Caleb
Author’s Note
I’ve written before about how many of my stories start with an image.
My latest novel, currently in the editing stages, began with one of these offerings my subconscious, a picture of a boy, straight as a board, floating about six inches above his bed. A ray of sunshine cast a triangle of light over the scene. The boy’s shadow is the only part of him touching the bed sheets.
I’m not sure where these images come from, but Caleb started the same way. It’s one of my earliest short stories, written close to seven years ago, so I don’t recall where I was when it came to me. I saw a carpet in a darkened room. Shards of glass littered the floor, which was soaking wet, causing the nuggets of glass to shimmer like diamonds. As if the floor and the starry-night sky had swapped places.
Where did the glass come from? Why was everything all wet? What was that shuffling around in the dark?
Caleb was born.
Like any stories from early in a writer’s career, this one is not perfect. There are holes, there’s clumsy dialogue, and I wish I’d spent more time with the characters, getting to know them a little bit, instead of just plunging ahead with the story. But, I don’t want to rewrite history, and as I’ve said before, save for the grammar and spelling slips, I want these stories to exist pretty much as they were when I first put pen to paper.
Enjoy, and as always, thanks for reading.
J.J.W.
“It was a pain in his right side, Clay,” I said through my frustration.
“I doubt it’s appendicitis, Carla,” he responded, flipping open his newspaper. “It’s probably just growing pains.”
Again the frustration surged, bringing with it the clenched fists, the hint of a headache. I watched as Clay angled the newspaper to better catch the light of the candle flickering beside him. It had been more than 24 hours without power.
It’s not growing pains, my mind yelled.
This fight started about a week ago. After dinner, Caleb had complained to me that something was aching in his side. I looked and there had been no swelling at the time. I poked his 8-year-old belly and told him it was probably nothing, but I immediately worried. This wasn’t long after we had returned from visiting Clay’s family in Ukraine, and I was scared he may have caught something there. Caleb had enjoyed the trip and never complained once of any aches. Jumping with excitement as his Uncle Derek pointed different things out to him. I can still see his mouth dropping as he looked at the massive stone coffin encasing the remnants of Chernobyl.
“Where could he have caught something?” Clay said after I asked him what he thought. “Stop worrying,” he said, “he’ll be fine.”
“Any news on the storm?” I asked, glancing at the newspaper in his hand. Even in the darkness I could read the bolded headline. ICE KNOCKS OUT POWER. STORM SET TO RAGE ON. Something else caught my eye. The paper was folded and all I could see were the words VIRU- and RADIO- and the rest was cut off.
“Hey Clay, what’s that?” I asked pointing toward the bottom of the paper. He flipped it over, examining the article I pointed out.
“Oh just about some kids,” Clay said as he read the article, “about some kids getting sick down in...Texas.” A look had come over his face when he read the article, his eyes were squinted and I figured he may need his glasses. When I opened my mouth to speak, I was cut off.
“Well they say the worst of it was over last week,” he said. “If you ask me, that’s bullshit.”
He dropped the paper looking around our dark house. “No power, no hot water, no leaving the house,” he shook his head, flipping the paper back over his face. “Yeah the worst is definitely over.”
I knew Clay was itching to get away from me and Caleb. Every time we fought he always went for a drive, or a walk, or anywhere that wasn’t the house. Things got uncomfortable and Clay’s immediate response was flight. Avoid the problem and prey it goes away. I knew it when I married him, but that didn’t mean I liked it.
I sighed, standing from the chair. The TV sat in the darkness on the other side of the room, black and silent. I already missed the welcoming light it cast and the voices which always filled the house. Clay didn’t move from behind his paper as I left the room. Holding my candle, which I had brought with me from the table, I held it at arms length casting some light ahead of me. It seemed to shimmer across the linoleum in our kitchen. Making my way to the cupboard I took down a glass and filled it with water. It was past ten and the darkness outside was complete. Only half of the window was clear, the other half was piled up with snow. The reports said about six feet of snow had fallen in the last two days.
As I looked out the window into the darkness, my thoughts returned to Caleb. He had been complaining steadily for the past three days about the pain in his side, and Clay may not see it, but I knew there was some swelling. The fever had started last night, peaking at 102 before dropping off in the morning, and Caleb seemed better. Then, tonight after dinner, he had been practically in tears from the pain.
Why hadn’t I taken him the first day? The thought kept occurring to me. If I had taken him three days ago, before all the snow came, I wouldn’t be so worried. The doctor would have confirmed or denied it, and it would have been settled right there. It was Clay who had said not to take him.
“He’s fine,” he said. “Our bodies always have weird pains.” He looked at Caleb, who was standing beside his Dad’s chair. “You’re okay aren’t you, boy?”
“It hurts, Daddy,” Caleb said. I wanted to blurt ‘I told you so!’ But he was up, shaking his head and gone from the room before I had a chance.
Turning from the window, I looked around the dark room. Our kitchen was essentially a rectangle. The sink sat along one of the long sides which was lined with counters and cupboards. The only break was the window in front of me. All the cabinetry was made of old yellowing wood. The table, which stood in the centre of the room was made of the same. Looking into the doorway on the opposite side of the kitchen, I jumped as Caleb emerged from the darkness.
I stared at him for a minute, my breath caught in my throat. He barely reached three and a half feet and his small pale body seemed to glow in the dark. His gym shorts hung limply against his skinny legs, and his shirtless chest, was jerking with small short breaths. Then I ran to him.
“Oh my God!” I wrapped my arms around his head. My body blocked the candle, which still sat on the counter behind me, I couldn’t make out any of his features in the dark, it seemed like I was hugging a shadow. I had dropped to my knees to hug him, straightening up, I walked back and grabbed the candle. Kneeling again, he nearly collapsed into my arms, but he caught himself with a slap of his barefoot on the linoleum. I placed my hand on his shoulder and it nearly slid off the sweat covered skin. He mumbled something which I didn’t hear the first time.
“What’s that honey?” I asked bending to look into his face, which truly gave testament to how he must have felt. It was swollen with fatigue, so much that his eyes were slits. His hair clung in clumps to his sweaty forehead. His lips moved.
“It hurts, Mommy.”
I glanced down and saw his small hands clutching his side. The knuckles were white with the effort of squeezing. Sniffing back the tears threatening behind my eyes, I tried to calm my racing heart.
“It’s okay, dear,” I said, cupping his face in my hands. His eyes momentarily flickered, then returned to slits. “Let me see,” I said, moving my hands down to his side. Gripping his wrists I pulled away his grip, which was surprisingly strong.
His hip was a rainbow of blues and purples. Strips of bruises wrapped themselves around his bony hip. Others snaked their way down his stomach beneath his pyjamas. I placed my fist in my mouth, biting it to keep from crying out.
“Please, Mom,” he said, his head rolling forward on his neck. Still staring at the bruises he had squeezed into himself, I blinked, looking back at his face. I swiped the clumpy, wet hair from his forehead.
“It’s okay, baby,” I said. The lie tasted bitter on my tongue. It had to be his appendix, what else could it be? The worst was, there was no way of getting him to the hospital, or of calling for help. A pit formed in my stomach as I stood in my dark kitchen tears leaking down my cheeks. These I quickly swiped away. Please, God don’t let it burst.
My arms and legs practically shook with despair as I moved to the drawer on the other side of the kitchen where we kept the medicine.
“Here we go,” I said shaking two capsules into my palm. “This will help.” I tipped them into his waiting hand, he stared at them for a second, then slowly brought them to his mouth. “Good boy,” I said, my voice shaking.
“Thanks, Mommy,” he said through a mouthful of chewed pills. Small wet bits stuck to his lips. At that moment I thought I was going to break down. I wasn’t going to let him die. If I had to walk through the six feet of snow to get him to the hospital, I would. Reaching out, I pulled his bare chest to my stomach and rested my cheek on the top of his head.
His arms hung limply as I hugged him, and as I leaned back I felt the sweat from his feverish body that had soaked through my top.
“I love you, honey,” I said rubbing the back of his head, “now head back up to bed okay?”
“Okay,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. Flicking on the flashlight we had given him — oddly enough it was the only flashlight in the house — I watched his back fade into the darkness.
“Herby needs food, Mom,” he said. His voice made me jump again.
“Oh,” I answered, “okay, honey we can get some fish food tomorrow.” No you can’t, there is six feet of snow on the ground. There was a stretch of silence during which I pictured him standing in the darkness, thin and pale, staring out at me.
“Okay, night Mommy,” he said. The small glow of his flashlight bobbed into the air eerily as he made his way up the stairs.
I cried for almost two hours after that. My eyes let loose the flood I had kept at bay in the kitchen. I walked back to the living room, placed my candle gently on the table beside Clay, who had fallen asleep, then collapsed into my chair. I bawled. Clay didn’t even wake up.
The candlelight flickered as I wiped tears from my swollen eyes. I was curled in the chair, my knees clutched to my chest. My long brown hair, which was down around my face, was now soaked with tears. Was there anything I could do for him? I sat up, trying to think if I’d learned anything about appendicitis. Obviously not, I thought to myself, where would you? I stood up, snatching the candle from the coffee table beside my chair. Clay gave a small snort, but remained asleep.
I moved to the computer desk that sat in the corner of the room. A small ray of hope was shining in my chest, maybe there was something I could do to help him, hold it off before we could get him to the hospital to have it removed. I pressed the button, and nothing happened. I pressed it again.
Idiot. The damn power is out.
“Shit,” I spat, the ray of hope fading. I tried to think of what I could use. My cell phone was dead. My laptop had some battery left. But of course, the internet would be down even if I got a computer running. I dropped my face into my hands, without power, what was I supposed to do? I rubbed my palms over my eyes. There had to be something. Staring across the room at Clay, his head lolled back against the chair, I saw them. Bookshelves wound there way around the opposite corner of our living room, and behind Clay’s chair, just above his head, were the set of Encyclopedia’s my parents had bought me when I first started university.
Yes!
I dashed across the room. My candle practically going out in the flurry of my movement. Grabbing the first one I flicked it open and searched, finding it not long after. It was a lot of scientific stuff. Symptoms can change from person to person....not sure what the function...poisonous...bacteria store for the colon. Treatment...removal. That was pretty much it. Remove it, or have it burst, and then you were in serious trouble.
I closed the book, with a hollow thud, like the closing of a coffin lid. The air from the pages flickered my candle.
The tears threatened again, pushing on the backs of my eyes. My only son, my baby, was going to die. How could this have happened? Slipping the book back into its slot on the shelf, I walked across the room to Clay, who was still snoring. He awoke with a groggy hummpphh as I collapsed into his lap. His eyes widened with anger at seeing what awoke him. I felt his muscles tense and at first I thought he was going to throw me from the chair. Turning to him, tears leaking down my face, his muscles relaxed. His arms curled around me, and I cried once more. Clay didn’t say anything at first, and I just let it out. He rubbed my back and I soaked the shoulder of his t-shirt with my tears.
“I’m sorry,” I said, saliva bubbling across my lips.
“That’s okay,” he said, rubbing his palm across the stain, like he could brush it away, “no big deal.” He looked at me with a smile. For a second, this filled me with a happiness, like a balloon welling in my stomach. Then, the balloon popped as thinking of Clay returned my mind to Caleb, sick and dying upstairs.
As if reading my mind, Clay spoke.
“He’ll be okay, Carla,” he said, his hand still running up and down my back. My head resting again on his shoulder, the wet spot now felt cold against my cheek. “Everything will be fine,” he said.
Clay’s arms around me, his reassuring voice and words, I actually began to think that I had been over-reacting.
But you saw those bruises.
I knew that something had to be wrong for Caleb to do that to himself. I attempted to reassure myself, staring into the burning candle, that Caleb would be okay.
I lay my head back on Clay’s shoulder. I didn’t mean to fall asleep, but when I closed my eyes I was almost immediately out.
Then a noise.
It was a crash from upstairs. I awoke with a start and was flung from the chair as Clay scrambled to his feet.
“Wha-What is it?” He looked around quickly, then saw me in a heap on the ground, “you okay?” He asked, stooping down to me.
My arms had instinctively shot out to catch my fall, causing my wrists to take the brunt of my weight. They were pulsing with pain, but didn’t feel sprained.
“Yeah,” I answered, glancing around, “what the hell was that?”
“I’m not sure,” he said, snatching the candle from the table. “It came from upstairs.” With that, he whisked by me and disappeared into the kitchen. I was still sitting on the floor, my mind trying to wrap itself around what was going on.
Caleb.
I jumped from the floor, pushing myself up with my arms, which was a mistake. More pain shot through them, wrapping itself around my tendons like barbed wire. They ached as I caught Clay at the mouth of the stairs. We both stood at the bottom, staring up into the darkness. The top looked like the mouth of some mountain cave. I half expected something to come looming out of the darkness. I tried to break my gaze, but it was almost mesmerizing as my heart rate began to increase.
“What do you think that was?” I asked, placing my hand around his arm closest to me.
“I’m not sure,” he said, “but it sounded big.” Clay was holding the candle between us, and it shone off the bottom of his face, the effect was an eerie campfire glow.
I lifted my foot, starting to climb the stairs, when I felt his hand grab my arm. His grip was firm.
“What,” I said confused, “Caleb is up there!” Isn’t that obvious! Our boy is up there! He stared back at me, the candle held in front of his chest.
“There could be someone else up there,” he said glancing over my shoulder. Stunned, I spun around to check nobody was standing behind me. There was nothing. My mind raced with possible creatures and monsters. What are you a child? Caleb probably just dropped something.
“Caleb probably just dropped a glass of water,” I said pulling my arm, but he didn’t let go.
“That was bigger than a glass of water,” he stared at me and I stared back, though I’m sure all he could see was a shadow where my face was.
“Well we have to go up there,” I said, shaking my head. “We can’t not go up there.”
“I know,” he said, shifting the candle to his other hand, “let’s just,” he trailed off, the look was back in his eyes. The same one I had seen earlier, “let’s just be careful okay?”
“Okay,” I answered turning from him. His arm lessened its grip, but didn’t let go. I didn’t mind, having his contact kept my mind from wandering too far. Too far into images of son’s body lying dead in a crumpled heap. I shook my head to loose the visions from their vice grip on my imagination.
“You okay,” Clay asked. He passed me on the stairs my hand still clutched in his.
Then we both froze.
Water was pouring over the edge of the stairs. Cascading down each step, one by one. Pooling, then cascading over the edge, pooling then cascading over the edge. As the water drew closer to us my heart was throbbing in my chest. Where was Caleb? The noise was louder than a train roaring through. He had to have heard it! What the hell was this water?
“Caleb!” I moved to rush past him again, but Clay held me back.
The darkness seemed to surround us like a cocoon. I couldn’t see anything out of the two-foot aura created by the candle in Clay’s hand. Staring at his back as he walked up the stairs, his feet starting to splash in the water, I could see the veins sticking out on his arms and in his neck. The water seeped through my thick flannel socks. It was ice cold. I slowly began to follow Clay, the light slid over the wall to our left, which was covered in pictures. As Clay made his way up each step, the candle revealed the next set of frames, like some sort of natural slideshow. The pictures showed much happier times than this one. Clay and Caleb standing, arms crossed in front of our tent on our first camping trip. Caleb and me. Caleb’s school pictures.
Please be okay, Caleb.
Thoughts of him made something click in my mind. The thought explained the water, but didn’t make me feel any better about what we were going to find upstairs.
“Clay!” I said grabbing his arm. He whirled around, the candle only inches from my nose. I could feel its heat pushing on my eyes.
“I know what this water is,” I said, pulling away from the flame and shielding my eyes. He didn’t say anything, only stood in silence waiting for me to continue. “The fish tank.” After Caleb had won Herby the goldfish at the fair, he had forced us to go to the pet store and buy the tank. Both hands stretched on the glass of the biggest tank in the store he urged us to buy it.
“This one, Mommy!” He said jumping with excitement in front of the large glass box. His smiling face was reflected in the glass showing the two front teeth, which had unfortunately fallen out days apart. There was no possible way I was buying the 75-gallon tank for his one little goldfish. Also, the tank was close to $300.
“Not that one, honey,” I said, steering him away. He had settled for a ten gallon tank, which was also way to big for the fish, but at least it made him happy.
“Son of a bitch,” Clay said turning back to the top of the stairs, he took the rest of them two at a time. “Caleb!” Standing outside his door, I saw the water had stopped flowing from beneath the door, but I could still hear the drips falling over the stairs. There was no answer to Clay’s yell. I lifted my hand to open the door, but Clay grabbed my wrist once again. I could feel the sticky wax from the candle on his fingers. I moved my lips to protest, but the look in his eyes made me freeze. Then I heard it.
The noise was a slow squishing. It sounded like someone walking through slushy snow with heavy boots on. Mixed in with this were deep moaning breaths. What the hell? My mind was blank as I listened. There was nothing in my head to put this noise to a name or attribute it to any creature. The noise continued and Clay slowly gripped the knob of Caleb’s door.
“Here,” he said, handing me the candle. I took it, looking back at him confused. He had the candlestick held up behind him like a billy club. He pushed open the door.
At first I didn’t know what I was looking at. I first registered the shards of broken glass, which scattered across the hardwood floor at the foot of Caleb’s bed, shimmering like diamonds as the water soaked them. The flashlight lay on the opposite side of the room, facing toward us, the beam casting our large shadows on the wall in the hall behind us.
There was Caleb.
I had first thought that he was a pile of clothes on the ground. He was crouched beneath the stand which had once held his fish tank. The light shone directly on him, creating a humped shadow of his bent figure on the wall between ours. His knees were up around his ears, and both his hands were clutched to his face. His head was thrashing against them violently. The noise was coming from Caleb. I took a step forward, but froze as he whipped around faster than I had ever seen him move in his life. I couldn’t make out his features, but both of his arms had dropped to his sides, and flopped around his chest when he spun around, like he was wearing a shirt without sticking his arms in the sleeves.
“Carla..” Clay said, “come here.” He was backing out of the room. His fingers were reaching trying to grab my arm. But, I wasn’t leaving him. Not now that I knew he was alive. No way.
The candle held at my waist illuminated his bruised stomach and side as I came closer. His breathing was labored, and was entering his lungs in deep gasping moans.
“It’s okay, baby,” I said. Then my candlelight illuminated his face, and the dark lines which seemed to be covering his entire body. The lines looked like black veins; thick snake like tendrils, which covered his chest, and wrapped around his neck and face like twine. Then I realized what he had been doing on crouched on the ground. His face was coated in small slimy gold scales.
“Caleb..” I gasped. Then he jumped, his arms held out like he’d done thousands of times before when he wanted a hug. Not this time. His teeth were on my face before I fell to the ground. I could hear Clay screaming, but the pain blocked out everything from then on. I felt the skin on my cheek being ripped off, and the teeth gnawing against my cheekbone, then hot breath settled on my throat.
Clay Robin knew that his son didn’t have appendicitis. His brother in Ukraine had told him it was dangerous to bring their son. Many kids had been dying in their town of “apparent appendicitis”. But, the news hadn’t been telling the entire story. It was something much worse.
Clay’s brother, a researcher for a pharmaceutical company in Ukraine, had been working on an assignment dealing with the “appendicitis outbreak” when he first made the connection. The appendix had nothing to do with this outbreak. Radioactive bacteria were finding their way into civilians. The theory was that this bacteria was leaking from the remains of the Chernobyl meltdown. Preferring children for their hosts, the bacteria enters the body and begins to show symptoms similar to that of appendicitis during the first week. But, after the incubation period is over the virus spreads taking complete control of the host organism.
Of course, this was only a theory.
Clay knew that something was wrong with his son the minute he started complaining about pains in his side. Telling himself that it was probably nothing, and that his brother had explained the theory was only a theory. But, there had already been multiple cases, multiple bloody cases which backed it up.
But, Clay had ignored this, and watched as his son grew progressively worse, and he did nothing to stop it. Well, he knew there was nothing he could do to stop it. His brother had warned him about bringing Caleb, but he had anyways.
And now as his undead son bore down on him, his dead wife laying in a mangled pile in the fishy water on the ground, only one thought was going through his mind.
I did this.
Then Caleb lunged.