Strange Corridors

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Book excerpt

Discovering The Corridor 

Emma heard them fighting. Then it was very quiet.

She knew what type of night it was going to be after her stepsister, Lydia, brought her home from a long weekend at her place. When no one answered the front door, Lydia just turned the doorknob. No one had bothered to lock it. Stepping over several empty wine bottles and cushions lying on the floor, Lydia sighed and angrily closed the door.

“Stay here,” she told Emma, and walked away, calling Emma’s mother and Jack, the new stepfather. Lydia went into their bedroom, closed that door. Emma heard angry muffled voices.

Emma secretly wanted to live with Lydia and her boyfriend Tom. They were nice, well-behaved, and their apartment didn’t always smell like rotten eggs. They ate out at restaurants. They watched TV, and they would take walks in the park. Tom would get his camera and have Lydia and Emma play dress up.

Emma fixed the cushions back on the couch and sat down. She took a book out of her back pack. A  Wrinkle in Time was handed to her by Mrs. Gordon. “I think you will like this,” Mrs. Gordon told Emma with a huge smile. She was a very nice teacher, but didn’t really have much control over her class. Emma’s classmates were very rowdy, and most of them almost never completed their work. Lunch and playground time meant more to them than any boring school work. Of course, as Lydia had pointed out. Mrs. Gordon was very old. Lydia had her when she was in the fifth grade.

“Why doesn’t she retire?” Emma had asked once.

“I’m pretty sure Mrs. Gordon can’t afford to retire,” Lydia answered.

She began reading silently to herself, still mouthing each word carefully to make sure she understood the sentences. That’s what Mrs. Gordon told her to do whenever she read anything. Get a feel for the words, roll them around her tongue, and take a second to make sure she understood what she had just read. Emma didn’t always like doing that because classmates sometimes made comments that her lips moved when she was reading. One girl even said that when a person reads like that, that means they are slow.

Emma didn’t know what that meant. She didn’t think that she moved slowly. She was always aware that she didn’t move fast either, that she moved somewhere in the middle. Normal. At least she hoped she was normal. Because she knew her parents were not normal. Her real father died two years ago in a truck driving accident. That’s what she heard the adults say. She knew he had been a truck driver, he delivered a lot of different things, and he drove all over the place. When he died, most of the money went to his new wife and new family. Some of it went to Emma and Lydia. He was Lydia’s father as well, even though he hadn’t been married to Lydia’s mother.

Emma had come to the conclusion that her family was more than a little odd and very confusing. There were brothers older than her she’d never met, and an endless stream of cousins, aunts and uncles, and two or three (maybe) of grandparents she’d never met as well.

Lydia came out of the bedroom, walking very fast. She looked upset. Emma could always tell when her sister was upset because Lydia curled her upper lip and her nostrils would flare.

“What’s wrong?” Emma asked, dropping her book on the couch and rising quickly. She placed herself in front of Lydia so she would not ignore her.

“Emma,” Lydia said sternly. “You should go to your room. It’s past eight o’ clock and soon it will be bedtime.”

“What’s wrong, Lydia?” Emma screamed. Lydia just stared at her. “I’m not moving out of your way until you tell me!”

Lydia grunted and rolled her eyes. “Okay! Mom and Jack were fighting. Both are drunk…the fight is over with. Mom was in the closet when I walked in. Jack…he was trying to pry the door open with a broom and it broke. The idiot fell on his back…so once again he’s thrown his back out. I was talking to them afterwards and they both  lay on their bed and passed out in each other’s arms. There you have it, kid. The newest scoop on your very dysfunctional parents.”

Emma began to tear up. “I wish I could live with you……” She hugged Lydia tightly.

“God,” Lydia struggled, pretended not breathe. “What a grip you have. Well,” she pulled away from Emma. “Looks like it’s for the best that you do stay with me and Jack for the rest of the week.”

Emma squealed and did a little dance.

“Okay, okay,” Lydia laughed, tugged Emma’s sweater. “Get your back pack, girl. Tom is going to have to drop you off at school this week. He’s on vacation and I have classes  early every day this week. Come on. Let’s get going before they wake up, start crying and apologize for everything under the sun, including JFK’s assassination and Hitler.”

Emma ran and grabbed her back pack and book. Lydia opened the front door and both of them went out.

“Who’s Hitler and what’s a JFK?” Emma sked.

“Never mind,” Lydia sighed and rolled her eyes. She eased the door shut, as not to wake either of the two sick people in the bedroom.

* * *

Emma woke up that night and heard the saddest song she’d ever heard.

It wasn’t exactly a song, nor was it singing. More like a wailing. Reminded Emma of the video her class watched about whales and how they called out for their mates. That’s what it sounded like. Anyways, someone was very sad. It echoed throughout the apartment.

At first, Emma thought her Mother’s boyfriend had left the TV on again. She rose from her bed and tip-toed into the living room. No one was up. Still, that song was ringing in her head. She went to the kitchen to see if her mother was up. Maybe she was cooking late at night and listening to the radio, Emma thought. Her mother sometimes did that.

No. No one was up.

Suddenly she  heard footsteps. Her mother’s bedroom door opened and her mother appeared from the dark hallway. She asked Emma why she was up and did she know what time it was? Emma shook her head. Emma tried to explain that she had heard a song. Well, not exactly a song---

"You were sleepwalking", is what her mother told her.

Emma knew she  had not been not sleepwalking. She tried to for a valid argument, but mother wasn’t having it. She sent Emma back to bed, and told her not to get back up unless the sun was up.

Emma went back to her room. She  lay in bed, listening  to that sad song.

* * *

A few weeks later, Lydia dropped a bombshell.

She and Jack were moving. Jack got a promotion, but in order to get that promotion, they had to leave. Emma was very upset. Sure, her mom and Tom were normal again, and had  been for two weeks. Still, that could change at any time. Who knows if they could stop drinking long enough for Emma to grow up and get out of the house?

Who knows even if they stayed together, and  it were just Emma and her mom back at Aunt Shirley’s house once again. That situation was not much better. Emma and her mom slept on a couch and there  were already six people in that house, including four grown-up cousins. Emma never felt comfortable taking a shower there. She couldn’t put her finger on it, she felt weird at Aunt Shirley’s.

Emma spent one last night with Lydia. She helped her pack while Jack was off, getting a moving truck. They cried a lot. Lydia tried hard to convince Emma everything would be okay, and mom and  Tom wouldn’t be sick all the time.

“Yes, they will,” Emma said, wiped tears from cheeks. “They drink too much and they will never get better.”

Lydia couldn’t argue with that. She hugged her little sister and kissed her head. “Still,” Lydia rubbed Emma’s back. “You have to be hopeful. Not just for your sake, but for the sake of their health.”

Emma nodded. She understood that. “I still want to go with you and Jack,” she sobbed.

“I know honey,” Lydia whispered.

* * *

Emma heard the gossip at school.

Paul Butterling  had gone missing. His mother said she went to work on Sunday evening. Paul was left home by himself with instructions not to open the door for anyone or any reason, nor to go outside. Not even to take the dog outside. She told him she would be home by eight that evening. When she came home at eight-fifteen, Paul was gone. The TV was still blaring cartoons and the microwave door had been left open and a plate of pizza rolls untouched.

Some said that creepy old man that lives behind Klosky’s department store had climbed through an open window and stolen him. Others said Paul’s father came to the apartment and convinced Paul to leave with him, not caring to tell his mother. Emma overheard one girl had said the police had questioned the father and he didn’t know where Paul was.

Emma didn’t know what to think. She didn’t have many friends at school and usually ate her lunch by herself.

Emma tried to tell her parents but they wouldn’t listen. They were too tired, they said. It was two in the afternoon on a Saturday and Emma’s mother was supposed to be at her job as a cashier at the department store. Tom had been to work. He did  nights as a porter at the hospital. He had already passed out when Emma began talking. Her mother shooed her out of the bedroom. When Emma complained she was hungry, her mother told her to make some toast.

Later, the phone rang.

It was Lydia. Emma was so excited she squealed and Tom screamed for her to shut up. She told Lydia about Paul Butterling. “He just disappeared, without a trace.” Emma heard a man on TV say that.

“I’m sure they’ll find him,” Lydia said.

Emma went on to tell her all the rumors. The latest was that a traveling freak show came to town and snatched Paul. They forced him to wait hand and foot on all the freaks, even cleaning up after the Monkey boy who crapped everywhere.

Lydia laughed. “Where did you hear that word? Crap?” She laughed again. Emma loved hearing her sister’s laugh. She sounded like a parrot squawking.

“It seems everyone on the playground has their own theory,” Emma said.

“So what’s your theory?” Lydia asked, curious to know what her sister’s thoughts were on the matter.

At first, Emma was at a loss for words. No one had ever asked what she thought about anything. Most adults just patted her on the head and never listened. Well, except Lydia. Emma’s mother never paid attention to her unless to bark a specific order. Her mother’s boyfriend, Tom, never even acknowledged Emma’s existence, only referring to her as “the kid”, whenever he wanted to be alone with Emma’s mother.

“I…” Emma began, cautiously. “I think…. he ran away.”

“Is that so?” Lydia steered Emma along.

“Yes,” Emma said solemnly in a very grave tone. “I think Paul  Butterling opened the front door of his apartment, walked outside and never looked back. Not caring if anyone cared where he went.”

“Where do you think he ended up at?”

Emma thought some more. She sighed and answered: “He’s still here…. but everyone refuses to see him.”

* * *

Emma couldn’t sleep that night.

She awoke with a very dry throat. She made her way to the kitchen to get a glass of water. She noticed the cabinet door slightly jarred. A stream of light had petered out and shone on the tiled floor. Emma was caught off guard, nearly dropped her glass. That cabinet was where canned foods were usually kept. That is, if her parents remembered to buy any food at all. This last bout with the bottle had taken a terrible toll on their minds as well as their bodies. Emma’s mother and her boyfriend Tom, didn’t even remember to bring in the mail.

The door swung open slowly and the stream of light widened. Emma took a step or two back. A black gloved hand appeared out of the light grasping a Marotte or scepter, a staff, with a shiny crystal ball on top. Then a strange figure followed, just showing the front half of his body. The stranger wriggled out of the cramped cabinet and crawled on to the counter where the dingy microwave sat near the kitchen sink. He was dressed as jester, only his outfit was mostly black lace and black leather pants. The black lace covered most of his chest, but not his forearms, which  were littered with many tattoos of skulls, dragons, and Chinese writing. He wore a mask that resembled what people wore at Mardi  Gras. Emma had seen a photo of the celebration and felt a little frightened. Why did they need to wear masks? What were they hiding? She would often ask the grownups around her, but no one could ever satisfy her with an answer.

“Don’t be frightened,’ the stranger said. “Let me introduce myself.” He took a bow. “I am Giraud, master entertainer and guide extraordinaire….”

Emma was too frightened to speak. She nearly burst in tears, but held them back. Her lips trembled, and her widened eyes produced a ring of water at the bottom.

“Speak child,” Giraud said, adding much needed sugar to his slithering words. “There’s no need to be afraid. I assure you.”

He spun in a circle, his closed fist extended in air. He spun again, tapped his scepter twice on the floor. He brought his fist down slowly and revealed a dove sitting perfectly in the palm of his hand. He smiled hugely as he brought it closer to Emma’s face. He folded his hand over the dove and tapped the scepter twice more. Giraud opened his hand to reveal a chocolate bar, which he offered to Emma, and she reluctantly took.

She did, however, show a hint of interest if not a bit of awe at Giraud’s conjuring.

“Now, my beauty…. what is your name?” He said as syrupy as he could, and still bearing all of teeth the way an alligator shows its prey.