Swiss Cheese

Ruth

I sat in the bathroom, face buried into my hands and breathing rapidly. I could hear Robert yelling outside the door. He was confused, going on about the same things we talked about every single day. I wished he would stop for a minute, give me silence and peace for just a little while but the heavy accusations kept coming. Why do you keep me here against my will? Why can’t I go see mom? When was the last time you thought about me, what’s best for me? You do nothing else but hate me. I want to leave. I want to go home.

How could I explain to him that this was his home. That mom had died twenty years ago. That I did not hate him, and I tried the best I could to take care of him. I did what I could so that he was able to live at home he did not recognize as his own. Would it be better to put him into a nursing home? There he would not have his own furniture and belongings, though and strangers would take care of him. Would it matter? There were days that even I was a stranger to him.

I got up and sprinkled my face with cold water. A tired, old and wrinkly woman stared back at me from the mirror. I was old, too old and too tired to take care of my beloved brother much longer. I simply could not do it anymore. I felt that I was not good enough. I was not able to help Robert. I tried though. And never got as much as a thank you for trying. Who would thank me? I was not a hero, I was carrying out my responsibilities. I was doing what anyone would do in my place. I changed his diapers, made sure he ate well and healthy, kept the house clean and safe, read books out loud to Robert and played him music as that sometimes seemed to bring back memories. His feet would start moving with the beat and he would suddenly remember long-forgotten things from childhood. He recognized the music.

The tiny, frosted glass bathroom window pointed towards the garden and from it I saw all the colors of the spring. It was nice that summer was coming. We could go to the park to feed the ducks and I could buy Robert an ice cream cone. It would be good to get out of the house. Robert was in good physical shape and he would have been able to go outside during winter too but I was not. A bad hip. I was able to move pretty well with my walker but I was too afraid of falling on the icy, slippery ground. And I knew that if I fell, I would probably not walk again. Then who would take care of my brother?

Robert was banging the door with his fists. He had always been calm, sweet and happy person, all of his life. Until he came down with the sickness. Then he started to have these tantrums. He scared me when he was like that. His words were sharp and hurtful, sometimes he even hit me but the most painful thing was to see the look in his eyes. It was a look of pure, raw terror. He was scared of the world around him. The world he was not able to recognize anymore. Who would not be afraid as a prisoner inside the faceless, unknown world. I opened the door and looked at Robert. Between his eyes were deep wrinkles of worry. He dropped his hand.

“Why can’t I go home?”

*

I woke up, in the middle of the night, to a feeling that someone was staring at me. I was not mistaken. Robert was standing at the door. I was not able to see his face in the dark room. I rose to sit and waited for him to get angry again but he just stood there. Suddenly he whispered in an unfamiliar, childlike voice:

“Mommy. Someone is eating up my brain. Someone is inside me and eating me away.”

I sighed in horror. He had never before seemed to be aware of his condition. Sure, he had stated that he had a bad memory couple of times but nothing like this. Shivers went down my spine. Could he be able to feel his condition? Could he be able to feel it inside him?

“Mommy. Soon I will be no more. Something’s gonna eat me and then I will be gone. Then there will only be that something who ate me.”

“Rob…” I whispered and turned on the light on the nightstand. I realized in horror that he had scratched his face bloody. The nail marks were red and the skin had broken so that tiny drops of blood ran down his cheeks.

“Oh Rob, why did you do that? That must hurt. Come, I’ll clean it”, I said and Robert stared at me confused.

“I was just trying to get it out of my head”, Robert answered in an innocent voice. It was terrifying to hear him distort his voice like that. I got up, took his hand and lead him to kitchen where I sat him down. I fetched a tiny towel I soaked in cold water, a bottle of disinfectant and couple of band-aids.

*

It went on for two weeks. Robert woke up in the middle of the night, and came to me thinking that I was mom. He kept going on that something was eating up his brain. He explained that his brain was like Swiss cheese, full of holes. Every time he spoke with a weird, childlike, high-pitched voice I had never heard him use before. Often he had scratched his face and couple of times even ripped his thin, gray hair. I was getting really worried and did not know what to do. So I called Robert’s doctor who wanted to see us. Unfortunately, the next free appointment was almost a month away. Until that, he recommended me to cut Robert’s nails short and make sure he was not hurting himself. The doctor also told me, that I could try a knit cap that covers the head and face but would not accidentally cover his mouth or nose while sleeping.

I cut and filed Robert’s nails that very evening. He did not like that and it took almost an hour as the whole time, he tried to fight back. After that I was warming up some honeyed milk for us. My own health was getting worse. Last few days, I had used my walker even inside the house. Getting up from the table, taking the couple steps to the refrigerator and then from there to the stove felt like an exercise. I was afraid I could not get out even during summer, by this rate. I glanced out the window and saw the Rowan tree standing there. The Bohemian waxwings had eaten all the berries during winter and now the new leaves were slowly sprouting.

Robert sat in the table staring out the window as well. Suddenly, he said in a low, coarse voice that reminded a dog’s growl:

“Cheese, cheese.”

I was startled and dropped the honey pot I was holding. Luckily, the lid stayed on and there was no mess but I knew I was not able to pick it up from the floor by myself.

“Do you want cheese with the milk? I can cut a few pieces for you, if you like? And Rob, sweetie, could you please pick up the honey pot for me?”

“Cheese, cheese, more holes. Soon there’s nothing left!” His growl grew into a terrible scream. I got so scared I burst into tears. I realized he was talking about his brain. It crossed my mind that maybe it was not my brother speaking at all.

“Who are you?” I asked in a hushed voice.

“Hmm… We live here now. He’s gone soon completely” Robert answered grinning. I could not be left alone with this thing. I started to make my way towards the bathroom, waddling painfully and slowly with my walker. Tears ran down to my chubby cheeks.

“You can’t run. When you are hungry, really, really hungry, you can never be full”, Robert growled after me and then laughed. I reached the bathroom, went in and locked the door. Then I sat on my walker and took deep breaths to calm myself down. For once, I was able to sit there in peace, the whole house was dead silent. I could picture in my mind, Robert sitting in the table, smiling a stranger’s smile. After a few minutes had passed, I heard how the milk started boiling over. I had to go back to the kitchen. Robert was standing at the stove, holding the pot, smiling happy and said in a perfectly normal voice:

“Whoops. This is ruined now but we’ll make a new batch, right?”

*

Officer Ainsley

I had never seen anything like that in my life. The neighbors had called the police when they heard loud screaming and shrieking. We got there as soon as possible and spent a good while knocking on the door without an answer. We tried the door and it was not locked so we let ourselves in. We went through the house trying to find somebody. When we got to the bedroom, I sighed in horror. Like I said, I had never seen anything like that in my life.

In the corner of the room, there was an old man hunched over an old woman’s still body. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I saw that the old woman’s stomach had been ripped open and the intestines were hanging out. The old man turned toward us and his face was covered in blood. He was chewing a piece of meat that was partially hanging out of his mouth. When he saw us, he smiled and shrieked in a high-pitched voice:

“Cheese!”

The Song Of The Bombers

Elisabeth

The old mansion stood against the clear blue sky under the hot summer sun. On the gray stone walls grew brown and burned grapevines and the garden was overgrown, its tall weeds and flowers touching the wooden exterior shutters covering the lower windows. On the steps of the front porch a sparrow knocked a snail shell against the stone trying to break it. On the lawn, between the common plantains and meadow buttercups a lost, lonely toad croaked in a sad tune. The mansion was decayed, its basement filled with water damage, the red paint covering the inner walls had lost its former glory, and the attic had been taken over by rats and bird nests, but I loved the building nonetheless. It was mine, and I had gotten it for a fair price. The war had left the land torn, the countryside worn out, and the mostly abandoned villages struggled forward slowly towards better times. As a woman, I had benefited from the war since there had been a lot of work for me after men left to the battlefront. That was how I had been able to save enough money to buy the mansion. It was not the best house on offer but the broken beauty of the property fitted my state of mind well. It would be beautiful once more after some work, I thought, like this country would too.

I leaned my bicycle against the gate and lifted the braided basket from the carrier. In it was everything I needed to bring to the mansion first: the end of a bread, shaker of salt, a bottle of expensive cognac and Mimi, my dear collector’s doll. My parents had given her to me for my fourth birthday. Her beautiful blond and curly hair was long, her dress Victorian style and beaded with golden stones, and the long, black lashes shadowed the crystal white eyes. Her skin was porcelain and felt cold to the touch. I had always hoped to find other such dolls as well and become a collector but they were extremely rare.

Inside the mansion I swept and washed the thick layer of dust covering the floors. I lit a fire in the stone fireplace but the chimney was not working well so the smoke filled the room. I made a bed from a mattress on the floor in one of the rooms upstairs. I opened the shutters on the window and the orange glow of the setting sun flowed inside. The oak trees outside painted moving shadows on the walls. This is the first night in my new home, I thought and opened the mahogany cover of my diary. In it I wrote: I and Mimi, we are finally home. The war is over and the land, teared by the bombs, is starting to grow crops again. Soon people will have money to buy food and nice clothes. The summer is at its best, I need to enjoy it before autumn comes and the mansion needs to stay warm.

I woke up in the middle of the night as it had gotten really cold. I noticed, I had kicked the blanket away. I stared out from the window in to the moon that shined pale blue outside. It lit the room and I was able to see the remaining dust balls swirl on the windowsill. The mansion was silent, the only thing I could hear was a raven cawing somewhere. I pulled the blanket up to my ears and brushed my hands against my arms to warm up. Suddenly, I heard something else. A quiet hum from the horizon. It bounced on the walls around like a wild beast circling me. I froze and breathed silently. The sound, it was too familiar. I had heard it too many times before: an enemy bomber. But the war was over, so it could not be. I hugged Mimi and looked into her glass eyes, filled by moonlight, so deep into them that I could dive into childhood memories. I could remember the summer night’s grass brushing my bare feet, I could feel the warmth of the furnace on Christmas, I could smell the fresh baked plain coffee bread my grandma used to make, and I could hear my brother’s laugh in my head. My brother who left to the front six months ago and never returned. I tried to concentrate on those good memories so that I could not hear the sounds of the bombers approaching.

Then, I was awakened by the yellow morning light filling the room. Was it all a dream? It was as if the night turned in to morning in a blink of an eye. Instead of hearing a bomber closing in I heard a fieldfare sing. Actually, it sounded more like an old man laughing. I looked out of the window and saw the morning dew glistening on the trees and a thin veil of fog squirming on the ground. I got up to make some coffee but realized that I had no beans. I fetched water from the well, broke a piece from the hardened bread and fried it on a pan. I washed it all down with a glass of cognac.

I spent the day in the garden, cutting the burned vines, pulling countless weeds from the ground, and washing the mold from the stone walls. I was irritated when I realized just how much work it would take to return the mansion to its former glory. It would take months and I would surely need some help. I had a headache for I had forgotten to drink enough in the hot weather. My thumb was hurting from all the pulling and my knees felt sore from sitting on the ground for such a long time. I decided that that was enough, got up and started making my way inside. Something made me stop and I looked at the driveway painted by the setting sun. Suddenly, I felt dizzy and I could see how the air turned black and gray from the dust that fell from the sky. The plants and flowers died in front of my eyes and there was fire on the streets. The neighboring houses had turned into piles of stone and there were body parts sticking out under them. The mansion had moved and the scene seemed out of place. I was so petrified I could not move. In the middle of the smoke and ashes I saw a man. It was my brother. I yelled his name but then I heard the bombers. I closed my eyes and covered my head in my arms as it was hurting. Then, after a few seconds, the pain went away and when I opened my eyes I could see everything had returned to normal: the warmth of the sun touched my skin gently, the birds in the trees were singing, all the flowers boomed. Was it all a dream? Or had I gone completely insane? I ran inside and into the kitchen, where I sat at the table and trembled in terror. I did not know what to do.

In the night I could not sleep. I was walking through the mansion, making a list of things I would need to renovate. The giant, broken chandeliers and the old family portraits of which I did not know who the people in them were, all that historic beauty could not be belittled even by degeneration of the past decades. I was still in awe. I could not digest that it all was now mine. I sat in front of the old fireplace and placed Mimi on my lap, hugging her. To be honest, I was a little afraid of being alone. My mom had died at childbirth when my brother was born. I was two at the time. My father had passed away due to a pneumonia few years ago. My brother never returned from the war, I did not know whether he was dead or alive. And there was no one else left of our kin that I knew. I had never married, perhaps because I was too independent, too stubborn, and now, at 30-years-old it was too late. I felt lonely. And I was a woman so I would not be able to pass on our family name anyway. Would the last of Every die with me?

Suddenly, I got a feeling that someone was staring at me. The hair on my back rose and could imagine someone standing behind me in the room. Slowly, I turned my head and moved on the floor. The old wooden boards creaked. My eyes met the big windows facing the garden and I could see a figure standing in the shadow of the lilac tree. I sighed startled and pondered whether I was dreaming again. Would the war return to hunt me once more? No, this was different. The figure was an old woman with a scarf wrapped around her head. I felt a little curious.

I got up and walk to the window. Outside the woman was staring me. I waved at her and to my surprise, she waved back. I was now sure it was not a dream. I ran through dark rooms and hallways to the door and outside. My feet were bare and the wet grass felt cold under them. I ran to the lilac and the woman was still there, standing under the tree.

“Excuse me? Do you live nearby? I moved here just few days ago, my name is Elisabeth, nice to meet you”, I introduced myself and reached out my hand. I was thinking how weird it was, standing in the garden in the middle of the night talking to a complete stranger.

“You came with the doll?” She asked. In her eyes she had a glazed look and I realized, she was talking about Mimi. Suddenly, I felt unsure.

“Hmm… Yes, I had a doll with me when I moved”, I answered. The woman’s eyes moved and she now looked straight at me. Her eyes were smoky white and looked like she might be blind. She stepped out of the shadow of the tree and I could see that her face was not old at all but covered in holes as if the skin had partially melted away. I got scared.

“You should not be here, the bloody mansion should be burned to the ground”, her voice rose.

“I don’t understand… Sorry, I think it’s best if I go back inside...” I whispered. Right then the woman charged forward and grabbed on to my arm with both hands:

“The poor girl, look at me!”

I was terrified and yanked myself free. I mumbled a quiet ‘sorry’ and ran back inside. I was shaking. I ran all the way to the room upstairs, threw myself on the mattress and cried on to the sleeve of my shirt.

The next morning I felt silly that I had been so easily scared. I continued my work in the garden and enjoyed the sunny weather, even though, I had already burned my shoulders and they now glowed red like a boiled lobster. Fortunately, I was wearing a brimmed hat that covered my face. The cotton garden gloves were full of blades of grass and thorns from the rose bush. I combed my hair on my neck as it was sticking on to the skin from sweat. Then, like a lighting strike out of a clear blue sky, a white light blinded me. I tried to blink but I could not see anything. After a while, the light was gone and the world turned dim and gray. It was followed by a loud rumble and I felt unable to breathe. It was as if my heart was being ripped right out of my chest. I tried to yell but I felt like my face was melting from the excruciating heat. My hands and feet felt numb. It was as if I was being shred to pieces. And then, in an instant, it was over. I was sitting on the grass, in the summer day’s warmth, holding dead roses in my hand and in the lilac tree the robins were singing.

When the evening came, a glistening dew covered the leaves and the tree trunks. I was sitting at the kitchen table, tired. I was just falling asleep when I heard my brother’s voice. It was loud and clear and I recognized a line from an old prayer. I jumped, now awake and hit my head on the glass of water laying on the table knocking it over. Right at that moment I heard my brother scream. I got up and looked for him but there was no one there with me. I felt terrified. I felt chilly. I walked to the window that was open and as I was closing it I noticed the woman outside. She was walking in the garden, her head pressed down. I felt goosebumps but for some reason I yelled to the woman, invited her in.

We were sitting around the kitchen table, staring at each other. After a long while, she removed the scarf covering her head and gently folded it on the table. I stared in horror at her bald head, the broken, bloody skin, and her eyes that had no lashes and looked blind and murky white. I was thinking that she might be suffering from a disease of some kind.

“Tell me about your brother”, the woman asked suddenly. I was puzzled.

“My brother? He was lost during war, I don’t know where he is.”

“Wrong. He returned from the battle two years ago”, the woman said in a soft voice. I did not understand. I tried to say something but the words got stuck in my throat.

“Elisabeth. Look at me. Really look. Don’t you recognize me?” She asked and I looked. I did not recognize her. I shook my head.

“You see. I moved in to this mansion over two years ago, when the war was nearing its end. It happened on that street, I was standing there...” The woman explained and pointed to the cobble stone street outside.

“That’s when the bomb was dropped. It hit me hard, there was not much left of me, as you can see”, the woman said and spread her arms around her face.

“This bloody mansion, it survived somehow. With my last strength I dragged myself onto the property as I knew that I had to die here in order to stay in the mansion as a spirit.” I could not understand a single word so I let out a nervous laugh but she kept going:

“The mansion went to my brother when he came back from the war. But he should’ve never stayed and he should’ve never kept the doll. Mimi.” I could not breathe.

“Yes. Spirits are an interesting thing. There’s not just one inside a person but there’s several. You attached yourself to Mimi and chose to forgot, to deny what happened to us when we were one. That’s why you could keep your beautiful face but mine is gone. I am the picture of how we were when we died.” My head was spinning, I felt like I could throw up.

“You can sometimes see your brother, hear your brother, because he’s living in this mansion. Look closer. Look real close.” And I looked. The rooms around me changed into beautiful colors, filled with new furniture, brightened up by new paint, and right then I saw my brother sitting at the table where the woman had been sitting a second ago. My brother looked old, sorrowful and in his arms he was holding Mimi. I looked in to the crystal cold, white, blind eyes of the doll and saw in them a reflection of my bloodstained, disfigured face torn apart by the touch of a bomb.

Safe

Regina Adams

The dark silence of the night surrounded me, threatening. Only thing breaking it was the ticking of an old oakwood grandfather clock on the wall above my bed. It was a family treasure. However, it had not chimed once in the past few decades even though it was seemingly working as it should and I kept winding it. I did not want to pay a fortune to someone so they would come and look at it, fix it maybe, so I was completely fine with it staying silent. Actually, I was already sleeping light, so I needed no more noises to keep me on my toes at night. Not even sleeping pills worked anymore. I stayed up mainly because of the fear. You see, years ago I was told that this would be the age I die at and so, I was terrified that the prediction could come true.

 “When you turn 83, that is when you will die.” That was what the gypsy woman had assured me. It had been five months now since my 83th birthday. Five months that I had lived in fear. But even though I waited for my demise, at the same time I had been readying myself for the battle. I was not going to die, that I had decided. I was in good medical condition, both physically and mentally, regardless of the fact that I was currently living in a one-room apartment of a row-house meant for elderly and on my kitchen counter there was a plastic container full of all kinds of prescription medication, vitamins, lactic acid bacteria and so on. I had no idea which one should be taken when and what pills were for what, I just took something if I ever felt bad somehow. But I never had any severe illnesses or disorders. However, I feared death anyway, it was almost a phobia to me. I was not sure why. 

So, I had stopped going out or even opening the door for anyone else but the housekeepers and food service workers who visited me regularly and even with them I had agreed on precise days and times they needed to come at. Out of those times, I opened my door to no one. I had no family alive and no friends, I had never kept many anyway. And I had heard that there were thieves going around from door to door, robbing helpless, elderly people who invited them in. The old man next-door had been robbed twice but well, he had a bad memory anyway, so he probably forgot to be more careful after the first time.

I never opened the curtains covering the view from my only window, either. The view was not worth it as I did not care to stare at the house facing this one and the muddy, plain yard between the two. Also, I felt a lot safer when I was hiding from everything and everyone. I had put rugs all over my bathroom floor, you see, many old people died when they slipped while taking a shower and I wanted to eliminate that possibility. I also used slippers everywhere in the apartment so I would not slip anywhere else either. Food came to me from the food service as I dared not to use my oven or the stove in order to cook. I might cause a fire, after all. So I just microwaved all my food, even though I was not too keen on using that either. Then, I smashed or diced all the food so there were no possibility for me to choke on it. Hard candy and such, I did not eat at all.

I used any electronics carefully. I had a television, that I sometimes watched the news on, but normally I kept that unplugged. I had also an old radio I loved to listen to, and a mobile phone in case of an emergency but that was all. All the pointy corners of tables and other furniture I had covered with cloths, so I could not hurt myself on them if I somehow were to fall. By the years, I had hunched over, losing height, so I asked the janitor to lower down my hat rack and some cabinets so that I never had to reach too high as that could be dangerous too. I was prepared in every possible way and saw no chance for the gypsy’s prediction to come true. Unless, I would have a stroke of some kind, and that was the very reason why I could not sleep at nights. I had called an ambulance so many times the medics were getting fed up with me.

“I think you are just having some digestion problems,” they said. Maybe, but you can never be too careful, I thought.

The smell of cigarettes and lilac perfume haunted me at nights. Something had convinced me years ago that the prediction was not to be taken lightly. Perhaps, it had been the alcohol or the dim lighting in the caravan and all the golden linen around me. I had felt dizzy, I remembered, scared. Last week I asked the janitor to put another lock on my door, just in case. All the silverware I had hidden under my mattress and I used only dispensable cutlery as I could not accidentally cut myself with those. In addition to all that, I kept a mug full of water on a counter all times so I remembered to drink enough. The summer had been dry and hot, after all. The mug was at least 50-years-old and had painted lilies on it.

Five months later

I was dreaming that a cold wind was brushing against my face and the evening sun was setting. Suddenly, I woke up and realized, I was standing in the middle of the room. It was dark, the curtains were closed and it was winter, so I could not tell if it was day or night. I had an unexplainable feeling that I had dreamed of the old grandfather clock. In my dream it had been chiming. I blinked my eyes and waited for them to adjust to the darkness. I did not have my glasses on.

Then I saw something. Right in front of me, there was a tall man dressed in black. He stood there with his fingers crossed. His face was unmoving. I was frightened. He had broken in, I thought.

“Hello Regina, I'm here for you.”

“What do you mean? Go away or I will call the police!”

“Regina… Look behind you”, the man said inside my head. He did not open his mouth. I turned and faced my bed. To my horror, there was someone lying in it. It was me. The oakwood grandfather clock on the wall above my bed had fallen on me. It had crushed my head and face, I was bleeding.

“It's not possible...” I whispered.

“Regina, we all have our time, it is predestined. Your time is up. Come with me”, the man said and offered his hand to me. I shook my head.

“I was so careful. I thought of everything, there was nothing that could happen in the safety of my own home. The clock… I never thought of that, though.”

“When you refused to give up, I had to be more creative. I am sorry, Regina, but we need to leave now. It's gonna be three days before the food service comes, your body will have to wait before it is found.”

I stared at my face that had caved into my broken skull and was covered in blood and pieces of wood. I was scared. I felt pain and terror like never before. There was no white light. I did not know where I was going. Slowly, the room around me disappeared. In my dream, the grandfather clock chimed but had it been a dream or reality?