The Dying

“The Dying”

Ethan got out of his small maroon car, which was parked beside an old cemetery in Alaska; Ethan’s hometown. Ethan was a scruffy looking fellow, with a Beatles hair cut, and a nice pair of blueish green eyes. He wore a white buttoned up shirt, with an elegantly designed red tie, and black business pants and shoes, to match.
A month ago his beloved mother had died. Three weeks ago they had funeral, which he missed.. Too busy a person was Ethan. It was his father that had called about his mothers death, while Ethan was taking calls from employees and people who had enough money, power; and influence to wipe him off the face of the earth, and more than half of them were easily fused. After half an hour of seeing his father was still on the line, and the people he was putting on hold were seeming to ease down to about ten left, he let his father thru. His father wasn’t much of talker, so with the lack of practice, he made what he had to say very to the point. “Son, your ma is dead.”, that left Ethan thinking he was hearing incorrectly, until he started elaborating. “...she died in the living room. It was a fire.”After the news, he only had a moment to let his body express emotion, and once a tear had escaped from his eye, he quickly wiped it away and told his father they’d talk about this later, then he said his good bye, hung up the phone, and with a heavy heart, went back to work.
Ethan stepped into that cemetery. Found the number of headstones in the cemetery to be too much, but look he did. After an hour of looking, he found the headstone with the name Edna Macbeth. The name of his mother. He stood over the tombstone for the longest time. Realizing that the person he loved was nothing more than a name now. He could see words like forever, or never again, or eternity to be something real. He was never going to see his mother, and no matter what he did was going to change that. He was helpless and out of power to change that. After missing her completely, sobbing to himself behind his hand, he felt a thought uncover in his mind. It was a feeling so true that it might have sent him to the grave, beside his mother, with a little booze and a gun. Guilt. The feeling twisted his insides, punched out the air from his lungs, and made Ethan jerk around before vomiting on the grass. He didn’t pay his respects, yet here he stands, acting like he loved his mother so much. Work shouldn’t have gotten in the way.
He stayed bent over, spitting out the remainder of vomit still in his mouth, before standing straight up, and taking in that sweet air of his hometown. The vomit felt good. It was a relief from his drama. Thinking of no better time to leave, Ethan walked back to his car. He imagined he had hurled up all that feely crap back in the graveyard, and was now left him bare of emotions for the moment. But, he knew this wondrous, relaxing moment wasn’t as permanent as his mother.
Ethan found himself on the road that took him home, back when he was in highschool. And felt that same guilt when he was 17, coming home way past his curfew, knowing good and well he had to confront his parents with a well thought out lie, but at the same time knowing the consequences were well worth it since Cindy Valentine had started putting out for him, and it was his first time, and it felt good. Then he realized his parents, no longer existed. It was only his dad, now.
He drove in solemn silence for the rest of the way, admiring the beautiful scenery outside his car window. Mountains with their snowy glazed tops, and the wilderness, still trees with rich green leaves, and salmon running thick in the crisp clear stream. All so calm. Relaxing. Yes, here a man could learn patience. Here, is where a man could die happy. Why did Ethan ever leave?
He took a turn into a small dirt path that led up to a spacious area were a two story house stood between all the tremendous trees about, only a foot or so bigger than the house. The house looked authentic like it always did. Made of wood, with boards lining up and down the house, a slanted green roof that leaned in towards the front of the house. Everything looked like it always did except for the traces of a fire. The top windows were fumed black around, and the roof had a small hole, with fire black around it; interior wood protruding.
Ethan slowly closed in to his usual parking spot he had since he ever got his own car, when he thought to himself, cowardly, he could turn back, there was enough space to give this car a turn about, and not return for another twenty years, swearing to himself that he’d make it to his father’s funeral. And he’d done it too, if he hadn’t locked eyes with his brother, who was standing outside the front door of the house. So feeling as though he’d been caught with a porn mag, he parked his car beside his brothers jeep, and got out of his maroon car, hands in his pocket. His brother stood where he was, watching Ethan approach, with a suppressed urge to attack.
“Hey, Ronald”, said Ethan, weakly. Ronald didn’t respond. Ethan said no more, and looked out into the clear white sky of Alaska.
“Why didn’t you show up to Ma’s funeral.”
“Work” Ethan said. More awkward silence followed.
“So you here to clean up Ma’s house.” asked Ronald.
“Did you do it, Ron?” asked Ethan. Ethan knew Ronald knew what he meant by it, but he elaborated non the less. “Did you start the fire?”
“You’ve got to be the umpteenth person to ask me...” and before Ethan could insist for an answer, “...and no.”, and then, very quietly, “It isn’t me”.
It became quiet standing there, not awkward, more thoughtful. Then Ethan said, “Sure. I could clean up mom’s house.”. Ronald led him to his Jeep, were about seven empty boxes stacked up on top of the other in the back seat. Then both, quietly, emptied the back seat of boxes, laid them down on the dirt floor, and afterward Ronald jumped in his jeep, and started his engine.
“I’d help you.”, said Ronald, “but I just can’t go back inside. I know this will make me more of a suspect, hell, even the cops thought it was enough to bring me in, but I saw ma on fire in the living room. I was the one who called the cops.”. Ethan did a quick sweep at Ronald’s Jeep with his eyes, and found the car floor covered with lighters, and, if he wasn’t mistaken, the butt of a pistol from under the passenger seat. Catching Ethan’s eyes, Ronald put his jeep on reverse, and began to back out.
“Give me a call if you need some help with anything big. I’ll bring the truck.”, Ronald hollered out his jeep, as he pulled completely out, and drove away.
Ethan picked up three boxes with both his hands off the floor, and walked over to the house, kicked the door open that was swaying loosely, and entered the house. There was flight of stairs to the second floor, and a passage way to the left that led to the dining room downstairs. The light was straining dim inside the house. Ethan flicked the light switch on, and found the strong light from the lightbulb above in the ceiling of the living room, make the house feel more homey.
Ethan brought the rest of the boxes in and finished cleaning out the kitchen downstairs, from all the kitchen utensils, some old, some new from his mother, that brought very good memories. Family dinners, mostly. The memories saddened Ethan. He tapped the box up with metal pots in, and taking a black marker, he wrote Kitchen Stuff. He scooted the box aside, and looking up to see his mother standing in her nightgown. Horror stricken, Ethan’s whole body jerked. He tripped over the box, and fell on top of it, caving the whole thing in. His mother still stood in the shadows of the dining room. Pale and white as a ghost. She didn’t move, and her clothes barely swayed at all. After a while, she placed on foot out, and walked towards the stairs. To scared to move from were he was, Ethan took a hold of his heart and squeezed his chest. He was no shape to see were she was going to go. Loved his mother he did, but this was the mourning part. Then he heard the front door creek open.
“Hey Ma. You in here.” somebody called from the front door. It was Ronald. Why the hell was Ronald here?, Ethan wondered, and why is he calling for mother? At this point, Ethan had everything figured out. It made sense. It was unlikely for them to joke this way, but it was a joke. His mother hadn’t died, and he guessed they planned this to make him come home, and learn a valuable lesson. But, he was enraged, and almost immediately, if not for the hell shocking fright he had gotten from his mother. He stumbled himself up, and headed for the stairs. He stomped on every single step up to the second floor. Scared, mad, and a bit relieved all at once, he got to the second floor, to see the living room completely unscathed, and his mother comfortable sitting on a chair with the televison in a corner, playing a Happy Days rerun, with a small table standing beside her chair, with a half empty glass of water, and an ash tray full of plenty cigaret buds, on top. She was dazing out in her chair, starring at the floor with half closed eyes. Ronald walked into the room, with the pistol pocketed in his back pocket, and knelt down to where he was face to face with his mother. He snapped his fingers before her face, and called out ma for a couple a times. When she didn’t respond, and kept starring at the same spot in the floor with the half dazed expression, Ronald un-pocketed a small yellow plastic container. Uncorked the top, and squeezed out a small amount of gasoline on his mother’s front. Afterward, Ronald corked the container and pocketed. He found a cigaret in her mothers pocket, lit with one of the many lighters that Ethan had seen in Ronald’s car, and dropped it on his mothers chest. It isn’t me, It isn’t me. He repeated, as he watched the fire take to his mothers gown, enveloping the woman of age in flame, smiling and crying at the same time. Loving the fire like he always did, and hating himself for committing this. Religious, like all his mother’s children, he knew he was damned.
Ethan just watched the whole act in awe, they acted like wasn’t there, till the point were his mother was in flames, when he snapped out, and as his brother approached the stairs, where he stood, Ethan lurched out at him, only clasp on air. He vanished entirely.
He knows, his mother spoke out to Ethan from the chair she was burning in. Ethan was only moments away from dashing to his mothers rescue, when the whole scene sped up. The fire burning his mother, was in no time on the floor, then all over the room, fuming out the window. Ethan could neither breath in the smoke of the or feel the heat of the fire, it was like it wasn’t there. His mother was now crisp black in her chair, and without a doubt dead, but she spoke to him. He knows...unfaithful..., then her bony face, peeling off at ends, hair dropping down to a side along with flesh, exposing the bone, she turned to Ethan. Do you know what your father is? And at the end of those words, the flames exploded with intensity, the whole room went blinding bright for a split second, then faded back to normal. Ethan saw the living room of how it was, how it should of been in after an accident. Everything in that room was now the after affect of a fire. Everything was black, and falling apart.
Ethan was stunned out of his wits. Shaken. At the moment everything happened, he was petrified, but the endless silence of the house was nerve racking. He headed toward the phone downstairs, with a cold sweat. He dialed a number, and put the phone to his face.
“Hi, Ronald. Yeah, I need some help moving some of the stuff here, could you come by tomorrow. Thanks.”, Ethan hung up the phone. Then he went back upstairs, looked away from the living room when he approached it, and headed towards the hallway to the left, found his old bedroom, curled up in his bed, and thought. Ronald had been obsessed with burning stuff since he was a kid growing up with Ethan. He had lit complete trees, just to get to the family of birds living on top. Would have moved on to the next door neighbor if Ethan and his dad hadn’t helped him cope with urges. Therapy, drugs, and cooperation and discussion times amongst the family was the key to helping Ronald. Cured he was. Or so Ethan thought. Ronald did not stop liking the fire. His brown eyes burned deep with the love he had for fire. But, Ronald was not completely to blame for what he had done to mother. He was pushed. His mom ghost did ask about his dad. Could it have been him? And why?
The next day came, and Ethan heard the honking noises coming from outside. He slowly made his way downstairs, and saw his brother outside in his red truck, waiting, with his father in the passenger seat. He went up to Ronald, and casually asked him to go inside the house and wait in Ethan’s room, to help him move his bed. Ronald headed toward the house, and almost hesitantly, placed a foot inside the house. Ethan saw his dad thru the an open window of the truck.
“Hey dad”, Ethan said. His dad didn’t reply. “I know you were part in killing mom.” His dad only glanced at Ethan, merely impressed. “Why?” Ethan said. His father said nothing for a long time.
“Your mother was a whore. And, your no son of mine.” Holt Macbeth said. Then he looked forward, with a blank expression for a long time.
“Who are you?”, Ethan said. His dad looked at Ethan, impressed.
“I.....am everything leading up to death. Given a human form.”, Mr. Macbeth said. Then with a smile on his face, he turned back to look at nothing in particular. Ethan walked away, back into the house, and confront the second killer.
He rushed up to the second floor and found his brother in Ethan’s room, planning a way to lift the bed most efficiently.
“I know you killed mom. Dad wouldn’t give me a straight answer. How bout your try?” Ethan spoke, no shame in his tone. Enough of everything had happened yesterday. Nothing was going to surprise him today.
Ronald stopped what he was doing. “It wasn’t me”, he muttered. “But, I’ll tell you why dad made me do it. Mom was a harlot back in her time...Yeah. Good Ol Christian mom. She cheated on dad, and had you. Wonder why hadn’t sent me to kill you too.” Non of them said anything for a while. Ronald was huffing and puffing, feeling almost winded for getting that out.
“Now let me ask you a question Ethan. How the hell do you know, and are so certain I killed mom. I can see it in your eyes. You know it was me. But how?”
“Mom showed me, Ron. She’s still in this house.” By the end of Ethan’s response, Ronald had begun to crash down. His face was in dire terror. He had to get the hell out of this house. Ronald pushed Ethan aside, but Ethan wouldn’t budge. Even for an older brother, they were both the exact same size and built. Panicky, Ronald pulled out his gun concealed in his back pocket. And without a moments hesitation, he shot Ethan in the gut. Ethan dropped to the floor, and as his brother leaped over him, Ethan grabbed out for his leg, and Ronald tripped face down to the floor. With the wound of bullet, that had torn walls of muscles and organs, he pulled his brother in and went for the gun shaking in his hand. He didn’t tug for long, and Ethan had the gun. He stood up with a hand to his gut, and the gun pointed to his brothers back, who was still laying on the floor sobbing. Ethan wanted to say something before he shot, but he had lost so much of himself last night, that his hate overwhelmed him, and he shot three times at his back. Dad won’t let you go, Ronald muttered, before the life ran from him in puddles of blood.
No tears and no remorse, Ethan checked in the chamber of the pistol. Two bullets left. He placed the chamber back in the revolver, and was heading back to see his dad, when he saw the hallway had stretched out immensely long both ways. At the end of both the hallways was a clear white light in the shape of a doorway. This wasn’t possible. Not by a long shot. But wounded, and no longer scared, he chose the path that led him to the living room. He walked for ten minutes, with an open wound, slowly bleeding and surely killing him. He noticed he had passed by his room seven times, and his brothers body kept appearing distantly away. He was going around in circles, although he was traveling in a straight line. Then he realized, without a escape, he was going to die in this maze, and he so badly wanted for his dad to die first. Then out in the distance, he saw a figure in a white gown. It moved a little away, and Ethan followed. It entered his room by the third time around he followed it, and then it entered his room. Ethan looked inside his room. Just the way it was, but the figure wasn’t there. He entered.
Turning around he went back outside the hallway, and found it to be entirely normal again, at the end toward the stairs, he could see the living room, and somebody was sitting in the chair mom died. Ethan approached the chair, went around it, and turn to see his father sitting there the whole time.
“Like my maze. Thought I could almost kill you like that, but now I must confront you man to man.”, said Mr. Macbeth. Ethan pointed his gun to him, no chance of missing. “Do you really think am going to die that easy.”, Mr. Macbeth said, “...sadly enough Yes. But, at the same time so are you. Your bleeding. Once you pull that trigger, I guarantee your holding on to life, just to kill me, will let go. You will fall, and die you little bastard.”, and then with deep laugh, Ethan killed him. Then just like his once-thought-father said, he collapsed to the floor and died.
Mr. Macbeth picked himself off the floor, he saw his old body on the chair, and dropped the gun in it’s lap. The wound on his stomach had closed. This body was good for eighty good years. Then the Dying, looked into the hallway, and saw a figure in a white gown. His late wife.