Aug 28 2006
THE SHUT IN
Stella D’Angelo’s dark, bird-eyes peeked through the lace curtain as the mailman deposited the mail in the box next to the door. When he turned his head, she stepped back. When it was safe to look again, he was gone. She turned the doorknob slowly then eased her hand through the crack in the door, snatched her mail and pulled back within the sancutary of her home.
She sat at the kitchen table and watched television as she leafed through her mail. K-Mart had a two-for-one on underwear. She checked her supply but she still plenty from the last sale. The only thing of interest was the letter. She refilled her coffee cup and opened it, pretending she didn’t who it was from or what it said:
Dear Stella,
Won’t you come out of your house, yet? It’s been years since we have seen each other and I miss you. Can’t I convince you that the outside world is nothing to be afraid of? If I told you I had a disease that’s killing me would you come then?
I’m not dying, but I would still like you to visit. I’ve enclosed an airplane ticket, please use it. Or at least write me and let me know you are still well.
Always,
Your loving sister, Meg
Stella reread the letter but an ache welled up inside her and she had to stop. She finished her coffee and put the letter in the drawer with all of the others.
She went about her daily routine of vacuuming, dusting, checking and rechecking the locks on the doors and windows.
If she kept her body busy her mind wouldn’t wander. Since she was a child she’d had the curious talent of hearing other people’s thoughts. Psychiatrists gave her drugs, hypnosis and electric shocks to stop the noise but nothing worked. She still heard them. In the morning, at night, always. It gave her migraines so bad that she could see nothing but the pain. One day she locked her door and never left her house again.
It was easy to live without leaving home. She could buy anything she wanted over the phone or by mail. Banking could also be done by mail, over the phone and even on a computer. Since her special ability was called a psychological disorder the government supported her. Not a lot of money, but enough for her food, cable television and occasional postage.
She went upstairs to check the fans. A trick to keep the noise to a minimum. They all hummed as usual, and provided a steady drone, like a heartbeat.
The day passed without event. Soon David Letterman was signing off the air and Tom Snyder was chatting into the camera as if speaking to her directly. She was lulled into a light sleep by his friendly and familar voice.
She woke with a start. “Stella,” a voice called. “Stella, help me.”
She shook the sleep out of her head and pushed the dream away.
“Stella, why don’t you come?”
“Who’s there?” her own voice sounded foreign, she heard it so infrequently.
“It’s me, Stella, don’t you know who I am?”
She got up and went from room to room, flipping on the lights in each before entering, nervous someone had got into the house. But no one was there, all the locks were in place and she was safe. She climbed the stairs to her room. Her bed, like an old friend enabled her to relax. She got into it and pulled the comforter around her and fell asleep without incident.
Three a.m. was the time on the clock when her eyes opened against her will. She listened. No one called her name, no footsteps, no sound at all. That was the trouble. Her fans weren’t running. Her house was still. “Must be a power loss.”
She fished in the drawer of the nightstand for the flashlight but it wasn’t there. Her slack muscles went taut. She sat up and tried the lamp on the table and it went on. She relaxed, nothing was wrong. Except the silence.
She pushed back the comforter and swung her legs over the side of the bed, her feet eased into the slippers that were where they were supposed to be. The bathrobe lay over the edge of the bed, just where she had left it. Everything was fine, just fine, except for the fans. She got up, crossed the room and bent down to examine the bedroom fan. The knob was in the “off” position. She turned it to “high” and it responded just as it should. The sound once again forced comfort into the room. She gave a thought to checking the others throughout the house, but decided to wait until morning. The important thing was that the one at hand, was on and her world was normal.
She crawled back into bed, turned out the light and fell back to sleep. An hour later her eyes opened. The fan was off again and the silence stood poised over her like an intruder. She squinted her eyes in the direction of the fan and saw an someone standing next to it, smiling at her. She sat up. “That ain’t really there.” She looked again. A little girl, dressed in white, smiled at her. “Who are you? How did you get in here?”
“Rockabye baby in the tree top…” the girl sang.
“I said, how did you get in here?” Stella whispered.
“…when the wind blows, the cradle will rock…”
Stella swung her legs over the side of the bed, her feet sought the slippersbut they were gone. She reached for her robe, but it wasn’t there either. She started toward the girl.
“…when the bough breaks the cradle will fall…”
“Who are you? What are you doing here?” Stella demanded. “How did you get into my house and why are you fooling with my fans?”
“…and down will come baby, cradle and all.” The girl smiled again at Stella.
Stella shivered but forced herself toward the girl. She reached out her hands and almost touched her.
“Poor, poor Stella,” the girl cooed. “You don’t like it when company drops by unexpectedly, do you?”
“Answer me!” Stella closed her hand around the girl’s arm. She couldn’t feel the arm, but her eyes told her she had hold of it.
The girl laughed. “Are you confused?”
Stella grabbed for the girl’s free arm but she disappeared. Stella stood in the middle of the room, staring at the place where the girl had been, her right hand twisted at the hem of her nightgown. She would have stood there for the rest of the night if the fan hadn’t suddenly started and scared her back to bed.
She anchored herself to her bed, as if it were an island surrounded by ravaging seaand kept a careful eye to the edges for any monster that would try to crawl ashore; none appeared.
Morning sneaked in through the window, inch by inch until all the room was exposed in bright light. Only then, did Stella feel she could leave the haven of her bed and venture into the other rooms of the house.
Her hands, weak with worry, had trouble with the knob on the door, making her feel a prisoner. It took both hands to turn the knob and pull open the door. She looked out, to the righ and to the left then stepped into the hallway.
Everything looked normal. The house was as it had always been; empty.
The phone rang. She regarded it as an intruder. She answered it. “Hello?”
“And down will come Stella cradle and all!”
“Who is this,” she screamed into the phone. “What do you want?”
“I want you to remember,” the little voice said. Click. Dial tone.
Stella pulled the phone cord out of the wall and separated the receiver from the base. There would be no more phone calls.
She went to the kitchen for food. She needed to eat, it would calm her nerves. But when she opened the door and looked inside for eggs and bacon she saw and empty refridgerator. And the smell was disgusting. It was unplugged.
She flung open cabinet doors, one after the other, looking for anything, but nothing was there. No food, no dishes, no cleaning supplies.
“Stella?” she turned toward the voice. It was the girl, but she was older. Still dressed in white. But the dress was too small and shabby.
“What do you want?” Stella asked. “Who are you?”
“You know who I am, don’t you?” the girl began to look familar.
“No,” Stella shook her head. “No, I don’t. I want you to leave. Just leave me alone.”
She rushed out of the kitchen. The fans. Why weren’t the fans on? She went from room to room to turn them on. But there weren’t any. There wasn’t anything in the rooms. No furniture, no beloved knick-knacks. Bare floors, dust, cobwebs. Nothing else.
She climbed the stairs as fast as she could with a pounding heart and swollen legs.
It was cold. So cold. She hurried into her bedroom, the safest room in the house. If she could get into her bed and lie down, then she would wake up from the dream, the nightmare.
There was no bed, no lace curtains, no slippers, no hand-made quilt. The girl, now a woman, a familar woman, stepped from behind the door.
“Do you remember now?”
“No, no, no,” Stella backed away from the woman. Her face was withering, sunken eyes implored her to remember. “You do, don’t you?” the woman whispered.
Stella’s fear stopped. For she saw something in the woman that she knew. Someone she knew. “You look like…”
The woman nodded her head, white hair spilling over the bodice of the tattered white dress. “You’ve been hiding from us for too long,” the woman scolded her.
“But I don’t want to go,” Stella complained.
“It’s time. It’s been time for a long while.”
“Why can’t I stay. I’m not hurting anyone. I’m not bothering anyone,” Stella insisted.
The woman changed again and Stella saw herself. She surrendered.
“All right. I’m ready,” Stella stopped resisting and suddenly felt well.
The woman smiled. “You see, it isn’t as bad as you think. It’s really not bad at all.”
“Where will we go?” Stella asked.
“Home,” said the woman. “Just close your eyes.”
***
“Get some of those doors and windows open,” barked the Medical Examiner. “The smell will knock you out.”
A uniformed policeman looked over the M.E.’s shoulder. “How long she been dead?”
“Years,” said the M.E.
“Jesus, doesn’t anybody check on these people? It doesn’t look like she’s been outside since 1950. Look at all this crap.”
The M.E. threw a sheet over the woman’s body. “That’s the trouble with these shut-ins, people just forget all about them. Like they’re all ready dead.” He looked around at the museum that had been Stella’s sanctuary. “And I guess if life is so bad that you can’t come out of your house, you are dead.”
Copyright 2006
She walked without a destination. Her only goal was to find another human being. The road led to nowhere. No houses or buildings enhanced the landscape. There was just the road flanked by weeds on either side.Her feet kicked up dust with every step. The sun glared and beat down on her back. Sweat ran down her midriff and between her thighs. She feared she was alone in the world. Heat lightning streaked across the day sky.She focused on walking because when she thought her head threatened to split in two. Forcing memory resulted in an empty dance in her head that syncopated with the electrical havoc in the sky. Who am I? Where am I? her mind screamed. She didn’t know. The moment she woke in the weeds, shielding the sun from her eyes with arms that ached from bruises, was her birth. She kept walking.Her stomach grumbled for food but she couldn’t abide the request. “Keep moving.” She traveled west as the sun led the way, but west to where?Her muscles ached against the incline of the road and begged her to stop. At the top of a hill she saw a town. She blinked twice to prove to herself that she was not delirious. There was more to the world than the road. “Please, let there be others,” she prayed. Another flash snaked across the horizon and her head throbbed. She started toward the town then stopped, afraid. How would they receive a strange woman, dirty and hungry pounding on their doors? A woman who didn’t know her name or where she came from? Her stomach growled again. “I have to try.” The quiet gave rise to dread. “Why don’t I hear children? Why don’t I hear anything?” Her heart twisted in her chest. It was all wrong but she couldn’t turn back. Behind her, lay only a road. Ahead of her there was promise. When she reached the first house her desperation escaped and she pounded on the door with anxious fists. “Help me! Please, open the door!” Only the quiet greeted her. Taunted her. She peered into the window and saw nothing. Empty, abandoned. She moved onto the next and the next and the next. Always the same; empty and lifeless. She shivered and felt more alone. Her hopes abandoned, like the houses, she resolved to find food. The door of an deserted shop opened without protest. She stepped inside the box of shadows. She jumped at a movement that invaded her peripheral vision. “Who’s there?” she whispered hoarsely. She waited and breathed and listened. A hum lived in the room but she couldn’t find its source. She shook her head,dismissing the sound as a hallucination. Nature’s strobe, struck again and threw a glare into the room and she flinched. “Afraid of my own shadow,” she laughed. The familiar phrase disturbed her. She’d heard it before. When? Who said it? Memory hid beyond her grasp. But she was certain there’d been someone. Before. Before what? Another burst blinded her but it came from inside the room, as if it had followed her and waited until she was vulnerable. It threw her against the wall. Fire surged through her brain. Her body convulsed. She screamed but the sound fell into the void. It swallowed and entrapped her in darkness and ice. The world melted and left her hovering in nothing.
