Hush
1
Upon a fresh April morning, with eyes closed shut, Benjamin felt the sun before he saw it. His bedroom windows did little to curb the radiant, narrow beams of light now pouring in, creeping across the marred wooden floor and the sheets of a bed where he lay, so that the threads looked dyed in rich yellow. The sounds of wildlife ensuing coaxed his attention toward the outside view, the rugged northern landscape, the swell of dense clouds floating leisurely across the muted blue of day.2
From downstairs, he could hear, and almost picture, his mother bustling about the kitchen, spooning pancake batter with one hand and wiping her brow with the other, grey-streaked hair disarrayed as if performing such a laborious task. When she called, "Benny, your plate is ready," he groaned, wishing she would just go home and leave him to his thoughts. He was not a little child anymore, but an adult, and didn't need her to bring him out of his depression. He'd come out of it when he was good and ready. Today, he'd just lay idly.3
Bare-chested, flat on his back, the thickly bearded man let his gaze drift to the ceiling above, where a brown spot nestled in the very center caused by a busted water pipe, which hadn't been there a few weeks ago. Just like the water stain before him, a sore rested on his soul. Last night had been an unbearable one for him. He'd dreamed of his deceased wife and child again, or had he? Between half-parted lids, he'd seen her standing under the door frame to his bedroom holding their baby boy, Benjamin Jr. on her right hip, dressed in the white cotton nightgown she died in. That midnight encounter appeared tangible, although ineffective to all but one of his five senses. Sight.4
Benjamin recalled the apparition vividly in his mind as fruitless tears welled his eyes; she was there. Definitely there. And little Ben was there, too. Of course they were. Weren't they? Or had he simply succumbed to insanity, the side-effect of overwhelming loneliness and grief? Even so, he'd found himself sitting upright in the dark that night, between sleep and consciousness, an arm outstretched toward who he assumed were them, muttering pitifully, "Please, come back to me." 5
*** 6
Eleanor7
I wouldn't exactly call myself a ghost. Neither my child, for that matter. I don't like the term, being that most generally associate it with the unwanted dead or paranormal doppelganger come to wreak havoc on all living counterparts. I am simply a spirit. A soul.8
There will be no haunting. I am not here to provoke. I am simply here because I've never left. Never crossed the threshhold to the other realm calling me and my child the day we died in the fire. I hadn't wanted to go, couldn't bear leaving my beloved Ben behind. Two months of separation, and still, I can not let him go. He sees us, I know he does. I'm sure he feels he's gone crazy, and I want so desperately to tell him he's not. Just the other night, I visited him. Little Ben was eager, and so was I. Probably more so.9
At first sight, I couldn't believe he was the same man. Sallow was his complexion, red his beard, brown his hair, wild and long and unkempt.Those cornflower blue eyes I once could stare into for hours seemed removed from expression. But why, Ben? Why pain me with your obvious misery? I wanted to enter where you slept, to hug you when you recognized my presence, and you had, but the way you looked at me that night, I knew things could never be the way they'd once been. Little Benjamin pointed to you, and I don't think you noticed. The fire took us from you, the smoke inhalation cemented our fate. But your mother, she stoked the flames.10
***
11
Benjamin12
Mother's visiting more frequently now. Her quick, purposeful moves alerted me that she was in the house, and that sent a nervous rolling in my belly. It was her movements that'd woke me, brought me back to the inevitable pain I was sure to feel with the upcoming day. She never did know how to back off. Couldn't let me learn to breathe on my own.13
With a jolt, I reluctantly peeled myself from bed, snapping the covers back briskly. However, I was not of a brisk mood, whereas my mother, she seemed to be enjoying my down spirits, stopping by my small house in the woods almost everyday, whistling as she prepared to do my weeks old dirty laundry, to cook my super, to press my slacks. "You need to come with me to town," she'd say, "Find some lovely woman to look after you". She never did like Eleanor, couldn't stand her, in fact. But I paid her no mind, after all, she loved looking after me. That was certain.14
The sound of my bare feet descending the stairs faltered as I thought I heard something. A cry in the background. No, not so far away. Snapping my head back, I looked to where I had just come; at the top of the stairwell, something flashed before my eyes. A faint, disfigured blur of color. I blinked away the mirage. Then, the cry again. A baby's wail. "Little Ben," I heard myself saying before I could stifle the words. Two steps at a time, I entered the hallway, head spinning frantically about, surveying my surroundings. What exactly did I hope to find?15
Nothing. Nothing but the sunshine sifting through the hallway window, faint speckles of dust swimming in the light like microscopic beings. "Hush," I heard her say, that sweet, distant voice. 16
"Eleanor!" I screamed, eyes widening in disbelief. "Eleanor Mae, Benjamin Jr!" Tremulous hands before me that must have been mine, pushed doors to vacant rooms open, searching the places that were necessary where they could be, lifting the bedspread to look under the bed, checking closets, scanning the bathroom. Perhaps, these places weren't necessary at all. Under the bed?17
A laugh, an endearing, lighthearted laugh from my Eleanor. "Eleanor, my love!" My eyes were wild, my brow with sweat, my heart aflutter.18
"Puh-puh" came the slow whimper from the only door I had left to undertake. 19
"My son!" I bellowed enthusiastically. I pushed open the abandoned nursery and he was there. In his crib, Eleanor by his side, whispering soothing sentiments to calm him. She smiled, and the tears came again, as they so often had since the months she'd passed away. Hesitation aside, I advanced toward them, but as I did this, they vanished. My footsteps ceased, as bewilderment invaded my features. No sooner had they appeared, now they were no more.20
Mother came up behind me, grabbing my shoulders, ushering a dazed me out of the nursery. The door closed, and she silently led me to breakfast, not mentioning what I know she'd just witnessed, nor bringing up my peculiar behaviour. Quietly, wordlessly, I seated myself at the breakfast table, eyes downcast. Not ashamed, disappointed. A plate stacked with fluffy pancakes came into view. I couldn't eat, but while Mother stood over-top me, a determined hand pressed to my shoulder, I unwillingly brought a morsel to my mouth and half-heartedly chewed. Whatever it took to get mother away.21
"And some freshly squeezed orange juice, you need that," she insisted, pouring my glass with the thick, pulpy substance. Obediently, I gulped that down.22
"Bacon, too." A frying pan in her hand, she pushed a load of bacon onto my plate with the spatula, errant grease dropping on my pancakes. I stared up at her menacingly, took a bite, then let the remnants fall to my plate.23
"Satisfied?" I grumbled.24
"Those pancakes look dry, how about more maple syrup." And when she'd begun to douse my plate, I snatched the syrup out of her hand, and with force and anger, hurled it at the wall, the contents spattering everywhere. 25
"Enough, Mother. Enough!" I harshly demanded, excusing myself from the table and exiting onto the porch outside. She called, but I warned her, "Not now. Leave me be."26
Despite my words, several minutes later she met me on the porch, handed me a cigarette already lighted, which I was admittedly grateful for, and stalked over to the truck parked by an overgrown thicket that surrounded the crumbling house, pulled her keys out, then turned around, a worried look creasing her aging features, and said, "Going into town. Should be back within an hour or two. Want anything?"27
Of course I wanted something. But the something I wanted, Mother couldn't give. "No," I tersely responded. As the faded pickup truck left the deep woods, I collapsed in one of the rockers, dragging nervously from my cigarette. The day was beautiful, the trees whispering in the slight breeze. People died every day. Life went on, why couldn't I? 28
The steady chirping of the surrounding forest was deafening. Yet it was imperative I escape the house that had kept me its prisoner of grief for so long, so I headed for the woods, pushing through the thick undergrowth, bush and bramble, feeling the flying insects peck at my beard, the dark wet soil clinging soothingly to my feet. The creek lay in front of me, shimmering in the sunlight dappled by cascading trees. I took yet another inhale of the cigarette, exhaled a plume of smoke. 29
"Drop that cancer stick, Benjamin Earl McAdams!"30
She materialized before me, standing by the creek in her cotton nightgown, dark hair splayed over her petite shoulders, a ludic smile on her face. Little Ben appeared moments later, a stick in his small hand, tracing lines in the mud.31
"Eleanor," I whispered faintly. Was I dreaming again? Had I gone crazy or was she actually there? "Baby?" I called hopefully. She waded in the creek, pulling the hem of her nightgown up as she did so. My child laughed then, clawing at the fresh air with his little fingers, summoning me to join them. Yielding, I discarded the cigarette in the wet mud, and met them near the water's surface. Yes, I stripped down to my underclothes and merrily joined them.32
***
33
Mother34
I don't know what's gotten into him. He talks in his sleep, he drifts through the day, speaking to himself, saying, Eleanor! Eleanor! Even in death, the bitch has a hold on him. She was always the clingy type, taking my boy away from me, trying to push me to the side, to make me go away. She trapped him with that damn baby of hers. Didn't even resemble him! No McAdams produces dark haired babies! For all I know, she was a slut and could've cheated on him. I warned her. I told her to step off and let me be the mother, let me at least have that, if nothing else.35
As I head back out of town to Benjamin, my clutch on the steering wheel tightens in anger, reflecting back on the disease that stained our life. Her. I pick up speed, my arthritic lower limbs not preventing me from exerting frustration against the pedal. In the passenger seat, there is a plastic bag containing a case of beer and a pack of cheese crackers, Benny's favorite snack. He'll love me more for it, the little things. Now we're finally getting back on track, slowly but surely. I'm relieved they're gone, the fire was right to take them. She especially had it coming. There is no regret, my hands are washed clean. I, Marylin McAdams, am a proud mother. And a proud mother always does what's best for her children, even if it means ending another's life.36
***
Benjamin emerged from the fringes of the dense brush soaking wet, in nothing but his white boxer briefs, which had clung to him, revealing his intimate parts. He met the road out of the forest, staring disoriented into space, hands searching for something, anything to hold. His mother, edging along the road aligned with tall trees dipping overhead spotted him immediately, rooted to the middle of the road. Shocked, she stepped on the brakes and exited the cab so swiftly, running toward him, it seemed she was an agile woman in her twenties.37
"Benny! Is that you?" she exclaimed, progressing forward, frowning disbelievingly at the spectacle. Benjamin whipped around from side to side repeatedly, wet strands of dark hair flinging wildly as he did. He didn't acknowledge her.38
"Eleanor!" he screamed, his eyes wildly shifting back and forth, wet hair clumped awkwardly to his scalp. "Don't leave me, please! Benjamin Jr! Where are you now?"39
Realizing the cause of his madness, Marilyn grabbed her son fiercely and slapped him hard across his face. Benjamin settled, staring at her as if she were the one who was crazy. It took him a moment to realize who this woman was. "Mama," he started, "They've left me again...not coming back, are they? Can I have them, still?" His words were unsteady, his tone grim. 40
Placing both hands firmly against the sides of his face, Marilyn uttered, "Son, now listen. You've gone mad, and I can't bear to see you acting like this--Like a fool. They're dead. Dead. It's time to forget them, to move on....for good. They're gone."41
He grabbed at his mother's wrists and pushed her away. "No. They're not gone! They were just here. At the creek. I was with them." He shook a finger at her, as if to tell her off. The old woman stood her ground.42
"They're dead," she repeated softly.43
Benjamin remained still, limp arms hanging awkwardly at his sides, his face working to quell the emotions bubbling to the surface. "Dead," he echoed. A slight, hysterical laugh came after that. "Of course. Of course they're dead." He shook his head as if to shake off the confusion. The confusion left, but a dreadful pain replaced that. Soon, he found himself sobbing, bringing his palms to his face in complete despair. The despondent sounds emanating from him prompted Marilyn to take him in her arms.44
"Now, now," she uttered, fervor filling her eyes and tone, "It'll be fine. Everything will be as it was, you'll see. Hush now, my dear."45
And like once before, Mother led Son out of his disgruntled stupor, toward the humming truck awaiting them. Once inside, she initiated the drive, and the truck slowly started up the road. Benjamin sat in the passenger seat, absentmindedly pushing cheese crackers into his mouth, interluding every now and then with a gulp of his beer, while simultaneously staring out the window at the swooshing forest passing by. As for his mother, she smiled to herself, going over private thoughts of what to serve for supper, but most importantly, satisfied that Benjamin, finally, was all hers again.46
47
Silver trophy winner
Gold trophy winner
Bronze trophy winner
Honorable mention
Adding your comment:
good luck.
the plot was incredibly engaging, the characterization was good; a wonderful story. I teared up, which is definitely a good thing 
So great though, amazing job. Oh, and you did create a some what eriee atmosphere. Amazing!
