Ripple
By
Michael Baez Arroyo
Carol’s fingers grazed the leather mask. The scent lingered like perfume. She didn’t mind. After all, a month ago it’d clung to her face after she’d scared the crap out of an old man on a bus stop. The adrenaline and the old man’s flabbergasted expression remained in her veins days after, fueling her.
Werewolf, vampire, and hockey masks peered down at her from the wall. Twenty pairs of hollow sockets stalked her. The toys she’d grown up with were much more than mere memories; they were her only escape from monotony.
Carol plummeted on her chair and fingered the upside down Smartphone beside her sewing machine. Such a small contraption had set the wheels of her evolution in motion. It was time to play again; this time it would be different though. There was more to life than giving a geezer a heart attack. Carol hoped that the call she’d made half an hour ago would prove it.
Ms. C nagged inside her head. Carol replaced the name with mom in her mind. She’d grown up calling her Ms. C, but yearned for mother. Now, the masks were the only thing she had to remember Crescendo by; the presents Ms. C had brought up to the attic.
“Don’t be jealous, dweebs,” Carol bit her lower lip and giggled. The twenty masks glared. “It’s not like I’ll forget any of you. You paved the way for this. Don’t you look at me like that.”
Under the desk, the mini-fridge whirred. Carol budged the chilled handle open. She felt her way in the cold until her fingertips met mother’s skin. Euphoria crawled up her hand. Perfection! Carol refused to look up at her other toys. She couldn’t bear to see their jealous gazes.
Pale snakes slithered through the floor before Carol closed the fridge. She’d yearned to take it out of its hiding place a thousand times and stare through its sockets, but she’d refrained. Ms. C’s last memory couldn’t be taken lightly.
Stars and snowflakes bared witness to Ms. C’s skin mask. Tonight, they would keep Carol’s secret. They were so loyal.
Carol slipped on Ms. Crescendo’s freezing piece of skin. She had sown it herself. It fit snugly around her head, and it reminded her of the pig mask she had so elegantly crafted for Halloween last year. She’d made sure to drain the blood first, of course. Messes weren’t Carol’s style. The polished penthouse floor spoke of this truth.
“What’s taking him so long?” Carol said and Ms. C’s lips smacked together. She giggled. “This is so awesome!”
Beeeep! The buzzer went off.
Anxiety raced up Carol’s arms like electric shocks. Memories of Ms. C’s electrotherapy made her salivate. She always called it ‘family time’. Carol often found herself questioning why it was always her turn and never mother’s. She removed Ms. C’s face and placed it atop her bed, exercising restraint.
As she walked to the door, Carol’s conscience clouded her judgment. Twisting the knob, with trembling hands and a thumping heart, felt like triumph. It was warmer than she had expected. She stopped herself from opening the door as she remembered Ms. C’s words: Put on your face before you climb down the attic. Ms. C’s grip on her had perished; Carol opened the door.
“Router problems?” The IT guy’s head was bigger than she’d anticipated.
“When ‘ya say you work 24/7, y’all really mean it,” Carol examined his slender, lanky posture. She couldn’t help but feel sorry. “By all means, come in.”
“Where’s your set up?” He dusted some snow off his shoulders and wiped his boots on the welcome mat, before slouching past the front door with a posture worthy of a cringe from a chiropractor.
“Living room,” Carol eyed the lanyard making sure it was whom she had requested: the name that would be in the headlines the next morning. Doubt subdued her plan for a second—no! She steeled her nerves. It had to be tonight; Ms. C had to come back tonight. “Stephen, right? First room. You can’t miss it. The LCD is a dead giveaway. Tea?”
Stephen nodded. “How many inches?”
“Why don’t you go find out?” Carol bolted the door. Cold pinched her fingertips: one last chance to call it all off. “Chai or oolong?”
“Either’s fine,” Stephen’s voice trailed off in the open space.
Carol licked her lips and turned on the stove. She placed the kettle on a roaring fire and felt her spine shudder. The thrill was getting the best of her. Carol couldn’t hold it any longer. Ms. C had to come out to play. Crescendo’s words clouded her mind: A mistake, that’s it, that’s all you are.
Before she realized it, Carol was facing the fuse box. Her twitching fingers were Ms. C’s parting gift; family time had taken its toll on her. She grappled her wrist hoping to stop the trembling. It didn’t work. The penthouse’s fuse box taunted her.
“I can’t…” Carol muttered.
“Ya’ say somethin’, miss?” Stephen said. “You got somethin’ minty instead? I’ve almost got this done. Apparently, you’ve got rats. Cable’s all chewed.”
Carol jerked open the fuse box. Letting Stephen leave would be a mistake. All the switches looked alike. Panicked, Carol flicked them all off. Darkness enveloped the penthouse. Snow cluttered the glass windows like curtains, and the stars lit up the skyline, casting a dim glow on Carol’s home.
“Sorry!” Stephen said. “I must’ve short-circuited somethin’. Where’s your fuse box?”
“I’ll get it,” Carol lied.
With haste, Carol’s footing slammed against the wooden floor as she raced to her bedroom. Any minute now Stephen would get uneasy and start searching for the fuse box himself. Carol loved how darkness made everyone but her panic. Living in Ms. C’s attic had been training enough. The penthouse, in a way, was her means of keeping the memory of her childhood home alive; albeit, the penthouse had more windows.
Carol snatched Ms. C’s mask and fit it into place. The coldness and smoothness of Ms. C’s skin faded. Carol made sure she could see out of the sockets.
“Tonight is mom’s turn…” Carol began. Her knees trembled. She hated neglecting her other masks. “I’ll take y’all out for a run after this. I promise”
“Could you hurry it up with the lights?”
Carol’s eye twitched. Her eyelashes scrapped against the inside of Ms. C’s skin. Orders, Carol thought, I hate orders. Ms. C had given her enough to last her a lifetime. Carol inhaled and picked the serrated kitchen knife from her desk. She always wondered why Ms. C left her that rusty old thing.
“Wish me luck,” Carol pushed open the sliding door. She could’ve sworn she heard her toys say “break a leg” before she vanished into the darkness of the penthouse.
“I’m tellin’ you to hurry up,” Stephen demanded. What had once been a lanky posture had become upright. Stars dazzled outside like makeshift lanterns. Stephen’s gray hair shone with each twinkle. Silence made him reconsider his stay. He directed himself toward the exit. “They’ll send someone else tomorrow mornin’.”
“Not just yet,” Carol slinked from one patch of shadows to the next. The stars outside recorded her every move. Such a splendid holiday to remember! “I think I found it.”
“About time…”
Cautiously, she fingered the knife. Carol made sure it was sharp enough. One thrust and it would all be over. She leapt out of the shadow and onto Stephen. The lanky man crashed against the floor. Carol’s weight pinned him down. A streak of light illuminated Carol’s face.
“No, no, no!” Stephen kicked Carol off in a fritz. Trembling hands gave into fear. “You’re dead! I saw it in the papers.”
Carol clenched her teeth. Ms. C’s knife quaked in her hand. Restraint, she remembered, not just yet. “That was mom.”
“Stupid bitch kept you?” Stephen scrambled toward the door. “We agreed.”
Carol’s heart sank. His words pained her more than Ms. C’s family time. Wasn’t it enough that mom never wanted her, Dad had to be in on it too? Carol’s lip twitched as she wrapped her hand tighter around the knife. She jumped to her feet and pursued Stephen.
The door budged.
Carol impaled Stephen’s back.
Skin tore like fabric, blood dribbled down his uniform, and Stephen crumbled to the floor. His back was done for. So much for his chiropractor. Carol bolted the door and jerked the knife out off his back. She resisted. Things had an order.
“Say it,” Carol tried to ignore the blood. Burgundy painted the wooden floor. Unbelievable. How could he be so inconsiderate and bleed all over her floor? Carol craved to remove her mask and look into her father’s soul, but she couldn’t. The words she craved lingered on her tongue like candy.
Unintelligible, Stephen dribbled saliva.
“Say it!”
“It…It…It’s true. You’re one of mine,” Stephen muttered.
“I don’t want those words!” Carol stabbed the floor, repeatedly. Chipped wood made her wish she hadn’t. Lingering memories of nights left alone in the attic clouded her judgment. Nights when all Carol had were the masks Ms. C had given her so she didn’t have to see her face—Stephen’s face. “See what you made me do! See what you made mom do?”
Stephen sobbed. “I abandoned you!”
“Thank you. That’s all I wanted for Christmas, dad,” Carol’s arms went limp. Relief coursed through her; the calmness felt like perfection, but longing quickly replaced relief. The knife felt heavy. Guilt gnawed at her conscience; it wasn’t because of the man that was about to die: it was because of the stained floorboards. “You both deserved each other.”
“Don’t—”
The rusty old thing sunk into Stephen’s upper back. There was gargling, muffled breathing, and then a thud. Stephen went limp. The pool of blood rippled on the floor. Carol’s knees were wet. She undid Ms. C’s mask and set it on the puddle of blood. For the first time in her life, Carol’s family was whole.
Michael Baez lives in a tiny island in the Caribbean originally named Boriken. He has a bachelor degree in Theology, a minor in Teaching English as a Second Language, and an Ed.D in Curriculum and Teaching. Michael Baez's publishing history includes Orange America in Tonguas Literary Magazine, Bayú in The Deadlands Magazine, Time Will Tell in Transforming Being Anthology, Promesa in Revista Trasuntos and 600 Second Saga, Breeding Humanity in Rigorous Magazine, Chameleon Session in Corpus Litterarum and in The Hound Magazine, Numbered in Leading Edge Magazine, Ripple in Tonguas Magazine, and Existir in Flores Nuevas Poetry Anthology.
By
Michael Baez Arroyo
Carol’s fingers grazed the leather mask. The scent lingered like perfume. She didn’t mind. After all, a month ago it’d clung to her face after she’d scared the crap out of an old man on a bus stop. The adrenaline and the old man’s flabbergasted expression remained in her veins days after, fueling her.
Werewolf, vampire, and hockey masks peered down at her from the wall. Twenty pairs of hollow sockets stalked her. The toys she’d grown up with were much more than mere memories; they were her only escape from monotony.
Carol plummeted on her chair and fingered the upside down Smartphone beside her sewing machine. Such a small contraption had set the wheels of her evolution in motion. It was time to play again; this time it would be different though. There was more to life than giving a geezer a heart attack. Carol hoped that the call she’d made half an hour ago would prove it.
Ms. C nagged inside her head. Carol replaced the name with mom in her mind. She’d grown up calling her Ms. C, but yearned for mother. Now, the masks were the only thing she had to remember Crescendo by; the presents Ms. C had brought up to the attic.
“Don’t be jealous, dweebs,” Carol bit her lower lip and giggled. The twenty masks glared. “It’s not like I’ll forget any of you. You paved the way for this. Don’t you look at me like that.”
Under the desk, the mini-fridge whirred. Carol budged the chilled handle open. She felt her way in the cold until her fingertips met mother’s skin. Euphoria crawled up her hand. Perfection! Carol refused to look up at her other toys. She couldn’t bear to see their jealous gazes.
Pale snakes slithered through the floor before Carol closed the fridge. She’d yearned to take it out of its hiding place a thousand times and stare through its sockets, but she’d refrained. Ms. C’s last memory couldn’t be taken lightly.
Stars and snowflakes bared witness to Ms. C’s skin mask. Tonight, they would keep Carol’s secret. They were so loyal.
Carol slipped on Ms. Crescendo’s freezing piece of skin. She had sown it herself. It fit snugly around her head, and it reminded her of the pig mask she had so elegantly crafted for Halloween last year. She’d made sure to drain the blood first, of course. Messes weren’t Carol’s style. The polished penthouse floor spoke of this truth.
“What’s taking him so long?” Carol said and Ms. C’s lips smacked together. She giggled. “This is so awesome!”
Beeeep! The buzzer went off.
Anxiety raced up Carol’s arms like electric shocks. Memories of Ms. C’s electrotherapy made her salivate. She always called it ‘family time’. Carol often found herself questioning why it was always her turn and never mother’s. She removed Ms. C’s face and placed it atop her bed, exercising restraint.
As she walked to the door, Carol’s conscience clouded her judgment. Twisting the knob, with trembling hands and a thumping heart, felt like triumph. It was warmer than she had expected. She stopped herself from opening the door as she remembered Ms. C’s words: Put on your face before you climb down the attic. Ms. C’s grip on her had perished; Carol opened the door.
“Router problems?” The IT guy’s head was bigger than she’d anticipated.
“When ‘ya say you work 24/7, y’all really mean it,” Carol examined his slender, lanky posture. She couldn’t help but feel sorry. “By all means, come in.”
“Where’s your set up?” He dusted some snow off his shoulders and wiped his boots on the welcome mat, before slouching past the front door with a posture worthy of a cringe from a chiropractor.
“Living room,” Carol eyed the lanyard making sure it was whom she had requested: the name that would be in the headlines the next morning. Doubt subdued her plan for a second—no! She steeled her nerves. It had to be tonight; Ms. C had to come back tonight. “Stephen, right? First room. You can’t miss it. The LCD is a dead giveaway. Tea?”
Stephen nodded. “How many inches?”
“Why don’t you go find out?” Carol bolted the door. Cold pinched her fingertips: one last chance to call it all off. “Chai or oolong?”
“Either’s fine,” Stephen’s voice trailed off in the open space.
Carol licked her lips and turned on the stove. She placed the kettle on a roaring fire and felt her spine shudder. The thrill was getting the best of her. Carol couldn’t hold it any longer. Ms. C had to come out to play. Crescendo’s words clouded her mind: A mistake, that’s it, that’s all you are.
Before she realized it, Carol was facing the fuse box. Her twitching fingers were Ms. C’s parting gift; family time had taken its toll on her. She grappled her wrist hoping to stop the trembling. It didn’t work. The penthouse’s fuse box taunted her.
“I can’t…” Carol muttered.
“Ya’ say somethin’, miss?” Stephen said. “You got somethin’ minty instead? I’ve almost got this done. Apparently, you’ve got rats. Cable’s all chewed.”
Carol jerked open the fuse box. Letting Stephen leave would be a mistake. All the switches looked alike. Panicked, Carol flicked them all off. Darkness enveloped the penthouse. Snow cluttered the glass windows like curtains, and the stars lit up the skyline, casting a dim glow on Carol’s home.
“Sorry!” Stephen said. “I must’ve short-circuited somethin’. Where’s your fuse box?”
“I’ll get it,” Carol lied.
With haste, Carol’s footing slammed against the wooden floor as she raced to her bedroom. Any minute now Stephen would get uneasy and start searching for the fuse box himself. Carol loved how darkness made everyone but her panic. Living in Ms. C’s attic had been training enough. The penthouse, in a way, was her means of keeping the memory of her childhood home alive; albeit, the penthouse had more windows.
Carol snatched Ms. C’s mask and fit it into place. The coldness and smoothness of Ms. C’s skin faded. Carol made sure she could see out of the sockets.
“Tonight is mom’s turn…” Carol began. Her knees trembled. She hated neglecting her other masks. “I’ll take y’all out for a run after this. I promise”
“Could you hurry it up with the lights?”
Carol’s eye twitched. Her eyelashes scrapped against the inside of Ms. C’s skin. Orders, Carol thought, I hate orders. Ms. C had given her enough to last her a lifetime. Carol inhaled and picked the serrated kitchen knife from her desk. She always wondered why Ms. C left her that rusty old thing.
“Wish me luck,” Carol pushed open the sliding door. She could’ve sworn she heard her toys say “break a leg” before she vanished into the darkness of the penthouse.
“I’m tellin’ you to hurry up,” Stephen demanded. What had once been a lanky posture had become upright. Stars dazzled outside like makeshift lanterns. Stephen’s gray hair shone with each twinkle. Silence made him reconsider his stay. He directed himself toward the exit. “They’ll send someone else tomorrow mornin’.”
“Not just yet,” Carol slinked from one patch of shadows to the next. The stars outside recorded her every move. Such a splendid holiday to remember! “I think I found it.”
“About time…”
Cautiously, she fingered the knife. Carol made sure it was sharp enough. One thrust and it would all be over. She leapt out of the shadow and onto Stephen. The lanky man crashed against the floor. Carol’s weight pinned him down. A streak of light illuminated Carol’s face.
“No, no, no!” Stephen kicked Carol off in a fritz. Trembling hands gave into fear. “You’re dead! I saw it in the papers.”
Carol clenched her teeth. Ms. C’s knife quaked in her hand. Restraint, she remembered, not just yet. “That was mom.”
“Stupid bitch kept you?” Stephen scrambled toward the door. “We agreed.”
Carol’s heart sank. His words pained her more than Ms. C’s family time. Wasn’t it enough that mom never wanted her, Dad had to be in on it too? Carol’s lip twitched as she wrapped her hand tighter around the knife. She jumped to her feet and pursued Stephen.
The door budged.
Carol impaled Stephen’s back.
Skin tore like fabric, blood dribbled down his uniform, and Stephen crumbled to the floor. His back was done for. So much for his chiropractor. Carol bolted the door and jerked the knife out off his back. She resisted. Things had an order.
“Say it,” Carol tried to ignore the blood. Burgundy painted the wooden floor. Unbelievable. How could he be so inconsiderate and bleed all over her floor? Carol craved to remove her mask and look into her father’s soul, but she couldn’t. The words she craved lingered on her tongue like candy.
Unintelligible, Stephen dribbled saliva.
“Say it!”
“It…It…It’s true. You’re one of mine,” Stephen muttered.
“I don’t want those words!” Carol stabbed the floor, repeatedly. Chipped wood made her wish she hadn’t. Lingering memories of nights left alone in the attic clouded her judgment. Nights when all Carol had were the masks Ms. C had given her so she didn’t have to see her face—Stephen’s face. “See what you made me do! See what you made mom do?”
Stephen sobbed. “I abandoned you!”
“Thank you. That’s all I wanted for Christmas, dad,” Carol’s arms went limp. Relief coursed through her; the calmness felt like perfection, but longing quickly replaced relief. The knife felt heavy. Guilt gnawed at her conscience; it wasn’t because of the man that was about to die: it was because of the stained floorboards. “You both deserved each other.”
“Don’t—”
The rusty old thing sunk into Stephen’s upper back. There was gargling, muffled breathing, and then a thud. Stephen went limp. The pool of blood rippled on the floor. Carol’s knees were wet. She undid Ms. C’s mask and set it on the puddle of blood. For the first time in her life, Carol’s family was whole.
Michael Baez lives in a tiny island in the Caribbean originally named Boriken. He has a bachelor degree in Theology, a minor in Teaching English as a Second Language, and an Ed.D in Curriculum and Teaching. Michael Baez's publishing history includes Orange America in Tonguas Literary Magazine, Bayú in The Deadlands Magazine, Time Will Tell in Transforming Being Anthology, Promesa in Revista Trasuntos and 600 Second Saga, Breeding Humanity in Rigorous Magazine, Chameleon Session in Corpus Litterarum and in The Hound Magazine, Numbered in Leading Edge Magazine, Ripple in Tonguas Magazine, and Existir in Flores Nuevas Poetry Anthology.
