Cut Glass and Cats

—the thrillifying sequel to Cutting Grass and Class—

Kat paused on the darkened stairway, holding the cracked glass out in front of her with her right hand. The light from far behind glinted eerily off its angles and barely illuminated the crimson liquid inside. Without turning around, she could still sense impatience coming from the top of the stairs.

“Keep going. Keep going.”

“Get out of my head!” she screamed, her arm shaking and spilling half the blood. She wrapped her left hand more tightly around her right wrist.

“Keep going!” The voice boomed against the narrow passage walls and made every bone in Kat’s body vibrate in response.

“I won’t! I don’t want to!” she sobbed, but she started moving again anyways. There was no resisting the downward sweep of motion, a vortex slithering towards the bottom of the staircase. She let go of her arm, ignoring the blood, turning and trying to grab the railing, but her hand refused to latch onto the cold iron.

“Let me go!” she screamed. “Don’t send me down there! I don’t want to vanish. I don’t want to die… not anymore…

—-

The door creaked open and the writer started violently, jumping from his chair and fumbling with his notebook.

“Dinner’s ready… um… Julian.”

“Okay,” he gasped.

“What’s up?”

“Nothing. I’m coming.” Julian whistled a couple upbeat lines and ran his fingers through his hair.

“Okay, whatever,” Ada said doubtfully, shrugging as she slipped out.

He sighed in relief. The last thing he wanted was for Ada to know that what her brother Julian Saunders was doing with his five years of med school and two years of psychology was writing horror stories under the pen name of Castile Herrera. It was also the last thing he wanted his parents to know. But if inspiration struck while he was staying over for thanksgiving, what was he supposed to do?

Julian glanced regretfully at his notebook. He’d been on a roll. But there was a turkey dinner waiting for him. And mom. Mom would ask too many questions if he were late. Julian slipped the notebook under his old bed and followed his sister into the dining room.

“Mm, smells good,” Julian said, easing himself into a seat. “What kinda spices did you use, mom?” he asked, wickedly, knowing the turkey was pre-spiced. “How’s it going dad? I was planning on sitting down and watching a bit of the game with you, but I had some… er… work—this afternoon… David, good to see you here. You’re one of the fam now, aren’t you?”

“Next April,” David said, smiling at Ada.

“You’re one of the family already,” Mrs. Saunders said.

“Yep, considering how much like me you look,” Julian chuckled, “you’re probably actually a long-lost cousin. Marrying your cousin is weird, Ada,” he grinned, picking up his fork and diving into the mashed potatoes his mom had just served him.

“Julian—your dad’s going to say grace,” Mrs. Saunders interrupted, reproachfully.

“Dang, I always forget,” said Julian, laughing easily. “You’d forgive me, if you knew how hungry these fabulously creamy potatoes are making me…”

“Seven years of school haven’t cured him of the habit of flattering your cooking, have they, Mrs. Saunders?” David winked.

“It gets her every time,” Mr. Saunders added. “—Let’s pray.”

Julian didn’t listen to the prayer—just watched the bowed faces. Good old dad, grey as a squirrel, but lively as one too. The faith thing had perked him up, all right. There was Ada next to him, looking sweet. Her right hand wasn’t on the table and neither was David’s left. Julian chuckled to himself. There was no need to look at David—he could see that face in the mirror anytime he wanted. The resemblance was uncanny. Julian wished that either he could grow a beard or David would, just to put a bit of difference between them. —And there was mom, sitting at the end across from dad. Julian’s eyes softened a touch. Mom, always sticking a finger in his pie, messing around and irritating him, just cause she loved him so much and always wanted what was best for him…

There, the prayer was finally over. Thank goodness. Time to eat!

—-

“I’m worried about Julian.”

Mrs. Saunders sat on the edge of her husband’s lazy boy and glued her eyes on the remote he had in his hand until he complied with the unspoken demand to hit the mute button.

“Honey—leave it in God’s hands. You know he won’t listen—all we can do is pray.”

“I know… it’s just—you know what his work is.” The statement was half a question.

Mr. Saunders sighed. “I know we were disappointed that he chose psychology, but it’s not all bad. He is happy—it’s a good job, New York Health and—oh, I don’t remember the hospital name, but—”

“That’s just it,” Mrs. Saunders said. “He doesn’t work—where he said he works.”

Mr. Saunders stared. “What?”

“Oh, there’s a Dr. Saunders working there, all right. But it’s not him. I talked to Dr. Jacob Saunders last week. He’s fifty-six years old and highly superstitious.”

“What?”

“Well,” Mrs. Saunders said, waving her hand around expressively, “I called last week, because Julian hadn’t confirmed if he was coming home for thanksgiving, and I asked to be put through to Dr. Saunders—I said I was his mom. Well, turns out, Dr. Jacob Saunders’ mom has been dead five years. It was a really interesting conversation.”

“Oh…kay. Then… what?”

“Well then I called Julian’s cell again and he said he was coming, apologized for missing my previous calls, and I just—thought I’d rung up the wrong hospital. But you heard what he said at dinner last night. He told David he works at New York Health. He doesn’t.”

Mr. Saunders dropped far back into his chair, bewildered. “He has a job somewhere. Did you see his car? It’s pretty decent.”

“Exactly. Why is he lying?”

—-

She screamed, and her scream rang hollow as her breath faded away. She could hear her heartbeat in the silence that followed, and it was a beautiful sound. “I don’t want to die!”

Kat had dropped the glass; it was at the bottom now, wherever that was, and the hiss of satisfaction coming up from that pit coagulated her blood. She fought to find the railing again, trying to will strength into her numb fingers, painfully fighting the force dragging her into the darkness. But it was calling her, summoning her as though it knew her. As though she belonged there.

And the light, the fading light, far up the stairs, pushed her on.

“Keep going!”

“Let me go! Get out of my head! Leave me!”

And then the light faded, as though a door somewhere had been closed forever, and she was left alone with the darkness, and with the cold death that was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, and with the horror in her heart…

—-

Julian bit the end of his pen and fished mindlessly in his bowl of goldfish crackers. Coming up empty, he snapped out of his writing trance and looked gloomily at the bowl.

He tried to settle back down to writing, but after a dozen more lines, the words stopped coming. In their place the bright fall sunshine, streaming through the window, made the paper glow like white fire. Time for a break, he thought, slipping a blank sheet into his pocket, in case he thought of something. He walked to the sliding window and stepped outdoors, where his leather shoes squeaked on the pavement until he reached the grass and wandered across the lawn.

Under the deep shade of the trees he paused, watching the light play across the green grass, feeling glad to be alive. Then he turned and plunged deeper into the woods, searching for inspiration.

Was he still searching, when that brilliant sunshine faded and the night fell? Was he still searching, when the grey dawn came cold over the dewy grasses and tinged the Saunders’ house with morning? Was he still searching, when his family, surprised by his late hours, found his bed untouched?

—-

She could feel the darkness, but that wasn’t what daunted her. She could see the silence, but that wasn’t what scared her. She could smell the coldness, but that wasn’t what chilled her.

There was a rattling along the wall. Her grasp on the railing was growing weaker.

Somewhere halfway down the stairs she left her body.

“You’ll get it back,” a voice hissed, echoing clammily off the encircling walls. “When it’s ready to follow you. When it’s cold enough and stiff enough to endure endless pain.”

She heard the words, resonating through her over and over: “endless pain, endless pain.”

“Come, my child!”

And as Kat slipped further down the stairs, seeing without sight, hearing without ears, feeling without touch, every sensation was a misery of direct pain.

“Where are you taking me?” she cried, and speaking without a voice was the cruelest agony. “Who are you?”

“I am darkness, and to darkness I take you…

—-

Mrs. Saunders dropped the paper she’d found on her son’s desk, and it floated silently to the ground. She looked at her husband with terrified eyes.

“It’s his handwriting,” she whispered.

Ada crossed to the window and opened it as David, panting, came across the lawn. Silently, he held out a crinkled page.

“I found this—almost half a mile away,” he gasped. “By the bridge. I didn’t find… anything else.”

Mr. Saunders voice shook as he read it, and the others listened, sick with dread.

—-

Suddenly she could see; the intense darkness was burning into her soul, and it showed her the bottom stair, the last place she would ever reach, and the emptiness that awaited her there. And in silence she read her doom: ALL HOPE ABANDON, YE WHO ENTER HERE.

“Why?”

And the darkness said, “Come in.”

There was light on those words now, and the light made them fiery, and the warning burnt her.

“Come in!”

She panted with terror, as the darkness drew her. She stretched out a hand toward the emptiness, as the warning faded.

ALL HOPE ABANDON, YE WHO ENTER HERE.

—-

Julian had a splitting headache. That sensation wasn’t as rare as it should have been, but the massive lump on his head was new. He was face down on freezing cold cement, but shooting hot pain was racing along his muscles.

He lifted his head as a new spasm of pain hit him—the impact of a hard boot against his bruised ribs. “Please…” he gasped, brokenly.

“Oh, the kid hypocrite can talk after all, can he?” a sneering voice asked, in a tone of cold steel.

Julian looked up from the size fifteen boots to the bat his aggressor tapped in one hand, to his massive, inflexible, dark face.

“Where is Cat?” the voice said.

Julian started. Kat? All-hope-abandon-ye-who-enter-here-Kat? He tried to pinch himself but his wrists were tied tightly behind him. He swore under his breath in sudden terror. Where on earth was he?

A sickening blow from the bat across his bound arms roused him.

“Tell me where Cat is. Don’t think you can wear me down. I can keep this up forever, boy.”

Julian shuddered and took a gasping breath. His horror deepened. “Are you…” he choked on the words—“Are you a demon?” he asked.

“What?”

“For God’s sake,” he pleaded, “if I’ve died and gone to hell just tell me.”

The bully gave a short laugh. “Does this feel like you’ve died and gone to hell?” he asked, giving him another kick.

“Kind of!” Julian screamed.

“You’re an idiot. You knew this was going to happen. Did you think you could help Cat escape and we wouldn’t come after the money? You can save that boy’s stinking soul if you want to, but not before the money is back in our hands.” He yanked Julian to a sitting posture and flung him into a low chair.

Julian took in the low, ramshackle room at a glance. Three other men lounged against the far wall, staring him down. All his muscles ached and his head still buzzed. He hoped with all his might he was still on earth. This would be way too much to stand forever.

The ruffian grasped him firmly by the chin and squeezed until his jaw ached. “Listen kid. We know you’ve alerted the police that this might happen. We know they’ll be on our tails. We don’t have time to waste. You’ve got five minutes to tell us where Cat escaped to, or else the police will find your dead body. So talk!”

“He won’t talk.”

Julian looked up at the unexpected interruption. One of the guys lounging against the wall had straightened and walked forward.

“This isn’t David Malone.”

“Then who the—”

The man shrugged. “Don’t know. But Bradley touched base. He just got off trail duty. Literally saw David at his house two minutes ago.”

Julian’s captor looked his prisoner over, dumbfounded. “You mean… we’ve got the wrong kid? There’s nothing this one can tell us?”

The man shook his head. “Toss him in a corner. We’ll decide what to do with him later.”

That was when Julian got mad. “You pair of complete idiots, you mean to say you took me for that ninny David, who never wore an ironed shirt in his life? You’ve sat there and beat me up and torn my best pair of dress pants because you thought I was that soft hearted do-gooder? You devils—you… Bring me a glass of water! Bring me a lemonade! Bring me a root beer float!”

—-

While Julian was busy demanding sustenance at the hands of his captors, the Saunders’ home was the center of grim activity. A well-organized search party patrolled in every direction, bringing routine—and routinely disappointing—reports to Mr. and Mrs. Saunders.

Ada and David were out with the searchers, though David tried to convince Ada to stay behind.

“If we do find—anything—it… Ada… you should go back.”

“You don’t know Julian the way I did!” She whirled on David. “He’s not—he didn’t—Julian loved life. He would never have committed suicide,” she said firmly.

“But that—that story—”

“It’s just a story. Julian used to tell me stories when we were little. He was always trying to scare me stiff. I’ve thought… I have a theory—I… I have two theories. You’ll listen to me?”

“Of course I will.”

“I think Julian has been writing horror stories for a long time. I’ve caught him now and then acting—well, acting funny. You heard mom mentioned that he was lying about his job. Well, that’s it. He’s not working as a psychologist. He’s writing under a pen name.”

“Maybe,” David agreed. “But how does that help us figure out what happened to him?”

Ada hesitated. “David… you don’t think… maybe… maybe he was mistaken for you?”

For a second David didn’t understand.

“I know you’re in danger for what you did to help that young man,” Ada said. “You’ve been careful not to go out alone—but Julian was out alone. You know he… he looks just like you.”

“You might be right,” David said, horrified.

—-

Julian got his drink of water—but not his root beer float—and then, true to the threat, he was tossed uncomfortably into a corner.

The first fifteen minutes were a fine fifteen minutes. Julian counted his blessings and hoped he’d never see those guys again. In an hour, he thought it would be nice if one of them would come back just long enough to give him another drink. In two hours, he was yelling for help. In three hours, he couldn’t even whisper.

That was when things started going dark. He’d black out for a bit, until a sharper ache than usual from a cramped muscle would pull him back to reality. He was beginning to realize that he’d been abandoned. And he was beginning to realize that he might not be found.

He hadn’t ended his last story, he thought regretfully. For a second he thought of the black staircase—but no, this wasn’t the time or place to plan it. Julian struggled to see the light in the room, to push back the blackness closing on him. The meagre sunlight filtered dimly through a crack over the door, wavering in front of his tired eyes. He held desperately onto that strip of sunlight. If it went out…

“I don’t want to die!”

That light symbolized life for him; if night came, or if he blacked out again, he’d felt that he’d die. And death—death meant darkness.

“God is light, and in him is no darkness at all…”

But for him, death—death held only darkness.

“If we walk in the light, as he is in the light… the blood of Jesus Christ his Son cleans us from all sin.”

Light!

“Julian… Julian!” The sound of his name reached him vaguely. He watched the light, awed; it brightened, grew; burst into the room; flooded over him. “Julian!”

“I’m coming!” he panted.

Which, as David later remarked, was an odd thing to hear from a fellow lying in a corner trussed like a chicken.

—-

“I’m coming back!” Kat cried, and the horror fell off her like a jacket. “I’m coming back! I’m sorry! Don’t let me go!” And with newfound lightness and ease she ran. Her back was to the darkness, to the curse that had almost held her; her feet flew up the stairs, and the light at the top grew, and grew, and it shone around her, so brightly that it cut her heart and dazzled her eyes. And as it lifted her up, and brought her sobbing in joy and thankfulness back to life, she knew suddenly, what she’d never known before, that it was only the light that had ever stood between her and the darkness, and that to run from it was death.

“Why?” she cried again, but in wonder this time. “Why did you bring me back?”

“Because I love you. Because you are mine.”

“Then why—why did you let me go?”

“So you would love me. So you would know you are mine.”

—-

Mrs. Saunders looked up from over the last page at her son.

“Well? What do you think?” he exploded, pacing from one side of the room to the other as if he were a rubber ball bouncing off the walls.

“Uh… what does it mean?” Mrs. Saunders asked.

Julian laughed ruefully. “It’s… just a horror story, mom.”

“Well, the ending wasn’t as bad as I thought it’d be.”

He laughed again.

“I’m sorry you had to go through all that, Julian.”

“Don’t be,” he said briskly. “I learned some things… but,” he added, catching his mother’s too-relieved look, “I’m gonna keep writing horror stories, you know.”

“I can live with that,” she sighed. “Just keep giving them happy endings.”

If you loved it...

What do you think? Cancel reply