DEECE ONLINE

It was lost with a grace that was knowing all within God’s big arms. Swallowed whole and taken early like a misplaced piece on a board. It meant a lot and yet a whole little at a time. Challenge after challenge came, and sons stayed forever young. His cell was lonely. Even his lawyer looked at him as guilty.

–

It started here, out in his front yard by the mail box on a cloudy Tuesday afternoon in early October. It was the bill that broke the camel’s back as they’d say. Now over $100k in debt. What a strange set of numbers. A whole lot of zeros. He’d been counting for the first while. At first by the cent, then by the tens, then the hundreds. In truth he’d lost count after that somewhat. Eventually it just came down to the first digit. Now it had ticked over to the big six digits. He’d pop a bottle of champagne if he could have afforded it. First it was the house. Then the cars. The refrigerator, and the oven needed to be repaired and so the repairmen sent him the invoice that was hanging on the fridge that was less than a year old and was starting to hum a bad sound and smell a bad smell.

‘I tell ya,’ He’d say to his wife, ‘They don’t make em like they used to.’

Of course right now, his wife wasn’t home, she was out picking up the kids from school and by the time they’d get home he’d be at the church where he’d meet them later that evening.

He looked at the big old number on the letter from the bank and the straight line before it, smiled, and folded it back up, putting it back inside the envelope. Loans piled up. He’d already had to default on a few and now they were about to take the house away. What else could he do?

He walked to the front door, and unlocking it, went inside. The lights were off but the sun shone a bright enough gloom into the living room. The ceiling fan spun and shifted the air about in a way that made it a little too cool for the colder weather. Still, he sat down on the sofa, his letter of damnation in one hand, his briefcase in the other. For a while he sat and concentrated on the number in his mind. What on god’s green earth had he done to deserve this? And when would the big bastard start showing him the way. Sorry lord, he thought. Taking off his glasses, he squeezed the bridge of his nose and sighed.

‘God, show me the way. I’m a good man.’ He whispered behind his hands. Tears would not come for he was strong. This was all a test from the lord and he knew it, he just didn’t know how much he could take. Something would have to level out sooner rather than later. And with one last moment of doubt, he got up off the couch and erased it from his mind.

–

He felt his fathers hand holding the back of his head, stroking his hair. His bottom fingers cupped the back of his neck. The father spoke for a long time, his other arm wrapped around his mother’s back. It was the mother that held the daughter, his mother’s hand wrapped over his sister’s shoulder. The boy’s feet ached and he looked down at the red church carpet. Everyone was leaving now yet they lingered and they still hadn’t had dinner yet. He couldn’t remember the old man’s name who his father spoke to but his father spoke incessantly. The boy tugged his mother’s dress, trying to get her attention but her arm came down, and set his own back in place. After an age his father stopped speaking and the family left.

On their way home they got burgers for dinner. It was late when they got home and the child was sent straight to bed. He writhed in the sheets that night. Unable to sleep. A new month was still dawning in his mind, time fluid and intangible in his young mind, but one thing was clear, it was soon to be Halloween. He tried and tried but he could not sleep. Soon he got up and left his room.

In the hall all the doors were shut. He went to the toilet and relieved himself. Flushed. He could barely see himself in the mirror, his head right at the bottom, his hair spiked and his shoulders bare. Baring his teeth, he thought he’d do Dracula this year. He could wear his white church shirt. He could work out the rest. He just needed the teeth. He stepped out of the bathroom and walked down the hall, into the kitchen. The clock ticked slowly, the fridge buzzed loudly, and he saw his father sitting on the sofa, buried in the dark, his hung head low, his glasses in his hands.

His father spotted him, standing in the entrance of the hall, silhouetted in the bathroom light. He put his glasses back on and sighed.

‘You left the bathroom light on, Benny.’

‘Sorry pa.’

‘Go back to bed, kid.’

‘Yes pa.’

But before the child turned back around, his father called again.

‘Come over here a minute.’

When the child went to him, his father held him. Again, his hand stroked the back of his head, feeling his loose hair.

‘You sleep tight, alright kid.’

‘Yes pa.’

‘I love you kid.’

‘I love you too pa.’

‘I love you so much…’ He sighed, ‘Everything will be alright…’ He said. And he let the boy go.

The child returned to his bed quietly. He fell asleep quickly after that. He dreamed of candy and pumpkins, and of the coming chill wind, one that was seeping through the seams of his bedroom window and making the skies a little more dull and closing.

–

‘I don’t think the death penalty is right,’ The man said to a reporter, ‘But I don’t believe the whole system is wrong however.’

‘Is this you admitting your guilt then?’ Said the reporter.

‘No. It is not. The lord knows I am as innocent as a lamb. It is his job to guide me to salvation and I trust that he will.’

‘Does that mean you believe he is sending you to die?’

‘No. It is the evil within men that puts me on that path. But I believe the lord will protect my spirit. He will greet me with his love just as he did my son. Saving us both from Satan’s wickedness and the fear men hold in their hearts.’

‘The evil of men is right.’

‘The fear, of men… I think we’re done here.’

–

It was over a week after the last letter on another afternoon after work. The wind raging, the sky a gun metal gray that held a dense moisture in the periphery. Trees swayed in a primitive dance, a ritual of the coming tide. Texas reared its rain hard. A flood was coming to wash the streets anew.

There was a knock at his door and he was drawn out of his stupor like a diver breathing the first gasp of air as he came to rise. At the door was a man dressed in a brown suit, holding a notepad in one hand, a briefcase in the other. When he locked eyes, the man witnessed his own. They could have been brothers.

‘Afternoon sir, I’ve been hoping you’d be home.’ The man in the suit said.

‘Hello, yes. Who are you?’

‘My name’s Lou-Collin. I work for American National Insurance. We spoke a few years ago now. I’m here because your car’s coverage is due to run out in a few weeks and we wanted to make sure you were covered.’

‘Well I’ve not really thought about it to be honest.’

‘That’s alright. That’s why I’m here after all. May I come in?’

‘Please do,’ the man said.

They went into the lounge, the man taking his seat said:

‘Take a seat, anywhere’s fine.’

‘No, I prefer to stand,’ the insurance man said as he wandered around the room, looking at what covered the walls.

‘Quite the place you have here, sir.’ He said, stopping at an icon of Jesus on the cross, hanging from the wall.

‘Thanks. It takes a lot of work to build a home like this. You gotta keep faith these days.’

‘Absolutely sir.’

‘Are you a religious man, Lou?’

‘Something of the kind. God-fearing like any good American should be at the least.’

‘Don’t go to church?’

‘Not as much as I should, admittedly. I used to be good friends with God, so to speak. But if I may be a bit personal for a moment, I worry I’ve had something of a falling out with him in recent years.’

‘Finding it hard to hold faith?’

‘Something like that, sir. Times can be rough these days. Wicked men walk the Earth.’

‘You’re not wrong, Lou. Feels like the world is spiraling into chaos more and more these days. But it’s why it’s more important than ever that we hold our faith, that we stay true to God.’

‘You’re very right, sir. I know he’ll come around eventually… Anyway, I won’t take up too much of your time this afternoon, sir. My first question is, sir, have you been happy with your current coverage?’

‘Um, reasonably so I suppose. Never got in a crash before but the security’s nice enough.’

‘That’s certainly right sir. You wouldn’t wanna be without it.’

‘I suppose not… Are the rates being changed at all?’

‘The rates? No, certainly not, sir. You’re a reliable man. Consistent and safe. Rates are just the same, all we’d have to do is sign the new contract.’

‘Once I read it over first of course.’

‘Naturally, sir, naturally.’

‘Alright. Have you got the new contract with you?’

‘I do indeed sir. But while I’m here, it is my job of course to try and sell you on some of the other services we offer too. If you’ll humor me for a while.’

‘Well… Go on.’

‘We offer insurance for a variety of other circumstances. Public liability insurance for one. Do you own a business, sir?’

‘No, I work at the local state optical. Eye doctors.’

‘Of course sir. I’m sure they’re covered.’

‘Yes.’

‘It appears you’ve hopped around a bit over the years?’

‘A little.’

‘Seems like you’ve been fired a few times.’

‘Hey, what is this? You’re upping my rates aren’t you.’

‘No, I assure you they’re not, sir. Just some preliminary details.’

‘What, you wanna have stamped on some file that I’m a bum. Judging me? I work hard, you know.’

‘Of course you do, sir. I meant no offense. Please. Take my apologies.’

‘Alright. Fine. What else do you offer then?’

‘We offer life insurance… Accident insurance I’m sure you know.’

‘Accident insurance?’

‘For in case of… Well, an accident. Make sure your family is protected in case of emergencies.’

‘Like if something bad happened to me?’

‘That’s right. Voided in cases of suicide I might add. Or murder…’

‘So if I get mugged in the street. Shot, god forbid. My family doesn’t get anything from it?’

‘No, that would fall under an accident. More like if your wife murdered you. She wouldn’t get the pay out of course.’

‘Who would my wife want to murder me?’

‘I’m not sure, sir. It’s just a caveat. People get funny ideas.’

‘They do?’

‘Almost all the time. It’s a funny business when money’s on the line.’

‘Well say, here’s a kinda funny idea.’

‘Yes sir?’

‘Well, It’s rather grim… But hear what I have to say.’

‘Of course, sir.’

‘Christ this is grim… What about on my kids?’

‘Your kids… That is peculiar.’

‘Look, I’m telling you now. I’m broke. Worse than broke… I mean I can pay my bills, keep up my insurance payments and all, but I’ve got debts. I don’t have much spare cash lying around.’

‘These are hard times, sir.’

‘Damn right they’re hard times. Forgive my language. These kids, they’re wandering about, walking to school everyday. Some afternoons I don’t even see them till dinner, off at a friends house or god knows where. I don’t mind that. I trust them. They’re good kids. This is a safe neighborhood. But god forbid, with what you read in the papers these days. I don’t even wanna think about it. Christ, how could I? Again, forgive my language…’ The man held his face in his palms and sighed.

‘You can never be sure, sir.’

‘That’s right.’

‘And funerals are expensive things these days.’

‘I couldn’t even fathom the costs.’

‘Our accident insurance can make sure the worst of times don’t have to be any worse than they have to be.’

‘It’s a grim service you’re offering.’

‘Death never is pretty. But it’s best to be prepared.’

‘How much… How much would the payout be? God forbid.’

‘I think we can arrange a fair sum. Ensure the worst is covered.’

‘Give me a number… How much?’

‘I’d have to run some numbers, but a typical policy could run about a $40,000 payout. Ensure everything is paid for. Enough to cover the best in the worst of times.’

‘Oh Jesus.’ The man could feel tears begin to well in his eyes.

‘Is it just the two kids, sir?’

‘Yes. Just the two. How did you know?’

‘We had it on file. And I don’t see a third on the walls.’

‘Right. Yes, just the two.’

‘Would you like me to write out a policy on them both individually?’

‘How much would it cost?’

‘It will all be in the contract, sir.’

‘How long would it be until they’re covered?’

‘Not long sir. Not long at all. Your family’s security is our number one priority.’

‘Good. God forgive me for such terrible thoughts.’

‘You’re all safe with us, sir. You can put your worries to rest.’

–

His sister played in the hay while he hung around the barn with his friend. They’d just been taken around a whole farm and it was dull and empty, all the plants cut and gone and the sky was weary. It had been raining and the crop fields were mostly mud now. Pumpkins decorated the barn and the farmhouse but Halloween wasn’t here. His parents hung around, talking with old people. It was all the same.

‘Do you wanna go trick or treating together?’ The boy asked his friend.

‘Yeah, on Halloween?’

‘Of course idiot.’

‘I wish we could do it any day.’

‘Yeah, that would be great. What are you going as?’

‘I don’t know yet. Maybe a cop.’

‘I’m going as Dracula. You should go as Frankenstein, you already look like him.’

‘Shut up.’

‘No really. Just paint yourself green and wear some big boots. We’ll get heaps of candy going out like that.’

‘Ben! It’s time to go!’ The father’s voice suddenly called, ‘Say goodbye!’ He called.

‘Ah crap. My dad’s been so weird lately.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘He just sits on his own at night. In the dark.’

‘Weird.’

‘Do you wanna stay for dinner?’

‘I mean maybe.’

‘Can Will come home with us for dinner?’

‘No,’ His father called, ‘It’s a school night.’

‘Man…’

‘Don’t worry about it man, I’ll see you tomorrow.’

‘Yeah man, you too.’

When he returned to his father, the man barely looked at the boy. His mother carried his sister. His father looked at sister for a moment and looked away towards the car. It was burgers again for dinner. He was getting sick of them but at least they weren’t gross. It was a quiet ride home. His father never spoke once after he called that night.

Later in the night, the boy was drifting to sleep, thoughts floated in his mind. Thoughts of his costume and of school, and of the decorations which were slowly coming out dressing the streets in a dark and beautiful magic. But before he slipped away, before the sun could rise, and before the sandman could sprinkle stardust in his hair, the boy awoke with a sense of curiosity. Creeping out of bed, he went to the bathroom again, flushing the toilet to keep up appearances. When enough time had passed he snuck out, turning off the bathroom light this time. Creeping down the hall, the darkness buried him and silence smothered him. The dim ambient sound of the clock and of the fridge hummed and yet it hardly entered his brain. He was alone. Just him. Everyone else disappeared. He felt like an astronaut floating in the void after his ship had crashed. Slowly then quickly he floated further and further away, his breathing became harsh, his chest hitched, the images of the world around him appeared blank in his mind. He couldn’t picture his father’s face, or his mother’s, or his sisters. His head pulsed with pain, his nose leaked and his stomach churned. He felt like he was going to throw up. His bones felt like they were locked in place forever, like he was forever going to be a sculpture. A harsh and halting jolt filled his arms and legs, and the muscles on his stomach, and he was no longer in control of himself. But summoning up the courage, he wrenched his legs to move. He moved at the pace of a mountain climber through a thick and snowy blizzard. And slowly, he made it back to his room. Falling back on his door, it slammed with a bang, and he passed out. When he woke up the next morning, he was in bed, wrapped under the sheets, and barely remembered the experience like it was a dream that was moving too fast. When he crawled his way out of bed it was even hazier, and by the time he was at the breakfast table he had forgotten it wholly.

–

“I know you didn’t do it. It’s inhuman to think anyone could do so. You’re not a monster. We’ve spoken long enough. I know you’re a kind man and I hope the horrid system of injustice that has put you through all of this will open their eyes and let you free. You don’t deserve all this. A mourning father dragged through the mud all because nobody will admit the moral rot in this country. I pray for you. I hope it doesn’t conjure bad memories. I don’t want to cause you pain, but what was he like, your boy? Ben. If this is too much you need not respond. It’s nice to hear from you.

• Dianne”

“Dianne you’ve been one of the few people who have supported this solitary soul through such hard times. I hope your high school graduation goes well and you have a good time on your Spring break but I doubt I will get the chance to write to you much more. My lawyer works slow and he has just informed me my primary chance at appeal has been denied. There are a few more avenues he has said he will work, but my day of doom is scheduled, and I fear I may go down a martyr. If this is to be so, I ask you to witness me and see what has become of this country first hand. I believe there may be supporters on my side. There are the few, ignorant as they may be, who oppose the death penalty, but there seems to be little question as to my guilt it seems and I believe this unfair. I will hold steadfast and true in my devotion. If this is what the lord makes of me, then so be it. I only hope my death will inspire a change in our world that will strengthen people’s faith in the lord. As far as the question of what my boy was like… He was a kind soul. A young spirit who never got the chance to bloom. I believe he would have been a good kid -”

The man put the pen down and sighed, holding his brow. He looked at his bed, itchy sheets and a pillow too weak to support him. He looked at the pen, a quarter of its ink left. He heard the footsteps of the guard marching down the tiled hall. The execution was scheduled for Saturday. It was Wednesday today. The man soon began to weep. It started as mere tears and grew into a wicked thunder. When the guard passed by his cell he paid him no mind.

–

‘What’s the most lethal poison would you reckon, doc?’

‘Excuse me?’

‘You heard me. The most lethal poison?’

‘Why would you like to know? I suppose it depends.’

‘What about cyanide?’

‘Yeah, that’s pretty lethal. It would certainly do the trick. What the hell do you need cyanide for though?’

‘Got some fat and unholy rats underneath my house. Making holes the size of baseballs in the floorboards. If I don’t get them they’re gonna get me.’

‘I see. Well cyanide would be quite extreme for rats.’

‘Look doc, I’ve tried. That shit they’re selling in stores. It just isn’t working. These things must have iron stomachs or something because they eat it up like candy. Where could I find something harder at least? Something industrial grade that the big kitchens and fancy restaurants use?’

‘Well I wouldn’t be too certain. I suppose you could try calling up one of the chemical supplies over in Houston. Otherwise I can’t provide much more help.’

‘I see. Well you’ve been a great help.’

‘No problem. You’ll have to snap me a photo of one of these things. They must be huge if you need cyanide to kill em.’

‘Maybe I’ll get one stuffed, put it up on my wall.’

When the man left the chemist he stopped around the corner and stood for a while, watching the traffic drive down Center street. He looked long and hard at it passing by, a thousand different cars all going a thousand different ways. He was broken from his trance when his eyes were struck by the sky’s wicked field turned orange, wavy and seeping, the day’s fleeting sea of color. He walked further down the street until he found a bar with a payphone and a phonebook. When he got home that night he looked at his wife for a long while, spending what will he had left to ignore his children.

‘Jenny called today,’ His wife said, ‘Said Willard and Ben have been talking about trick or treating.’

‘Oh yeah?’

‘Yeah, Mike said he’d take them.’

‘I haven’t seen Mike in a few weeks. Might go with him.’

‘Oh that will be nice. The boys will have a great time. Take Cassie with you as well then, yeah?’

‘Yeah, keep all the little tykes happy.’

–

He stared out the window, blinded with fog and a damp peephole he carved out himself. The streets were wild and alive, pumpkins carved with faces lined their front yard, and the neighbors’ windows filled with funny cutouts of witches and skeletons and cats. His father always called them by a long funny name, beistle-die-cuts.

Somebody had hung out streetlights that glowed a warm orange wash across the street, and someone else had set up a dry ice cauldron on their front lawn. The boy took it all in, an excitement growing in his heart ten times that of Christmas. It was the night, finally, and soon Will would arrive and they’d be plunged into it all like the cold waters of a lake in a deep dark wood.

He looked at himself in the mirror. It wasn’t a shabby job. His white church shirt as planned, a cheap black vest, and an old black sheet as a cloak. He’d picked up some teeth at a dollar store and he had a pillowcase for his loot.

It felt like hours had passed. He kept looking at the window, noticing other kids on the street, people wandering around. A subtle crowd was beginning to form and the wait was starting to kill him. But eventually, he saw Willard with his father and his sister, walking down the street.

When they had arrived, his dad appeared out from nowhere at the door, calling out to him and his sister if they were ready. It all struck into action fast and before he knew it, he was out on the street with everyone else.

It felt like a city of the dead, of the ghosts and the spirits. They walked by decorated lawns, knocking on each house as they went, his sister going up first, then him, then Willard and his sister. Knocking on each door until they were handed something to stash away, holding their bags close like the world would take it from them if they looked away for a second. All the while the boy’s father and Willard’s followed along at a glacial pace, lost in their own conversation it seemed.

Door to door they went in a glow. The light’s rained down and the sky pitch black. A twilight color washed the boys in a match’s enthusiasm, each house feeling like a journey, a story to have been told. The hum and rumble of other people lingered long and fine down Center street. And as the stick burnt, and the sky only grew more sallow and forgotten and heavy with rain, the people started to wane, and the spirits began peaking their heads out. Out from styrofoam gravestones, out from the eyesockets of decorative skeletons, and within the marrow of pumpkin shells, looking down on the group in a watchful silence, watching the fourth nail be struck down and thus they wept.

The group was on a dead end street, quiet and alone. Door to door they were met with silence or hostility. The hour was growing on and young boys at doors were not much of a welcome sight anymore. Their sisters did the knocking and they received the pittance they would get that way.

Then they came to the house that the spirits gathered around most, lined up like crows along the roof’s gutter, looking down with eyeless sockets and paved over mouths, helpless to scream, the children blind to their presence above. As the sisters knocked and the boys waited back, the father saw right through the spirits on the roof, dim and blind, a glint of stupidity behind the frames over his eyes, he nodded to himself with some recognition, and when the little girls went running away and the boys chasing after to the next house, the man told his friend to catch up with them while he hung back.

He walked up to the steps of the house and stood a while, feeling a presence not human and that he did not like. As he waited at the door, he readied his hand to knock, like something of this would be real, like any of what he hung back for was for what he said it was. His knuckles barely touched wood before the door opened, and just like the insurance man, he looked into his own eyes at a man who wore the same brown suit.

‘Evening, Lou.’ The man said.

‘Evening, sir,’ He said, there was a measure passed between the two men before Lou traded hands with the man. The man looking at what he held saw the pixy stix he bought, stapled shut, five of them. Without looking back up, he returned to the group, holding the stix.

‘Somebody home after all hey?’ Mike said.

‘Yeah…’ He said, then after a moment he handed them out, one to each kid.

‘Give me the other one, pa.’ Said the boy.
‘No, you all get one each. One’s enough. I don’t want any fighting.’

And they walked on.

A few more houses passed and the man felt the spirits watching with a wailing moan that passed into the wind silently, soon, all the spirits gathered at the opening of the dead end street, watching the group pass back by onto Center street like prisoners holding the bars, watching one of their own get taken to their day of reckoning.

The streets were quiet now and a light rain had begun to drizzle from the air. Thick clouds hung heavy threatening the group and most of the neighbors had turned off their string lights. A shiver nearly overtook the man, he sweated cold blood as the moment neared.

‘How about we pack it up now kids,’ He said, ‘It’s getting late.’

The children moaned but didn’t protest much. They’d made quite a good haul and they’d already passed most of the houses around them.

On their way back, the man recognized one more child walking the streets alone. A kid about his son’s age, a common sight at his church, dressed as a mummy. He handed him the last pixy stix as they crossed paths.

‘Happy Halloween, kid.’ He said, and he rubbed the kids’ hair.

Not long after, the rain started to pour down heavy and the group split shortly thereafter, Willard and his sister going home with their father, and the man taking his children home in silence. When they reached their front door, the kids went inside. The man stayed back for a moment, turning to look behind him. A mob of spirits stood and stared, looking like a crowd gathered around an unholy messiah. He turned back around and went inside.

–

It was midnight. The dawn of the last day which he’d see the next 48 minutes of. It was set in stone now. The prison guard didn’t even let the lawyer in.

‘Shit outta luck,’ The guard said to him, ‘Looks like you’re not getting saved by the bell after all.’

The tears the man had cried had run dry by now. He simply looked ahead, steady as a rock. The priest had already been in and read him his last rites. He took them with a cold grace and certainty. According to a letter that he received that morning, Dianne would be watching him in the crowd, watching him die. Apparently there was a one way mirror in there so he wouldn’t know if she really was there or not.

He’d been hearing the guards run through the practice over the last few days. It was the end of the night for him now that he could hear them start it up again.

–

The day after Halloween, Ben was dead. His skin cold. His body laid in a morgue. His father was on stage in church, the whole crowd sobbed as he sang for the lost boy.

‘Blessed assurance, Jesus is mine.

O, what a foretaste of glory divine.

Heir of salvation, purchase of God,

born of His Spirit, washed in His blood.

This is Ben’s story, this is Ben’s song,

praising Ben’s Savior all the day long;

this is Ben’s story, this is Ben’s song,

praising Ben’s Savior all the day long.’