Salt, Wallace, & Consequence.
I
The frigid laughing, lashing winds freezing my body made my face numb and frost bitten, my tears were freezing in my eyelids, and I was very tired, so very tired. My legs no longer tingled with spikes of pain, my chest stopped aching and heaving with every step. A bed of snow with a darkening chaotic winter sky above, sheets of thick hail and snow made me into a huddle where I closed my eyes. There was no more running, the man I had killed no longer mattered. My pursuers, though close behind, faded from my conscience. I felt my heart slow to a steady beat per minute. Dogs barked in the distant piney forest, barking into the frozen tundra at an unforgiving maze of windswept trees.
I woke, dazed, aching, and utterly dehydrated. My eyes stung as I opened them sleepily to a dimly lit room. The walls were of a dark stone inlaid with plaster and wood. A small fireplace flickered in the corner next to my bed table, creating a menagerie of dancing shadows on the ceiling. I sat up with much pain and effort, my head rushed with blood and confusion. My throat, so dry, it felt as if I had not drank anything in ages. I was like a withered and drooping flower under a heat lamp. I looked around with red itchy eyes, surveying the bare room I had appeared in. The room was bare with the exception of the nightstand and fireplace. The table was only adorned with a saltshaker, filled to the brim with a shining silver cap.
Silence settled in the room as the snapping fire crackled dryly in the corner fireplace. It was almost soothing, an aroma of cedar and that unmistakable irreplaceable mountain soil hung faintly in front of my numb face.
A rhythmic thud began in the distance, above me moving steadily, down a level and to the outside of my door. And then silence as the dust awakened by the ancient floorboards that made up the ceiling lucidly fluttered down in a flurry to my bed. As my eyes traced the tiny particles, I tried to remember how I appeared in this bed. But all came to mind was the dark unforgiving sky lined with towering pines and closing my eyes, the rest was a fading blur. There was some shuffling outside of the door to my room, it was the sound of clanking plates and silverware. This Good Samaritan, who must have found my passed out body in the woods or something had to have saved my soul. I would certainly have frozen to death out there and from what it sounded like; this person had brought me something to eat. I was so very thirsty and I couldn’t remember when I had last eaten. I promised myself that I would be forever in this character’s debt for saving my wretched life. I can tell you that at that point my life was not worth saving, I had blood on my hands. I certainly would not have saved myself if put in someone else’s shoes.
II
Samuel Clay Wallace was at one point a respectable man in my eyes, one of my closest friends at that. We had grown up together, he was one of my only friends in starting school and I could have said he was the only man I truly loved and cared for. He introduced me to who would be one day be my wife. He was my best man at our wedding, I thought we would be brothers until the day we died. So many laughs, so many memories Samuel and I had together. He used to be the set up and I was the punch line for all of our jokes, back before I got married we used to be the life of any party. He was a good man and I really hated to have to kill him, I almost didn’t go through with it too.
A few weeks before I found myself in that vile living maze of pines and snow covered brush I worked as a meat packer a few miles out of town. I worked very late hours, my wife and I didn’t want to stay where we were: we wanted to move up and into a nice neighborhood and maybe raise a family. I certainly didn’t want to stay a meat packer for all of my life, I doubt my nerves could take it for much longer anyway, I was the knocker for the later part of my career there. I stood on a small bridge and shot a small rod into each steer’s head as they came by, instantly and painlessly killing them. I didn’t think much of it when I started the job, I tended to think I was void of emotions concerning cattle. I remember the cattle used to moo and moan like they were confused when they were waiting to be knocked. They didn’t know where they were, or why, or what I would be doing to them in a few minutes. I remember all of those late nights where my thoughts always seemed to drift towards this idea. I was taking hundreds of lives every night and thought nothing of it, my victims didn’t even know my name let alone why they were here. It always made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. So I planned for my budding family to move somewhere where their father didn’t wreak of blood every night. I didn’t want them to know what I had done.
Luckily my boss and I were good friends and he provided me with a future job when I told him about my plans for the family. I remember the night he told me, it was slow in the cold stockyards that night as winter approached. He called me into his office, trying to keep his round pudgy oily face from smiling. We had a few beers together on his desk as he told me about a deli in the next county over that he wanted me to run. The school system was great, property values were in my wife and my price range and it would be the perfect place to raise a child. I jumped up and hugged him, almost spilling my beer. He told me my payroll for the next two weeks was paid and I was free to go home early to tell my wife the good news. She would have been so happy, I remember thinking of all of the ways to break the news to her while driving home that night.
The apartment we lived in at the time was pitch black when I drove into the parking lot. The sun had just gone down, I thought maybe she was in another room or maybe asleep. The muddied hallway leading up to our apartment was silent as I tried to control my springing footsteps from bursting into a joyous sprint. When I got to the door and fumbled for my keys, I heard something I will never forget. I heard a soft, distant moaning coming from the innards of my apartment. It was soft enough to catch my ear as my arms limply lowered back to my sides, keys still between my fingers. Pressing my ear to the door I listened while trying my hardest not to breathe. There was only one thing that made those sounds outside of the slaughterhouse and while I remember knowing exactly what it was, I tried not to as a tear rolled down my cheek. What I heard next made my stomach churn and heart stop beating. Samuel Clay Wallace yelped in ecstasy as my wife answered in a loud moan of pleasure. It was too much for me, my legs started to give out as I collapsed onto the beige door
Silently I choked on my tears creating hiccups and drool to form at the sides of my lips. My heart was beating furiously, my lungs burned and my stomach felt horrible. The echoes of their lust played over and over in my head while I cried that night. It was all I could think about. It was all I could think about when I went back to my car for the air tank and knocker Samuel had gotten me as a wedding gift. It was a finely made stainless steel cylinder, compact and heavy, with a metal hose leading away into the air tank. It had a small rubber spring-loaded button as a trigger and shock absorbers so my wrist didn’t jerk back every time. The echo of his betrayal rattled my mind when I re-entered my apartment quietly. They were still fucking in the bed I had just finished making the payments for. My knuckles went white as I crept closer and closer to the noise.
I had just reached the North Dakota border three hours later. My knuckles were still white as I suicidally sped northbound. My salty tears had dried up long ago, but I still gripped the wheel with both hands as hard as I could until it hurt. I knew I would be caught, I knew there was no point in running but I had to for no other reason than fear. I was sure my neighbors had called the police and they would find my dead friend and unconscious wife. I left my knocker and air tank on the floor next to them. One would think a man who murders for a living would have no trouble being an actual murderer. I would be caught and put to death without a second thought. I would sit in a line with other unlucky souls and wait until it was my turn to be knocked. Then I would be tossed into the pile and I would be shipped off, forgotten about. My dreams of a family, my new job, my wife and best friend; I would leave them all at the slaughterhouse door and they would never see the light of day again.
Sweat poured down my grimy forehead, I had not even changed clothing as I always do upon returning home. Drips of dried cow blood dotted my sleeves, my eyes were hazed and swollen, and I could hear my beating heart thud in my ears. Headlights flashed in the rearview mirror as a siren shrieked into the cloudy stormy night. I stepped on the gas until my foot hit the floor and my foot started to cramp. The headlights came closer, the siren blared painfully louder. I remember wondering if the man who would knock me ever thought the same thoughts I had. I wondered if I would even know his name. Tears stung my eyes as I struggled to make out the upcoming metal railing leading traffic safely through the icy mountains. Metal screeched and sparks flew as my car flipped and spun uncontrollably down the mountainside. I rolled out of the wreckage; my body was fine spare a few major bruises and a horrible headache. Lying there in a bed of snow my vision was contorting and shifting in and out of focus. At the top of the hill a spotlight beamed down to the car wreck and through the ringing beats in my ears I heard the barks of hungry dogs. I had to get up, I rolled onto my glass-ridden arm, breaking off a few shards while pushing a few in deeper. I twisted in pain as I stood up as quick as I could. My head was still spinning as I leaned on to a tree, vomiting blood among other things. The dogs were getting closer, I tore off my jacket and threw it into a tree and kicked snowy dirt over my vomit. I then stumbled off into the dark forest and into a cold windy night.
III
The smell of beef broth invaded my senses, being a man of that profession I knew that smell all too well. Frankly, I usually hate beef primarily due to the fact that I worked with it all day and I received a discount on it so it was a large portion of my diet. But this smell was something new, well made and just the right ingredients. The door swung open and a man entered with a tray balancing a steaming bowl, a plate of bread slathered with butter and a tall glass of water. The man wore all black from neck to toe, tight to his tall muscular body. His head was facing straight down at the floor, his long copper hair covered his face creating a veil. Laying the tray down on the nightstand he turned toward the fire and tossed another log onto the crackling fire. He told me to eat as he poked the fire with the iron poker, moving the new log into the heart of the blaze. His voice was deep and a bit raspy, the floor hummed when he spoke and it seemed as if the fire lapped frivolously to the beat of his pronunciation. Leaning over, I reached for the tray to bring into bed where I could sit up and thank the man who must have saved me. As I shuffled back up onto the headboard I tried to collect my thoughts and what I would say, but before a word left my mouth he spoke. “They were only going to pull you over for speeding, there was no way they knew yet.” I dropped the spoon as my heart sunk into my chest and would have made it into my underwear if the loud clank of the spoon hitting the bowl hadn’t brought me back to reality.
“I know what you did and I can assure you the police will not find you here. You are safe here, lucky too. I found you a few days ago lying frozen along my property line.” The copper haired man put the poker down and turned to face me, his eyes were a deep reddish orange. My eyes burned when I looked at them, they had no pupils and no eye whites. I had to turn away, looking at those red pulps was making me dizzy with pain. “A ranger came by the other day asking if I had seen a man fitting your description in the past few days. I lied and said no.” The cabin floor rumbled as he chuckled to himself, revealing brown decayed and jagged teeth. His black gums permeated the air around me with the revolting smell of rot. “Eat up boy, we have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.” He turned silently on a heel and left the room in an eerie silence. My head was numb with fright and confusion at that point. I felt like I was going to faint as I leaned over to the tray to grab the glass of water. I needed something to quench my thirst, tipping the glass to my cracked lips.
My eyes widened with surprise as the water spewed from my mouth and all over my bed. Salt water. Very warm salt water was in the glass. My mouth burned with dissatisfaction as I slammed the glass on the nightstand. Lifting the soupspoon to my mouth I smelled the broth first, making sure it wasn’t horribly salted as well. It smelled fine as I lifted a heaping hearty spoonful to my mouth. I shrieked out in pain, clutching my lips and neck and dropping the steaming spoon to the floor. It hit with a clanging bounce as I exhaled heavily and rubbed my burning blistered lips and chin. The soup was impossibly hot and the water was disgustingly salted. The fear and paranoia entered my mind once again as I sunk back into the sheets still rubbing my chapped, burnt lips.
The ceiling above creaked and croaked every few hours, shaking more dust down into my room. My eyes shifted from one side of the room to the other as I struggled to make sense of the situation I was in. I needed to get out of this room, the man who saved me must know something, he must be part of the police force. Maybe he knew Samuel and he was exacting his revenge. Maybe he was some kind of lunatic or mad man. Any conclusion I could come up with made less sense than the one before it. I was getting tired, the fire was dying down and the room began to dim. Shadows danced on the ceiling, as I looked to them as if expecting a solution or plan for what to do next. I knew I needed to make a move that very night but my eyes were so heavy. I was nodding in and out of slumber, the floorboards above hadn’t moved in a few hours. I dozed off for a few minutes and awoke with a jolt soon after. The room was silent and pitch black save a few dying embers in the corner but I knew I was not alone.
IV
A guttural raspy mutter filled the room as the corner of the room told me, “Samuel Clay Wallace, good friend of yours? He was fucking her ever since you two got married. Are you blind, boy?” Silence ensued, not a word came from me as my tongue knotted in the back of my throat. “You had every right to kill him and I don’t blame you for it. But you can’t run forever. And tomorrow, I will make sure that I show you the consequences of your actions. How does that sound?” He trailed off into another disgusting chuckle. “My cabin in the woods is warm, my hearth is always cooking, I will take in any lost soul in their moment of need. I always nurture them back to health, and offer for them to stay here with me for as long as they would like. And if they refuse…”
“Then they are more than welcome to leave at any time they wish.” He paused to shuffle out the last embers of the fire. “My doors are always open. But know this: there are no trails leading off of my grounds, the snow covers them too quickly. All that surrounds me for miles is the cold unforgiving forest. I hear a storm just rolled in too, looks like we might get snowed in. I hate cabin fever, don’t you?” I couldn’t see a thing in that dark room, but I could smell his rotting breath as if he was a few inches in front of my face. The soggy wet heat bellowed into my face and made me gag in disgust. “ I will see you tomorrow.” He growled as the room drifted off into silence.
I franticly scrambled out of the sheets as soon as the door creaked shut, blindly feeling for something to grab onto. My fingers glided over something hard and leathery, domed and cold but soft to the touch. I slipped my boots on and stood painfully, breathing in deeply as to not make a noise. I could feel drafts of cold air wisp ay my neck and cheeks from cracks in the ceiling. Grabbing the bedpost for balance I reached out in front of myself groping blindly for the door. With an outstretched hand I grabbed it and turned, letting out a rusty metallic moan that resonated throughout my room. My hearth jumped as I heard shuffling upstairs. He was coming, coming to put me back in bed, coming to knock me. I knew it and without thinking I lunged out of the door and into a wall. Cursing myself under my breath I jogged up the stairs rubbing my bumped head. The shuffling changed to footsteps. Opening the door at the top of the steps, I could make out a faint humming noise from another room in the cabin. I stopped dead in my tracks, my hand slipped limply off of the door as it silently edged open. The footsteps continued and that hum got louder. I could see nothing; everything was dark as I felt my way frantically along the wall. I could feel cold drafty air lick my legs through my jeans. That humming became something of a moan, something of a constant noise. It sounded chaotic, almost passionate. It sounded like there were two people in the next room over, two people making love.
The voice of Samuel Clay Wallace cried out my wife’s name into the night. The hairs stood up on the back of my neck. The footsteps were getting louder, they rumbled the cabin with each advance more and more. He was coming, I told myself, I had to get out of this hellish dream, I just had to. My hands came across a cold knob, air blew violently through the keyhole. At last, I breathed a sigh of relief and turned the doorknob. My arms yanked at the door, it was stuck. Terrified, I kept jerking it around like a hopeless child. A deep sadistic hacking laugh rumbled throughout the house, bringing me to my knees. My exhausted lungs sank and my aching legs gave out causing me to slump down, leaning on the doorknob still in hand. The fucking noises were still echoing louder and louder throughout the house. The door clicked to my surprise as I jerked it one last time and it slid open, dragging the bottom on the floor heavily.
V
“I found you in that frozen ditch, I fed you, gave you a bed, I kept you safe.” My heart was racing as I scrambled to stand up. The freezing night winds rushed at me, freezing my sweat instantly and stinging my cuts without remorse. Snow blew into the cabin, I could see the white flecks melting instantly upon entering the door’s thresh hold. Vaulting myself out into the wild dark night, I landed on my ankle and tumbled down a hill and into a rock. The adrenaline was pumping through my body as I shot up and broke into a sprint as if I felt no pain.
I did not turn back, I only ran as the engine in my chest beat furiously and my arms were lacerated by brush being knocked out of my way. Thorns ripped into my jeans as I felt my warm blood gush down to my ankle where it began to freeze. In the whistling winds of that stormy night I heard him calling out to me. “My doors are always open, boy! Think about how warm my hearth is, it’s always on, you know!” I pressed on, steadily running out of adrenaline, I slowed to a trot. Wheezing and rasping, my throat burned with dryness. I had to catch my breath, I had to stop to catch my breath. Clutching my poor aching heart I fell to my knees and my head thudded against the ground. I rolled over and closed my eyes to the raging sky above. The frigid winds swept around me, I huffed furiously through my nose. I thought about that warm room and what that devil of a man said about his doors always being open. The wind woke me up with something that made me nervous all over again, the scent of rotting flesh.
I was lost in the woods, my body began to numb up again. The piney forest winds were saturated with the vile smells of sewage and rot. The winds cackled that man’s deep raspy voice in an incoherent wisp that wrapped itself around my head. One last try, I kept telling myself, just one more step. Lifting my weary head I saw a light in the distant valley below, a small window radiating golden light into the night air. With arms stretched out, I grabbed for the light causing me to topple over and partly slide down the hill and closer to the cabin. I breathed a sigh of relief, pulling myself up to the door.
I stumbled to the door, wheezing and swaying in dizziness. My head was bleeding and my fingers were frozen, my leg was bleeding and I couldn’t see out of my left eye. Before I could knock, the door swung over and I collapsed on the warm floor. I blacked out after that, my body had finally had enough. I was safe now, safe from that horrible man and that is all that mattered. I don’t remember anything after that as whomever I awoke took me in, undressed me and put me in a bed. I have never slept in a more warm and soft bed.
I awoke in the middle of the night that night. My eyes shot around frantically from side to side. I was not alone in the room. I gulped hard, bringing the covers closer to my face. A fire was slowly dying in the corner of the room, giving just enough light to realize my worst fear. “My doors are always open.” Rasped a familiar nightmare as the bedroom door slammed shut, rumbling the surrounding walls and causing something glass to shatter: A small silver capped saltshaker lay in pieces next to my bed in a pool of salt.
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Yes, I agree, the ending needs work. I was thinking of something along the lines of having to do with the meat packing industry's use of the gas-powered knocker and the unfortunate main character. As i said, it is still in the works but any feed-back or possible ideas for the ending would be much appreciated. Lastly, touching back on the preface to the story, the name Samuel Clay Wallace was one of my old college professors. I simply like the name, it has no connection to the actual person (who is a very nice man in my opinion).
