Nocturne: Mural 4 The Missing Angel
Gavin Wiltrout
Hello again.
You're elegantly sleepwalking towards your cue, as usual. Bring up the pause menu, let’s exchange cultural views, once more. For no one else knows the mistakes you’re comprised of, nor the tragedies I’ve composed. Not unless they had the strategy guide, that is.
The canvas blank, the toolbox stocked. It’s evident, this one escaped the tide. With their society set, I merely stalked. Back in the homeland, I was constantly denied. Right there, setting my sight on Fountain_Smallbeings.fbx. Trees twist in spirals. And the grass is so teal. Perhaps for a time, I’ll make this lair mine.
Learn from the subjective, it can tell you a bit. People fear change, even when it’s well knit. Cause no matter how historic, unique, or divine, my subjects are demented and trypophobic by design. Be honest right now, I’ll love to see it, when bunnies walk by and always redeem it.
And you just won’t recall, my script decided that’s all, so I’ll be brief when I bestow. Your chauffeurs were chosen so you won’t ignore. She’s who to call when the world overflows. He’s here to fight when the corruption’s next door. There’s more to this work than taking the tour. Do you hear the cries that bellow underneath, the music of Her that He must bequeath? Is it just marketing for Red Entrepreneur?
We’ll meet in the gift of now, since I’m yearning for input, the only real signifier of my elastic influence. A bastille of quantification traps the madness of emotion, it’s a typical confluence throughout. I’ll assure you, the journey is mapped out in a swirl of systems far too simple for me to really care. The response life spits out has triumphed over the answer death swears.
So go off, into the stars and chase your shadows of delusion! Come back to me and stop the fake revolution! Arbitrarily, I made you our last hope. Your presence was encoded by a mystic of invisible stars and the elegance of crepes. My atrium now awaits the punchline you’ve saved for this execution. Tonight, and for always tonight.
-Your Damsel Divided by Infinity,
4
(GENERATED ON BEHALF OF
THE NOCTURNE BOARD OF LOCALIZATION)
You're elegantly sleepwalking towards your cue, as usual. Bring up the pause menu, let’s exchange cultural views, once more. For no one else knows the mistakes you’re comprised of, nor the tragedies I’ve composed. Not unless they had the strategy guide, that is.
The canvas blank, the toolbox stocked. It’s evident, this one escaped the tide. With their society set, I merely stalked. Back in the homeland, I was constantly denied. Right there, setting my sight on Fountain_Smallbeings.fbx. Trees twist in spirals. And the grass is so teal. Perhaps for a time, I’ll make this lair mine.
Learn from the subjective, it can tell you a bit. People fear change, even when it’s well knit. Cause no matter how historic, unique, or divine, my subjects are demented and trypophobic by design. Be honest right now, I’ll love to see it, when bunnies walk by and always redeem it.
And you just won’t recall, my script decided that’s all, so I’ll be brief when I bestow. Your chauffeurs were chosen so you won’t ignore. She’s who to call when the world overflows. He’s here to fight when the corruption’s next door. There’s more to this work than taking the tour. Do you hear the cries that bellow underneath, the music of Her that He must bequeath? Is it just marketing for Red Entrepreneur?
We’ll meet in the gift of now, since I’m yearning for input, the only real signifier of my elastic influence. A bastille of quantification traps the madness of emotion, it’s a typical confluence throughout. I’ll assure you, the journey is mapped out in a swirl of systems far too simple for me to really care. The response life spits out has triumphed over the answer death swears.
So go off, into the stars and chase your shadows of delusion! Come back to me and stop the fake revolution! Arbitrarily, I made you our last hope. Your presence was encoded by a mystic of invisible stars and the elegance of crepes. My atrium now awaits the punchline you’ve saved for this execution. Tonight, and for always tonight.
-Your Damsel Divided by Infinity,
4
(GENERATED ON BEHALF OF
THE NOCTURNE BOARD OF LOCALIZATION)
Motherly Love
Jayme Moyer
The disheveled room reeked of rotten milk. Cloud covered moonlight shined onto the deteriorating, stained oak floorboards through the poorly boarded up windows. A creak echoed as Maeve took the first step inside, the grime on the floor suctioning her feet as she ambled towards the tipped couch and coffee table tilted like a military barricade. Ari followed shortly after, his face crinkled and flashlight waving around with vigor as if searching for a ghost to pop up from behind any corner. He kept a short distance between himself and Maeve, walking through the doorway with wide eyes before letting out a shriek.
Maeve turned swiftly, flashlight shaking in her hands until she saw Ari holding his shin with a tight-lipped frown. Looking up from the leg he rubbed fervently, the brunet smacked the coffee table and shot Maeve a sheepish smile.
“Whoops,” he whispered, his brown eyes bright in the reflection of Maeve’s blinding flashlight. His light voice echoed off the walls.
Turning back around, the girl swallowed deeply. Earlier that night, venturing to the abandoned home on South Oak Street felt exciting and bold, like a fun story to tell in school two days later, but now, something rose in the back of her throat. Whether it was a scream or bile didn’t matter; she only dreamt of leaving the godforsaken house and hoped Ari’s fear wouldn’t let loose and blame their escapades on her. A month-long grounding ensued after the last attempt of sneaking out to somewhere dangerous, and this time poor, innocent Ari accompanied her to the haunted house. In her defense, she lied and said they were headed to a plant nursery, and who would believe she wanted to go to a greenhouse, let alone after dark?
The hallways mazed on as the teenagers seeked departure. On the second floor, a putrid stench of feces and bitter dandelion milk ran amuck from the mold lining the walls in an olive green curtain. After approaching the only closed door, Maeve yanked it open and coughed, hurriedly plugging her nose. Ari gagged behind her, taking a few steps back and cussing, but Sam refused to let her breath out in fear of inhaling the sewage smell. The floor’s light pink tiles were stained brown, the toilet bowl an unnatural red, and the bathtub a pale, rust-stricken orange. Green clots of Ghostbuster-esque slime camouflaged the wall in chunks.
Down the hall, a bedroom sat empty. In the room lived a forgotten queen-sized bed with faded pink bedding, pine carpet, a chipped and darkly stained writer’s desk, white walls covered in some auburn substance, and a broken-legged, baby blue crib.
“Jesus,” Maeve mumbled, staring at the mangled cradle.
A creak whined downstairs. The hair on Maeve’s trembled as she turned to Ari with panicked eyes. His feet froze to the ground, and the body attached refused to take another breath.
With calculated steps, Maeve made her way out of the bedroom and towards unmoving Ari. The low breath escaping him shook as his body laid on the edge of convulsion. Maeve’s hand on his shoulder felt no stronger than air, and her distant, consoling voice flew from her mouth covered in a velvet cloth of worry. They never should have come here. Oh, God, her parents were never going to let this go–and neither would Ari’s. Their friendship would be sure to end in ruin after this daring adventure, if they made it out. Of course they’d make it out; the ancient house just creaked with age. Nothing else.
Another lowly groan came from the floorboards below, next to their only way out of the home–unless they jumped from a window, but the odds of sneaking out quietly were near impossible that way. The time for exploration died as the need to escape came to fruition, so Maeve quietly urged Ari from his place and to the top of the disheveled staircase littered with dust and rat droppings.
Flashlights laid in their hands, turned off. “Maeve, we’re gonna die.”
She flinched at her best friend’s cracking voice. No tears had dropped from either of their eyes yet, but the back of her throat burned. Even so, she didn’t have time to cry. Times like this only allowed for bravery.
“We’re not gonna die, Ari. Okay, listen to me–look at me. Everything’s gonna be fine.” An adult’s consolation laced the child’s words. She hoped to sound as convincing as possible not just for Ari but herself as well. The voice leaving her sounded the same as the one she used to console her little siblings when they cried, but hopefully, it worked better on them because the girl continued to ride on the brink of freaking out. Maeve searched Ari’s eyes, and although hesitation struck, he finally nodded.
White, canvas shoes gently landed on the first step. A cackle threatened to escape her lips at how much more daunting it seemed going down rather than up. Another creak shot up from below, now with an attached crunch. Ari sniffled but followed as Maeve continued, hoping not to slip since a goopy substance covered the banister. At the bottom, little moonlight peeked from the busted windows letting in cold, spring air, but the bit of natural glow was better than turning on their lights and risking being seen. Seen by what? Didn’t matter. Sometimes the unknown was easier to deal with.
The end of the staircase stopped in the living room. To the right of it sat an empty dining room and past that a country themed kitchen and the family room holding the only exit known. In the first room, maggots covered rats and other vermin’s remains, squelching in their masses. Everything felt so much worse the longer they stood in the house. How did they not notice the abundance of rotting animals or how putrid death smelled before? Bones lined each flowered floor tile, some stacked like building blocks and others so brittle and broken that the type of animal they came from couldn’t be deciphered. Maeve carefully watched her feet as the pair avoided the shattered pieces of spongy bone with cavities that once held marrow–her anatomy teacher taught something like that a few lessons back. It seemed so inferior then.
After a sickly crunch, Maeve shot a look at Ari who bit down a gag and lifted his foot from the massacred mouse corpse beneath him. His body spasmed as he tried not to heave up his dinner. A matching sound came from the family room.
“Is there another way out?” Ari asked once he finished dry-heaving. “I don’t know, let’s check the kitchen.”
As they entered, a new fear took over. What in God’s name was that horrible smell? The fridge laid open, food remnants strewn about the floor, but nothing there could have produced that revolting stench of spoiled milk. Around the island which held dead, moldy flowers in a cracked vase, past the oven, toaster, and demolished cabinets, rested the source. They lowered to their weak knees.
Ari threw up, and Maeve closely followed as her mouth burned with bile. The dead and mangled body of a middle-aged mother sat on the side of the kitchen they skipped observing earlier. Gray streaks littered her waist length, deep brown hair, and suction marks were plastered over her bare chest; some were deep red, others a light pink, and a few dark aubergine. Her shirt buttons were busted off, and only a knee-length skirt covered her legs. Her boobs supported raw and painfully swollen nipples although they produced no more milk, and a curdled, white substance ran down from her chest to the blue fabric on her waistline.
Ari continued vomiting, although quietly at least. His first time seeing a naked woman in person refused to live up to his expectations–maybe not a great first impression. Finally, his stomach emptied the last of what it could as the chunky pile in front of him stopped growing, but he continued to spit the taste from his mouth.
“You okay? It’s alright, okay? C’mon, we gotta go.”
Slowly, Ari’s watery eyes looked up, and nodded with his tear-stained and flushed face. “Maeve?”
“Yeah?”
“I don’t wanna die tonight.”
Tears flooded her eyes. “You’re not gonna die, Ari. Okay, you’re gonna be fine. We gotta go, though. Now. We can’t stop anymore.”
A small choke left the boy’s throat, but they crawled on. Since the kitchen lacked the backdoor they hoped for, the pair averted their eyes from the poor corpse and continued to the family room.
More light shined into it than the others, and the lines of wetness glistened in the moonbeams. A squelch came from behind the tipped couch, creeping around the bend and stopping the kids in their tracks. Maeve inched forward with Ari on her heels–literally–as his hands kept nudging her bloody and sticky shoes to keep himself as close as possible to the only sense of safety near him.
The sloshing grew closer. They stopped. A new shadow writhed itself into view, and a greenish, maggot-like body wriggled itself from behind the couch. It was about the size of a ten gallon bucket.
It was about the size of a large newborn baby.
The creature slinked towards them in its glory: suckers along its face like an octopus arm, a few mangled teeth, stray hairs, and wrinkled skin. A sickly tone covered its skin in a hazy sage, like an algae-ridden pond filled with crater sized dunes and disease. Maeve screeched and fell backwards, drawing the maggot’s attention. Although its head was unstable and wobbly, the baby cried a high pitched whine and started for them quickly. Screams echoed in the small room as they hopped to their feet. There was nowhere else to go.
“JESUS, FUCK!” Maeve shrieked, tearing the coffee table back down onto its legs and jumping up. She clutched Ari’s arm and yanked him up with her. The creature gnawed at the leg with its sucker, drawing it down slowly but surely.
“What do we do?” Ari cried. “Jesus, I’m sorry. Please forgive me. Let us get home, please. I’m so sorry, please,” he carried on.
As Ari closed his eyes and asked for forgiveness, Maeve stared at the disgusting baby, left alone and born to leech. She didn’t trust any bit of floor to be safe. There were holes, slippery muck, broken glass, and splintered wood littered everywhere. One misstep and they would be done for.
“Ari, you need to shut the hell up so I can think.”
“I’m asking God for help. You’re welcome. He’s the only one who’s gonna be able to get us out of this.”
Her eyes rolled. “Not the time for sarcasm!”
His hands unfurled from their prayer formation as he looked at her in shock. “Not the time to bitch about religion, Maeve! What else can we do?” Ari quipped.
She looked around, hopeless. Boards covered every window in an inescapable mess. One exit lied across the room. “We can try to run, but one wrong step and we’re done.”
“Just kick it! It’s tiny!”
“Oh, and if it’s so small, why don’t you do it?”
The table jolted. Ari glared at his friend before they both anxiously glanced at the baby, wary of the table giving out. Maeve turned back to the red-faced boy. He took a deep breath and nodded towards the door, disregarding her worries. The boy’s hand lifted in front of them, holding up three fingers before turning into two.
Then one.
Maeve leapt from the table and tailed Ari as they bolted to the front door, but the creature tailed them and nicked Sam’s ankle with its elongated tongue. At this, both the baby and her feet stayed planted to the floor in the middle of the room. Ari turned back from his place in the door’s open threshold.
“Maeve, c’mon! What’re you doing?”
“I can’t leave my baby.”
His heart dropped throat burned, turning his taste buds sour. “What the fuck are you talking about?” Panic laced his quivering voice.
The young girl pivoted towards the creature mere inches from her pus-colored shoes. Broken mouse bones and clotted blood stuck to them.
“My lovely baby,” she whispered sweetly. The mass crawled closer like an unstoppable inchworm before her hands wrapped around its torso and were showered in a pale mucus.
“Put it the fuck down, Jesus. Maeve, it’s not funny, let’s go!”
Maeve’s watery eyes refused to leave the child. The booming speech coming from the doorway echoed in her brain; it rattled in her mind unclearly, almost ethereal as it traveled through the neurons like wisps but never stuck. From her hands, a tingle vibrated through her fingerprints and progressed toward her forearms, biceps… chest. The bliss pounded through her heart worse than a panic attack.
The baby cooed happily in her arms. Slime dripped from it like a rottweiler’s drool in mass. Her poor baby, left alone, had finally returned her lost memory with a sweet touch, reminding her of her motherly duties. The agonizingly harsh heart of a mother replaced her immature, teenage love.
“Maeve, it’s not your fucking baby. It’s messing with you or something, alright, so stop acting crazy!” Ari’s puffy and bloodshot eyes brimmed with anguish at Sam’s refusal to leave and newfound insanity.
The young girl insisted, “It is my baby.”
“Please, Maeve.”
Her saccharose eyes finally left the cradled child. Waterfalls fell from her face, landing on the baby who snatched every piece of salt greedily… like it was feeding.
“You’re not a mom—what’s wrong with you? That’s its mom!” Ari screeched, pointing towards the kitchen that held the molding corpse.
Maeve stared at the broken boy, unresponsive. Each finger smushed into the white creature pressed against her shirt that repeatedly grasped towards the neckline. Knowing what it wanted, the girl slowly lowered herself to the ground and leaned against the back of the couch, limbs immediately paralyzed. Her chest heaved and eyes gazed towards Ari.
“This is my baby.”
His wide eyes countered her tired ones, and her breathing calmed down. Her body started shutting down, growing into a simple feeding vessel for the creature until she inevitably ended up like… Ari didn’t want to think about it. He needed to leave. Maeve looked happy, although exhausted, and he couldn’t persuade her to leave what she thought was her living child. The pair in front of him, lying on the splintered floor, seemed stuck in the house now.
“Yeah, Maeve. That’s your baby.”
His feet crept backwards. She didn’t have the energy for much more than a soft smile.
“My baby,” she mumbled, turning back towards the leech with a beaming face–well, as beaming as it could get in her lack of energy.
Ari continued backwards, face now free of tears. Yellowed grass outside welcomed his sneakers. Slowly, he took a last glance at Maeve, laying on the floor as suction marks started to grow across her, and closed the creaky door. He kicked his shoes through the yard until the goop no longer covered them and started home. What would he tell his parents–or Maeve’s? Maybe he could say she left their meet-up early and disappeared, so he walked home and assumed she did the same. That could work.
As he reached the edge of the property, the creature inside screeched. Ari kept his eyes ahead and didn’t stop walking.
Maeve turned swiftly, flashlight shaking in her hands until she saw Ari holding his shin with a tight-lipped frown. Looking up from the leg he rubbed fervently, the brunet smacked the coffee table and shot Maeve a sheepish smile.
“Whoops,” he whispered, his brown eyes bright in the reflection of Maeve’s blinding flashlight. His light voice echoed off the walls.
Turning back around, the girl swallowed deeply. Earlier that night, venturing to the abandoned home on South Oak Street felt exciting and bold, like a fun story to tell in school two days later, but now, something rose in the back of her throat. Whether it was a scream or bile didn’t matter; she only dreamt of leaving the godforsaken house and hoped Ari’s fear wouldn’t let loose and blame their escapades on her. A month-long grounding ensued after the last attempt of sneaking out to somewhere dangerous, and this time poor, innocent Ari accompanied her to the haunted house. In her defense, she lied and said they were headed to a plant nursery, and who would believe she wanted to go to a greenhouse, let alone after dark?
The hallways mazed on as the teenagers seeked departure. On the second floor, a putrid stench of feces and bitter dandelion milk ran amuck from the mold lining the walls in an olive green curtain. After approaching the only closed door, Maeve yanked it open and coughed, hurriedly plugging her nose. Ari gagged behind her, taking a few steps back and cussing, but Sam refused to let her breath out in fear of inhaling the sewage smell. The floor’s light pink tiles were stained brown, the toilet bowl an unnatural red, and the bathtub a pale, rust-stricken orange. Green clots of Ghostbuster-esque slime camouflaged the wall in chunks.
Down the hall, a bedroom sat empty. In the room lived a forgotten queen-sized bed with faded pink bedding, pine carpet, a chipped and darkly stained writer’s desk, white walls covered in some auburn substance, and a broken-legged, baby blue crib.
“Jesus,” Maeve mumbled, staring at the mangled cradle.
A creak whined downstairs. The hair on Maeve’s trembled as she turned to Ari with panicked eyes. His feet froze to the ground, and the body attached refused to take another breath.
With calculated steps, Maeve made her way out of the bedroom and towards unmoving Ari. The low breath escaping him shook as his body laid on the edge of convulsion. Maeve’s hand on his shoulder felt no stronger than air, and her distant, consoling voice flew from her mouth covered in a velvet cloth of worry. They never should have come here. Oh, God, her parents were never going to let this go–and neither would Ari’s. Their friendship would be sure to end in ruin after this daring adventure, if they made it out. Of course they’d make it out; the ancient house just creaked with age. Nothing else.
Another lowly groan came from the floorboards below, next to their only way out of the home–unless they jumped from a window, but the odds of sneaking out quietly were near impossible that way. The time for exploration died as the need to escape came to fruition, so Maeve quietly urged Ari from his place and to the top of the disheveled staircase littered with dust and rat droppings.
Flashlights laid in their hands, turned off. “Maeve, we’re gonna die.”
She flinched at her best friend’s cracking voice. No tears had dropped from either of their eyes yet, but the back of her throat burned. Even so, she didn’t have time to cry. Times like this only allowed for bravery.
“We’re not gonna die, Ari. Okay, listen to me–look at me. Everything’s gonna be fine.” An adult’s consolation laced the child’s words. She hoped to sound as convincing as possible not just for Ari but herself as well. The voice leaving her sounded the same as the one she used to console her little siblings when they cried, but hopefully, it worked better on them because the girl continued to ride on the brink of freaking out. Maeve searched Ari’s eyes, and although hesitation struck, he finally nodded.
White, canvas shoes gently landed on the first step. A cackle threatened to escape her lips at how much more daunting it seemed going down rather than up. Another creak shot up from below, now with an attached crunch. Ari sniffled but followed as Maeve continued, hoping not to slip since a goopy substance covered the banister. At the bottom, little moonlight peeked from the busted windows letting in cold, spring air, but the bit of natural glow was better than turning on their lights and risking being seen. Seen by what? Didn’t matter. Sometimes the unknown was easier to deal with.
The end of the staircase stopped in the living room. To the right of it sat an empty dining room and past that a country themed kitchen and the family room holding the only exit known. In the first room, maggots covered rats and other vermin’s remains, squelching in their masses. Everything felt so much worse the longer they stood in the house. How did they not notice the abundance of rotting animals or how putrid death smelled before? Bones lined each flowered floor tile, some stacked like building blocks and others so brittle and broken that the type of animal they came from couldn’t be deciphered. Maeve carefully watched her feet as the pair avoided the shattered pieces of spongy bone with cavities that once held marrow–her anatomy teacher taught something like that a few lessons back. It seemed so inferior then.
After a sickly crunch, Maeve shot a look at Ari who bit down a gag and lifted his foot from the massacred mouse corpse beneath him. His body spasmed as he tried not to heave up his dinner. A matching sound came from the family room.
“Is there another way out?” Ari asked once he finished dry-heaving. “I don’t know, let’s check the kitchen.”
As they entered, a new fear took over. What in God’s name was that horrible smell? The fridge laid open, food remnants strewn about the floor, but nothing there could have produced that revolting stench of spoiled milk. Around the island which held dead, moldy flowers in a cracked vase, past the oven, toaster, and demolished cabinets, rested the source. They lowered to their weak knees.
Ari threw up, and Maeve closely followed as her mouth burned with bile. The dead and mangled body of a middle-aged mother sat on the side of the kitchen they skipped observing earlier. Gray streaks littered her waist length, deep brown hair, and suction marks were plastered over her bare chest; some were deep red, others a light pink, and a few dark aubergine. Her shirt buttons were busted off, and only a knee-length skirt covered her legs. Her boobs supported raw and painfully swollen nipples although they produced no more milk, and a curdled, white substance ran down from her chest to the blue fabric on her waistline.
Ari continued vomiting, although quietly at least. His first time seeing a naked woman in person refused to live up to his expectations–maybe not a great first impression. Finally, his stomach emptied the last of what it could as the chunky pile in front of him stopped growing, but he continued to spit the taste from his mouth.
“You okay? It’s alright, okay? C’mon, we gotta go.”
Slowly, Ari’s watery eyes looked up, and nodded with his tear-stained and flushed face. “Maeve?”
“Yeah?”
“I don’t wanna die tonight.”
Tears flooded her eyes. “You’re not gonna die, Ari. Okay, you’re gonna be fine. We gotta go, though. Now. We can’t stop anymore.”
A small choke left the boy’s throat, but they crawled on. Since the kitchen lacked the backdoor they hoped for, the pair averted their eyes from the poor corpse and continued to the family room.
More light shined into it than the others, and the lines of wetness glistened in the moonbeams. A squelch came from behind the tipped couch, creeping around the bend and stopping the kids in their tracks. Maeve inched forward with Ari on her heels–literally–as his hands kept nudging her bloody and sticky shoes to keep himself as close as possible to the only sense of safety near him.
The sloshing grew closer. They stopped. A new shadow writhed itself into view, and a greenish, maggot-like body wriggled itself from behind the couch. It was about the size of a ten gallon bucket.
It was about the size of a large newborn baby.
The creature slinked towards them in its glory: suckers along its face like an octopus arm, a few mangled teeth, stray hairs, and wrinkled skin. A sickly tone covered its skin in a hazy sage, like an algae-ridden pond filled with crater sized dunes and disease. Maeve screeched and fell backwards, drawing the maggot’s attention. Although its head was unstable and wobbly, the baby cried a high pitched whine and started for them quickly. Screams echoed in the small room as they hopped to their feet. There was nowhere else to go.
“JESUS, FUCK!” Maeve shrieked, tearing the coffee table back down onto its legs and jumping up. She clutched Ari’s arm and yanked him up with her. The creature gnawed at the leg with its sucker, drawing it down slowly but surely.
“What do we do?” Ari cried. “Jesus, I’m sorry. Please forgive me. Let us get home, please. I’m so sorry, please,” he carried on.
As Ari closed his eyes and asked for forgiveness, Maeve stared at the disgusting baby, left alone and born to leech. She didn’t trust any bit of floor to be safe. There were holes, slippery muck, broken glass, and splintered wood littered everywhere. One misstep and they would be done for.
“Ari, you need to shut the hell up so I can think.”
“I’m asking God for help. You’re welcome. He’s the only one who’s gonna be able to get us out of this.”
Her eyes rolled. “Not the time for sarcasm!”
His hands unfurled from their prayer formation as he looked at her in shock. “Not the time to bitch about religion, Maeve! What else can we do?” Ari quipped.
She looked around, hopeless. Boards covered every window in an inescapable mess. One exit lied across the room. “We can try to run, but one wrong step and we’re done.”
“Just kick it! It’s tiny!”
“Oh, and if it’s so small, why don’t you do it?”
The table jolted. Ari glared at his friend before they both anxiously glanced at the baby, wary of the table giving out. Maeve turned back to the red-faced boy. He took a deep breath and nodded towards the door, disregarding her worries. The boy’s hand lifted in front of them, holding up three fingers before turning into two.
Then one.
Maeve leapt from the table and tailed Ari as they bolted to the front door, but the creature tailed them and nicked Sam’s ankle with its elongated tongue. At this, both the baby and her feet stayed planted to the floor in the middle of the room. Ari turned back from his place in the door’s open threshold.
“Maeve, c’mon! What’re you doing?”
“I can’t leave my baby.”
His heart dropped throat burned, turning his taste buds sour. “What the fuck are you talking about?” Panic laced his quivering voice.
The young girl pivoted towards the creature mere inches from her pus-colored shoes. Broken mouse bones and clotted blood stuck to them.
“My lovely baby,” she whispered sweetly. The mass crawled closer like an unstoppable inchworm before her hands wrapped around its torso and were showered in a pale mucus.
“Put it the fuck down, Jesus. Maeve, it’s not funny, let’s go!”
Maeve’s watery eyes refused to leave the child. The booming speech coming from the doorway echoed in her brain; it rattled in her mind unclearly, almost ethereal as it traveled through the neurons like wisps but never stuck. From her hands, a tingle vibrated through her fingerprints and progressed toward her forearms, biceps… chest. The bliss pounded through her heart worse than a panic attack.
The baby cooed happily in her arms. Slime dripped from it like a rottweiler’s drool in mass. Her poor baby, left alone, had finally returned her lost memory with a sweet touch, reminding her of her motherly duties. The agonizingly harsh heart of a mother replaced her immature, teenage love.
“Maeve, it’s not your fucking baby. It’s messing with you or something, alright, so stop acting crazy!” Ari’s puffy and bloodshot eyes brimmed with anguish at Sam’s refusal to leave and newfound insanity.
The young girl insisted, “It is my baby.”
“Please, Maeve.”
Her saccharose eyes finally left the cradled child. Waterfalls fell from her face, landing on the baby who snatched every piece of salt greedily… like it was feeding.
“You’re not a mom—what’s wrong with you? That’s its mom!” Ari screeched, pointing towards the kitchen that held the molding corpse.
Maeve stared at the broken boy, unresponsive. Each finger smushed into the white creature pressed against her shirt that repeatedly grasped towards the neckline. Knowing what it wanted, the girl slowly lowered herself to the ground and leaned against the back of the couch, limbs immediately paralyzed. Her chest heaved and eyes gazed towards Ari.
“This is my baby.”
His wide eyes countered her tired ones, and her breathing calmed down. Her body started shutting down, growing into a simple feeding vessel for the creature until she inevitably ended up like… Ari didn’t want to think about it. He needed to leave. Maeve looked happy, although exhausted, and he couldn’t persuade her to leave what she thought was her living child. The pair in front of him, lying on the splintered floor, seemed stuck in the house now.
“Yeah, Maeve. That’s your baby.”
His feet crept backwards. She didn’t have the energy for much more than a soft smile.
“My baby,” she mumbled, turning back towards the leech with a beaming face–well, as beaming as it could get in her lack of energy.
Ari continued backwards, face now free of tears. Yellowed grass outside welcomed his sneakers. Slowly, he took a last glance at Maeve, laying on the floor as suction marks started to grow across her, and closed the creaky door. He kicked his shoes through the yard until the goop no longer covered them and started home. What would he tell his parents–or Maeve’s? Maybe he could say she left their meet-up early and disappeared, so he walked home and assumed she did the same. That could work.
As he reached the edge of the property, the creature inside screeched. Ari kept his eyes ahead and didn’t stop walking.
The Girl in the Stained Glass
Hunter Downey
The moonlight illuminated Cassandra’s red dress as she dashed through the forest as twilight fell. She could not remember when she had started running or for how long, all she knew was that she had to carry herself as far away from her home as possible. The tears streaming down her cheeks were quickly stolen by the very wind that made the autumn leaves dance around her as she passed. Soon, her breath began to falter, forcing her to find a place where she could rest long enough to regain her strength. She then noticed a large, gnarled tree stretched out over the path ahead, one that appeared so ancient it made the oldest man she knew look like a newborn in comparison. With her spot of recovery decided, she ran now with even more urgency to embrace the darkness offered by the tree.
When Cassandra reached the tree, she slumped down on a nearby stone, her panting and sobbing drowned out by the sound of hundreds of crickets surrounding her. As she sat, her mind raced as she considered all the possible ways in which her life had changed forever that night, as well as the uncertain future that she now faced. These thoughts only fueled her cries, which she suddenly noticed began to overpower the nightly noises of the obnoxious crickets. The more she wept, the quieter the crickets became, until all at once she had been engulfed by complete silence. The pale girl looked from side to side, her raven hair shifting as she wondered if she had somehow frightened the crickets, when a voice spoke from deep within the void of darkness that was the forest.
“What troubles you, my child of the earth?” the voice boomed from a direction Cassandra could not determine. It sounded as if God himself had broken his long silence, only to reveal that his voice resembled the sounds of twisting branches and snapping twigs.
“Where are you? Who are you? What do you want?” said Cassandra, now terrified by the voice which rattled her bones to the core. Her hazel eyes squinted as she peered into the woods, but she could not see anyone or anything speaking to her.
“I am this very tree, your haven from your greatest fear,” said the looming and ancient tree. “I have seen your thoughts, Cassandra Mellow, and in them you yearned for your troubles to be resolved. You have asked, and you have been given.”
“This must be some trick, some mockery to torment me!” said Cassandra, tears welling once more. “Come out and show yourself, even I am not foolish enough to believe in talking trees! How do you even know my name?”
“When you have lived as long as I have, you can tell the name of anyone just by looking at their face,” said the tree. “Your name is beautiful and sweet, thought a hint of sadness lingers within it. I am as real as you are, Cassandra, and you have no means to prove otherwise.”
“Maybe this is a dream, and all of this is in my head,” said Cassandra. “Or perhaps I’ve ran so long and so far, that I've began to hear voices. I could have even collapsed from exhaustion and died miles back, trapping me in my own personal hell!”
“I can assure you that you are not dead, delirious or dreaming,” the tree said. “But if you still do not believe me, answer my first question so I may show you just how real I am.”
“What use is there in lamenting my woes to a tree that speaks, even if you are real?” said Cassandra. “Even if I told you everything, what could you possibly do but listen?”
“I wield more power than you can possibly comprehend, my child of the green,” said the tree. “All you must do is tell me your greatest wish, the desire you harbor enough that you would do anything in your power to attain it. Do this, and I shall make it so.”
“Very well, tree, though I hope you know I speak my wish out of desperation, as I know you cannot grant it,” said Cassandra. “I wish that I could escape this terrible marriage that has been thrust upon me! I wish I could hide from that wicked and cruel family forever, never to be reached by them again! That every time they tried to look upon me, they could see nothing but a window to what lay beyond! To be left alone in a place where I can watch the world in peace, that is my wish!”
With these words spoken, the tree that had stood so long in darkness began to glow. The light that reached from within it blinded Cassandra as she felt it pierce her flesh. She began to feel herself flatten, as if she was wax being stamped on an envelope. Her skin began to change, becoming hard and cold to the touch while growing more transparent. The last thing she felt was the tree's bark straighten and wrap around her like a frame, until silence greeted her again. When the light cleared, the tree was gone, and she could not move a muscle of her own body. In the end, she accepted that she had died, yet remained cursed to look onwards with unblinking eyes for eternity.
For years, the mysterious stained-glass portrait of a young woman sits unthought of beside a vacant house whose owner has long been forgotten. No one knows where the window came from, as it had been there years before the reach of civilization stretched far enough into the woods to discover it. It was there before births and deaths alike and will probably remain there long after the ones to come. Most people in the town pass her by without as much of a second thought. But I always stop and look at her when I see her, the young girl with the black hair, pale skin and red dress. To this day, the tears on her immortal cheeks frozen in time, continue to make me wonder if she ever got her wish.
When Cassandra reached the tree, she slumped down on a nearby stone, her panting and sobbing drowned out by the sound of hundreds of crickets surrounding her. As she sat, her mind raced as she considered all the possible ways in which her life had changed forever that night, as well as the uncertain future that she now faced. These thoughts only fueled her cries, which she suddenly noticed began to overpower the nightly noises of the obnoxious crickets. The more she wept, the quieter the crickets became, until all at once she had been engulfed by complete silence. The pale girl looked from side to side, her raven hair shifting as she wondered if she had somehow frightened the crickets, when a voice spoke from deep within the void of darkness that was the forest.
“What troubles you, my child of the earth?” the voice boomed from a direction Cassandra could not determine. It sounded as if God himself had broken his long silence, only to reveal that his voice resembled the sounds of twisting branches and snapping twigs.
“Where are you? Who are you? What do you want?” said Cassandra, now terrified by the voice which rattled her bones to the core. Her hazel eyes squinted as she peered into the woods, but she could not see anyone or anything speaking to her.
“I am this very tree, your haven from your greatest fear,” said the looming and ancient tree. “I have seen your thoughts, Cassandra Mellow, and in them you yearned for your troubles to be resolved. You have asked, and you have been given.”
“This must be some trick, some mockery to torment me!” said Cassandra, tears welling once more. “Come out and show yourself, even I am not foolish enough to believe in talking trees! How do you even know my name?”
“When you have lived as long as I have, you can tell the name of anyone just by looking at their face,” said the tree. “Your name is beautiful and sweet, thought a hint of sadness lingers within it. I am as real as you are, Cassandra, and you have no means to prove otherwise.”
“Maybe this is a dream, and all of this is in my head,” said Cassandra. “Or perhaps I’ve ran so long and so far, that I've began to hear voices. I could have even collapsed from exhaustion and died miles back, trapping me in my own personal hell!”
“I can assure you that you are not dead, delirious or dreaming,” the tree said. “But if you still do not believe me, answer my first question so I may show you just how real I am.”
“What use is there in lamenting my woes to a tree that speaks, even if you are real?” said Cassandra. “Even if I told you everything, what could you possibly do but listen?”
“I wield more power than you can possibly comprehend, my child of the green,” said the tree. “All you must do is tell me your greatest wish, the desire you harbor enough that you would do anything in your power to attain it. Do this, and I shall make it so.”
“Very well, tree, though I hope you know I speak my wish out of desperation, as I know you cannot grant it,” said Cassandra. “I wish that I could escape this terrible marriage that has been thrust upon me! I wish I could hide from that wicked and cruel family forever, never to be reached by them again! That every time they tried to look upon me, they could see nothing but a window to what lay beyond! To be left alone in a place where I can watch the world in peace, that is my wish!”
With these words spoken, the tree that had stood so long in darkness began to glow. The light that reached from within it blinded Cassandra as she felt it pierce her flesh. She began to feel herself flatten, as if she was wax being stamped on an envelope. Her skin began to change, becoming hard and cold to the touch while growing more transparent. The last thing she felt was the tree's bark straighten and wrap around her like a frame, until silence greeted her again. When the light cleared, the tree was gone, and she could not move a muscle of her own body. In the end, she accepted that she had died, yet remained cursed to look onwards with unblinking eyes for eternity.
For years, the mysterious stained-glass portrait of a young woman sits unthought of beside a vacant house whose owner has long been forgotten. No one knows where the window came from, as it had been there years before the reach of civilization stretched far enough into the woods to discover it. It was there before births and deaths alike and will probably remain there long after the ones to come. Most people in the town pass her by without as much of a second thought. But I always stop and look at her when I see her, the young girl with the black hair, pale skin and red dress. To this day, the tears on her immortal cheeks frozen in time, continue to make me wonder if she ever got her wish.
Deep Dark Season 2
Elena Echeandia
Episode 1: IN THE BEGINNING
[cast in this episode:
Dante- Finley Mannochio
Mrs. Minos- Sydney Martinez
Virgil- Paige Brubaker
Lucifer- TJ Kelly
UNKNOWN- Ronald Breitfeller
Child and Child’s Mother- Casey Allison]
Elena Echeandia: You are listening to Deep Dark: The Nine Levels, written and directed
by Elena Echeandia. You can follow our instagram for behind the scenes and
announcements @DeepDarkPodcast. This episode is entitled In The Beginning.
(INTRO BEGINS)
(The sounds of cars and city scape begins)
Dante: (Takes a deep breath) Midway in our life’s journey, I went astray from the straight
road and woke to find myself alone in a dark wood. How should I say what wood that
was! I never saw so drear, so rank, so arduous a wilderness. It’s very memory gives a
shape to fear. How I came to it I cannot rightly sat, so drugged and loose with sleep had I
become when I first wandered there from the True Way.
(Doors swish open and the sounds of other people talking can be heard in the
background)
Mrs. Minos: Excuse me, How can I help you?-
Dante: But at the far end of that valley of evil whose maze has sapped my very heart with
fear I found myself-
Mrs. Minos: Sir! Excuse me!
Dante: What? Sorry, oh, hi. My name is Daniel Hernedez, I have an interview with
(Pause) Mr. Antas.
Mrs. Minos: Alright, for the filing assistant position?
Dante: Yes ma’am.
Mrs. Minos: Call me Mrs. Simon please. You need to go to the ninth floor and find him in
office 99. Knock twice then take a step back. He opens the door fast.
Dante: Okay?
Mrs. Minos: Trust me. Go, hurry. You’re already 5 minutes late.
Dante: Oh shit! Sorry! Okay! Thank you!
(sounds of running are now heard and an elevator)
Dante: Wait! Hold the elevator!
Virgil: Just made it. Where are you going?
Dante: The 9th floor. I have a job interview.
Virgil: Congratulations. Don’t get stuck in this hellhole.
Dante: I just need the money, I’m actually a poet.
Virgil: (Sarcastic) A poet?
Dante: Yes, it’s my passion.
Virgil: You’ll lose it soon, don't worry, especially in Fuego.
Dante: Fuego?
Virgil: The building you’re currently in? Did you not read the name of the building when
you applied for the job you’re interviewing for?
Dante: I- um, I just read the address and walked in. I found my way, didn’t I? (sassyass)
Virgil: (full pause) You’re weird.
Dante: Sorry?
Virgil: (After the elevator stops) This is your stop. Here. (Pause) It’s a flyer for the
building. Should help you in your interview.
Dante: Thank (Elevator shuts) you- Alright. Office 99.
(Walking through the building, the sound echoes of the walls and makes it bounce.
“Achilles Come Down” is playing softly through one of the doors. Dante knocks.)
Lucifer: (Stopping the music) Yes?
Dante: I’m here about the job interview? Is this Mr. Antas?
Lucifer: Ah Daniel! Come in, come in. (Voice becomes less muf led through the door)
Woah, standing close there. Sit, sit please. Tell me about yourself, What do you want?
Dante: Uh, I want a job?
Lucifer: No, no what do you want?
Dante: I- I don’t understand.
Lucifer: You applied for an office organizational 9-5 job with no prior experience in
office administration. So what do you want? In life.
Dante: I- I guess I want (He wants to say be happy) I want to be a poet.
Lucifer: A poet? That’s interesting. Tell me more.
Dante: I mean I love writing poetry but it’s not paying the bills, hence the filing position.
Lucifer: Good, it’s good to have a passion. Something people can relate to.
Dante: Huh?
Lucifer: Nothing. I read your resume and I think you’re perfect for what I need. You’ll
start tomorrow at 9 am, would that be alright?
Dante: (Stammering) Yes, that’s perfect.
Lucifer: Wonderful, go back downstairs and Mrs. Simon will give you an access card. I’ll
see you tomorrow.
Dante: Yes sir, Thank you sir.
(Walking and door slam)
Dante: That’s awesome.
Child: Excuseeee meeee?
Dante: Ah, um yes?
Child: Can you hold these please?
Dante: Uh, crayons?
Child’s Mother: Honey! Let’s go!
Child: Gotta go, bye ma’am!
Dante: (under his breath) not a ma’am. (Louder) Wait, you forgot your– crayons? (pause)
Alright, guess I have a box of crayons. (Building shakes) Oh shit. Another earthquake?
UNKNOWN: You were- chosen?
Dante: Did you want the same job? I’m sorry, maybe he’s hiring some more people.
UNKNOWN: No, that’s not what I'm talking about. You were cho- Um. My name is-
(Before the name is said the building shakes again) I have to go, His plan has begun.
Dante: Everyone in this building is so weird.
(Elevator noise)
Dante: So do you like, haunt the elevator or something?
Virgil: Something like that.
Dante: What?
Virgil: Nothing.
(Shaking and metal shrieking, then a power shutting of noise.)
Dante: What was that?!?
Virgil: Hold on!
Dante: What?!
(The elevator crashes, It’s loud, Dante is screaming. Tiny rumbles when it finishes)
Dante: (Groaning) What the fuck?
Virgil: You good, Dante?
Dante: Who the fuck is Dante?! How the hell are you standing?!
Virgil: You’ll figure it out, your tape recorder is on.
Dante: What? How did you-
Virgil: Don’t turn them off. You’re gonna need it.
(The elevator opens with a ding, flames can be heard in the distance and the beginnings
of Mrs. Minos’ laughter.)
Dante: What the fuck? Where are we?
Virgil: Hell.
Dante: Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'entrate. What is that?
Virgil: Abandon all hope, ye who enter.
Mrs. Minos: Step right up, motherfuckers, let’s figure out what circle you belong in!
Dante: What the fuck.
-end of episode-
Outro: Deep Dark is written, directed, and edited by Elena Echeandia. Dante Hernedez is
played by Finley Manocchio. Virgil is played by Paige Brubaker. Mrs. Simon is played
by Sydney Martinez. Mr. Antas is played by TJ Kelly. Unknown is played by Ronald
Breitfeller. Child and Child’s Mother is played by Casey Allison.Thank you for listening
to Deep Dark: The Nine Levels.
[cast in this episode:
Dante- Finley Mannochio
Mrs. Minos- Sydney Martinez
Virgil- Paige Brubaker
Lucifer- TJ Kelly
UNKNOWN- Ronald Breitfeller
Child and Child’s Mother- Casey Allison]
Elena Echeandia: You are listening to Deep Dark: The Nine Levels, written and directed
by Elena Echeandia. You can follow our instagram for behind the scenes and
announcements @DeepDarkPodcast. This episode is entitled In The Beginning.
(INTRO BEGINS)
(The sounds of cars and city scape begins)
Dante: (Takes a deep breath) Midway in our life’s journey, I went astray from the straight
road and woke to find myself alone in a dark wood. How should I say what wood that
was! I never saw so drear, so rank, so arduous a wilderness. It’s very memory gives a
shape to fear. How I came to it I cannot rightly sat, so drugged and loose with sleep had I
become when I first wandered there from the True Way.
(Doors swish open and the sounds of other people talking can be heard in the
background)
Mrs. Minos: Excuse me, How can I help you?-
Dante: But at the far end of that valley of evil whose maze has sapped my very heart with
fear I found myself-
Mrs. Minos: Sir! Excuse me!
Dante: What? Sorry, oh, hi. My name is Daniel Hernedez, I have an interview with
(Pause) Mr. Antas.
Mrs. Minos: Alright, for the filing assistant position?
Dante: Yes ma’am.
Mrs. Minos: Call me Mrs. Simon please. You need to go to the ninth floor and find him in
office 99. Knock twice then take a step back. He opens the door fast.
Dante: Okay?
Mrs. Minos: Trust me. Go, hurry. You’re already 5 minutes late.
Dante: Oh shit! Sorry! Okay! Thank you!
(sounds of running are now heard and an elevator)
Dante: Wait! Hold the elevator!
Virgil: Just made it. Where are you going?
Dante: The 9th floor. I have a job interview.
Virgil: Congratulations. Don’t get stuck in this hellhole.
Dante: I just need the money, I’m actually a poet.
Virgil: (Sarcastic) A poet?
Dante: Yes, it’s my passion.
Virgil: You’ll lose it soon, don't worry, especially in Fuego.
Dante: Fuego?
Virgil: The building you’re currently in? Did you not read the name of the building when
you applied for the job you’re interviewing for?
Dante: I- um, I just read the address and walked in. I found my way, didn’t I? (sassyass)
Virgil: (full pause) You’re weird.
Dante: Sorry?
Virgil: (After the elevator stops) This is your stop. Here. (Pause) It’s a flyer for the
building. Should help you in your interview.
Dante: Thank (Elevator shuts) you- Alright. Office 99.
(Walking through the building, the sound echoes of the walls and makes it bounce.
“Achilles Come Down” is playing softly through one of the doors. Dante knocks.)
Lucifer: (Stopping the music) Yes?
Dante: I’m here about the job interview? Is this Mr. Antas?
Lucifer: Ah Daniel! Come in, come in. (Voice becomes less muf led through the door)
Woah, standing close there. Sit, sit please. Tell me about yourself, What do you want?
Dante: Uh, I want a job?
Lucifer: No, no what do you want?
Dante: I- I don’t understand.
Lucifer: You applied for an office organizational 9-5 job with no prior experience in
office administration. So what do you want? In life.
Dante: I- I guess I want (He wants to say be happy) I want to be a poet.
Lucifer: A poet? That’s interesting. Tell me more.
Dante: I mean I love writing poetry but it’s not paying the bills, hence the filing position.
Lucifer: Good, it’s good to have a passion. Something people can relate to.
Dante: Huh?
Lucifer: Nothing. I read your resume and I think you’re perfect for what I need. You’ll
start tomorrow at 9 am, would that be alright?
Dante: (Stammering) Yes, that’s perfect.
Lucifer: Wonderful, go back downstairs and Mrs. Simon will give you an access card. I’ll
see you tomorrow.
Dante: Yes sir, Thank you sir.
(Walking and door slam)
Dante: That’s awesome.
Child: Excuseeee meeee?
Dante: Ah, um yes?
Child: Can you hold these please?
Dante: Uh, crayons?
Child’s Mother: Honey! Let’s go!
Child: Gotta go, bye ma’am!
Dante: (under his breath) not a ma’am. (Louder) Wait, you forgot your– crayons? (pause)
Alright, guess I have a box of crayons. (Building shakes) Oh shit. Another earthquake?
UNKNOWN: You were- chosen?
Dante: Did you want the same job? I’m sorry, maybe he’s hiring some more people.
UNKNOWN: No, that’s not what I'm talking about. You were cho- Um. My name is-
(Before the name is said the building shakes again) I have to go, His plan has begun.
Dante: Everyone in this building is so weird.
(Elevator noise)
Dante: So do you like, haunt the elevator or something?
Virgil: Something like that.
Dante: What?
Virgil: Nothing.
(Shaking and metal shrieking, then a power shutting of noise.)
Dante: What was that?!?
Virgil: Hold on!
Dante: What?!
(The elevator crashes, It’s loud, Dante is screaming. Tiny rumbles when it finishes)
Dante: (Groaning) What the fuck?
Virgil: You good, Dante?
Dante: Who the fuck is Dante?! How the hell are you standing?!
Virgil: You’ll figure it out, your tape recorder is on.
Dante: What? How did you-
Virgil: Don’t turn them off. You’re gonna need it.
(The elevator opens with a ding, flames can be heard in the distance and the beginnings
of Mrs. Minos’ laughter.)
Dante: What the fuck? Where are we?
Virgil: Hell.
Dante: Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'entrate. What is that?
Virgil: Abandon all hope, ye who enter.
Mrs. Minos: Step right up, motherfuckers, let’s figure out what circle you belong in!
Dante: What the fuck.
-end of episode-
Outro: Deep Dark is written, directed, and edited by Elena Echeandia. Dante Hernedez is
played by Finley Manocchio. Virgil is played by Paige Brubaker. Mrs. Simon is played
by Sydney Martinez. Mr. Antas is played by TJ Kelly. Unknown is played by Ronald
Breitfeller. Child and Child’s Mother is played by Casey Allison.Thank you for listening
to Deep Dark: The Nine Levels.
Rising Sun
Aurora Mahoney
I drew the symbol of the cross over my chest and took a sharp breath. “Forgive me father for I have sinned. It has been a day since my last confession”
“Go on, my child.”
“I killed my husband.”
“You can’t blame yourself.”
“But I did!” My voice cracked and I choked back a sob as a single tear rolled down my cheek.
“Please don’t Annette,” Father Benjamin started, “I hate to see you cry.”
“You can’t see me.” I protested, wiping another tear from my face.
“But I know you’re crying, just like how I know you need to stop blaming yourself for what happened to Matthew.”
“It’s my fault! If we hadn’t fought, if we had never argued, if I had just kept my mouth shut, he would still be here!”
“You can’t change the past.” Father Benjamin did his best to sooth me, but it did nothing for my nerves or my temper. Because if I was truly honest with myself I wasn’t upset that Matthew was gone, I was angry.
“A miller’s wife is supposed to lose her husband in a machinery accident! Not this! This is shameful, and it’s all my fault! I told him to never come back if he went there again! Why did he go back there?”
“Annette, Matthew was a troubled man.” Father Benjamin’s words echoed in my ears, but were slowly overtaken by every heartbeat that I could hear pounding in my head. I felt like I couldn’t breath, confined within the small little walls of the confessional. I pulled at the inky black taffeta of my dress, just another reminder of the way Matthew had left me. “He chose to coerce with dangerous pass times. You had nothing to do with this. You couldn’t have saved him from the path he took.”
“But did his path have to carry him straight to a brothel? Did Matthew have to choose to die in the arms of a whore?” His name tasted like poison in my mouth as I spoke. “While his worried wife watched the door the whole night, praying that he would come home!” The air all around me had grown heavy, and felt as if it was threatening to collapse in on me. I could not bear it any longer. I could not listen to Father Benjamin say one more sympathetic word when I spent my every waking hour thinking about how Matthew had died in the arms of another woman, and my every resting hour dreaming of a time when things had been different with him. I got up without another word and stormed out of that shame filled booth that so many others had confessed their guilt in.
“Annette, please come back!” Father Benjamin called, stumbling out of the confessional after me.
“Why Benjamin?”
“So that I can help you!”
“What can you possibly do for me? I’m Ruined! I am a ruined woman in the eyes of every man in this town, every family in this town, and even in the eyes of the church!” “I know and that’s why I want to help you leave Louisiana.” He rested his hand on my shoulder.
“New Orleans is all I have ever known, and besides I have nothing left.” I tried to draw a deep breath but my corset squeezed my ribs with every breath.
“What happened to your family estate?”
“After my family died of the fever the deed was left to Matthew and I, which he lost in his last game of poker.” The thought of my family home in the hands of a stranger threatened to make me sick. “Everything is gone! Matthew made sure I was left with nothing, but $16 I kept tucked away in my jewelry box.”
“Where have you been staying if the house is gone?”
“For the past two nights I’ve been staying in a hotel, but I can’t keep that up forever, I only have $10 left.” Father Benjamin furrowed his brow in thought.
“I think I might know someone that can help you. Why don’t we walk there together?” “I suppose I’m in no situation to turn down help,” I said, stepping out of the church. “I would suppose not.” Father Benjamin agreed, taking the lead as we walked down the
hot busy street. The air was humid and settled over me like a blanket, my heavy black dress only made the effects of the weather worse as my corset constricted my every movement. We walked until we had left the parts of town I was familiar with. The two of us turned and wound down alleyways until we had come to the bustling harbor. Men and Women flooded the streets, and ships full of sailors were hard at work docking their ships. The sea breeze was cool in comparison to the hot day and carried with it the fresh smell of sea salt. “Benny, where are we going?” I asked as we turned down a large street that seemed to be slowly waking up as folks from the docks trickled over. The sign at the entrance read Gallatin Street.
“I’m taking you to a woman I know named Minnie. I’m hoping she will be able to provide you with housing and a steady job until you can buy yourself a train ticket.” “What kind of job?” I couldn’t help taking notice of the amount of saloons we had passed since turning onto the street.
“Ah, we’re here.” I nearly smacked into Father Benjamin as he abruptly stopped in the middle of the street.
We were standing in front of a large brick building with a high balcony overhead. An old wooden sign swung above the large open front porch hanging from the ceiling, and in large painted red the sign read The Rising Sun. The stairs creaked eerily as Father Benjamin led my way to the doors. Through the drapes I could see women shuffling through the house in gowns of flashy material with their faces painted with bright colors.
“What kind of place is this?” I refused to take another step until he answered me. Father Benjamin let out an exhausted sigh. “It’s a brothel.”
“A brothel!” I could feel myself growing red in the face. I felt dirty for just stepping foot on the porch. “Benjamin, we might have had our fun as kids, but I am no whore!” “Hush, keep your voice down. There’s no use throwing a tantrum on the porch. I’m not asking you to extort yourself in that way. Just come inside and talk to Madam Minnie, I think she will be able to help you.”
The door swung open and with it tumbled out a cloud of heavy fragrances. I turned my attention away from Father Benjamin to focus on the scantily clad woman draping herself on the doorframe in front of us. Her long hair hung down, curled in dark spiraling tendrils. Her face was painted with bright rouge and her lips were a dark crimson red.
“You two sure are scrapping awfully loud out here.” As she spoke she trailed her eyes up and down like she was making an assessment of every inch of me. “Have you brought me another stray cat, Benjamin?”
“I am no stray,” I contested.
“No?” She raised her eyebrows in a challenge. “So then you must have a home and family to tend to.” Her words hit me in the pit of my stomach.
“No, I suppose I don’t.” I admitted, gritting my teeth.
“Then I reckon that makes you a stray then.” Her words tore through my skin and bit down to the bone.
“Minnie, I need to ask you for a favor.” Father Benjamin leaned against the doorframe where she draped herself.
“Fine, we’re not open this early, but come on in.” She pulled the doors wide open and stepped aside.
I sat there quietly, trying not to make eye contact with anyone that passed through the room as Father Benjamin explained my situation to Madam Minnie. We sat in the middle of the empty bar, and I watched as women on the balcony above went in and out of rooms readying their hair and makeup for the coming night.
“Annette and I have known each other since we were kids.” I heard Benjamin explain. “I was hoping you could help her until she can afford a ticket to New York.” “I guess she could take a client or two in the evenings. We’ve been so busy recently that I don’t think the girls would notice one or two of their men going missing.” “Absolutely not, I will not sell myself for money!” I was ready to get up and storm out. “Well I don’t need another hungry mouth to feed.” Madam Minnie pulled a cigarette and match from her corset.
“Smoking isn’t very classy.” I turned my nose away from the burnt smell of her match.
“I’ve never cared much for what most consider classy. It has always seemed to me that people change their opinions on things of that nature with every sunrise.” She continued to puff on her tobacco.
“Minnie, I’m sure we can come to an agreement. Please, as a favor to me?” Father Benjamin interjected.
“Can you sew?” She asked me as she tapped the ash off the end of her cigarette. “Yes, my mother was a tailor.”
“The girls could use a good seamstress. Their garments aren’t always shown much respect. I’ll let you sew for room and board, but you’ll have to find another way to make your ticket money.” Her eyes drifted away to the rooms upstairs as she spoke.
“Thank you Minnie.” Father Benjamin smiled at me expectedly.
“You can start tonight. If you’d like I can show you around once Benjamin goes on his way. The girls don’t take kindly to men looking through their rooms without paying first.” I followed Father Benjamin to the porch. I didn’t know what to say to him. I was grateful to have a place to stay, and yet I detested the idea of working in a brothel. I couldn’t believe how far I had fallen. I studied the lines in Father Benjamin's face and thought back to a simpler time when the two of us were young running through the fields together in the day and sneaking away to the hayloft after dark. It was a time before Matthew had blown into my life and charmed my dad, before my family caught the fever, before Matthew had gambled away my family’s estate. “Thank you for helping me.” I was the first to break the silence between us. “Of course. It’s my pleasure to help my oldest and dearest friend.” He took my hand in his. My eyes wandered away from his gaze and down towards the clerical collar that wrapped itself around his neck.
“Benny, why did you ever have to take the cloth?” I asked, meeting his eyes again. “Because you had to marry Matthew.” He squeezed my hand lightly. “I’ll come back to check on you, till then, take care Annette.” He bent down and kissed my forehead before stepping off the porch and walking off down the road.
I stepped back inside the house and from that moment the days started to slip by as I toiled away, sewing up torn dresses and ripped petticoats. Benny didn’t come back to check on me, but I suppose deep down part of me had known he wouldn’t. I had originally planned to use any of my spare time to take on outside sewing projects, but after two months of nonstop work from the girls I had realized that I was going to have to think of a new plan to earn my ticket money.
I wiped beads of sweat from my forehead. The August heat was too much for any amount of open windows to calm. The sun was starting to dip below the horizon and I could hear the sound of the evening crowds as they began pouring into the bar looking for a good time. Most nights when I was finished with my work I would go downstairs and sit at the bar. The drinks were on the house and I could count on the musicians to keep me more entertained than the four walls of my shoebox bedroom. I pinned my long brown hair up, and smoothed out my dark dress. I never had to worry about anyone giving me any trouble when I went downstairs, not a lot of people want to bother a woman in mourning garb.
I opened up my bedroom door and was greeted with the heavy hanging stench of smoke and booze. I marched down the stairs to the tune of a room filled with drunkards all dancing to different beats. Some were sailors a little too lonely to spend another night on a ship, some were those who had been dumped here by the railroad, and others were just people who had wandered in to find a good time in the arms of a stranger. I took my usual seat at the end of the bar. Madam Minnie was tending the bar. She was smart enough to know what I was about to ask her for. “Whiskey neat, your usual.” Madam Minnie winked at me before heading back down to the other end of the bar.
“What’s her story?” I heard a man at the other end of the bar ask Madam Minnie. I barely deigned to look at who had asked. I nursed my drink, sipping it slowly to pass the time as I looked on at his and Madam Minnie's conversation. He didn’t look like he was from around here. Even with stubble on his face he was too soft, too pale to be from this far south. Just as I decided the man at the end of the bar must be a northerner, I felt a hand creep up my back.
“Hey sweetheart, my name’s Samuel. What’s a pretty little thing like you doin’ here?” His husky voice clawed at my ear begging for a response, but I refused to answer. Instead, I just turned in the other direction. “What’s it cost to spend a night with you?”
“I’m not for sale!” I snapped.
“Oh, so you do speak. I get it.” He reached for my skirt and started pulling at the black fabric. “You in mourning or somethin’?”
I backhanded him across the face as he tried to trail his hand up my skirt. “Don’t touch me.”
“Oh you’re a spitfire ain’t ya!” He grabbed my arm, pulling me off the bar stool. “I’m goin’ to have some fun with you!” He smelled like he had spent all fifty some years of his life drinking and smoking himself away in a distillery, and he somehow managed to look worse than he smelled.
“Is there a problem here?” The man from the other end of the bar had taken notice of the commotion.
“It ain’t a problem if you don’t make it a problem.” Samuel said as he gripped my arm tighter and curled his knuckles on his other hand into a fist.
“Let her go!” The man shoved at Samuel's shoulder, and with one swing Samuel had punched the other man to the ground. I was able to rip my arm free just in time for Madam Minnie to take notice of what was happening.
“Hains!” Madam Minnie Bellowed from behind the bar. “Samuel Hains!” Samuel turned to stare down Madam Minnie. “You know our policy, either move along or hit the streets.” Samuel kept staring at Madam Minnie, almost challenging her, but Madam Minnie wouldn’t budge. “She’s off limits!”
“Fine,” Samuel said, backing away. “I would pay top dollar if you ever change your mind.” He winked before shuffling away towards a poker game across the room. “Thank you,” I said, helping the man who had taken the punch for me off the ground. “Don’t thank me, I didn’t do all that much.” The man laughed. “The name’s James, James Murphy.”
“I’m Annette. My married name was Hamilton, but I don’t particularly care to go by that much anymore, so you can call me by my maiden name, Durand.”
“Well, Annette Durand, if you don’t mind me asking, what are you doing in an establishment such as this, you certainly are not from this part of town?”
“I’m a prisoner here.” I took the last of my drink and downed it.
“Shoot darling, I doubt like me. I’m a real man on the run.”
“What did you do?” I asked, signaling Madam Minnie to bring me another drink. “It’s not what I did, It’s what they think I did that’s the issue.”
“What do they think you did?”
“Up in Pittsburgh, where I’m from, they’re trying to pin the murder of a fruit market owner on me.”
“Did you do it,” I asked, I didn’t know what to expect the answer to be. Working at The Rising Sun had opened my eyes to many possibilities in the world.
“Of course not, and if you ask me I think the man that did it is a fellow that calls himself the Banana King.”
“The Banana King?”
“Yes ma'am, so I’m down here to lay low for a while until they catch the real killer.” Madam Minnie sat down two whiskeys for us. “So tell me, what’s your story?”
“My story is no good,” I said, sipping my drink.
“I’m sure it’s good enough for me to hear.”
“Well my husband was a no good cheater that spent more time in other women’s bed’s than he did at home, and one night he got caught cheating in a hand of poker where he had bet the deed to my family’s estate so the men in his game waited for him to head upstairs with a lady and then shot him and took everything he had.” I glanced around the room. “So now I work here as a seamstress for room and board while I try to earn enough to get myself a ticket to New York.”
“Did you ever love him?” James’ question caught me off guard.
“No, I suppose I didn’t. He was a sweet talker, but he was never able to charm me.” “Then he doesn't matter to me, and he shouldn’t matter to you none either.” I thought for a moment about what he had said. I had never given myself the chance to wonder if I had loved Matthew or if everyone else had. “It’s kinda funny,” he said, taking a sip of his drink. “What?”
“The two of us are just waiting to get out of here.”
“Part of me wonders if any of us will ever get outta here. The Rising Sun has been the ruin of men.”
“Well it won’t be for us because we’re both going to get out of here.”
For the next few weeks James would come in everyday to see me. He would lose in a game of poker and then sit next to me at the bar, it had become our nightly routine. We would always talk about how close we were to getting out of New Orleans. One day James just stopped coming by altogether. At first I was worried about him. He and I had grown so close. He had told me all about his family, friends, and his hometown. However, after about a week of uneasy worrying I convinced myself that he had just moved onto another brothel on another street. Leaving me alone, like every other man in my life.
One day, well before we had opened for the day, a knock threatened to beat down my door. I rushed over to open it only to find James there waiting for me. He had the biggest grin I’d ever seen and a paper in his hand.
“I’ve got the best news Annette!” He rushed into my room and I shut the door. “Where have you been? I thought something had happened to you!”
“I took a job to try to earn a little extra cash because of this letter!” He raised the letter above his head in excitement.
“What is it?”
“This letter says the police arrested a man for killing the fruit store owner. I can go home!” He was so happy he could barely contain himself.
“Oh, I’m so happy for you!” I wrapped my arms around him.
“That’s not all though. I want you to come home to Pittsburgh with me. I’ve got almost enough for your train ticket.”
“Why? I didn’t ask you to do that.” I felt my face begin to flush and I pulled away from him.
“Because I couldn’t fly north and leave you all chained up here!”
“But I don’t want to go to Pittsburgh! I want to go to New York!”
“I thought you wanted to leave The Rising Sun. I thought you would be happy. Why aren’t you happy?”
“Because all my life I have been just some piece of property passed from one uncaring man to the next. I am not your responsibility. I’m not yours to just ship home to the mines up in Pennsylvania!
“I didn’t think you were! I just thought we could both get outta here together!” “That’s just it, you didn’t think! When I get out of this place it’s going to be through my own hands not someone else’s!”
“Yeah, and how’s that going for you? You still only got $10 towards your ticket?” James reached for the door. “Well, then maybe I should just go and leave you here to spend the rest of your wicked life in The Rising Sun!”
“Maybe you should!” I slammed the door, and locked him out.
James didn’t come back that night. When I went downstairs for the evening I half expected him to be sitting at our place at the bar, but it seemed to me that only the shadow of him lingered on that bar stool. His words circled in my mind like scum in a dirty sink drain. He was right, I hadn’t made any progress in earning my ticket money.
“You’ve got someone watching you. You want me to send him away?” Madam Minnie said as she sat my drink down in front of me. I turned to look behind me to see Samuel Hains watching me from his poker table.
“He isn’t bothering me,” I said, sending Madam Minnie back down the bar. It was no more than 15 minutes before someone was pulling at my hair that I had left down. “Hello there sweetheart, I’ve got a couple questions for you.”
“What do you want, Samuel?” I didn’t have to turn around to know it was him. “I was just wanting to know if you’ve changed your pretty little mind yet?” “About what?” I had anticipated what he was about to say, but I wasn’t prepared for the answer I was about to give.
“About you being for sale.” He raised his beer motioning towards the rooms upstairs. “I might be. For the right price.” I took a sip of my whiskey and felt it burn all the way down my throat.
“Well I just won a pretty hand so you name your price sweetheart.”
“$40,” I said, meeting his eyes to call his bluff. Samuel let out a hearty laugh. “Well you are steep ain’t you.” He stared off in the distance for a moment like he was mentally weighing the depth of his pockets. “I’ll tell you what, I’ll give you $25 the first time, and if I’m satisfied with your work ethic I’ll come back later in the night and give you the rest.” He smirked at his own notion before taking another swig of his beer.
“Fine.” I downed the remainder of my drink before I grabbed him by the hand and pulled him towards the stairs.
Samuel took an eager seat on the edge of my bed, and I followed him into my room. As I shut my door, part of me thought about running out of there and screaming that I’m not that kind of woman, but I swallowed my pride and locked the door. Samuel was in no way a gentleman. He was course, loud, and derived pleasure from knowing he had won.
When it was over and he stood over the bed getting dressed he had the audacity to show me his scars from when he had fought in the war between the states. I couldn’t be bothered to care though my family had always sided with the yankees. Maybe lying in that bed had made me just as bad, but in my eyes Samuel still treating life as his prejudiced glory days made him worse.
“$25, just like I promised.” Samuel held the money out for me to take. I got out of bed and wrapped myself in my dressing gown.
“Pleasure doing business with you.” I swiped the money from his hands.
“Oh believe me sweetheart, the pleasure was all mine.” He walked himself to the door. “You best believe I’ll be back to give you the other $25 after my poker game subsides.” With a wink he stepped out the door, slamming it shut behind himself.
I got dressed, and pulled myself together enough to head back downstairs. I barely wanted to look at myself in the mirror. I couldn't believe what I had become, but I was doing what I needed to. One more time, then you’ll have your ticket out of here, I told myself.
“You want a drink?” Madam Minnie asked, as I took my seat at the end of the bar. I simply shook my head in agreement. “The first time is always the most jarring,” she assured me, as she sat the drink down in front of me.
“I don’t intend to make it a habit,” I said, taking the drink, and dismissing Madam Minnie.
“None of you ever do,” she replied, as she walked off towards other thirsty patrons. I glanced over towards Samuel’s poker game, and to my surprise I found James at the table. He seemed to be cleaning up the table. He must have had a hand of gold bc I had never
seen him play like that before. The game was over in only a half hour and James, for the first time since I had met him, walked away without empty hands.
“I’m getting you out of this place,” James said, as he took my hand. “You aren’t my responsibility, but my mama raised me to never leave the side of someone that needs help. Darling, whether you like it or not you’re getting out of The Rising Sun. Tonight I’ve won enough to buy you a ticket to anywhere you want to go in the world.”
“James, you can’t be serious.”
“I am, so go grab your things because my train back to Pittsburgh boards at midnight, and I’m not leaving until I know you are too.”
“Thank you!” I threw my arms around his neck.
“Don’t thank me yet, we’ve gotta get out of here first!”
“I don’t own anything here that I can’t leave behind. Let’s go!” James and I pushed our way through the crowds until we were finally out the door. I didn’t care where I ended up anymore, as long as it wasn’t The Rising Sun.
Almost as soon as we stepped onto the street a voice called to us from the porch, and a sickening feeling settled in the pit of my stomach. “Murphy!” James and I looked back to see Samuel and his band of drunkards approaching. “I ain’t ever seen you that lucky.” The men crowded around James and I.
“Guess I just had a good night.” James nervously laughed.
“Or maybe you had some aces up your sleeves!” Samuel and another man lunged at James, and held him back as they ripped up his sleeves letting an ace fall to the dirt. “That’s what I thought.” Samuel gut punched James while the other man held him. “Get off him!” I screamed.
“This ain’t about whoring so you’ll keep your mouth shut if you know what’s good for you!” Samuel Spat.
I jumped into the fight, landing a solid punch to Samuel’s nose. He wiped the blood from his face as it trickled out of his nostril. “You’re gonna regret that later sweetheart.” Samuel punched me to the ground. “William grab the girl, while Eddy and I take care of our yankee here!” The gruff man Samuel had called William grabbed me by the arms. They dragged James and I onto the porch, and held me back as the men took turns beating James to the ground.
“Hains!” I heard Madam Minnie's voice bellow over the chaos followed by the sound of a round being shot into the ground. “Leave them kids alone.”
Samuel and Eddy backed away from James. “This don’t concern you Minnie!” “Oh, it concerns me plenty. If you and your associates here don’t get off my porch I’ll make sure none of you ever steps foot in another house in New Orleans. You hear me!” Madam Minnie cocked her shotgun, and the men all shared anxious looks.
“Understood Minnie,” Samuel said, as he gave James one final kick to the ribs, and William dropped me to the ground, before each of the men shuffled on down the street. “Get that boy out of here before they come back,” Madam Minnie said as she walked back inside. I rushed over to James' side, and held his heavy head in my lap. He was beaten badly. His lips were busted, his eyes both blackened, and his nose was shattered. “Why’d you do that?” I sobbed, trying to keep him from closing his eyes. “Because you were worth it.” He coughed and blood trickled down his mouth. “I’m not going to make it out of The Rising Sun.”
“Don’t say that,” I begged.
“Take my ticket to Pittsburgh. It’s not New York, but it’s not here neither.” He used the little strength he had left to pull his ticket and cash out of his pocket and place it in my hand. “Take it.”
“Okay,” I said, wiping tears from my eyes.
“Promise me you’ll get out of The Rising Sun!” I sobbed watching his eyes roll into the back of his head.
“I promise!"
“Go on, my child.”
“I killed my husband.”
“You can’t blame yourself.”
“But I did!” My voice cracked and I choked back a sob as a single tear rolled down my cheek.
“Please don’t Annette,” Father Benjamin started, “I hate to see you cry.”
“You can’t see me.” I protested, wiping another tear from my face.
“But I know you’re crying, just like how I know you need to stop blaming yourself for what happened to Matthew.”
“It’s my fault! If we hadn’t fought, if we had never argued, if I had just kept my mouth shut, he would still be here!”
“You can’t change the past.” Father Benjamin did his best to sooth me, but it did nothing for my nerves or my temper. Because if I was truly honest with myself I wasn’t upset that Matthew was gone, I was angry.
“A miller’s wife is supposed to lose her husband in a machinery accident! Not this! This is shameful, and it’s all my fault! I told him to never come back if he went there again! Why did he go back there?”
“Annette, Matthew was a troubled man.” Father Benjamin’s words echoed in my ears, but were slowly overtaken by every heartbeat that I could hear pounding in my head. I felt like I couldn’t breath, confined within the small little walls of the confessional. I pulled at the inky black taffeta of my dress, just another reminder of the way Matthew had left me. “He chose to coerce with dangerous pass times. You had nothing to do with this. You couldn’t have saved him from the path he took.”
“But did his path have to carry him straight to a brothel? Did Matthew have to choose to die in the arms of a whore?” His name tasted like poison in my mouth as I spoke. “While his worried wife watched the door the whole night, praying that he would come home!” The air all around me had grown heavy, and felt as if it was threatening to collapse in on me. I could not bear it any longer. I could not listen to Father Benjamin say one more sympathetic word when I spent my every waking hour thinking about how Matthew had died in the arms of another woman, and my every resting hour dreaming of a time when things had been different with him. I got up without another word and stormed out of that shame filled booth that so many others had confessed their guilt in.
“Annette, please come back!” Father Benjamin called, stumbling out of the confessional after me.
“Why Benjamin?”
“So that I can help you!”
“What can you possibly do for me? I’m Ruined! I am a ruined woman in the eyes of every man in this town, every family in this town, and even in the eyes of the church!” “I know and that’s why I want to help you leave Louisiana.” He rested his hand on my shoulder.
“New Orleans is all I have ever known, and besides I have nothing left.” I tried to draw a deep breath but my corset squeezed my ribs with every breath.
“What happened to your family estate?”
“After my family died of the fever the deed was left to Matthew and I, which he lost in his last game of poker.” The thought of my family home in the hands of a stranger threatened to make me sick. “Everything is gone! Matthew made sure I was left with nothing, but $16 I kept tucked away in my jewelry box.”
“Where have you been staying if the house is gone?”
“For the past two nights I’ve been staying in a hotel, but I can’t keep that up forever, I only have $10 left.” Father Benjamin furrowed his brow in thought.
“I think I might know someone that can help you. Why don’t we walk there together?” “I suppose I’m in no situation to turn down help,” I said, stepping out of the church. “I would suppose not.” Father Benjamin agreed, taking the lead as we walked down the
hot busy street. The air was humid and settled over me like a blanket, my heavy black dress only made the effects of the weather worse as my corset constricted my every movement. We walked until we had left the parts of town I was familiar with. The two of us turned and wound down alleyways until we had come to the bustling harbor. Men and Women flooded the streets, and ships full of sailors were hard at work docking their ships. The sea breeze was cool in comparison to the hot day and carried with it the fresh smell of sea salt. “Benny, where are we going?” I asked as we turned down a large street that seemed to be slowly waking up as folks from the docks trickled over. The sign at the entrance read Gallatin Street.
“I’m taking you to a woman I know named Minnie. I’m hoping she will be able to provide you with housing and a steady job until you can buy yourself a train ticket.” “What kind of job?” I couldn’t help taking notice of the amount of saloons we had passed since turning onto the street.
“Ah, we’re here.” I nearly smacked into Father Benjamin as he abruptly stopped in the middle of the street.
We were standing in front of a large brick building with a high balcony overhead. An old wooden sign swung above the large open front porch hanging from the ceiling, and in large painted red the sign read The Rising Sun. The stairs creaked eerily as Father Benjamin led my way to the doors. Through the drapes I could see women shuffling through the house in gowns of flashy material with their faces painted with bright colors.
“What kind of place is this?” I refused to take another step until he answered me. Father Benjamin let out an exhausted sigh. “It’s a brothel.”
“A brothel!” I could feel myself growing red in the face. I felt dirty for just stepping foot on the porch. “Benjamin, we might have had our fun as kids, but I am no whore!” “Hush, keep your voice down. There’s no use throwing a tantrum on the porch. I’m not asking you to extort yourself in that way. Just come inside and talk to Madam Minnie, I think she will be able to help you.”
The door swung open and with it tumbled out a cloud of heavy fragrances. I turned my attention away from Father Benjamin to focus on the scantily clad woman draping herself on the doorframe in front of us. Her long hair hung down, curled in dark spiraling tendrils. Her face was painted with bright rouge and her lips were a dark crimson red.
“You two sure are scrapping awfully loud out here.” As she spoke she trailed her eyes up and down like she was making an assessment of every inch of me. “Have you brought me another stray cat, Benjamin?”
“I am no stray,” I contested.
“No?” She raised her eyebrows in a challenge. “So then you must have a home and family to tend to.” Her words hit me in the pit of my stomach.
“No, I suppose I don’t.” I admitted, gritting my teeth.
“Then I reckon that makes you a stray then.” Her words tore through my skin and bit down to the bone.
“Minnie, I need to ask you for a favor.” Father Benjamin leaned against the doorframe where she draped herself.
“Fine, we’re not open this early, but come on in.” She pulled the doors wide open and stepped aside.
I sat there quietly, trying not to make eye contact with anyone that passed through the room as Father Benjamin explained my situation to Madam Minnie. We sat in the middle of the empty bar, and I watched as women on the balcony above went in and out of rooms readying their hair and makeup for the coming night.
“Annette and I have known each other since we were kids.” I heard Benjamin explain. “I was hoping you could help her until she can afford a ticket to New York.” “I guess she could take a client or two in the evenings. We’ve been so busy recently that I don’t think the girls would notice one or two of their men going missing.” “Absolutely not, I will not sell myself for money!” I was ready to get up and storm out. “Well I don’t need another hungry mouth to feed.” Madam Minnie pulled a cigarette and match from her corset.
“Smoking isn’t very classy.” I turned my nose away from the burnt smell of her match.
“I’ve never cared much for what most consider classy. It has always seemed to me that people change their opinions on things of that nature with every sunrise.” She continued to puff on her tobacco.
“Minnie, I’m sure we can come to an agreement. Please, as a favor to me?” Father Benjamin interjected.
“Can you sew?” She asked me as she tapped the ash off the end of her cigarette. “Yes, my mother was a tailor.”
“The girls could use a good seamstress. Their garments aren’t always shown much respect. I’ll let you sew for room and board, but you’ll have to find another way to make your ticket money.” Her eyes drifted away to the rooms upstairs as she spoke.
“Thank you Minnie.” Father Benjamin smiled at me expectedly.
“You can start tonight. If you’d like I can show you around once Benjamin goes on his way. The girls don’t take kindly to men looking through their rooms without paying first.” I followed Father Benjamin to the porch. I didn’t know what to say to him. I was grateful to have a place to stay, and yet I detested the idea of working in a brothel. I couldn’t believe how far I had fallen. I studied the lines in Father Benjamin's face and thought back to a simpler time when the two of us were young running through the fields together in the day and sneaking away to the hayloft after dark. It was a time before Matthew had blown into my life and charmed my dad, before my family caught the fever, before Matthew had gambled away my family’s estate. “Thank you for helping me.” I was the first to break the silence between us. “Of course. It’s my pleasure to help my oldest and dearest friend.” He took my hand in his. My eyes wandered away from his gaze and down towards the clerical collar that wrapped itself around his neck.
“Benny, why did you ever have to take the cloth?” I asked, meeting his eyes again. “Because you had to marry Matthew.” He squeezed my hand lightly. “I’ll come back to check on you, till then, take care Annette.” He bent down and kissed my forehead before stepping off the porch and walking off down the road.
I stepped back inside the house and from that moment the days started to slip by as I toiled away, sewing up torn dresses and ripped petticoats. Benny didn’t come back to check on me, but I suppose deep down part of me had known he wouldn’t. I had originally planned to use any of my spare time to take on outside sewing projects, but after two months of nonstop work from the girls I had realized that I was going to have to think of a new plan to earn my ticket money.
I wiped beads of sweat from my forehead. The August heat was too much for any amount of open windows to calm. The sun was starting to dip below the horizon and I could hear the sound of the evening crowds as they began pouring into the bar looking for a good time. Most nights when I was finished with my work I would go downstairs and sit at the bar. The drinks were on the house and I could count on the musicians to keep me more entertained than the four walls of my shoebox bedroom. I pinned my long brown hair up, and smoothed out my dark dress. I never had to worry about anyone giving me any trouble when I went downstairs, not a lot of people want to bother a woman in mourning garb.
I opened up my bedroom door and was greeted with the heavy hanging stench of smoke and booze. I marched down the stairs to the tune of a room filled with drunkards all dancing to different beats. Some were sailors a little too lonely to spend another night on a ship, some were those who had been dumped here by the railroad, and others were just people who had wandered in to find a good time in the arms of a stranger. I took my usual seat at the end of the bar. Madam Minnie was tending the bar. She was smart enough to know what I was about to ask her for. “Whiskey neat, your usual.” Madam Minnie winked at me before heading back down to the other end of the bar.
“What’s her story?” I heard a man at the other end of the bar ask Madam Minnie. I barely deigned to look at who had asked. I nursed my drink, sipping it slowly to pass the time as I looked on at his and Madam Minnie's conversation. He didn’t look like he was from around here. Even with stubble on his face he was too soft, too pale to be from this far south. Just as I decided the man at the end of the bar must be a northerner, I felt a hand creep up my back.
“Hey sweetheart, my name’s Samuel. What’s a pretty little thing like you doin’ here?” His husky voice clawed at my ear begging for a response, but I refused to answer. Instead, I just turned in the other direction. “What’s it cost to spend a night with you?”
“I’m not for sale!” I snapped.
“Oh, so you do speak. I get it.” He reached for my skirt and started pulling at the black fabric. “You in mourning or somethin’?”
I backhanded him across the face as he tried to trail his hand up my skirt. “Don’t touch me.”
“Oh you’re a spitfire ain’t ya!” He grabbed my arm, pulling me off the bar stool. “I’m goin’ to have some fun with you!” He smelled like he had spent all fifty some years of his life drinking and smoking himself away in a distillery, and he somehow managed to look worse than he smelled.
“Is there a problem here?” The man from the other end of the bar had taken notice of the commotion.
“It ain’t a problem if you don’t make it a problem.” Samuel said as he gripped my arm tighter and curled his knuckles on his other hand into a fist.
“Let her go!” The man shoved at Samuel's shoulder, and with one swing Samuel had punched the other man to the ground. I was able to rip my arm free just in time for Madam Minnie to take notice of what was happening.
“Hains!” Madam Minnie Bellowed from behind the bar. “Samuel Hains!” Samuel turned to stare down Madam Minnie. “You know our policy, either move along or hit the streets.” Samuel kept staring at Madam Minnie, almost challenging her, but Madam Minnie wouldn’t budge. “She’s off limits!”
“Fine,” Samuel said, backing away. “I would pay top dollar if you ever change your mind.” He winked before shuffling away towards a poker game across the room. “Thank you,” I said, helping the man who had taken the punch for me off the ground. “Don’t thank me, I didn’t do all that much.” The man laughed. “The name’s James, James Murphy.”
“I’m Annette. My married name was Hamilton, but I don’t particularly care to go by that much anymore, so you can call me by my maiden name, Durand.”
“Well, Annette Durand, if you don’t mind me asking, what are you doing in an establishment such as this, you certainly are not from this part of town?”
“I’m a prisoner here.” I took the last of my drink and downed it.
“Shoot darling, I doubt like me. I’m a real man on the run.”
“What did you do?” I asked, signaling Madam Minnie to bring me another drink. “It’s not what I did, It’s what they think I did that’s the issue.”
“What do they think you did?”
“Up in Pittsburgh, where I’m from, they’re trying to pin the murder of a fruit market owner on me.”
“Did you do it,” I asked, I didn’t know what to expect the answer to be. Working at The Rising Sun had opened my eyes to many possibilities in the world.
“Of course not, and if you ask me I think the man that did it is a fellow that calls himself the Banana King.”
“The Banana King?”
“Yes ma'am, so I’m down here to lay low for a while until they catch the real killer.” Madam Minnie sat down two whiskeys for us. “So tell me, what’s your story?”
“My story is no good,” I said, sipping my drink.
“I’m sure it’s good enough for me to hear.”
“Well my husband was a no good cheater that spent more time in other women’s bed’s than he did at home, and one night he got caught cheating in a hand of poker where he had bet the deed to my family’s estate so the men in his game waited for him to head upstairs with a lady and then shot him and took everything he had.” I glanced around the room. “So now I work here as a seamstress for room and board while I try to earn enough to get myself a ticket to New York.”
“Did you ever love him?” James’ question caught me off guard.
“No, I suppose I didn’t. He was a sweet talker, but he was never able to charm me.” “Then he doesn't matter to me, and he shouldn’t matter to you none either.” I thought for a moment about what he had said. I had never given myself the chance to wonder if I had loved Matthew or if everyone else had. “It’s kinda funny,” he said, taking a sip of his drink. “What?”
“The two of us are just waiting to get out of here.”
“Part of me wonders if any of us will ever get outta here. The Rising Sun has been the ruin of men.”
“Well it won’t be for us because we’re both going to get out of here.”
For the next few weeks James would come in everyday to see me. He would lose in a game of poker and then sit next to me at the bar, it had become our nightly routine. We would always talk about how close we were to getting out of New Orleans. One day James just stopped coming by altogether. At first I was worried about him. He and I had grown so close. He had told me all about his family, friends, and his hometown. However, after about a week of uneasy worrying I convinced myself that he had just moved onto another brothel on another street. Leaving me alone, like every other man in my life.
One day, well before we had opened for the day, a knock threatened to beat down my door. I rushed over to open it only to find James there waiting for me. He had the biggest grin I’d ever seen and a paper in his hand.
“I’ve got the best news Annette!” He rushed into my room and I shut the door. “Where have you been? I thought something had happened to you!”
“I took a job to try to earn a little extra cash because of this letter!” He raised the letter above his head in excitement.
“What is it?”
“This letter says the police arrested a man for killing the fruit store owner. I can go home!” He was so happy he could barely contain himself.
“Oh, I’m so happy for you!” I wrapped my arms around him.
“That’s not all though. I want you to come home to Pittsburgh with me. I’ve got almost enough for your train ticket.”
“Why? I didn’t ask you to do that.” I felt my face begin to flush and I pulled away from him.
“Because I couldn’t fly north and leave you all chained up here!”
“But I don’t want to go to Pittsburgh! I want to go to New York!”
“I thought you wanted to leave The Rising Sun. I thought you would be happy. Why aren’t you happy?”
“Because all my life I have been just some piece of property passed from one uncaring man to the next. I am not your responsibility. I’m not yours to just ship home to the mines up in Pennsylvania!
“I didn’t think you were! I just thought we could both get outta here together!” “That’s just it, you didn’t think! When I get out of this place it’s going to be through my own hands not someone else’s!”
“Yeah, and how’s that going for you? You still only got $10 towards your ticket?” James reached for the door. “Well, then maybe I should just go and leave you here to spend the rest of your wicked life in The Rising Sun!”
“Maybe you should!” I slammed the door, and locked him out.
James didn’t come back that night. When I went downstairs for the evening I half expected him to be sitting at our place at the bar, but it seemed to me that only the shadow of him lingered on that bar stool. His words circled in my mind like scum in a dirty sink drain. He was right, I hadn’t made any progress in earning my ticket money.
“You’ve got someone watching you. You want me to send him away?” Madam Minnie said as she sat my drink down in front of me. I turned to look behind me to see Samuel Hains watching me from his poker table.
“He isn’t bothering me,” I said, sending Madam Minnie back down the bar. It was no more than 15 minutes before someone was pulling at my hair that I had left down. “Hello there sweetheart, I’ve got a couple questions for you.”
“What do you want, Samuel?” I didn’t have to turn around to know it was him. “I was just wanting to know if you’ve changed your pretty little mind yet?” “About what?” I had anticipated what he was about to say, but I wasn’t prepared for the answer I was about to give.
“About you being for sale.” He raised his beer motioning towards the rooms upstairs. “I might be. For the right price.” I took a sip of my whiskey and felt it burn all the way down my throat.
“Well I just won a pretty hand so you name your price sweetheart.”
“$40,” I said, meeting his eyes to call his bluff. Samuel let out a hearty laugh. “Well you are steep ain’t you.” He stared off in the distance for a moment like he was mentally weighing the depth of his pockets. “I’ll tell you what, I’ll give you $25 the first time, and if I’m satisfied with your work ethic I’ll come back later in the night and give you the rest.” He smirked at his own notion before taking another swig of his beer.
“Fine.” I downed the remainder of my drink before I grabbed him by the hand and pulled him towards the stairs.
Samuel took an eager seat on the edge of my bed, and I followed him into my room. As I shut my door, part of me thought about running out of there and screaming that I’m not that kind of woman, but I swallowed my pride and locked the door. Samuel was in no way a gentleman. He was course, loud, and derived pleasure from knowing he had won.
When it was over and he stood over the bed getting dressed he had the audacity to show me his scars from when he had fought in the war between the states. I couldn’t be bothered to care though my family had always sided with the yankees. Maybe lying in that bed had made me just as bad, but in my eyes Samuel still treating life as his prejudiced glory days made him worse.
“$25, just like I promised.” Samuel held the money out for me to take. I got out of bed and wrapped myself in my dressing gown.
“Pleasure doing business with you.” I swiped the money from his hands.
“Oh believe me sweetheart, the pleasure was all mine.” He walked himself to the door. “You best believe I’ll be back to give you the other $25 after my poker game subsides.” With a wink he stepped out the door, slamming it shut behind himself.
I got dressed, and pulled myself together enough to head back downstairs. I barely wanted to look at myself in the mirror. I couldn't believe what I had become, but I was doing what I needed to. One more time, then you’ll have your ticket out of here, I told myself.
“You want a drink?” Madam Minnie asked, as I took my seat at the end of the bar. I simply shook my head in agreement. “The first time is always the most jarring,” she assured me, as she sat the drink down in front of me.
“I don’t intend to make it a habit,” I said, taking the drink, and dismissing Madam Minnie.
“None of you ever do,” she replied, as she walked off towards other thirsty patrons. I glanced over towards Samuel’s poker game, and to my surprise I found James at the table. He seemed to be cleaning up the table. He must have had a hand of gold bc I had never
seen him play like that before. The game was over in only a half hour and James, for the first time since I had met him, walked away without empty hands.
“I’m getting you out of this place,” James said, as he took my hand. “You aren’t my responsibility, but my mama raised me to never leave the side of someone that needs help. Darling, whether you like it or not you’re getting out of The Rising Sun. Tonight I’ve won enough to buy you a ticket to anywhere you want to go in the world.”
“James, you can’t be serious.”
“I am, so go grab your things because my train back to Pittsburgh boards at midnight, and I’m not leaving until I know you are too.”
“Thank you!” I threw my arms around his neck.
“Don’t thank me yet, we’ve gotta get out of here first!”
“I don’t own anything here that I can’t leave behind. Let’s go!” James and I pushed our way through the crowds until we were finally out the door. I didn’t care where I ended up anymore, as long as it wasn’t The Rising Sun.
Almost as soon as we stepped onto the street a voice called to us from the porch, and a sickening feeling settled in the pit of my stomach. “Murphy!” James and I looked back to see Samuel and his band of drunkards approaching. “I ain’t ever seen you that lucky.” The men crowded around James and I.
“Guess I just had a good night.” James nervously laughed.
“Or maybe you had some aces up your sleeves!” Samuel and another man lunged at James, and held him back as they ripped up his sleeves letting an ace fall to the dirt. “That’s what I thought.” Samuel gut punched James while the other man held him. “Get off him!” I screamed.
“This ain’t about whoring so you’ll keep your mouth shut if you know what’s good for you!” Samuel Spat.
I jumped into the fight, landing a solid punch to Samuel’s nose. He wiped the blood from his face as it trickled out of his nostril. “You’re gonna regret that later sweetheart.” Samuel punched me to the ground. “William grab the girl, while Eddy and I take care of our yankee here!” The gruff man Samuel had called William grabbed me by the arms. They dragged James and I onto the porch, and held me back as the men took turns beating James to the ground.
“Hains!” I heard Madam Minnie's voice bellow over the chaos followed by the sound of a round being shot into the ground. “Leave them kids alone.”
Samuel and Eddy backed away from James. “This don’t concern you Minnie!” “Oh, it concerns me plenty. If you and your associates here don’t get off my porch I’ll make sure none of you ever steps foot in another house in New Orleans. You hear me!” Madam Minnie cocked her shotgun, and the men all shared anxious looks.
“Understood Minnie,” Samuel said, as he gave James one final kick to the ribs, and William dropped me to the ground, before each of the men shuffled on down the street. “Get that boy out of here before they come back,” Madam Minnie said as she walked back inside. I rushed over to James' side, and held his heavy head in my lap. He was beaten badly. His lips were busted, his eyes both blackened, and his nose was shattered. “Why’d you do that?” I sobbed, trying to keep him from closing his eyes. “Because you were worth it.” He coughed and blood trickled down his mouth. “I’m not going to make it out of The Rising Sun.”
“Don’t say that,” I begged.
“Take my ticket to Pittsburgh. It’s not New York, but it’s not here neither.” He used the little strength he had left to pull his ticket and cash out of his pocket and place it in my hand. “Take it.”
“Okay,” I said, wiping tears from my eyes.
“Promise me you’ll get out of The Rising Sun!” I sobbed watching his eyes roll into the back of his head.
“I promise!"
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