The Black Lake: Tales of Melancholic Horror Page 3

  Troy sighed, then gazed at Officer Cain – he knew him all too well. Cain stood five-ten with a burly physique. His perpetually dour facial expression contradicted his benign blue eyes. The sides of his ovoid dome were shaved, only short brown hair protruded from the top. He wore a standard police uniform – a navy button-up shirt, navy trousers, black insulated boots, and a utility belt. The engraved nameplate on his chest simply read: Cain.

  As expected, Cain had not changed. From his clothing to his personality, the correctional officer remained the same. Chiming-in like a psychologist but keeping a short distance like a reluctant stepparent. Cain was curious, but he knew to bite his tongue when the time arrived – he was respectfully inquisitive.

  Troy sighed in vexation, then said, “I don't want to say anything at all. What happened that night is between me and them. I won't apologize for my actions, I will not repent. Sometimes, it's what we have to do. That's all you need to know.”

  Cain rubbed his clean-shaved jaw and sucked his lips as he contemplated and accepted Troy's lucid message – it happened and there's nothing we can do about it. Yet, the unfortunate disappointment lingered at the back of his mind.

  Cain said, “Okay, that's fine. I understand you very clearly, Troy. Try to get some sleep. We'll come wake you up in the morning for your breakfast, then we'll... we'll get on with the show, I suppose. I'll see you in a few hours, buddy.”

  Cain's boots thudded on the pristine tile flooring as he slowly drifted away from the prison chamber. He moseyed down the hall, dragging his feet as the dispiriting experience made him sulky. Troy turned back towards the empty brick wall. Sleep was not on his monotonous agenda.

  Troy whispered, “I know it's coming.”

  Suddenly, jovial humming echoed into his cell from the neighboring hall. The soothing, ebullient sound was accompanied by prancing footsteps, like a young child gamboling in the hallway. The sound was eerily out of place, colliding with the grim ambiance to create a symphony of melancholy.

  Abruptly, a young girl's head protruded from the bottom of the scraped window on the door. The four-foot tall girl clearly stood on her tiptoes as she peered into the forbidding cell. Her brown hair was tied in pigtails. Her fuzzy pink pajamas veiled her tiny body. Her brown eyes appeared weary. Her eyelids were leaden with sleep.

  The young girl asked, “Do you miss me, daddy?”

  Troy's breathing intensified as he glared at his daughter. He tightly clenched his fists as the exasperation boiled within; his untrimmed fingernails pierced into his moist palms. He struggled to conjure the words to respond.

  Troy slowly shook his head and said, “Go... go home, Cathy. Go back to sleep.”

  Cathy tilted her head like a curious pup as she gazed into her father's bloodshot eyes. Troy gritted his teeth as he slowly turned back towards the brick wall, hopelessly trying to whisk the visiting apparition away. To his utter dismay, he felt his bed sink and he could hear husky breathing inside his cell.

  From over Troy's right shoulder, a female whispered, “You did this to us...”

  Troy sniffled as he slowly turned towards the chilling voice. He scowled as his wife sat beside him on the flimsy mattress. Her large white t-shirt was drenched in blood. Her brown hair was tied in a tousled bun. Her brown eyes were hollow, her spirit was weary.

  “Gl–Gloria, I... I...” Troy stuttered as he struggled to respond.

  Abruptly, the other side of the bed sank. Troy turned and found his daughter sitting beside him – the door was still sealed. Cathy's chest was spattered with dried blood. Her pajamas were stained with death.

  Cathy asked, “Why did you do this to me, daddy? What did I do wrong?”

  Troy inhaled deeply as he attempted to recompose himself. As Cathy and Gloria gripped his forearms, Troy's eyes rolled to the back of his head and his eyelids flickered erratically. He fell back and the back of his dome collided with the sturdy wall. Quietly, Troy fell unconscious.

  ***

  Suddenly, Troy awoke on a snug mattress. His body was veiled by crimson satin bed sheets. As his eyesight adjusted to the darkness, Troy gazed at the white ceiling and smirked. A sense of normality swept through his body as his head swayed from the sweet allure of sleep. He shuffled on the queen-sized bed, searching for the perfect position, then blindly reached for the opposite side of the mattress. To his utter surprise, Gloria was absent. Troy lifted his head from the cozy pillow and gazed at the neighboring cushion.

  He furrowed his brow and whispered in a dubious tone, “Gloria?”

  Troy yawned and stretched as he stood from the bed. His navy flannel pajamas whooshed and swayed on his portly figure. The hardwood flooring creaked and howled with every other step as Troy departed the bedroom.

  The master bedroom was the last room in the hallway. To the left of his room, there were two doors. The first door led to the other bedroom, the second led to the bathroom. The staircase awaited beyond the final door. Troy trudged down the hall, vigorously rubbing his eyes as he brawled with the temptation of nocturnal slumber.

  The neighboring door squealed as Troy carefully shoved it open. Cathy slept on the bed directly across the bedroom's entrance. Her soft, innocent face was caressed by the moon's radiant glow. She shined like a beacon of celestial beauty. Troy couldn't help but smile as he listened to Cathy's faint snore, like a cat purring at night.

  Troy whispered, “Good night, sweetheart. I love you.”

  Troy scrunched his face as the door's shrill squeak reverberated through the room and hall. He waited in the hallway with his ear planted on the door and his bottom lip protruded forward. He sighed in relief as Cathy's adorable snore continued. Troy glanced towards the bottom of the neighboring door – the bathroom light was off.

  He placed his hands on his hips and whispered, “Where the hell are you, Gloria?”

  Troy shambled down the creaky stairs. He furrowed his brow as a muffled voice increased in volume as he slowly descended. His bare toes wiggled as he planted his feet on the frigid tile flooring in the kitchen. He glanced towards the living room to his left. (The living room and kitchen were solely separated by the kitchen bar and a change in the texture of the floor.) The muffled voice became more distinct – the sound of a female whispering.

  “Gloria? Gloria, is that you?” Troy asked with a raised brow.

  There was no response. He sauntered through the living room and approached the glass sliding doors leading into the backyard. The door wobbled as it slid open. Troy protruded his head out of the entrance, then turned to his right. Gloria sat on a wooden bench with a white landline phone planted on her ear. She sighed as she quickly disconnected from the call, then rolled her eyes towards Troy.

  Troy asked, “What are you doing out here?”

  “I just needed some fresh air,” Gloria immediately responded like if she knew the questions to the inevitable interrogation beforehand.

  Troy inspected his wife with narrowed eyes. Gloria only wore a large white t-shirt down to her slender thighs – her regular nightwear. Her brown hair was tied in a tousled bun. Troy rubbed his shoulders as a cold breeze danced through the backyard and drifted into the home. The gust was unusually chilly, but Gloria seemed unaffected.

  Troy asked, “Aren't you cold?”

  “No.”

  Troy nervously chuckled from the blunt response, then asked, “Yeah, well, what are you up to? What do you need a phone for if you're out here for fresh air?” Gloria nonchalantly huffed as she turned her attention towards the beautiful night sky – the twinkling stars were hypnotizing. Troy shook his head and sternly asked, “Who the hell were you talking to, Gloria? What kind of secretive bullshit is this? Huh? You think I'm playing with you?”

  Gloria gave off an insouciant smirk, then said, “I wasn't talking to anyone. I'm going to bed.”

  Composed and calm, Gloria shoved past Troy, planted the phone on the landline base, then pranced up the rickety stairs. Troy stood by the glass doors in utter awe – the sheer lack of re
spect was baffling. Troy shook his head as he walked towards the landline phone. He redialed the number, then planted the phone on his ear. His arm trembled from the dreadful anticipation as the shrill ringing pierced through his psyche and mocked his insecurities.

  Abruptly, a man answered, “Everything okay?”

  Troy asked, “Who the hell is this?” The call immediately disconnected. As he glared at the phone, Troy whispered, “What the hell?”

  Troy returned the phone to the base as he deeply pondered the situation. His mind wandered between the possibilities, but his thoughts always stopped at the same dead end: she's cheating. He could feel the knife of deceit turning in his back. His body trembled as his mind swelled with savage thoughts of vengeance.

  He gritted his teeth, then rushed into the kitchen. He skidded to a stop as he slid towards the marble counter by the fridge, then retrieved a kitchen knife from the wooden block. Bent on revenge, he sprinted up the stairs – skipping a step with each lunge. He hurtled down the hallway, then brutishly shoved the door open. Gloria bolted up from the bed, shocked by the booming entrance.

  Wide-eyed, Gloria asked, “What the hell do you think you're doing? You'll wake Cathy...”

  Troy shook his head as he stepped into the room and said, “Shut up. I don't care. Tell me: who were you talking to? Who was on the phone?”

  “You're still going on about that? Seriously? Get over it, Troy. I just needed some fresh air. You don't have to make a big deal over everything. We don't have to make a scene over a damn phone. It was nothing.”

  Troy glared at Gloria with a soul-penetrating stare – his piercing eyes ripped through her facade. Gloria nervously chuckled as she attempted to keep her poker face. Her anxious smile and cackle vanished upon spotting the gleaming knife in Troy's hand.

  Troy asked, “Who was on the phone, Gloria? Who were you talking to?”

  Gloria stuttered, “It–it was my–my brother...”

  Troy shouted, “Bullshit! I called him back! That wasn't your brother! Who was it? Huh? Are you cheating again?”

  “N–No... No, sweetie, I was just... I was...”

  The floorboards rattled as Troy viciously stomped, throwing a tantrum like a spoiled child at a toy store. He yelled, “Bullshit! I knew you didn't change! You never change! I knew it! Is... Is she even mine?”

  “Wha–what?”

  “Is Cathy even mine?! Is that my daughter? Is she mine?”

  Gloria's eyes swelled with woeful tears as she glanced every which way, searching for an escape from the verbal assault. She struggled to respond. Her throat was clogged with the vile feeling of fear and anxiety. Her teeth chattered, her bottom lip quivered, and her body shuddered from the apprehension.

  Troy lifted the knife to his shoulder and said, “I knew she wasn't mine... I knew you cheated...”

  Gloria grimaced from the emotional pain as she asked, “Wha–What? What are you going to do? You–you're going to... to kill me? Really?” Tears trickled from her eyes like a garden sprinkler as she wildly waved her arms and said, “No, no, no. You didn't even give me a chance to explain, Troy. You... You can't do this to me. I'll call the cops. I'll...”

  Troy gazed into Gloria's gloomy eyes and said, “It's too late for that...”

  Troy pounced on Gloria. The bed groaned from Troy's leap. He gripped her throat with his left hand and pinned her onto the bed. He clenched his jaw and frantically sobbed as he repeatedly stabbed Gloria's torso. Gloria squirmed and whimpered from the pain. The knife plopped as her torso was drenched in blood. Troy wept into his bloodied hand as he stood from his brutally slaughtered wife.

  He indistinctly muttered as he slowly drifted away. He traipsed down the hall, then entered the neighboring room. Through the yelling and weeping, Cathy continued her peaceful slumber. A child unaware of her mother's demise at the hands of her father. Troy limped through the dark room and quietly whimpered as he examined the pink walls and stepped over the stuffed animals and dolls. He stood over his sleeping daughter, then lifted the knife over his head.

  As he gazed at her sealed eyelids, Troy whispered, “Your mother did this to us... I'm sorry, sweetie.”

  ***

  “Troy. Come on, Troy, wake up,” Cain said as he shook Troy's limp body. Cain lightly slapped Troy's cheek and said, “Troy, it's time to go. You've slept too long. Your time's up, buddy. It's finally your time to go. I know you've been waiting for this. Wake up.”

  Troy's eyelids fluttered as he slowly awoke. He grunted and groaned as he sat up on his bed. He gently massaged the back of his head with his fingertips as a striking pain echoed through his frail body. Cain's eyes widened as he caught a glimpse of the blood smeared on the wall and smudged on Troy's fingers.

  Like a scolding parent, Cain tightly gripped Troy's wrist and asked, “What the hell happened to you? What did you do to yourself, man?” Troy coughed and grimaced as he shook off Cain's grip and staggered to his feet. Cain glanced at the stained wall and rationalized, “You must have passed out... Damn it, I told you to get some sleep, Troy.”

  Knocking erupted from the doorway. Cain and Troy turned towards the entrance and spotted Warden James Stone at the foyer of the chamber. Stone stood five-eight with a roly-poly figure. An officious smirk was plastered on his drooping face. His thinning white hair was boyishly combed over to the right – a hopeless attempt at covering the bald spot towards the center of his dome. He wore a navy two-button suit.

  Stone coughed to clear his throat, then stepped into the room. He asked, “Officer Cain, is the inmate ready for the execution?”

  Cain bit his bottom lip and shook his head, then said, “No, I really think we should delay it. He hasn't had his final meal and he's got a gash on the back of his head. I think...”

  Stone interrupted, “Did you hit him?” Cain shook his head. Stone continued, “Good. He opted out of his final meal. As for the gash, we're not going to delay an execution like this over a self-inflicted wound. It doesn't work that way. They can kick and scream, but we still have a duty to perform. Bring him out. We're ready for him.”

  Cain reluctantly nodded as Stone departed. Cain beckoned to the similarly dressed correctional officer in the hall as he helped Troy regain his balance. Troy was still dazed by the blow to the head and the mystifying nightmare. The trio were choked by a bleak ambiance as they exited the cell. Walking a mere 20 steps to the right, Troy was dragged to the execution chamber.

  The room was modest, resembling a doctor's office in appearance. Yet, the atmosphere was funereal instead of accommodating. The spotless white walls and white tile flooring gleamed from the fluorescent lighting. There was a gurney with spring-green padding towards the center beneath a ticking clock on the wall. Beside the gurney, there was a metallic table with several medical tools. There were several windows on the wall across the foot of the gurney – impenetrable glass barriers leading into the observation room.

  Cain whispered, “This is it, Troy. You going to do this the easy way?” Troy intensively stared at the gurney and nodded. Cain swayed his head into the lethal injection chamber and said, “Alright, go ahead and jump up on there. We'll strap you in.”

  Troy slothfully trudged into the room, dragging his feet towards the gurney. He hopped onto the mobile bed, then rested his head at a 45-degree angle. He squinted as the blinding light dawned onto him. Cain walked to Troy's side, then tightly restrained his ankles, thighs, stomach, wrists, and chest with black straps.

  Troy was apathetic to the procedure. He glanced at the neighboring observation room. Men in suits and women in dresses sat and watched. Troy's forehead creased – he did not recognize anyone in the crowd. The spectators resembled a crowd of people awaiting a shirt-and-tie theater play. Cain stood at Troy's side as the physician and medical staff scurried into the room. Troy's arms were swabbed with alcohol as the staff prepared the IVs for each arm.

  Cain whispered, “You still have an opportunity to repent, Troy. You can still apologize for everything. You do
n't have to end your life like this, you don't have to die with your sins. You don't have to die lonely.”

  Troy smirked and asked, “I won't be lonely if I repent? Is that what you really believe?”

  “Sure. If we truly live hand-in-hand with a spiritual realm, maybe they'll forgive you. Maybe they'll be waiting for you on the other side. Maybe it won't be so lonely, Troy. What do say? Huh? Will you apologize for your actions?”

  Troy gazed into Cain's sincere eyes, then glanced around the chamber. He stopped as he spotted his wife and daughter in the observation room. Gloria and Cathy donned their bloodied nighttime attire as they watched Troy with derisive sneers plastered on their faces. Their eyes were empty voids and their bodies were pale and icy.

  Troy turned towards Cain and said, “What good does that really do me? Believe me, I know the spiritual realm very well. I know an apology won't quench their thirst. I've known that very well for a very long time. They want this, they love this. I won't give them the pleasure of repentance on top of my execution.” Troy turned his head towards the ceiling and whispered, “I do not repent. I do not repent. I do not repent...”

  As Troy continued to mutter, Cain leaned away from him and ran his fingers through his hair. He slowly shook his head, lost in thoughts of regret and sorrow for another man. Warden Stone's polished dress shoes clicked and clacked as he entered the room. He grabbed a microphone from the wall, then brought the device towards Troy.

  Stone said, “Before we proceed with the execution, it's only fair to give you one final opportunity to speak your mind, Troy Walker. With that said, be wary of your final words. Do you have a final statement?”

  Troy nodded as Stone held the microphone to his mouth. Troy grunted, then said, “My victims suffered violent deaths at my hands. There's no doubt about that. My victims wish to torment me. They want to haunt me, but I will not suffer.” He gazed at the apparitions in the observation room and continued, “Mine will be a painless death. You lost and I won. I am unrepentant. When I see you in Hell, I'll kill you again and again. Now, let's get this over with.”