Mother

by Emily Nakanishi:

It was upon my return home to my family estate that this most woeful and disgraceful tale unfolded. I had gotten word a month earlier that my father had passed away after a sudden and violent sickness, and more recently received news of my mother’s deep depression. She was requesting my presence. My summoning in itself was a strange occurrence; a foretelling that I should have heeded. Even as a child my presence in the family had never been wholly welcomed. I was the ‘black sheep,’ preferring to dabble in the darker arts of the world instead of the fairytales and romances my sisters adored. I was a scientist at heart, enthralled with the various poisons and antidotes, both natural and those concocted by human hand. It was an interest that my mother had never understood nor wholly welcomed. She had married me off as quickly as possible so that I would become someone else’s quandary.

My husband had not accompanied me on this journey, choosing instead to stay behind to look after our young daughter. I had not seen it necessary for either of them to come along, for moral support or otherwise. I found the news troubling, but my mother had never been particularly close to my father, though she was prone to dramatics and exaggerations. The weather was dreary and disheartening. It seemed to echo the entire mood of the trip and foreshadow events yet unseen. It was equally saddening to find my childhood home in a state of decay. The beautiful gardens had been allowed to grow over. Vines twisted into dark thickets and broke through the once beautiful stone walkways and arches.

It was a maid, pale and weary, who opened the door to allow me in, and informed me that she was one of the last of the servants. The butlers, gardeners, and cooks had all been sent away over the course of my mother’s descent. My mother had always seen herself as the mistress of the estate, surrounding herself with servants to cater to her every whim. I grew steadily more worried as she led me up to my mother’s quarters. There were few lamps lit, giving the halls an eerie sort of atmosphere. Coupled with the rain outside, I couldn’t escape the chill that seemed to seep into every pore of my being. My mother’s room was no better with curtains closed against the outside world. There was no fire in the grate despite the damp chill in the air. I wrapped my travelling cloak about myself a little tighter as I hadn’t had a spare second to store it.

My mother was a gaunt, pallid form against the sheets. The sight struck me deeply. Throughout our many grievances and arguments, I had always thought my mother to be beautiful. It was a stark change from how I remembered her and I was taken aback. Her beautiful dark hair had faded to a colorless, lifeless grey. Her skin seemed as if it could simply crack or disintegrate at any given moment, her veins prominent. I quietly took a seat in the armchair at her bedside for she seemed to be sleeping. My thoughts were occupied with my latest experiments.

It was some time before she woke. The grey sky had faded to night and rain still pounded down upon the house. There was lightning, a threatening presence in the distance, and the ferocity of the storm frightened and concerned me. It was still miles away, however, and my focus was disrupted when I glanced over to find my mother watching me. I turned and she beckoned me closer, bidding me to sit in the armchair. I did so, nervous now. My mother and I had a way of turning every conversation into an uncivil one. I was afraid that my temper would get the best of me, even with her in such a delicate state.

“You left some of your books behind.” Her voice was quiet, as always, but with a hoarse tremble that I had never heard before. “Your encyclopedias. A few of your… experiments.” The word ‘experiment’ was spoken without the derision with which she had often shown my work. She seemed tired, as though all of her spirit had gone with the passing of my father. Strange. They had never been close. The marriage was one of convenience decided for them in their youth, and, I believed, had never been truly happy. I apologized and promised to take them with me. My departure had been quick and efficient. My parents chose to send me away as swiftly as possible. It came as no surprise that I had misplaced a few things. That my father had not simply destroyed them was astonishing. My mother fell quiet again and I turned my gaze away, unable to stand seeing her so sickly.

There was a sudden violent clap of thunder outside. The storm was nearly upon us, battering the rotting gardens, crumbling gates, and the rusted spires. My mother jolted at the sound, hand fluttering to her throat as though to stop the gasp of fright. I quickly reached a hand out to steady her, but she jolted away from my touch. She weighed me as though I were the thing that had frightened her so.

“Mother,” I said gently. “It’s only the storm. It’s alright.”

She returned her terrified gaze to me, but it felt as though she was looking through me. She clutched the neckline of her nightgown. I could see a very fine tremble about her. I tried calling her again, but she gave a great shudder, blinking rapidly, and focused on me again. I could still see the terror in her eyes. Her skin was ashen. It was as though she were already dead… a living corpse before me.

“It’s retribution…” she whispered. “I… I saw him pass… in the doorway there, can’t you see? Look, Lucille, look!”

I glanced at the open door. I rose and my hands shook slightly at the idea that there might be an unwanted stranger in the household. A glance down the hall told me that all was quiet. Even the storm had receded. It was raining, but there was no resounding rumble of thunder. I closed the door in an effort to hopefully soothe my mother’s fears. She had covered her face with her still trembling hands.

“No one’s there, Mother,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm and kind. “Come now, it’s alright… let’s speak of pleasant things, the storm will pass.”

“No!” The shout was sudden, with such force that I believed impossible from the frail thing in the bed. I took a step back toward the now closed door. “No, he’s there… He’s there, waiting…”

The force that had allowed such an abrupt outburst faded as quickly as it had come. She slumped again, hands covering her face once more. I approached more cautiously, alarmed and frightened for my mother’s state of mind as well as her physical health.

“Who’s waiting?” I asked, despite my better judgment.

She took a great, shuddering breath, and dropped her hands to her lap. When she looked at me, it was with that familiar cold disdain.

“I warned you,” she said quietly. “I warned you, didn’t I? That those thoughts, that passion of yours, someday it would claim you… I warned you…” she murmured again, looking past me at the door again. “You walked straight into the Devil’s hands, and I warned you about those things…” That expression, so lucid one moment quickly became something horrifying. Her features twisted into absolute terror, like a wraith in a nightmare or a shadow creature forever tortured in Hellfire. Another clap of thunder shook the world, The fire went out with a sibilant hiss. My mother leapt from the bed, She clutched the curtains in her claw-like hands, fervently pulling them closed and clinging to them. It was dark now but for the lamp on the bedside table. I could see one of my old journals, filled with research on various toxins. The chill that had touched me when I had first entered the house now sent shivers down my spine as a half-formed, horrible thought gnawed at me.

“Mother,” I started. She let out a sudden noise that stopped the words in my throat. Her eyes were wild and bright with fever. She glanced about the empty room like a trapped animal, lost in her own delusions. It occurred to me that madness had overtaken her.

“I killed him,” she murmured, so quiet that I could barely hear over the storm. “I didn’t… it was an accident, I thought… I measured wrong… I killed him,” she repeated, stronger. “I killed him with your books, devil child, your knowledge.” She looked up at me, eyes bright with madness and a new conviction that frightened me. “You killed him!”

She was upon me in an instant, with an intensity driven by madness. Her nails clawed at my cheeks and eyes. I lifted my hands to shield them. I stumbled back, barely keeping my footing, and heard a loud, thunderous sound, as if the storm were in that very room. My mother staggered back and I glanced at the now open doorway. A great towering figure was silhouetted in the light with a hand outstretched. My mother let out a great shriek and dashed to the window She grabbed a fire poker as though to defend herself from the ghastly spirit. I closed my eyes as she swung, and heard a dreadful crash followed by a haunting, terrified scream. Then, all was quiet. I opened my eyes slowly to the sight of the shattered window, where my mother stood no more.

A hand touched my shoulder and I started, pulling away before I realized that it was simply my husband. He had come out of concern. He helped me off the floor and sat me down in the chair. It was him who had been at the door and not some apparition from my mother’s imagination. I glanced again at the bedside table, and a great horror filled me at the thought of the inventory I had left behind. The notes were scribbled so quickly they were nearly illegible. Numbers could have been mixed… and my father, lying cold in the ground, directly under the window where my mother now lay broken.

Emily Nakanishi is currently attending Southeast Missouri State University with a double major of Mass Communications (Public Relations) and English. She has been writing since she learned how to hold a pencil and telling stories since she learned how to talk. She spends all of her free time writing, painting, and lovingly pushing her cats away from her turkey sandwiches.

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