. But when I knocked on the door the man that answered wasn’t William.”
Sharon shivered. “I said I’m looking for the Martin family and he said speaking. I said you’re not William Martin and he just smiled. He didn’t say anything else. He just kept this big creepy smile on his face, and he slammed the door.
Casey stared at her skeptically. “Did you notify the police?”
“Of course! I sped into town and pounded on that damn police station door. I told them everything I just told you. They looked at me like I was crazy. A cop followed me out there and spoke to that man but said I’d need some evidence for my accusations. They asked me if I could provide documents or the drivers licenses of the Martin’s. I said not that minute, but I could eventually. I flew home to gather everything I could. I mailed it to police station here but that was the last I heard of it.”
Sheriff Cain frowned, leaned back, and glared at Sharon.
“Do you remember who the officer was? Did you ever call again to follow up?” said Casey.
Sharon looked uncomfortable. “That man,” she pointed to the Sheriff. “It was him. And no.”
Casey glanced at the Sheriff for a moment before continuing. “Why didn’t you contact any one again?”
“Because there was something wrong with the whole thing. Because to be honest it felt like one big conspiracy. Like they knew the Martin’s weren’t who they said they were. I had the feeling if I came back here raising hell that the next person to knock on my door looking for me would be greeted by some smiling creep calling herself Sharon.”
“So that’s it? You left it at that, no further inquiries to any law enforcement agency?”
“No.”
“Sheriff Cane?” Casey had turned to him. “Do you remember these events?”
Cain never took his gaze off Sharon. “Bullshit.”
“Sheriff?”
“I said that’s bullshit. Every word this woman’s saying. Casey, you’re from Des Moines so maybe you’re not familiar with the crime around here, but it’s few and far between. If 15 years ago some lady came here saying the new creepy family wasn’t who they said they were I’d remember. The whole damn town would. None of this ever happened.”
Everyone was looking at Sharon. “It did,” she leaned back and looked fearfully around the room. “It did happen.”
Perhaps it was that nothing could shock me after that morning’s news or that the booze was finally leaving my system, but either way I was apathetic to Sharon’s arrival. I felt like the spectator of a soap opera and excused myself from the room.
Before I left, they asked me if I’d stay in town while Sharon’s DNA results were being processed. I agreed, told them to call if there were any worthy developments, and went back to the motel.
The rest of the day I don’t much remember. I drank alone in the motel with the blinds drawn, and to be frank my clearest thoughts were spent contemplating whether or not to end my life. The next day when I woke up, I spent the only 10 minutes of sobriety I had to return one of my girlfriend Liz’s dozens of missed calls.
I had to talk her into cancelling the flight she’d booked out here when she hadn’t heard from me but heard the news. I told her I was ok. I told her I’d be back in a day. Maybe two.
None of it was true. Hell, I suppose I was on some kind of suicide watch since a deputy would knock on my door twice a day to ask if I needed anything. I hated being watched over. Their ever-present concern made me feel like a child. My second night there I turned off my phone, slipped out of my room and went to crash on Jake’s couch.
I must’ve drank the shock out of my system, because the next morning I woke without the urge to grab a beer from the fridge. The burning curiosity I’d felt in the community center was back. I couldn’t just drink the rest of my life away because I had a great excuse to do so.
When Jake woke and came downstairs, I was sitting at his kitchen table.
It took a half hour of convincing, and for Jake to drink about six breakfast beers in that time, but that night he was coming with me to my old house. I wanted to see it. I wanted to see the cistern.
Jake’s eyes were glassy as he stared into space. “Why can’t the police take you? I’m sure they’d show you around the scene.”
“Because what fun is that?”
He gulped. “Ok. Are you sure it has to be tonight? We could always put it off a day and hangout.”
“It’s got to be tonight,” I smiled. “Royal’s play the White Sox’s at seven.”
We waited for it to get dark before we took Jake’s car to a county road just two miles from the house. We parked and set out across the soybean fields. There were no stars and in the country dark we didn’t even bother crouching when cars passed.
It was quieter that night. No crickets. Just the sound of the soybeans rustling against our legs and Jake’s handle of rum glugging in his backpack.
“Did you need to bring half a gallon of liquor?”
“Hey man,” he hissed. “Did you want to go alone?”
We stopped as he tossed his backpack around and pulled out the bottle. I stood with my hands on my hips as he sipped.
As I looked into the distance my hair shot on end and tears welled in my eyes. A quarter mile away, where a tree line met the field, a figure stood staring at us. I could just make out their shadow against the trees.
“There’s someone watching us.”
Jake choked on the rum and started coughing. “Not fucking funny.”
“Not fucking joking.”
He put an enormous hand on my shoulder and stood behind me as if I were a shield.
“Where!?”
I pointed and he followed my finger. As I stuck my arm out the figure turned and stepped calmly into the copse.
“What the fuck?”
I turned to keep walking.
“Sam? We got to get out of here.”
“It’s probably just a reporter.”
“You don’t believe that.”
“You’re right. I don’t. But ok,” I nodded my head the way we had come. “You’re free to walk back to the car. Alone.”
“Fuck.” He held the giant bottle of rum in both hands and drank. “Fuck this,” he slurred. “And fuck you.”
____
It was easy to get into the house. Officer Coopers’ car was parked far up the driveway towards the road and we slipped through a glassless window on the first floor. Inside was pitch black, but to avoid being spotted we couldn’t use flashlights until we were in the basement.
I reached out to find the wall and pictured the way to the basement door.
“Ok, I know the way downstairs. Stay right behind me.” Suddenly I felt myself being groped. One of Jake’s giant hands probed me until he found my hand and he held on to it.
“Really?” I whispered.
“No homo.”
“Ok fine. Let’s go.”
I got to the basement door quickly and turned on my flashlight at the entrance. The damp stairs creaked, and we could hear each other’s hearts as we crept down into the dark.
Thankfully, the basement was one giant unfinished hole in the ground, meaning there wasn’t a labyrinth of rooms like the floors above. There was little space for anything to hide and pop out at us.
In the center of the crumbling concrete floor laid the entrance to the cistern. It was opened and the giant metal lid lay upside down next to it.
When I saw the lid, I blanched. I suddenly remembered I had tried to lift it as a child, just to see if I could. Of course, it was too heavy. I felt like crying as I pictured myself as a little boy heaving with all my might on the handle, too little to lift it. Too little to reveal the truth.
I heard liquor sucked from the bottle behind me and shook my head as I walked to the mouth of the open hole.
It’d been drained and a long aluminum ladder descended into its depth. The light of the flashlight seemed to barely reach the bottom, but I could see that the cistern was a cylinder lined with brick.
“I’m going in there,” I said turning to Jake.
“What?” He fumbled putting the bottle back in the bag. “You got a…” he burped. “Scuba suit?”
“It’s drained.”
“I can’t let you. As your friend Sam,” he started stumbling. “Have some sense. You’ll drown.”
“It’s empty Jake. No water.” I turned back to the hole.
“I’ll save you.” I heard him stumble towards me and then came a thundering thump from the floor.
I flinched and threw myself around. I shined the light on Jake. A cloud of dust was still scrambling up from where he’d fallen. Lying flat and face down on the floor the length of his body was comically long.
“You okay, buddy? Jake?”
Before I stepped towards him, I heard a soft snore. “Ok,” I sighed. “That’s probably for the best.”
I put my flashlight in my teeth and started down the ladder. It was an unstable descent, and I kept my eyes on my hands. At the bottom my sneakers sucked in the mud.
I shined the light around and froze. There were words scribbled into the wet brick wall. Symbols.
Thousands of them.
I slowly brought the light up the wall and my eyelids peeled in fear. Scrawled across the bricks with its star points stretching several feet was a pentagram.
This was not discussed in the meeting.
I walked to the wall. The slurp of mud echoing up the cylinder. The water had worn the stone but by reading slow and tracing my finger in the carvings I could make sense of it.
“Our son Sam,
A star fell the night you were born
As beautiful as our baby boy
You can’t imagine our delight when we were told that star was your soul
We believe we were told the truth
We believe we’re giving you the world Sam
We only wish to serve by your side
Your eternal servants, Mom & Dad.
We love you.”
I stepped back from the wall with my mouth agape. “Mom & Dad?”
Did my bio parents write this?
I looked around frantically. Every word carved into the cistern was this same message repeated. Over and over again the words stretched up its entire length. It must’ve taken weeks.
I stumbled backwards to the ladder and climbed it in a panic.
“Jake! Jake, wake up!”
He lifted his face off the floor and squinted. “Ugh.”
I turned my phone on for the first time in a day.
I had messages from the sheriff, from Liz. But then I frowned. The coroner had texted me urging me to call.
“Jake, we have to go upstairs.”
“Oh god,” he groaned. “Are we still in the spooky house?”
“Not for long.” I went over and helped him up. He reached for his backpack, but I yanked out the bottle and hurled it into the wall where it shattered.
He paused for a second and mocked. “Hey man, we’re not 18 anymore.”
“Come on you drunk bastard.”
I stumbled back up the stairs with Jake’s immense weight halfway on my shoulders. Back on the first floor I shrugged him to the ground, and I called the coroner.
It was late and I hoped he’d kept his ringer on.
He answered on what would’ve been one of the last rings. “Sam!”
“Hey. I know everyone has been calling. I’m fine. I just needed a break from it all.”
“We figured such. But have you heard my report?”
“No, I saw your text.”
“Right,” I heard him sign as he rose from bed. “Sam, I know this may sound even stranger and trust me I double, and triple checked everything. I came to this conclusion a few days ago and really took my time to make sure.”
“What?”
“Sam, your biological parents’ wounds are self-inflicted. There were no defense markings. The cuts down their arms were sure and steady.”
“But those bodies are so old.”
“Cold water is a coroner’s best friend. I’m sure about this. And there was a note of sorts at the scene.”
“You mean that satanic shit?”
“They told you?”
“Yeah, something like that,” he didn’t respond, and I brought the phone down from my ear. “I’ve got to go.” I hung up and stared into the dark. I listened to my ears ring but suddenly I flung my face to the ceiling.
There were footsteps coming from the floor above. Slow and searching, creaking down the length of the hall.
Jake grabbed my leg. “Sam.”
“Shh!”
I craned my neck to look down the hall and out the front window, I saw the taillights of the police cruiser as it turned onto the road and drove away.
The footsteps continued and my eyes widened as I realized where they were headed.
They were headed towards the stairs.