The Weeping Woman

I’ve always despised the sound of dripping rain. Perhaps at one time, I’d loved it— a point in time I’d much rather forget. Nevertheless, I blocked my ears and continued on the beaten down path to a village long forgotten.

What an unsightly little village. Houses and yards upturned, walls splattered with a rainbow of death, graves that were once the only resting place. I continued through the broken streets, adamant on my quest. I’d come here for a purpose; there was no reason to linger on the past. A raven shrieked from the depths of the forest. At least I am not alone.

It’s been five years since they had arrived. Five years since I fled the village. Five years too long. At first everybody had been worried about the bombs despite them having passed. Families dug basements in hopes that the crippled dirt would protect them. But I knew better. June knew better. The bombs were not the threat, no, they were not. Nobody believed us, did they now? Foolish Lily and her June. How could they attack us if not with bombs? They’ve gone mad from the war. Oh, how they would swallow their words when the demons began approaching from the depths of Hell.

I had just made it past the forgotten graveyard when I noticed a lonely figure. Far too short for an adult, no no, far too short. And my, what a small form— a child, perhaps? I could not see its face. All I could focus on was the little red bow tied around its head.

“Turn around, child,” I cried. “You remind me of my June.”

Despite my pleas, the child remained immovable. What a rude child— nothing like my June after all. After a moment, the child breaks out of its stupor, pitter-pattering towards the misty woods. It disappeared before it could make it past the first barricade of bushes.

No, I must focus on my goal. I approached a worn house, its doors ajar and scratched beyond recognition. I traced the familiar plating beside where a silver bell had once hung. Its ring had woken the entire village, a sorrowful song dancing past the picket fences and gravestones on the outskirts. Its final performance before the demons arrived at our doorsteps, their fiery breaths unrelenting and merciless.

Drip.

What was that?

Drip. Drip.

I spun around, heart clawing its way up my throat. Who could it be? What could it be? Was it the demons? Show yourself!

Then I saw him.

Eyes like those of a fly— empty, dark, unseeing. His mouth an abyss, elongated and tubed as if waiting to suck the very soul out of me. His grotesque features stared back at me as a single gloved hand rose to his face. Peeling back his skin, what was left of a ruined and blistered mouth took a shaky, rattling breath. A breath of a hundred screams, pleads for help fallen on deaf ears, a ruined lung’s last resort. Drip. Crimson traced its way down his yellowed cheek, splattering the already blood caked dirt. I could see the skin peeking from underneath the gloved hand, sickly blisters littering the pinked skin. But his eyes. I could not see past the barrier of black that shrouded his true eyes from sight. But they were enough, I knew what must have been beyond that curtain. I knew what horror lies beneath. For the blood had surely not come from its mouth. You remind me of my June.

“BEGONE!” I shrieked, backing into the house, hand scrambling for purchase against the worn wood. “Begone, demon! You twisted creature, you’re not welcome here!”

But he mocked me, rooted in his spot as I backed further into the hallway.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

I slammed the door so hard it cracked from the blow. Prying my hands away from where I’d dug them into the walls, I stumbled into the living room. One foot. Other foot. One foot. Other foot.

I inhaled the dusty air, scanning the abandoned living room. The little television Thomas had worked so hard to get remained in its spot, undisturbed unlike the rest of the world. The curtains I’d stitched that rainy morning hung loosely off the shattered window. And of course, a picture frame on the ground, glass strewn around it like petals on a spring day.

I lifted the frame away to reveal what was left of the photograph. Though shredded beyond recognition, I collected the pieces and tucked them into my pocket. Nothing a little sellotape couldn’t fix. Nothing at all.

Drip.

Who’s there? Is he back?

I fled to the window, eyes flickering across the yard. Nobody. Not a soul.

Drip. Drip.

The television sparked to life.

“Let us then address ourselves to our task, not in any way underrating its tremendous difficulties and perils…” Churchill declared on screen. I crashed into the window as screams rang through the area. “...we shall stand by one another, true and faithful comrades, and do our duty, God helping us, to the end.”

The screams crescendoed to a deafening level, my ears ringing painfully so. Would they start bleeding? Would the windows simply shatter?

A flash of black on the screen. A glimpse of yellow. A trail of red.

I tore the curtain down, smothering the television in its ugly floral pattern.

It silenced.

The screams silenced.

Everything was at peace—

Silent.

Good. Silent is good. I went into the bedroom, tapping my heel against the warped flooring. Finally, a purposefully loose board. I pried it out of the ground, tossing it carelessly to the side.

There wasn’t much inside, but it was more than I had now. I grabbed the box and tucked it under my arm. It’d be enough. Enough to survive and that’s all I need.

I searched through the drawers, pried off the rest of the floorboards, discarded the pristine mattress onto the dirt-coated floor for anything I might’ve missed.

Good, good, good. I think I’ve gotten everything.

“Help me!” A voice sudden came from somewhere else in the house. I froze, arms tightening around the box. Who? Who, who, who? I know that voice, I know it from somewhere.

“Help, please!” It came again. I ran through the hall, stopping outside of the bathroom door. The brass doorknob leered at me, challenging me to open it.

“Make it stop!” The voice was sobbing now. I cracked the door open. A little girl was curled up in the tub.

A little red bow tied around her head.

“What’s the matter, little one? Are you hurt?” I asked, entering the room. Her eyes flitted around rapidly, lithe hands trembling as they grip the sides of the tub.

“I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know.” She muttered. I approached her carefully, arm outstretched to help. How could I not?

“What happened?” I pressed. She shakily drew her sleeve up.

Yellow. Pink.

Demons.

“Did the demons come for you too?” I asked, grabbing her arm to inspect the blistering skin. “Are you in pain?”

“It hurts everytime I move too much.” She choked out past sobs. “I can’t even breathe normally.”

Mother, it hurts. Mother, make it stop. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.

“Oh, darling. You remind me of my June.” I whispered before lunging and grabbing her throat. Her eyes widened in panic, hands weakly clawing at my own.

“I’m sorry.” I cried, tears welling into my eyes. “It’s for the best. It’ll be better this way.”

Drip.

He was back. I’ve got to save her, I’ve got to save her.

Save her like I did for my June.

“It’ll be over soon, darling, just close your eyes.” I reassured her. But my reassurances did nothing to calm her, much to my annoyance. Just like June. Can’t she see I’m saving her? Sparing her from this pain? Can’t she see?

Drip. Drip.

Suddenly, she vanished, and I was left to strangle the air. I staggered to my feet. Had I been too late? Had he gotten to her before I could save her?

I stumbled backwards into the sink, breath coming out labored.

No, I’ve got to find her. I’ve got to finish it and save her. Not her too. I’ve got to save her.

I raised my eyes to the mirror.

Yellow. Pink. Black.

Crimson.

His horrible face stared back at me, cracked lips curled into a devastating smile. His hand reached up to pull away his skin. But this time, he didn’t stop.

He didn’t stop until I could finally see the source of the blood.

Those horrible, twisted, dead eyes.

My hands flew to my cheeks, drawing away stained with the same ugly shade of tainted blood. I crashed into the wall as the color began spreading, crawling its way up my arm.

Crimson.

By the time I realized that there was nobody left to hear me, the scream had already ripped its way out of my throat.

Drip. Drip. Drip.