Head of Household

Others Stories | Dec 10, 2011 | 10 min read
52 Votes, average: 4 out of 5
She watched, from the dilapidated chair that rocked back and forth on the front porch, as another train rushed through the trees. She moved gently, back and forth, thinking about how fast the years have come and gone, just like the trains. Thoughts of running through the dandelions and racing to the creek seemed so far away. The hot sun never bothered her when she was thirteen, but it was certainly taking a toll on her eighty-two-year-old body these days, even though it was October and the temperature couldn't have been over 70. Still, she loved to hear the sound of the locomotives, as they streaked only hundreds of feet away. She was anticipating tonight, Halloween night, the night all the children from town paid a visit to her rundown home, just to catch a glimpse of her carvings. She always kept one out for Halloween.

He witnessed, too; gazing between the small metal bars that kept him from running free. The windows were always left wide open in the summer months, so vision and a nice breeze were never issues. He observed for several years, from past the stained curtains and tore screen that drooped in the windowpane, as she rocked with her memories. It helped keep his interest, those strange conversations between her and her grandson; those ominous, but fascinating conversations.

"Dabner!" Betsy Woods said from her rocking chair. "Dabner! Damn, where is that boy!"

"Comin', Gran-gran," answered a large, powerful man, while running with a black spatula in his hands.

"When I call you, boy, I expect an answer."

"Sorry, Gran-gran."

"Now fetch me my cane. I wanna take a stroll in the field."

Dabner looked down at the dirty, wooden floor. "Well Gran-gran, I was just fixin' ya some lunch fer ya."

"Never mind that, can't you see the storm clouds are brewing? I need to see if they are gettin' ripe, before this damn rain floods ‘em away. Now do what I say, boy."

"Yes, ma'am."

Dabner bolted from the front porch and retrieved her walking stick, while he watched from in the small metal cage. He grabbed a couple of seeds and shoved them into his pouches. The spinning wheel would have to wait, he knew some action was about to take place and he didn't want to miss it. It amused him from time to time, how they carried on. Sometimes it was better then when the strays would come from the woods in attempts to open his locked cage. Although, he did enjoy that a great deal. Stupid cats, what were they thinking. Every time, those ignorant felines would picture him in their jaws, dreaming of tearing away at his small furry body, and every time they were chased away by Dabner and his sawed off shotgun. A couple of times the blast blew away portions of his bedding, but he didn't care, because often Dabner would nab one. This is why he felt safe, even if he really wanted to get out. It was only because the smell of his own urine would make him sick. The red cedar never really soaked it all up, there were still moist puddles that turned his stomach and especially at mealtime. The breeze helped, but it never completely rid the smell of ammonia.

Oh, if I was only given the chance. Just let Dabner leave the cage open by mistake. I'll be gone away from the cesspool of piss and out in the fields where I belong, even if I'd miss how those two carry on. It only passed the boredom anyhow.

"Here you is, Gran-gran," Dabner said, as he handed a wooden stick to her.

Immediately, she grabbed the handle and thrust it at Dabner's leg. "You fool, this ain't my cane. I ain't used this fer years. Now get me my cane before I wale on ya good."

"Sorry, Gran-gran. I don't know what's I was thinking. I'll get it fer ya right away."

Dabner ran back in the house, this time he brought out what Betsy was waiting for—the correct cane.

She snatched it out of his hands, just as he approached.

"There ya are, Gran-gran. Did I do good?"

"You're a dip-shit and always will be."

"Yes, ma'am," Dabner nodded.

"Now help me up before I gives ya another lickin'."

Dabner pulled her out of the chair, as he watched from the cage. He broke two seeds open with his large yellow teeth, and noticed she was getting worse in her decrepit state. Still, it amused him, as he twisted the sunflower seeds in his mouth.

Come on Dabner, you clumsy idiot, drop her. I want to see her fall just like last time. Just like the day you slipped on the wet porch and both of you went down. Oh my, was that a riot. She clobbered you a good one, didn't she Dabner, just like the other ones.

Soon, both of them were off the front porch and into the field full of long weeds. He could hear her complaining in the distance, as he broke another seed open. He waited for them to come back; and from the sounds of the darkened skies, it would be soon.

There was a startling crash that threw his eyes open. He felt groggy from his small nap and quickly he searched around to see if they returned. Then suddenly he heard her.

"See, ya knucklehead, I done told you that weren't the way to do it. Do I have to do everything?"

"Sorry, Gran-gran."

"Sorry. Is that all ya gotta say fer yaself, boy? Damnit, I just want ya to do it right."

"Yes, ma'am."

He could hear them, but couldn't see them. He scrabbled around for a better view, and they were still out of sight.

Must be in the kitchen making that horrible smell again. Dabner must be burning something, just like he's done numerous times. Sometimes it's worse than my cage, that god-awful odor.

"Give me the damn thing!" Betsy demanded. "See that's how it's done. Now pay attention, boy."

He could hear their voices growing closer. Now he could see both of them, as they approached the living room. There was something in Dabner's hands, but he had a hard time seeing what it was. It appeared to be a sack of potatoes.

"Boy, you are gonna get a waling, if ya don't stop dripping on the floor."

"Sorry, Gran-gran."

Suddenly, Dabner started running through the living room and out the front door. A puddle of red liquid had escaped onto the wooden floor.

"Stupid boy! Oh, by God, is he gonna get it when he gets back in here."

He could see her leaning on her cane, and he wondered how Dabner could put up with it, her nagging and complaining about everything. He tries to please her, and it wasn't his fault he had mental problems. She made him that way. Ever since he was a little boy, after his parents were killed in the fire, the fire that destroyed his house in town. It was she that placed his mind in that predicament. It was a mistake, but she constantly told him he's been a loser for what he did.

No boy should play with matches. No boy should play with fire. You did it boy, ya killed your folks. You should be ashamed. You shouldn't even be alive. Don't give me your sob stories that ‘It was a mistake, Gran-gran.' That's bullshit! You're a murderer, boy. A filthy, no good murderer. Ya did this and now I have to pay, too, by raisin' ya.

"Okay, Gran-gran, it's done," he said, as he bolted through the front door. "I puts it in the smoke room for a spell."

"Boy, come here."

Dabner could see the anger in her eyes, and he stopped rolling on the spinning wheel to witness, also. The seeds in his mouth were almost gone, so he grabbed a few more to really pack in his pouches, while he awaited the outcome of what was to happen to Dabner.

"Do ya see what is on the floor, boy?"

"Yes, ma'am." Dabner replied, and he hung his head just like in the early afternoon.

"How many times, boy, before ya learn? How many?"

"Gran-gran . . . I'm . . ."

"Go get it, boy."

"No, no Gran-gran. Please no, don't do me like that," Dabner sobbed.

"Get the pan, before I really get mad. It's fer ya own good."

He jumped off the spinning wheel and placed his tiny paws on the metal bars. His face protruded between them, as he wiggled his whiskers. The full pouches made it difficult to get any closer than he was, but he tried, because he knew something was going to happen.

Dabner slowly strolled into the kitchen, while tears rolled down his red face.

"It's fer ya own doing, boy. A couple of strikes from the pan always done ya good."

Dabner returned with a black, heavy skillet. The look in Dabner's eyes was different from the other instances when Betsy demanded respect from him. He appeared to be even more terrified.

"No, Gran-gran, ya not gonna hit me no more!" Dabner exclaimed, while raising the pan high above his head.

"Dabn . . ." Betsy tried to scream, before he struck her in the head. Immediately, she collapsed on the living room floor. Blood streamed from her skull, as Dabner raised the black skillet a second time and gave her another blow.

He watched in amazement from the cage.

He did it! I can't believe the big dummy finally put an end to the old bitch.

Dabner dropped the murder weapon on the wood floor. Dabner watched, as her blood flowed like a tiny river across the living room. He stood silently for a moment, and had a look of confusion on his face. Then he bent down and tried to move her. She remained still.

"Awww! What did I do? Gran-gran, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to, but ya made me," he sobbed heavily, while picking her frail body up off the floor. "Wake up, Gran-gran, wake up! It was an assident. I . . . I . . . didn't mean it."

Then he began shaking her, in hopes that she would come to. Harder and harder he rattled her and closer and closer he got to the cage, when suddenly Betsy's foot knocked the metal enclosure off the small table it sat on. Frantically, he tried to run for cover and to protect him from the massive impact he could only imagine was going to occur. It seemed like forever before the cage finally made contact with the wooden floor below. The collision threw him hard against the metal framing. Water and seeds sprayed everywhere, as he bounced around like a pinball. Finally, the cage rolled to a stop.

He lay motionless, with the sobs from Dabner filling the room and the sounds of thunder from outside drawing closer. Although still dazed, he forced his tiny, furry frame up from the mess that was spread out everywhere. The cobwebs were not going to be easy to shake off from such an impact, but he was willing to try. His head hurt, though, and he anxiously looked all over for cuts and bruises. There were none, it seemed like he was okay. The seeds he packed in his pouches were still there and he was lucky he didn't choke on them on the way down. He sighed, as he searched around the room to notice how much different it appeared from the angle he was at. Then it dawned on him. The cage was open.

I'm free! Totally, free! No longer, do I have to smell the awful odors from the kitchen. No longer, do I have to worry about how soon they are going to change my bedding, so I don't have put up with my stinkin' urine. No longer, do I have to be terrorized by the cats . . . oh, my, the cats, forgot about them. Now the bastards will have the opportunity to hunt me down and rip into my inners. But, I won't let them; I'll get away. They aren't gonna ruin my freedom. No way! I'm free and that's how I'm staying, a free hamster ready to take on the world.

Slowly, he approached the opening. In a matter of seconds, he would no longer be considered captive. Just as he placed his tiny paws on the wooden floor, Dabner ran back in the living room and through the front.

"What did I do? What did I do? I'm sorry, Gran-gran. I'm sorry. I make it better, I promise. I promise I make it better for Gran-gran," he cried, while slapping his forehead.

He was still timid about leaving the busted up cage, and he scampered back into it when he heard Dabner rush through the house. He figured he better wait a little bit, just to make sure. He didn't want to be noticed by the big dummy, even if he was distracted at the moment. It was just a matter of time before he would be hopping around in open fields and burrowing underground, just like he has dreamed so many nights; so many long and grueling nights. But he would have to wait just a little longer, just until he knew for a fact that the coast was clear.

In a few seconds, Dabner returned quickly through the front door. He was carrying an axe in his hands. "I make it better, Gran-gran, you see. I make it better."

He heard some noises from the kitchen, and they sounded familiar to noises he had heard in the past. At this point he knew it was safe to rush out the door, but for some strange reason he become curious and he wanted to know. He needed to know what that big dummy was up to, so he left his old home and hurried across the blood-soaked floor. Once he reached the entryway, he stopped and peeked around the corner. He could see Betsy lying in the middle of the floor, headless. Dabner was holding her head by the hair and glancing in her eyes.

"I make it better. See Gran-gran, I make it better." Then he put her head in a large pot.

That was enough for him. He turned and ran out the front door and into the field.

He arrived later that night by coincidence, because he was still new to the fields. He saw Dabner on the front porch, as the children made their special trips to his house. The lights were off except for the pumpkins that were lit on the front porch. He noticed one of the parents comment on how life-like his pumpkin heads looked like. Dabner just responded with, "My Gran-gran taught me."

Betsy's life-less head remained on the porch throughout the night, just as the other heads from the fields did, glowing and grinning. Then her head was put away with the others until the next Halloween.

Head of Household

By: R. Todd Woodstock

 

 

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Deyandra Dec 20, 2011

very Nice!

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