of the paper, you push to your feet. Looking down to maintain your balance, the floor beneath you has gained solidity once more. The brown rug feels cool and soft compared to the sharp, thin paper that cut into your bare feet. Running the last few yards to the door as fast as you can, you grab the knob with your left hand and pound on the door with your right. “Jason?” The circle of brass is stuck and doesn’t turn. “Emily?” Using both hands, finally you turn the knob and the door opens. Deep in the back of your head, a rational voice slowly states the obvious, that the door must be sticking because of the weather. The irrational voices start drowning him out as you see that no one is in the room.
Spun at full circle, the room is a blur. Keeping your palm pressed to the wall, you fly down the stairs two or three at a time. They stretch out below you, pulling the floor forever away. “Where the hell are you guys?” You smell a sour smoke from the kitchen and hear an old AM radio playing a cacophony of atonal voices and strings. The glass-shattering melody is not helped by the accompaniment of crackling, ear-piercing static. “Hello?” You stop at the edge of the kitchen.
Jason and Jeremy are sitting across the table from each other. Straight-backed and stiff, their heads are both cocked to the right at perfect ninety-degree angles. They are dressed in corduroy shorts with blue-and-red-striped short-sleeved shirts, knee-high white socks with red stripes at the top, and green suspenders. Jason’s straps are stretched tight over both shoulders, while Jeremy’s left suspender strap hangs down over the side of his chair. Emily stands at the stove wearing a blue dress with a white apron over it. Her hair piled high in a bouffant ‘do, she looks like something right out of a 1950s sitcom. Other than the fact that her head is locked at that same strange ninety-degree angle as the boys, that is.
As you slowly step further into the room, she holds out the frying pan in her left hand. With a metal spatula, she lifts up the charred and blackened body of a squirrel and offers it to you. All three of their mouths open gapingly wide. You hear the cracking of bones as their skin starts to tear open, blood splattering all over the perfect, model-home kitchen.
It comes from Jason first. The voice is guttural and dirty, drowning in mud. Like it is not moving any air to make the sound. He says, “You.”
The next word comes from Emily. “Turn.”
And finally Jeremy stands and reaches for you. “The Key.”
The boy is flying across the room at you, fingers like claws outstretched, lunging for your face, when the alarm goes off. ”Open yourself for me, and let’s play for a little while…” a deep gravelly voice sings out of tune, as you fall off the bed and jump to your feet. Emily stands in the doorway of the bathroom, toothbrush in hand.
“Everything ok?” She rustles a towel through her freshly washed hair. “Honey?”
-6-
Auden: Let's Play For A Little While
The water is cold straight out of the tap, and you wipe your hand from the condensation on the glass. Hopefully three aspirin will help calm the throbbing in your temples. As if the bad dream weren’t enough, arguing with Emily for half an hour about going back to the doctor didn’t help things much. You hate to admit it, but she was right. You find the number in her book and make an appointment to see the doctor again tomorrow morning. Not only will that make her feel better, but your stomach seems to unclench some as well. Since she stormed out go for a walk with the boys, the quiet of the house has been calming. You’ll apologize when she gets home and ask her to come to the doctor’s office with you.
Maybe give her a neck rub or something.
Once again, nothing seems interesting to watch on TV. Switching it off, you walk over to the sliding glass door in the kitchen and look up at the sky. It’s a beautiful shade of bluish purple
Spun at full circle, the room is a blur. Keeping your palm pressed to the wall, you fly down the stairs two or three at a time. They stretch out below you, pulling the floor forever away. “Where the hell are you guys?” You smell a sour smoke from the kitchen and hear an old AM radio playing a cacophony of atonal voices and strings. The glass-shattering melody is not helped by the accompaniment of crackling, ear-piercing static. “Hello?” You stop at the edge of the kitchen.
Jason and Jeremy are sitting across the table from each other. Straight-backed and stiff, their heads are both cocked to the right at perfect ninety-degree angles. They are dressed in corduroy shorts with blue-and-red-striped short-sleeved shirts, knee-high white socks with red stripes at the top, and green suspenders. Jason’s straps are stretched tight over both shoulders, while Jeremy’s left suspender strap hangs down over the side of his chair. Emily stands at the stove wearing a blue dress with a white apron over it. Her hair piled high in a bouffant ‘do, she looks like something right out of a 1950s sitcom. Other than the fact that her head is locked at that same strange ninety-degree angle as the boys, that is.
As you slowly step further into the room, she holds out the frying pan in her left hand. With a metal spatula, she lifts up the charred and blackened body of a squirrel and offers it to you. All three of their mouths open gapingly wide. You hear the cracking of bones as their skin starts to tear open, blood splattering all over the perfect, model-home kitchen.
It comes from Jason first. The voice is guttural and dirty, drowning in mud. Like it is not moving any air to make the sound. He says, “You.”
The next word comes from Emily. “Turn.”
And finally Jeremy stands and reaches for you. “The Key.”
The boy is flying across the room at you, fingers like claws outstretched, lunging for your face, when the alarm goes off. ”Open yourself for me, and let’s play for a little while…” a deep gravelly voice sings out of tune, as you fall off the bed and jump to your feet. Emily stands in the doorway of the bathroom, toothbrush in hand.
“Everything ok?” She rustles a towel through her freshly washed hair. “Honey?”
-6-
Auden: Let's Play For A Little While
The water is cold straight out of the tap, and you wipe your hand from the condensation on the glass. Hopefully three aspirin will help calm the throbbing in your temples. As if the bad dream weren’t enough, arguing with Emily for half an hour about going back to the doctor didn’t help things much. You hate to admit it, but she was right. You find the number in her book and make an appointment to see the doctor again tomorrow morning. Not only will that make her feel better, but your stomach seems to unclench some as well. Since she stormed out go for a walk with the boys, the quiet of the house has been calming. You’ll apologize when she gets home and ask her to come to the doctor’s office with you.
Maybe give her a neck rub or something.
Once again, nothing seems interesting to watch on TV. Switching it off, you walk over to the sliding glass door in the kitchen and look up at the sky. It’s a beautiful shade of bluish purple
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