Mother Knows Best
By
Doug Goodell
The glaring red sign on the diner reflected garishly on Eleanor’s thick glasses. She reached out and gently stroked my hand on the Formica tabletop.
“I hate to be overly assertive Douglas but when shall I get an opportunity to finally meet your family?”
“You mean my mother, as she is the only family I have.”
“Yes of course. I mean your secretive mother. We have been seeing each other for nearly four months now, don’t you think it is time? I am starting to think that you are afraid of being seen with me, darling,” She pouted.
We had this conversation several times already.
“It is just that mother is quite stubborn and old fashioned it takes a while for her to adapt to changes in her life. I am all she has got.”
As well as the fact that his mother died the first time over a hundred years ago.
Eleanor’s eyes went down and she used her little girl voice.
“Are you ashamed of me Douglas? I know I am not beautiful like those girls who work at the mall.”
“Of course not, darling. You are the most beautiful girl in the world.”
Eleanor was the first and only girl I had ever dated more than once.
“You always know just exactly what to say and make a girl feel better my dear.”
She did that very cute motion of slightly protruding her lower lip and batted her eyelashes over the top of her black horn rimmed glasses. I nearly melted. When I felt her stocking toe rubbing up on my ankle I nearly exploded right in my pants!
“I … I will talk to mother about meeting you tomorrow darling, I promise!”
“You are the best boyfriend a girl could ever have and the cutest!”
She gently tousled my hair.
“Now let us discuss our trip to the Museum of Fine Arts on Saturday, Douglas.”
The bus only went as close as three streets away from my house. I knew I was in trouble as soon as I stepped off the bus. I could see even from that far away that there was not a single light on in the house. That was usually a sign that mother was angry as she no longer left the house during the day or at night. Even the streetlight in front of my house was out causing a more sinister look to the ancient building. All of the other house’s on Gehenna Street were either abandoned or all boarded up. Even the homeless people did not frequent the neighborhood.
I braced myself for one of mother’s violent outbursts as I stepped lightly up the dark walk way to the ancient, gabled house. Pungent bushes and strange twisted tree limbs lined the path.
Of course, the front door was locked and latched. Mother never gave me my own key. So, I called out to her.
“Mother it’s me, Douglas. Let me in, the door is locked. Mother.”
I didn’t want to call too loudly and disturb the occupants of the run down factory buildings off past the vacant lot abutting the only house I had ever known. but I was getting fed up with mother’s erratic behavior. I walked around the outside of the darkened house calling.
“Mother. Mother. Please open the door.”
I tried all of the windows on the first floor. Luckily one of the living room windows was not fully latched shut, so I was able to jimmy the window open. I pulled myself up and through the window. I slipped on the windowsill and fell, banging my knee on the hardwood floor.
“Ow! Mother it is just me. Don’t be alarmed. No one is breaking in the house, it is your son, Douglas. There is no need to DO anything. The front door was locked.”
I tried several light switches but they were all not working. She really must be angry this time. I walked throughout the first floor calling out her name to no avail. I managed to find a flashlight in the kitchen cabinet. She must be in the basement. Jesus Christ, this is going to be ugly. Again.
I walked downstairs to the cellar. It was dark also but the flashlight enabled me to maneuver around the crowded basement. Garish statues and figurines were scattered around the boxes, trunks and ancient furniture in the basement. There were bottles and bags marked in strange languages. My eyes watered. Then I saw what I had feared the most; a faint greenish glow coming up from the sub-basement. I was tempted to just head upstairs and go to bed but the last time I neglected to seek her out in the room below, she was nearly insane with anger. I might as well face the music now. The room below was a conduit or portal to … no one knew exactly where or when it came from or went to, except perhaps for mother.
When I pulled up the heavy bulkhead door a sickly, rancid odor wafted up from below. My knee was still aching so I maneuvered my way down the ladder with difficulty.
Mother was sitting in the middle of the bare room with her head down. Her stringy gray hair covered her face. Her taloned fingers drummed rhythmically on the metal chair, harshly echoing in the near empty room. The only other furniture was a heavy oak table with ornately carved dragon’s feet legs. The table was garishly decorated with arcane words and symbols. It was quite ancient and stained in various shades of red, brown and purple.
“Mother you locked me out. I fell in the window and hurt my knee.”
The ancient room, built long ago, had a cement floor curving slightly towards a drain in the center. Water or other liquids could simply flow down the pipe. The walls were adorned with faded aquamarine tiles, many cracked or missing. Splotches of black mold were scattered around the room. There were curious stains of other colors also. Thick spider webs crisscrossed the corners of the stark room. Several gray moths fluttered spasmodically around the single bare light bulb dangling over mother’s head. The charnel house stench of the room was overpowering.
Mother lifted up her head but remained eerily silent. She just stared without breathing. In fact she had not drawn a breath in nearly a century. My sphincter tightened and my hands began to shake. My face was flushed and my throat began to close. Moisture from mother’s stringy hair wafted hazily in the air as steam. I tried to speak but a guttural croak was all that came out.
“I’m sorry mother.”
She lifted her head towards me. Her left eye began to twitch. I could hear a low moaning sound emanating from deep within her slim chest.
“Were you with that SLUT again?” she cackled. Sometimes the walls and ceiling seemed to … shimmer or wobbly, as if they were not completely all here in this horrific location.
Mother’s voice was hoarse and gravelly. Her eyes glowed bright red. She was in THAT way once again. Her malicious power emanated fiercely in partially visible ripples of the dank subterranean air, causing my very soul to shrivel. I nearly soiled myself.
I summoned every bit of courage I had and replied.
“She is a nice girl mother. We went to the Library and then for coffee.”
“I forbade you to see that shameless hussy. I have introduced you to several appropriate female partners, all of which you spurned.”
“But mother I want a LIVE HUMAN girlfriend.”
“GOOD BOYS always obey their mothers. Now disrobe and lay face down on the table.”
The room itself seemed to echo and even reinforce mother’s words!
I fell to my knees crying. My body convulsed uncontrollably.
“No mother, please. Not again. For the love of God mother, I am thirty seven years old! You are mad! Go back to your grave mother. Leave me in peace.”
I was helpless in the grip of her iron gaze. A single drop of blood oozed out of her eye and traced a crimson path down her wrinkled cheek. She stood up and held a worn black bag aloft. It was the “tool set.”
In barely a whisper she said, “God is not welcome in THIS room.”
Then louder she said, “Remember darling. Mother knows best.”
I mechanically removed my clothing and lay face down in the stench of the putrid table. The last thing I remember was gagging and crying.
Her cackling laughter echoed off the stark walls. I did as I was told until I mercifully passed out in agony. I never saw Eleanor again.
Doug Goodell is a lifelong resident of Massachusetts. He has been married to his wonderful wife Melissa for many years. He has three children, Jessica, Paul and Christopher. He has self-published four novels (writing the fifth) and sold a dozen or so stories over the past two years.
By
Doug Goodell
The glaring red sign on the diner reflected garishly on Eleanor’s thick glasses. She reached out and gently stroked my hand on the Formica tabletop.
“I hate to be overly assertive Douglas but when shall I get an opportunity to finally meet your family?”
“You mean my mother, as she is the only family I have.”
“Yes of course. I mean your secretive mother. We have been seeing each other for nearly four months now, don’t you think it is time? I am starting to think that you are afraid of being seen with me, darling,” She pouted.
We had this conversation several times already.
“It is just that mother is quite stubborn and old fashioned it takes a while for her to adapt to changes in her life. I am all she has got.”
As well as the fact that his mother died the first time over a hundred years ago.
Eleanor’s eyes went down and she used her little girl voice.
“Are you ashamed of me Douglas? I know I am not beautiful like those girls who work at the mall.”
“Of course not, darling. You are the most beautiful girl in the world.”
Eleanor was the first and only girl I had ever dated more than once.
“You always know just exactly what to say and make a girl feel better my dear.”
She did that very cute motion of slightly protruding her lower lip and batted her eyelashes over the top of her black horn rimmed glasses. I nearly melted. When I felt her stocking toe rubbing up on my ankle I nearly exploded right in my pants!
“I … I will talk to mother about meeting you tomorrow darling, I promise!”
“You are the best boyfriend a girl could ever have and the cutest!”
She gently tousled my hair.
“Now let us discuss our trip to the Museum of Fine Arts on Saturday, Douglas.”
The bus only went as close as three streets away from my house. I knew I was in trouble as soon as I stepped off the bus. I could see even from that far away that there was not a single light on in the house. That was usually a sign that mother was angry as she no longer left the house during the day or at night. Even the streetlight in front of my house was out causing a more sinister look to the ancient building. All of the other house’s on Gehenna Street were either abandoned or all boarded up. Even the homeless people did not frequent the neighborhood.
I braced myself for one of mother’s violent outbursts as I stepped lightly up the dark walk way to the ancient, gabled house. Pungent bushes and strange twisted tree limbs lined the path.
Of course, the front door was locked and latched. Mother never gave me my own key. So, I called out to her.
“Mother it’s me, Douglas. Let me in, the door is locked. Mother.”
I didn’t want to call too loudly and disturb the occupants of the run down factory buildings off past the vacant lot abutting the only house I had ever known. but I was getting fed up with mother’s erratic behavior. I walked around the outside of the darkened house calling.
“Mother. Mother. Please open the door.”
I tried all of the windows on the first floor. Luckily one of the living room windows was not fully latched shut, so I was able to jimmy the window open. I pulled myself up and through the window. I slipped on the windowsill and fell, banging my knee on the hardwood floor.
“Ow! Mother it is just me. Don’t be alarmed. No one is breaking in the house, it is your son, Douglas. There is no need to DO anything. The front door was locked.”
I tried several light switches but they were all not working. She really must be angry this time. I walked throughout the first floor calling out her name to no avail. I managed to find a flashlight in the kitchen cabinet. She must be in the basement. Jesus Christ, this is going to be ugly. Again.
I walked downstairs to the cellar. It was dark also but the flashlight enabled me to maneuver around the crowded basement. Garish statues and figurines were scattered around the boxes, trunks and ancient furniture in the basement. There were bottles and bags marked in strange languages. My eyes watered. Then I saw what I had feared the most; a faint greenish glow coming up from the sub-basement. I was tempted to just head upstairs and go to bed but the last time I neglected to seek her out in the room below, she was nearly insane with anger. I might as well face the music now. The room below was a conduit or portal to … no one knew exactly where or when it came from or went to, except perhaps for mother.
When I pulled up the heavy bulkhead door a sickly, rancid odor wafted up from below. My knee was still aching so I maneuvered my way down the ladder with difficulty.
Mother was sitting in the middle of the bare room with her head down. Her stringy gray hair covered her face. Her taloned fingers drummed rhythmically on the metal chair, harshly echoing in the near empty room. The only other furniture was a heavy oak table with ornately carved dragon’s feet legs. The table was garishly decorated with arcane words and symbols. It was quite ancient and stained in various shades of red, brown and purple.
“Mother you locked me out. I fell in the window and hurt my knee.”
The ancient room, built long ago, had a cement floor curving slightly towards a drain in the center. Water or other liquids could simply flow down the pipe. The walls were adorned with faded aquamarine tiles, many cracked or missing. Splotches of black mold were scattered around the room. There were curious stains of other colors also. Thick spider webs crisscrossed the corners of the stark room. Several gray moths fluttered spasmodically around the single bare light bulb dangling over mother’s head. The charnel house stench of the room was overpowering.
Mother lifted up her head but remained eerily silent. She just stared without breathing. In fact she had not drawn a breath in nearly a century. My sphincter tightened and my hands began to shake. My face was flushed and my throat began to close. Moisture from mother’s stringy hair wafted hazily in the air as steam. I tried to speak but a guttural croak was all that came out.
“I’m sorry mother.”
She lifted her head towards me. Her left eye began to twitch. I could hear a low moaning sound emanating from deep within her slim chest.
“Were you with that SLUT again?” she cackled. Sometimes the walls and ceiling seemed to … shimmer or wobbly, as if they were not completely all here in this horrific location.
Mother’s voice was hoarse and gravelly. Her eyes glowed bright red. She was in THAT way once again. Her malicious power emanated fiercely in partially visible ripples of the dank subterranean air, causing my very soul to shrivel. I nearly soiled myself.
I summoned every bit of courage I had and replied.
“She is a nice girl mother. We went to the Library and then for coffee.”
“I forbade you to see that shameless hussy. I have introduced you to several appropriate female partners, all of which you spurned.”
“But mother I want a LIVE HUMAN girlfriend.”
“GOOD BOYS always obey their mothers. Now disrobe and lay face down on the table.”
The room itself seemed to echo and even reinforce mother’s words!
I fell to my knees crying. My body convulsed uncontrollably.
“No mother, please. Not again. For the love of God mother, I am thirty seven years old! You are mad! Go back to your grave mother. Leave me in peace.”
I was helpless in the grip of her iron gaze. A single drop of blood oozed out of her eye and traced a crimson path down her wrinkled cheek. She stood up and held a worn black bag aloft. It was the “tool set.”
In barely a whisper she said, “God is not welcome in THIS room.”
Then louder she said, “Remember darling. Mother knows best.”
I mechanically removed my clothing and lay face down in the stench of the putrid table. The last thing I remember was gagging and crying.
Her cackling laughter echoed off the stark walls. I did as I was told until I mercifully passed out in agony. I never saw Eleanor again.
Doug Goodell is a lifelong resident of Massachusetts. He has been married to his wonderful wife Melissa for many years. He has three children, Jessica, Paul and Christopher. He has self-published four novels (writing the fifth) and sold a dozen or so stories over the past two years.