H
ello? Can you hear me? It’s me, Aggie. I can hear you, murmuring to your friends on the sidewalk. I can feel the rocks you pelt at my windows. Well not me, my house’s windows. Though truthfully there isn’t much difference between the house and I anymore. Are you listening? I’ll try again. It’s been so long since anyone has come to visit me, I guess I should start at the end. You see, I don’t know what I did to make Henry mad. You’d think I’d remember my last moments more clearly, but I was always forgetful. That’s why Henry always hurt me. I’d forget to get the paper in the morning; I’d forget to wash his suit for work. I tried tying ribbons around my fingers but they did nothing to help. So in the end, it must have been my fault. I remember Henry yelling at me, and I remember how I cried and promised that I would be a better wife. But I knew I couldn’t, and so did he. I remember the shotgun, and I remember the pain. But Henry didn’t mean it, I know he didn’t. I remember how he cried and held me. I remember how he whispered my name. I remember how he grabbed the ax, tore open the living room wall,
S R CA H M
y heart pounded, nearly bursting from my chest. I hammered on the door, hoping someone would be home. A young woman answered. I quickly and rather inarticulately poured out my story. There had been an accident and my wife was in our car with her left hand trapped between the pavement and the window. She was losing blood and if she didn’t get help soon, I was certain she wouldn’t survive. The woman nodded tensely, quickly locking her door and following me at a sprint. It was late October, almost Halloween and as we ran to the car the moon lit a path of cracked pumpkins and their rotting flesh smeared artlessly on the road. We ran off the road and as we came close, the pounding in my chest increased to the point I was sure she could hear it. As the woman inched closer to the car, I could see her spine stiffen. The car was neatly parked between two trees, upright, with no woman or blood in sight. Well, not yet
anyway.
As I cracked the bat over her head, I didn’t think she felt much pain, but then I always did try to be considerate with the caring ones who came to my aid. You should see what I do to the ones who decide not to follow me to the car. I hope you have learned something my dear reader. When the wolf came to grandmothers door, he wore the skin of a man. I rather do think that story came from one of my victims that got away. I also wear the skin of a man when I come to knock on your door at night. The devil likes to dress up on occasion too you know.
Caitlyn Buhay
ARTWORK BY PATRICIA NGUYEN
VOLUME 18, ISSUE 2
and stuffed me inside. I know this all sounds bad, but he was so gentle before he put me in there. He couldn’t stop crying when he cut me up in tiny pieces and wrapped me in my favourite duvet, bones and all, and stuffed me in the wall. He cried as he mopped up the blood. He sealed me in concrete first and then rebuilt the wall with the most beautiful oak panelling, the ones I’d always dreamed of having. So you see, Henry really was a good man. I was just dumb and pushed him too far. If only the police had understood that. I knew you could hear me! Here you are looking in my windows and peering inside. I know this isn’t a very nice story to tell, especially since we’ve only just met! But I was hoping I could ask you a favour. You see, Henry was never very good at cleaning and the police found out what he did and jailed him. Our neighbour Helen found the rags with my blood on them during her usual snooping around our house (I never did like that woman). But they couldn’t find me, I was too well hidden and police forces weren’t as high tech as they are now. No one wanted to move into this house; no matter how lovely it is, because I died here and it got the reputation of being haunted. So I became one with the house without really meaning to. I know it’s very difficult to understand, so I will give you an example. I am staring you straight in the eyes as you press your chubby nose against the front window. I am the windows, the doors, the pipes, the cabinet. I am everything. I know you can’t see me, very few can, but you can hear me, I know you can. Trust me; I’ve tried to get the attention of people in the past, the ones who eventually came and lived with me, but always left too soon. I would whisper in the floorboards as a sleepy child woke up for a glass of water in the night, I would groan with every opening and closing of a door or cabinet, I would scream and shake the pipes with every morning shower. But no one heard me, or if they did they became frightened and left. That is, until you. You see, all I need you to do is take me out of the wall. As much as I love the house, I just can’t stay here any longer. Call it cabin fever if you will, but I need to leave here immediately. You don’t have to put me anywhere special, under a tree or by a stream would be nice. It doesn’t even have to be you. Just call the police or get your father toWhere are you going? Please don’t leave, I’m sorry I’ll try again! I’ll let you take your time. Let us be friends first, let’s really talk. I know you can hear me, I can see it in you. Please, don’t let me stay here stuck behind the wall!
Sarah O’Connor
B E H I N D T H E W A L L 43