Courtney Williams

A Caged Observer

 

Trapped in this cage of a body,

I breath in the dusty air.
The sun beating down this hot summer day,
There are fans all around
Sitting and watching the game,
Just like me.
I move to look through the chain link fence.
A player steps up to bat,
Each footstep a melodic thud on the dirt.
Thump, thump, he hits his bat on the base.
The pitcher winds his arm,
But my eyes are glued to his legs.
He lifts one into the air before throwing it to the ground,
Creating a rise of dirt in its wake.
The ball leaves his hand,
And as the batter's bat makes contact with the ball,
There's an audible crackle in the air.
And my envious gaze travels to the batter's legs
As he takes off in flight for first base.
I can only imagine the muscles pulling in his legs
And the burn I've been told exists when you move at such speeds,
But the ball makes it to first base before his legs can.
The umpire calls an out, game over.
And the losing team is disappointed
That their legs couldn't move them fast enough
While mine can't move me at all.
And I solemnly roll away from the game
As I feel a loss for something I never had.

                                                                       Music Box

 

I walk up to the small, run down house, eyeing the eclectic wind chimes hung around the porch. Everything looks so much smaller since the last time I'd been here; it's been almost thirteen years. The hinges on the wood and screen door creak as I slowly pull it open. The smell of must hits me as I step inside my mother's house. Walking into the main room, it's illuminated only by the few rays of sunshine breaking through the old blinds. There's a noise of running water from a fish tank in the corner, the glass covered in green algae and no fish inside, and there's still the same small, wooden coffee table that was there when I lived with my mother.

My dad told me I wasn't allowed to come back to this home until she was gone, and I kept that promise. My mother passed away last week, but I hadn't even cried over her death. I don't really remember much about her. There weren't very many good things to remember.

For some reason she left everything she owned in my name, the house, the little bit of money she had, and all of the knick-knacks she had collected over the years. She was especially drawn to eerie glass dolls. When I was younger, I always felt like they were watching me, their eyes following me around everywhere. Being back here, I can feel it again, the dolls resting on the shelves connected to the wall watched me with suspicion as I made my way through the small home.

Where do I even begin with all this junk? I walk down the small hallway, antique paintings of unknown men and women fill the walls. On the right is the door of my old room, the pink paint faded and the butterfly stickers stuck to it worn down. I place my hand on the doorknob, taking a deep breath. I don't want to remember all of the past events that took place in this house, but I feel them flooding into my mind. I push them back down before I turn the cold doorknob and nudge the door open.

There's eyes, mismatched and broken and some missing altogether, staring at me. There must be over fifty glass dolls, overflowing in the small room, ranging from all shapes and sizes.  I suck in a deep gulp of air as I slowly stumble back out of the room and against the wall across from the door.

I lean against the wall just a while longer before regaining my breath and entering the room again. I hold my breath as I gingerly step through the room, avoiding the frail dolls. When I reach the middle of my childhood bedroom, I close my eyes and take a deep breath. "Relax," I think before running my hands through my brown, wavy hair and re-opening my eyes.

On the floor I spot something that I hadn't seen before. There in the middle of the room, sits my mother's small, wooden music box. There's a tiny, pink rose painted on the top, and a gold latch holding it closed. I bend down to pick it up, and rub my hand across the smooth lid. As my fingers touch the wood, my vision tunnels before the flashbacks begin, and I'm reminded of why I hated this music box so much.

 

                                                            ************

For as long as I can remember, my mom had some sort of infatuation with that music box. She would stare at it, open and close it, day and night, not eating for days at a time until my dad would snap her out of her absorption. My father and I tried our best to ignore it, and he did a good job, but I had so many questions.

One day in the ninth year of my life, I thought I'd finally have my questions answered. It was a rarity to see my mom without her music box, but she had been under the weather lately, and my dad had taken her to the doctor and convinced her to leave the box at home. They left me at home that day as well, for the first time in my life, and I took it as the perfect opportunity to explore the mysterious box.

She locked it in my parents' bedroom, but it only took me about five minutes to find the key. The box sat in the middle of their bed, and it seemed as if there was a spotlight on it from the desk lamp near the bed. I ran my fingers over the wood, just like I did now, and admired the handiwork of the finely crafted box. With its maple wood and gold trimmings, it all seemed so much more spectacular than it now does.

I flicked open the small golden latch, and Beethoven's “Fur Elise” began playing as a small ballerina danced inside. My eyes were glued to the girl and I focused on the tune so much that I didn't hear the door open. I heard my mother's horrified screech and she ripped the music box out of my hand. My father rushed in behind her and before either me or him understood what was going on, my mother yanked me out of their bed by my hair and threw me to the ground. My head hit the floor, and my dad gasped before rushing to my side and picking me up. He carried me to my room and laid me down in my bed. I was in complete shock at what my mother had done to me. I could still hear her screaming, "That ungrateful little brat, all we sacrificed for her and this is how she repays us!" My mind went blank and I blacked out to a dreamless sleep.

The next day my dad told me we had to leave. "I'm sorry Violet," he said and asked me if I understood what was going on. I told him yes, even though I really didn't. I asked if we'd ever see mom again, and he said probably not. I was okay with that, though; I was honestly frightened by her. I knew if I saw her again, the only thing I'd see in her eyes is rage and a hatred for me.

                                                         ***********

Leaving my reverie in the past where it belonged, I decide to open the music box. Maybe now that I'm older, I'll understand my mother's obsession with the box. I slowly open the latch and lift the lid. “Fur Elise” begins playing and a strong gust of wind hits me as I feel like I'm being transported to another world.

The room is now a replica of when I used to live in it, and it seems to be darker. The moon outside tells me there's been a significant time change. How did this happen? I stare at the music box still in my hand and see a name engraved on the inside that I'd never noticed before: Rosie. Who could that be?

Suddenly the name in the box leaps into the air in front of me. Over and over again, floating all around me, the name Rosie flys through my old room and out the door. I  drop the box and follow the last of the names; I need to get out of this house. In the main room, I come to a realization. There are no doors or windows. There's no escape.

My heart starts pounding in my chest, so hard it's almost painful and my palms start sweating. I run back to the bedroom in search of the music box, and I see something I thought I'd never see again. Sitting on the floor, back to me and staring at the music box, is my mother. "Mom," I call out in a shaky voice. Her black hair is matted, and as she slowly turns around I get anxious to see the face I haven't seen in thirteen years.

The first thing I see is her cheek, green and rotting. A shriek so high I didn't know it was possible leaves my mouth, and my stomach starts churning at the sight. She keeps turning slowly to face me, and I can feel bile rising in my throat. When her body is completely facing me, I can see that her skin is sunken in and rotting. She opens her mouth-- almost like she wants to speak to me-- and a swarm of gnats fly from it.

I scream a bloodcurdling sound and rush out of the room, the flies swarming around my head. I flail my hands around to try and shoo them away. In the hallway, the glass dolls are now all aligned on the wall, standing in an orderly fashion. I keep running until I make it to the main room. The gnats have now disappeared but the living room is filled to the brim with glass dolls. Their eyes are really moving this time. They're alive.

I try to scream again, but it feels like my throat has run dry. I close my eyes and attempt to calm my racing mind. "I have to get out of this. I have to." When I open my eyes, the dolls lining the wall still watch me, though their form is completely still. In the middle of the room, perched on the coffee table, sits an exact replica of me but in a Victorian style dress. Her skin is pale, her hair is long and brown, and her emerald green eyes stare right into mine.

"I must be going crazy," I think, "there's no way any of this is happening."

Just then, her mouth opens, and out comes the words in a high pitched voice, "Mama." I can feel eyes burning in my back, and swiftly turning around, I see my supposedly dead mother. I try to scream again but still nothing comes from my mouth. Her skin is drooping and her bones seem to be twisted and malformed. Under her arm is the paranormal music box, and it appears the arm had grown around, the bone taking shape to the box.

Her mouth widens, and I flinch in fear of the gnats. "Rosie," she whispers, her eyes looking behind me at the glass doll, she walks toward the doll and sets the box on the coffee table.

"Who is Rosie?" I think, "How does she know my mother? And why did she call her 'Mama'?" But I knew my questions wouldn't get answered. Suddenly they turn their gazes to me, both of their faces filled with rage.

"She's Violet?," the doll's voice quivers in anger, "She's the one who killed me?"

My mother gives a sharp nod, her lips and eyes turning down in sadness.

"What?" My voice squeaks in outrage, "I've never killed anyone! Who are you?"

"You mean you don't recognize me?" Rosie asks. Before I can understand what is happening, she begins growing in size, larger and larger until she is at eye level with me. She gets nose to nose with me, and I freeze when I see her hands slowly reaching to grab my neck.

"Stop Rosie!" My mother yells, her frail arms pushing Rosie back and for a moment I think she'll save me before she utters, "I don't want you to get your hands dirty." And with a smirk, her bony fingers wrap around my neck, effectively cutting off my airway.

My arms flail as I try to fight her off. It's an easy fight; her weak body almost immediately gives way. I push her off of me but not before she can get one swift swipe at my cheek. My hand automatically reaches for my face, holding the gash.

 

"Mama!"  Rosie cries-- even in her adult-like form-- like a child. She runs toward my mother in a frantic state. We both watch in horror as her body hits the floor and dissipates into ash before our eyes.

Rosie turns to me, her green darkening with rage, "This is all your fault!" Her screams echo throughout the room. "You killed me and Mama too!"

"What are you talking about? I've never killed anyone!" I repeat my statement from earlier, outraged at her accusations.

"I can't believe you don't recognize me," her voice is a soft whisper, just a calm before the storm. She lifts up her dress slightly and begins bending down to grab something from underneath it, but before I can articulate my question as to what she's doing, she continues, "We lived together for nine months, and we were supposed to meet Mama together, but you took life away from me before mine even began."

Her whole body is shaking in anger, and her eyes look up at me through the chocolate hair. Standing straight again, she pulls out whatever she was searching for, and as it glints a sinister light, she begins to raise the knife over her head.

"That's not very fair is it?" She questions, her eyes almost look sad for a moment before the madness fills them again. "Why should you get to live and I have to die?"

Sweat drips down my face and I gulp. Her hand finally reaches behind her head before the knife comes down toward my face and shoulder. I jump back with a yelp, the strike barely missing me. Her lips rise in a sneer and her white teeth peek through. She swings her arm back and forth, aiming for my torso and face and coming closer to them every time. I keep stepping back before my feet become tangled with each other and I fall to my back with a thud, bad time to be clumsy.

 

Rosie steps over me, her knee sharply landing on both my arms and pinning me down. She stares into my eyes and the only emotion I can see in hers are pure hatred. Her knife is resting precariously close to my neck, and I know in any moment she can kill me. As she raises it behind her and begins swinging it swiftly toward my neck, I take my last chance at self preservation and pull my right arm out from under her knee with all my strength. The force of my pull causes Rosie to teeter off balance for a minute and gives me enough time to knock the knife from her hand.

She stares at me with confusion as we listen to the knife clatter to a stop on the other side of the room. Then her eyes light up as she realizes what just happened and she quickly scrambles off of me and runs for the knife. I roll over onto my stomach and reach for her leg, getting a strong enough grip on her ankle to trip her and allow me to get up and make a run for the knife.

It's a race to the knife, but I'm just far enough ahead that I can grab it and turn to face her. Her body tenses in defensiveness, and I speak between knife swings from left to right, "I'm sorry you had to die that way...but I can't let you kill me...I have my own life to live!" I've pushed her back to our beginning positions, and I raise the knife over me before swinging it down. Rosie flinches and puts her hands in front of her face in protection, but I avoid her completely and plunge the blade into the music box sitting on the coffee table behind her, right through the small rose.

The box caves in on itself, and the whole room appears to do the same itself as the walls shake and crack around us. "NO!" Rosie cries as she starts shrinking back down into her doll size. I look around the room in panic, there has to be some protection from the falling debris somewhere in here. But there's nothing, and after realizing the weight of the situation I'd been through, my mind goes blank before my eyes roll back into my head and I fall to the floor, feeling a few small pieces of debris brush me before the unconsciousness overtakes me.

                                                       ****************

When I awake I find myself lying on the living room floor that I'd first entered into, with doors and windows and an empty fish tank. I sit up quickly, scanning the room for any signs of danger. I grasp my head in pain as I feel a head rush from rising too fast. On my head my fingers find a rather large goose egg.

I move my hand toward the cheek that my mother scratched, but all that's there is smooth skin. Looking around where I'm lying there's a small piece of ceiling on the floor. When I peer at the ceiling, I see that it must have fallen when I walked in. "So that was all just a dream?" I turn my body slightly more to face the coffee table, and there I see the glass doll with my green eyes and brown hair and beside her sits a concave music box.