Mama's House

The house had stood empty for many moons. Alone on the corner of Elk and Oak, no neighboring houses to lend an air to the sense of lonely desperation that surrounded the property. Waist- high grass and shrubs covered what once had been a well-tended lawn. Broken shingles from the roof and broken glass from the windows littered the ground. Paint peeled from the wooded frame, exposing timber rotted by time and the elements.

Once a beautiful tree-lined graveled path led up to the front door, now it was over grown, weeds and roots waiting to trip the unsuspecting fool. Today, that fool was I as I stood looking at the house in all it's faded glory, remembering times past.

"Charles dear, please run into the house to fetch mama another glass of lemon-aid." We were enjoying the fresh air of a New England spring day out on the porch. The sun was a welcome respite after the harsh winter. I'd hope off the porch swing eager to fill mama's request. My mother had a soft, honeyed, southern voice. She was a transplanted southern belle. The sweet lullaby of her voice turned grown men into puppies eager to do her bidding. At nine, I was just as susceptible as the others, any thing mama wanted, mama got.

Things at home changed that spring. Little things at first, our dinners were served with less meat. Luxuries were disappearing, as were some of the finer things mama possessed. At first I didn't understand, being nine, life for me was running through the fields, or going down to the creek to fish. I lived in a boy's world, unconcerned with the actions of the grownups.

Until the men started arriving. I recalled lying upstairs in my bedroom, listen to the drone of insects outside the open window.

The breeze blew in fresh air and the sounds of the night. Footsteps on our front porch, mama offering a warm hello and a gruff response. Then silence and a wonder of who could be visiting my mother so late. Questions that went unanswered as I drifted to sleep.

Only to be awakened later by strange creaking noises and soft moans, sounds which seemed to be coming from mama's bedroom down the hall. I rose from my bed, thinking mama ill, and went down to her room. The door was closed, but the sounds were louder. I didn't open the door that night, some sixth sense stopped me. Now, these many years later I wish I had, maybe that night I could have stopped the nightmare that followed.

Golden spring turned into hot summer. My life continued its merry existence, playing, fishing, running, a young boy's adventures each day. It was the nights that seemed to never end. Male callers came every evening to visit mama. Most stayed til dawn, and never once did I enter mama's room to see who was visiting or why they were calling on my mama. Somehow I felt safer in my ignorance.

Ignorance and innocence that were shattered as summer turned to fall. Suddenly my best friends were not allowed to play with me. The little luxuries were back. New expensive items filled the house. Our dinners were meatless no more. Mama and I even had new clothes, but things had changed. After church one Sunday, the minister spoke to mama. Her eyes turned red with suppressed tears, but she nodded, agreeing with what he was saying. It was the last Sunday we attended church.

Two weeks later, I blackened the eyes of my friend, when he called my mama the town whore. I wasn't sure what the word whore meant, but I knew it was an insult. I knew it was the reason the men came to visit and the ladies crossed the street when mama walked down it.

That night when the male caller arrived, I was waiting. I had to know what my mama was doing. I hid in her closet, instead of under the covers of my bed. Eventually, mama and her friend entered the room. At first all I heard was the rustling of clothes and heavy breathing. Then the moans and the creaking of the bed, I slipped out of the closet to see the minister, the same man that had made my mama cried, lying naked on top of her. Mama's eyes were closed, the grunts and groans coming from him as he bounced on top of her. Her legs spread wide, the priest between them, and even in my innocence I knew they were sinning. I crept from the room, from the evil my eyes had seen. I now knew the meaning of the word whore.

The next night I waited again, only it wasn't the minister that visited with mama, but the sheriff. Like the night before, he laid over mama, her legs opened wide to receive him, as he grunted and groan. That night, I waited til the sheriff left, leaving a wade of bills on mama's bedside table after he dressed. Mama rose to see him out, and I crept down the hall. I had plans to make. Evil to stop.

It took me a week to gather the necessary tools and worked out all the details of my plan. I had to know which men were turning my sweet mother into a whore. It wasn't just the sheriff and minister, but the county judge and a doctor too. Four men visiting on four different nights, the judge and sheriff coming twice in that week. Four men whose wives pointed at me and mama in the streets and called us names.

My plan was simple, I penned a note in mama's hand inviting all over on the seventh night. One by one they came up the steps, and I let them in. If they wondered at my presence they didn't say anything, except to ask where mama was. I told them she was waiting in the parlor for them. One by one I escorted them to my mama. At first upon seeing her, they were speechless, something about the naked body, covered in blood stunned them. Before they could turn to me and ask their questions, I took the large butcher knife and drove it through their guts. Then I dragged their dying bodies and placed them in the chairs around mama.

They called me the evil one after that, and sent me away. Far away, where I grew old as the house sat unattended. Well, half a century has passed but I am finally back. Back to stop the evil again.