Mommy's Illness

Mommy was sick. I don't know what she had. Daddy said that she should always stay in her room... always. He told me to keep out of the attic. That's where Mommy was. Daddy wouldn't tell me what was wrong with Mommy. Whenever I asked, he'd flinch, like he'd been hit. Daddy told me, "...Mommy is... not all together anymore... not like she used to be..." This confused me. What did Daddy mean by "not all together anymore?" Was she crazy? I didn't know. Daddy never talked about her. Not unless you asked.
When I asked about Mommy, Daddy never got mad. He was gentle. He wouldn't ever yell at me. Even when I asked about her. When someone said Mommy's name--Laura, his face would become very sad. I guess he was just upset about Mommy being sick. He never mentioned her, but he loved Mommy. He really wanted her to get better. So did I. I'd always acted like a little boy. Even though I was almost ten.
The room where Mommy was--the attic, was in the hallway upstairs, right outside my bedroom door. When my door was open, you could see it from anywhere in my room. It was nailed shut, so I couldn't go up there. Sometimes I just sat on my Lightning McQueen bed and stared at it, wondering what Mommy was doing. Sometimes I could hear a little shuffling noise coming from up there. Could she walk? Crawl? Could she even move? Daddy still wouldn't say anything. All he said was "She's fine... don't worry. Just leave her be." He told me to stop worrying about Mommy. But I couldn't. I needed to know. And tonight, I was going to find out about Mommy's illness.
I decided to find out on Saturday. At least I think it was Saturday. During the middle of the day, I snuck a hammer from a drawer in the shed. I also found a step ladder in there. I took them, and hid them. I did it while Daddy was making dinner. That way he wouldn't know. I hid the hammer in my toy box next to my bed, under all of my toys. Then, I put the step ladder in my closet next to the door. I would get them both later.
A few hours after dinner, at bedtime, while Daddy was tucking me in, I began to plan things out. Around 2:00 A.M. I snuck into Daddy's bedroom, across the hall, and made sure he was sleeping. He was. Then, I got the hammer out of my toy box, and the step ladder from the closet, and went into the hallway. It was dark, but I could see the attic well enough. I carefully placed the step ladder under the attic door, picked up the hammer, and quietly climbed the step ladder.
It was hard taking the screws out, but I got all four of them. I hopped off the step ladder- making sure to be quiet, and moved it out of the way. I pulled the long cord on the attic door, opening it. It felt like it hadn't been opened in ages. As I lowered the small square door, a strong, unidentifiable smell assaulted my nose. It smelled familiar. Something I smelled when I got hurt... blood? Maybe. I slowly unfolded the segmented ladder leading into the attic, until it reached its full length. I just stood there for a while, and peered into the darkness within. All these weeks I'd been left wondering about Mommy. Now I got to know. Gathering my courage, I climbed the small ladder, and stepped into the dusty and dry attic.
I looked about, trying to find Mommy. Searching, but only with my eyes. I didn't want to move, but I had to. I was on the edge of one side of the attic. I slowly made my way to the other side. One step at a time. This took minutes. One step... at... a... time. I told myself. I was halfway across the attic. Almost... there. I thought... Then I made a mistake.
I couldn't see where I was stepping. My left foot landed straight on a loose nail jutting from the dark floorboards. I let out a soft yelp and fell forward on the floor, catching myself on something cold with the side of my left forearm. Probably a table. I cried quietly to myself. Luckily, I fell very softly, and didn't wake up Daddy. I sat cross-legged and examined my punctured foot. It hurt. It hurt a lot. But it wasn't really bleeding. The nail must be covered in blood though. I checked, and sure enough it was. "Hey..." I thought to myself. "I can see things better..." My eyes had adjusted to the dark. Then I felt the cold thing...
It was slowly moving down my arm. I know it was. I could feel it. I looked at my arm. I saw the cold thing, wet and dripping... and black. Just like my blood... This was blood... I heard a soft hissing noise from behind me... I turned. And on the blood covered operating table, lined with surgical tools, was Mommy. Each of her severed and decaying limbs; each of her pulled out, rotten teeth; and both her fluid-oozing severed head, and naked skin-torn torso, were hissing. They were actually hissing. But they weren't just hissing. They were moving. Every splayed out limb on the table was moving towards the decomposing torso. When a severed limb or bone got close enough, it would snap back into place with a thick crunch, or a sickening squelch. I stood, in absolute horror, as I witnessed my dead mother somehow piece herself back together...
The body was putting itself together like a jigsaw puzzle, figuring out what goes where, and how it goes. It was thinking. It knew what it was doing. But worst of all, it was beginning to move... and talk. She turned her filthy, blood encrusted head to look at me, followed by the sound of a snapping tree branch. Her eyes met mine. Her eyes were the only part of her decomposed body that was fully intact. And they were still so full of life. My mother let out, in a soft groan-like voice, my name. "Dane..." Her flesh ripped from her tight jaw as she moved her mouth. "D-Dane... Sweety... L-listen to y-your mother... G-get out of t-the house... now."
She brought her beautiful, dark brown eyes to mine. My eyes were just like hers. At that moment, I knew she wasn't going to hurt me. She sat up, grabbing a bone saw from the table, and said, "Run along now, sweety. Dad and I need to have a talk." Then I understood everything. My mother walked up to me, patted me on the back and said, "Remember, I'll always love you. Now go." I heard Dad scream as I left the house.
Apparently, Dad screamed so loudly that he made the neighbor wake, who then called the police. They arrived at my house about ten minutes later. When they entered my house, they were greeted to a gruesome sight. My Father was in multiple pieces, almost too many to count. Fingers, toes, limbs, entrails and anything else you could think of was all in a pile of crusty, sticky blood. My mother however, was the same way I had found her. The exact same way. My father didn't even get to fight back.
I now understand what my father did to my mother, and why this all happened. Mother and Father were never on equal terms. They would always argue, mostly over nothing. Their marriage was... unstable, to say the least. They were always shouting, and I guess my young mind blocked it all out. Regardless of what had happened, I miss both Mother and Father. But I live in a good home with good people now. It's a foster home. My care takers, Bill and Sue, are an older couple. Their views are... comparable to most adults, but they're good people. They're even planning my birthday this year in advance. I'm turning fifteen.
But that's the end of this little story. I miss my parents dearly, but I have a great life. I'll never forget my Mother's official last words to me. "Remember, I'll always love you. Now go." I love her too, though. In fact, I love her so much, that I took her sickness away from her. It happened when I heard my Father scream before he died that night. Turns out it's contagious. Her disease has gotten to me, has become a part of me. And you know what? I'm glad! I can spread this disease in honor of my late Mother! I can spread the type of love my Father gave to Mommy! The type of love you have to give an arm and a leg to receive... Or of course, some fingers, a hand, an eye. Hahaha... You name it...
Thanks for listening, but I have to go now. I have something to do. You see, yesterday at school, I noticed that the girl I like had a red hand print the size of a grown man's across her face. I've just found out the hand print is her Father's. I guess it's time to finally do it. It's time to pass on Mommy's Illness.
Category:Monsters
Category:Dismemberment