Unnamed novel: chapter 4

CHAPTER 4



​“Is this going someplace,” Dr. Ramsey interrupted. Odd that a psychologist would seem antsy and impatient. Ask me where I was going.

​“Yes, it is. Why?” I said.

​“Well, it’s just that our time for today is running out. Are you almost through? Or is there more to tell, for another day?”

​“There is plenty more to tell. Don’t you worry about that.”

​“I am not worried.” She paused. Put her pen down on top of her pad. Looked at me. “Why don’t we pick this up next time?”

​“Okay. Next week?”

​“Yes, Kerri. Same day, same time. That work for you?”

​“Yes.”

​“Great. Why don’t you set it up with the receptionist outside on your way out? I will see you next week.”

​I got up, walked out of the room and set up the appointment. I still had plenty to say, probably more than one session. Probably many sessions.

​My next appointment seemed like a month later, but it arrived. I walked in the door to her office, told the receptionist I was there, she took my name. I sat and waited. Bit my nails, something I never did before.

​A few minutes later, Dr. Ramsey called me into her office.

​“So, Kerri, would you like to continue the story then, or I could talk about the last session? Whichever you prefer.”

​“Why don’t I continue. Let’s keep your observations and comments until I am finished, if that is okay.”

​“It’s your money.” She grinned. I did not think it was funny.

​I started, “Halloween arrived…



​…and Becky and I were out trick-or-treating in our neighborhood. We preferred the scary and gory side of Halloween and chose our costumes accordingly. No princesses for us. Dressed in a black robe and pointed black hat with orange trim, I was a perfect witch. Even had green make-up on my face and a huge hairy wart on my nose. Broom in my hand, it was easier to carry that way. When I walked I would put it between my legs. Becky was not a witch, but her costume was great, too. Slightly torn jeans, bloodied and a white tee-shirt, also bloodied, covered by a gray and red plaid button down shirt. Blood covered her face and part of her hair. Walked without bending her knees and with her arms extended. Perfect zombie. Or she-zombie as she called it.

​Our first stop, as it always was, was Mrs. S’ house. From her spot behind the opening where the upper screen would be in her screen door, she watched us cross the street. Waved to us. Becky and I ran to her house and stood on her porch.

​“Great costume, Mrs. S’,” I said. It was simple, but gory. A plastic ax, handle broken in half, looked lodged into the back of her skull. Blood covered her hair.

​“Murder victim?” Becky asked.

​She nodded. “You both look great, too. Who made those?”

​“My mom,” Becky said. “Both of ‘em. She’s good at that kind of stuff.”

​“Would you girls like some cookies?” Like she needed to ask.

​“You bet,” we both said in unison.

​Mrs. S. backed away and opened the door. We entered. On our way to the kitchen we saw Mr. Stepnagle, whom we almost never see. He was in costume as well, went with Mrs. S’ costume. He was the murderer. Carried the ax handle and covered his clothes in blood.

​When we got to the kitchen, Mrs. S. said, “How are you, Kerri? How’s your mom? Haven’t seen her around in a while.”

​“I am doing pretty good, I guess. Miss my dad. He loved Halloween almost as much as I do. Kinda weird today. Sad, but a good sad. Ya know what I mean?”

​“I do.”

​Becky munched away on a cookie.

​“And your mother?” Right. I had forgotten about that.

​“I guess she is fine. I don’t see her much either.”

​“That is a shame.”

​“Yeah. And when she does see her, all they do is fight,” Becky said.

​I looked at her.

​“Well, not really fight. But she has a hard time talking about what happened the night my father died,” I said. I did not want to go down this road again, but Becky put the keys in the ignition and drove away.

​“Hmm,” Mrs. S. said. “I might have to make a trip over there and see how she is doing. Give her the local gossip. She likes the peanut butter cookies, right?” It was always about the cookies.

​“Yep. Bet she’d like that,” I said. Took a bite of cookie. They looked like eyeballs. Tasted like happiness, though. Ping pong ball sized white chocolate balls with a gooey fudge center that she decorated to look like bloodshot eyeballs. Milk had red food coloring in it, looked like blood.

​Cookies eaten, milk drunk we were ready to head out. Told Mrs. S. goodnight and went out to the rest of the neighborhood houses. We were getting old for trick-or-treating, but we didn’t care. It was Halloween. That’s what kids did. Lots of kids lived around us and they seemed to double that night. Always seemed darker, too. I loved Halloween. We did our best to hit every house and our pillowcases were full and heavy with assorted candies. Never had time to eat it all. Wasn’t much of a candy eater, but it was Halloween. We were on our way back home and I spotted something. Pointed.

​“Look over there, Beck. You see something?”

​She looked where I was pointing. “Yeah, can’t. Wait. Is that little Billy?”

​We both laughed. Billy Quinlin was a twelve year old boy who lived in our neighborhood, about six houses from Becky’s. Both of us were certain he had crushes on us. It seemed obvious. Couldn’t look us in the face without turning red. Billy was hiding behind a bush. Sure he saw us coming and was either hiding, or wanting to scare us. We pretended we couldn’t see him. Played along with his game. We walked towards the bush he was hiding behind and he jumped out in front of us.

​“Boo!” he yelled. We laughed.

​He wore a black mask that covered his eyes and nose, but his mouth was exposed. He had had a smile, until we laughed at him. He got red in the face looked down. I thought he was going to cry.

​“I’m sorry, Billy,” I said. “Didn’t mean to make you feel bad.”

​“Whatever,” he said and ran away.

​Becky and I just looked at each other. Shrugged.



​Fall was usually a time that my father and I would go to the apple orchard, pick apples and drink warm cider. Not anymore. The weather was getting colder, but it was still cool. In the fifties most days. Too cold to go to swimming in lake with Becky, but we could still fish in the lake. Never really caught anything and always threw it back if we did. Could also ride bikes around the neighborhood. Spent most of my free time with Becky doing those things. Or just hanging. Sometimes we would just sit there, doing nothing really, but talk, laugh. For hours upon hours we could just chill like that. Didn’t do any of those thing, or any other, with my mother. Still hadn’t had the talk with her about my father. Think that was a lost cause. I never saw her around except when she was in the chair staring at either the wall of photos of my dad. Heard the bath water quite often. Kind of sad that we didn’t spend any time together, but I got over it and moved on.

​It wasn’t until Thanksgiving that I spend any real time with my mother and that time was forced. Everyone on my dad’s side of the family always went to my Uncle Rex’s for Thanksgiving. As we drove over there, I wanted to bring up the topic of my father, but I was afraid that it would get confrontational again. Also heard Becky’s voice in my head about being patient. I looked at my mom, stared at her while she drove. She must have felt my gaze.

​“What is it, Kerri?” Never honey or sweetie. Just Kerri.

​“Nothing. Just haven’t seen you in a while is all. I guess.”

​She exhaled loudly. “Been wanting to be alone. Is that okay with you?” A bit patronizing, but I let it go.

​“Sure. I guess.” I kept staring at her. She looked different. Her hair did not seem to sparkle as much, darkened with her mood. Her eyes were slightly pink, baggy. No smiles seemed to touch that face since my father died and it looked droopy, discarded, forgotten. There was no glow to her skin, it was pale. She did not care about her appearance much anymore, but she still looked beautiful, just not as beautiful. Sadness and depression had done damage to her. It was obvious, but it was also expected. My father was her whole life and without him she lacked drive and purpose.

​I did not want to freak my mother out, so I turned away. Stopped staring. Looked out the window as we drove. Some trees still had leaves on them, but they were close to dying. Everything looked gray outside, bland. Not much different than staring at my mom.

​We pulled into Rex’s driveway and everyone else was already there, which was only Uncle Michael and family. Sandra. Great. We got out of the car and walked to the door and walked in. No knock, it was expected of us to just come in.

​“Hey guys,” my Aunt Julia said as we entered.

​My mom tried to smile, but it seemed to crack her face. “Hi, Julia. How are you?”

​“Great, thanks. You?”

​“Hanging in there.”

​“And you, Kerri?” Julia asked me.

​“I am doing fine, thanks.”

​“Sandra is dying to see you. She is in the family room with the boys.”

​I shrugged and went into the back of the house to go find Sandra. Didn’t really want to, but there really was no one else to hang out with.

​With a wide grin, Sandra said, “Hi, Kerri. How ya been?”

​“Fine. Thanks. You?”

​“Great,” she said then practically attacked me and gave me a big hug.

​Rex, my Uncle Michael and my cousin John sat on the couch in the back of the room watching some football game. They gave a quick hello so as not to miss any of the action. Men and sports. I returned a quick smile and a nonchalant hi. Turned back to Sandra and she smiled at me so wide her whole face was teeth.

​“Wanna play a game or sumthin’?” she asked.

​I shrugged. “I guess.” I was trying to be nice, but I was tried. Missed my dad. Probably because it was Thanksgiving. Something about holidays that brings out all the memories. All the emotions. Crying was last thing I wanted to do now. I tried to smile. Maybe playing a game would help.

​“How ‘bout Pictionary?”

​“Sounds great, Sandra.” Could have cared less what game it was. Except Monopoly.

​She went and got the game and came back in a minute holding it in her hands. Placed it on the table in the middle of the room, away from the football watchers. I went over there and sat down. The game was boring, but it passed the time. Set up the game and had to make up some different rules since it was just the two of us. Pictionary was a team game. We decided to take turns drawing while the other guessed. Whoever’s drawings received the most correct guesses was the winner. After a couple of rounds I started to enjoy playing it. Enjoyed spending time with Sandra. Maybe she was getting older and less annoying. Maybe I was just that bored. Either way it did not matter. I had fun. We both did. Bonded a little, which I know she will never forget.

​We were getting close to the end of the game, we played until twenty. Sandra had nineteen, I had twelve. Wasn’t a very good artist, not like Sandra. Even at that young age she had some talent. It was her turn to draw, mine to guess. She grabbed a card, read it, studied it, placed it face down at the bottom of the pile. Picked up her pencil and began to draw. She drew something that looked familiar to me, but I couldn’t place it. I looked cockeyed at it. Squinted. Couldn’t figure out where I had seen it.

​“Well? You gonna guess?”

​Oops. Was so taken aback by the familiarity I forgot I still had to play the game. The timer was still about half full of sand, so I had plenty of time left. Looked at the drawing again. “Lone ranger?”

​She made a buzzer sound. “Wrong. Try again,” she said in overenthusiastic game show host voice.

​After a couple of wrong guesses I said, “Bank robber?” Last particle of sand landed on the bottom as I said it. Still counted if I was right.

​“Nailed it. I win!”

​“Good job, Sandra. That was a good drawing.”

​“Thanks.”

​I looked down at it again. Tried to figure out where I saw it. Then I got it and snapped my fingers.

​“What is it?” Sandra asked.

​“Nothing. Just thought of something.”

​“What? What did you think of?”

​“Nothing important, really.”

​Heard the call for dinner. Looked back down at her picture. It was just a face. Black mask covering the eyes and nose. Billy Quinlin’s costume. That’s what it reminded me of. It was a weird feeling to see something so similar to that. Creepy. Coincidence. It had to be.



"Unnamed novel: chapter 5"