Voices

By

 MK Mancos  

    The door was open and hung drunkenly from rusted hinges. Glass littered the rotted porch, and the roof had become a haven for birds. Juliet stood looking at the forlorn structure as regrets swirled around her as physical as the leaves being chased by the wind.

     Echoes called from long forgotten autumns, reminding her of that fateful day ten years ago when childhood illusions of innocence were shattered forever. Golden light began to fade as screams rent the tranquility of the woods.

    Juliet spun; her heart beat like thunder beneath her skin.

     Relax, she told herself. It's not real.

    She took a deep, steadying breath and looked up. If the screams were real, the birds would have been startled from their treetop perches. A lone blackbird flew from the roof of the abandon house to a dead oak branch. A harbinger perhaps, but not an indication of real danger.

    Chills traveled along her nerves, beginning at her scalp and moving down to her toes. It was happening again- like before. She swallowed down her apprehension and placed a foot on the bottom step.

     Go in. I dare you, whispered a voice behind her.

     Juliet shook her head. The voice could not compel her this time. She was stronger now. The doctors said the medication was working.

     "If I go in, I go because I chose to," she said to the disembodied voice that followed her mercilessly since that day.

     You really think so? The voice mocked. A high-pitched giggle swam around her head then moved up into the canopy of trees. The sound of laughter rained down on Juliet until she pulled her foot back from the step and stood firm.

     "I'll leave and never come back."

     No! Panic laced the voice and splintered from the sound of one to that of many. We didn't mean to offend. Don't leave us.

     "Then don't mock me."

     We're sorry. The words reverberated off the dilapidated house, the trees, and forest floor.

     Juliet waited for the wave of nausea to pass. The voices never failed to make her sick when they worked in concert against her. She drew strength, however, in the fact they at least listened to her this time. She should never have let them talk her into coming here again, but there was unfinished business to attend that could not wait another decade.

     Empowered, she again placed her foot on the bottom step then proceeded to climb up on the porch. The step tried to break away under her feet.

     Careful, the voices cautioned.

     Crack!

     Juliet's foot went through the step up to her ankle. Something hard on the ground cracked under the pressure. She pulled her foot back through and knelt down to look into the hole. Bone, brittle and yellow, lay broken, forgotten by time. Her vibrato deserted her.

     "Not another one," she whispered.

     The step lie in broken halves. Rusted nails half-heartedly held the pieces of the step to the frame. Juliet lifted one side and the nails gave way like the corners of a box top.

     The last time she found bones they were still covered in ragged muscle and smelled of recent death. That time she had run as far and as fast as she could. This time she had to be strong, had to make things right.

     A face flashed unbidden to her mind. Dark, angry eyes set in a stark face awash in blood. The memory propelled Juliet to her feet. Her hand covered her mouth to stifle the scream about to explode.

     Could the same evil have murdered this unfortunate, and buried them beneath the stairs? Did her breakdown result in the monster's continued carnage.

     Rocked by fear, she pulled her cell phone from her jacket pocket. This time she would do the right thing; she wouldn't fall to pieces then run away to face her fears under the influence of anti-psychotics. Her hands shook as she dialed the number.

     "Sheriff's department," a bored voice said into the phone.

    "Please, I need the sheriff." Juliet's voice wavered; her lips trembled.

    "In reference to what?"

    "A murder." She drew in a breath, and tried to force calm into her body.

    "Where are you?"

    "The old Turner cabin."

    Silence reigned for a few beats.

    "Hello?"

    "I'll send someone."

    The line clicked off and Juliet moved the phone away from her ear and looked at it.

    They won't help us. They didn't before. The voices returned.

    They were wrong. Sheriff Wilcox had tried to help--at least he believed she saw the mangled body. Yet, when he made it to the cabin no evidence remained. Her repeated hysterics over the incident ensured her a most uncomfortable stay at a mental health facility, where the voices kept her constant company.

    "He'll help this time. I'm not leaving until I see him take the bones away," Juliet told the voices, reassuring herself as much as them.

    The sun sunk behind the canopy of trees, shrouding the woods in dark. Sheriff Wilcox would be unable to collect the remains tonight, unless he brought spotlights.

    The crunch of leaves and gravel under tires caught her attention. Headlights arched into her eyes, blinding her. Juliet raised her hand to try and block out most of the light, but it did no good.

    The car door opened and a man stood beside it, a silhouette of black. A flashlight gleamed like a beacon in his left hand.

    "Did you call the sheriff's department?" The man asked, moving slowly towards Juliet.

    Relief washed through her, but something about the voice wasn't right. He didn't sound like her memories of Sheriff Wilcox.

    Juliet stood and moved on shaking legs away from him, backing up slowly around the side of the cabin. She would hide and wait, and trust no one but the sheriff.

    Fallen twigs snapped under shoes. He came closer.

    It's him, the voices shouted. Run!

    Juliet turned and felt her way along the back of the cabin. Behind her the flashlight beam bounced as he pursued her in earnest.

    Arms bound her waist in a vice grip. "You returned? I didn't think they would ever let you out."

    Juliet struggled against him. His breath fanned her ear, sending a cold shock down her body. Wasn't breath supposed to be warm?

    "I've waited a long time to finish what I started. I don't like to be kept waiting." He threw her to the ground, landing on top of her.

    Breath fled her body with the impact.

    "You thought the sheriff would be your savior. What if I told you I'm the sheriff now? No one is going to save you this time."

    Juliet tried to scream, but found it impossible to even draw another breath. The only sound she could manage was a feeble whimper.

    The wind stirred leaves in front of her and the voices called to her from the trees. May we?

    Oh, yes. You certainly may, she thought, thankful for once the voices had not deserted her.

    The once gentle breeze gained in strength, pulling the man from her and pinning him to the back of the cabin. Leaves, sticks, and rocks flew through the air, over her head and to their target. Juliet could hear the sounds of death. She knew the sounds intimately: every scream, strike, and laceration.

    The flashlight lay forgotten on the ground, dropped from the man's hand as the voices took their revenge. Juliet raised it in time to see his final horrified expression as the earth gave way beneath him, swallowing him into a great maw then closing as if it never opened.

    The wind stopped. The voices fled.

    Juliet sunk down onto the ground and rested her head on her bent knees. Finally, after ten years, blessed silence. The voices had what they came for.