Chapter 8 - The Merging

Across the table from me sat a demon. The man snacking on hunters sausage had just carved up his own mother. I silently stared at him, noticing the built-up white grime at the corner of his mouth dancing as he chewed the final bite of his stick. As he opened his mouth to pick at his teeth with a toothpick I let out an embarrassing shriek. A prepubescent-esque, high pitched shriek, but directly in front of me sat a man with a mouthful of razor sharp teeth, row after row, overlapping like a great white shark.

"The hell's the matter?!" Poppy blurted as he jumped up, my shriek clearly startling him.

"Your teeth… Why are your t-t-t-t-teeth like that?" I stuttered, shakily pointing at his mouth. Here I sit, in the kitchen of a self-confessed serial killer and cannibal, and when he opens his mouth rows of pointed teeth appear? I sat there, waiting for him to lunge across the table and rip my throat out and feast on my fresh corpse.

"Do you mean my dentures? I've had dentures forever Mattie," he said as he reached inside his mouth and wiggled the dentures free and set them on the table.

They were normal teeth. I snatched them from across the table and looked them over from every angle, but not one single tooth was pointed or sharpened. All of the teeth were the normal teeth you would expect.

What the hell is going on with me!?! I keep seeing things that aren't there! First the head/grocery bag, then the sausage stick/finger, now this!

I shakily put the teeth back on the table and wiped the saliva from my hands on my pants. I was out for 2 minutes. Just long enough for him to give me a quick, altered rundown of the events, but I somehow experienced them with him. No matter what he tells me, no matter how he tries to spin it, the truth manifests itself upon me, almost as if it is my duty to learn the entire truth, so I can give a detailed accounting to shed light on the Mad Butcher of Kingsbury Run. But I can only do that after he passes. He may be a monster, but I can't be the reason he dies. So, in the meantime, I am going to dive down this rabbit hole and learn everything I can. I just pray it doesn't make me go insane.

"What happened after your mom? Who did you kill next? Why did you kill them?" The questions flowed out of me one after the next until Poppy interrupted me.

"Alright! Jesus Mattie! After the situation with my mother, I started keeping a journal. I had to tell someone about what was going on, it was eating me up inside, but if I told anyone about it I would go to prison, so I contented myself with writing about what happened," he explained to me. "I need a nap. Reliving this really drains me, just go read my journal for a while, ok?" He walked up the steps, but before passing out of sight he looked over his shoulders, eyes pitch black, mouth full of razor-sharp teeth, and said "Enjoy your read."

I closed my eyes and shook my head, shaking the image free and looked back up the stairs, but Poppy had already turned around and continued up the steps slowly. I turned the other way and headed to the couch. Sitting down, I opened the book of the damned and read the first entry again.

Journal entry – Thursday, 12 September, 1935

I just finished washing the blood from my hands. Eddie brought this on himself. How could he have done this to me? What am I becoming? The only thing I know for sure is he can never hurt me again. I'll miss him, but the good part about keeping his head is I can see him anytime I want. That and he will always be a piece of me after-

I suddenly couldn't breathe, my throat closed up and no matter how hard I tried breathing in it was as if my lungs were removed from my body. As the light faded from my vision, I clutched the journal and finished the last sentence.

That and he will always be a piece of me after dinner tonight.

I sat up in the bed, wiping my eyes. Looking around I was in Poppy's bedroom again. Reading the journal gave the same effect as Poppy telling the story. I was in his memory, unadulterated and raw. I knew what to expect this time, having read about Eddie I knew he would cut off his head and his penis, but why did he do it? Who was Eddie to him? A random stranger, or someone who deserved it maybe? Why would Poppy think he deserved it?

Suddenly my mind was overcome by other thoughts of the day. Excitement for my plans hanging out with my buddy Ned later tonight.

No, wait, what? I-

Suddenly my mind was overpowered again with everything I needed to get done today. I tried smacking myself in my head but my arms wouldn't work. I couldn't look around; I had no control over anything.

Where the hell is Poppy? If this is his memory why can't I see him?

I got up and started walking to the bedroom door, but I was trapped. I wasn't moving, something was moving me. Something was moving my arms and legs, fully controlling my body. I stopped before reaching the door, turned around and walked up to the mirror. I stood there, face to face with the mirror, staring into my Great Grandfather's eyes.

Alright. Get breakfast, take care of chores on farm and fertilize the garden.

I tried screaming, moving any part of myself, but there was no self. I was part of Poppy now. I could feel the cool morning air on my skin as I opened the bedroom window. I could feel the early morning urge to take a piss. I closed my eyes and breathed in deeply through my nose, smelling the crisp air mixed with early morning dew. I began to realize I would experience this memory as Poppy lived it. I would feel both the physicality and emotional toll this took on him.

I don't want- I couldn't even finish my thought as Poppy started moving again to get dressed and contemplating his day. We looked at the top dresser drawer and felt a need to play with Poppy's trophies. Walking up to the dresser, we opened the top drawer and removed his stepfather's belt and tossed it over on the bed. Now that Mother is gone, I guess I can wear this. No one else will recognize the belt and it'll be my little secret we thought. We smirked, proud of the realization we can keep our favorite trophy with us at all times.

We got dressed, jeans and a well-worn tee shirt, but we also set aside some nicer slacks, a button down shirt, and a vest on the bed for later. We threaded the belt through each loop, savoring the power it gave us. We were breathing heavier with each loop the belt passed inside of, finishing with a deep inhale as we buckled the front. Walking to the mirror, we never let out that breath as we examined our new look. The belt looked inconspicuous, but we knew the truth, and that was all that mattered.

Walking to the bedroom door, a pang of guilt hit the pit of our stomach, sitting like a brick just underneath of our ribs. We walked down the steps, acutely aware of the deafening silence inside of the house, now that our brothers and sister went to live with our aunt after mother "eloped" with a random man to a new city and left us all behind.

I really miss them we thought, but quickly brushed that aside to focus on the squeak coming from the stair below our feet. We bounced up and down slightly, puzzled as it hadn't squeaked last night coming up the stairs. We looked up the stairs and counted down six steps from the top to the current step, making note so we could repair the board another day.

Making our way into the kitchen, we grabbed a glass out of the cupboard above the counter to the right of the sink, and a plate out of the next cupboard over. Setting both on the table, we pulled a frying pan from off the wall next to the stove, set it down. We cracked two eggs into it as it began to heat up on the electric cooktop, sprinkling a dash of salt and pepper onto our meal.

We quickly jogged into the other room and switched the radio on, listening to a recap of the news from the last day. We enjoyed having the radio on, as it broke through the silence of the house, and it didn't burden us by making us sit down and read it for the information.

"Last night 19 year old Henrietta Leaver, little Miss Pittsburgh, was crowned as Miss America 1935." the broadcaster announced as we turned the corner back into the kitchen to finish out breakfast. We poured ourself a glass of orange juice and flipped the eggs, almost content with them but not quite yet. We grabbed silverware while listening to the broadcaster talk about political affairs for which we had no care. We did perk up when he began speaking about the weather, as we had special plans for tonight.

"Today, September 8th, in the greater Cleveland area, the weather will a high of 78 degrees and a low of 56 degrees after sunset. Chance of rain in the evening."

"Damn it!" we shouted out loud. We had a surprise planned for tonight, but it wouldn't go over as perfectly as we wanted to if it were to rain.

Upset with the news of possible rain fall, we sat there in a sour mood, our eggs and orange juice no longer as delicious as the previous mouthful. Everything is perfect we thought, everything is ready and in place. I just need to get my chores done and I can surprise Ned after he is done with work tonight. There is no one else in the house, and he'll have his own room and can quit the job at the meat plant and work the farm with me. Yeah, everything will be perfect! The Depression is over, the house was fully paid off by Charlie before he passed away, and Mother took over the deed. Now that she's run off with another man, I can have the deed transferred into my name and all I have to worry about paying is fuel and electricity, and the farm takes care of that with the eggs and meat and milk. He'll love it here!

After finishing our breakfast and washing the dishes, we headed out the front door, leaving the radio playing as we began our chores. The first item we had to tackle was letting the chickens out and collecting the eggs. We walked around the back side of the barn, past the pig pen and pulled the latch on the twenty by twenty chicken coop, letting them out into their enclosed run. We looked through the fencing visually confirming their water was sufficient before opening the door and collecting the eggs. We ended up with a grand total of 73 eggs, which wasn't terrible considering there were 85 chicken, 7 of them being roosters, which leaves us with 78 laying hens.

Five not producing isn't bad, we thought, but if we get past 10 not laying I really should add some oyster shells in here to be safe. Alright, looks like everything is good. Water is still filled enough I won't have to worry about it for another day or two, and their feed is good. Now to the cows.

The cows presented us with a bigger headache. It took us over half an hour to herd them into the barn and get set up in the milking stalls. After adding hay to each feed tray, we cleaned the teats of the cows one by one and turned on the vacuum pump to the electric milker.

"God I love this thing," we said out loud.

Before, we had to manually milk each cow, back when we first moved onto the farm, but after Charlie died, we paid for the electric model which saved a ton of time. It used an electric vacuum pump and a canister to collect the milk from each cow, taking about 15 minutes each, which gave us enough time to shovel manure between changeovers, completing two tasks at the same time.

Finishing up with the eighteenth and final cow, we let the cows back out into the pasture, taking a few minutes to watch the calves saunter up to their mothers and nuzzle up against each other. It really was a beautiful sight; coupled with the light breeze coming from over the river, it sent a slight chill over us starting at the base of our neck and running down just past our shoulders and spreading across our shoulder blades. It was such an innocent sight, pure, unadulterated. We couldn't help but feel jealous; it's been a long time since our innocence fled us.

But that didn't matter right now, all that mattered was getting the barrel of milk out to the front of the barn so the Marken farm could pick it up and we could get paid. After that, all we had left was to feed the pigs and take care of the garden.

The pigs were fed a mixture of barley and corn, and we topped off their water trough before using the hose to rinse off our hands. Drying our hands on our pants, we walked into the barn to grab the pump sprayer. The garden has been incredible this year, and we are on track for the biggest yield we have seen yet.

Mother's fertilizer recipe has been a godsend this year, yea, it's getting a little diluted now but the plants seem to love whatever was in her we thought as we opened the bucket with FERTILIZER written on the top in marker. The red fluid inside had a rotten smell to it, and we scooped a quart into the pump sprayer before resealing the lid on the bucket.

As the lid snapped shut, the images flooded back into our mind. Mother hanging in the room, her blood collecting in this bucket.

No, she ran away with that man to Chicago. She left us all alone to satisfy her own selfish wants and needs, we told ourself. But we couldn't help peeking over at the corner that held the door to the root cellar. Image after image bombarded us, one after the other; first the door, next was halfway down the steps peering into the dark room. The pull string for the cellar light in the dark was directly in front of our outstretched hands. The illuminated room was before us; mother's rotting head sat on the top shelf, wrapped in plastic to protect from the maggots and flies.

Her cheeks and eyes were sunken in, other than that she appeared the same as before she died. We stared at her, anger welling up inside of us. We had not thought about the truth in a long time, foregoing it for the imagined fantasy we had created.

"WHY?!" we screamed as we smacked her bodiless head off the shelf and across the room. "THIS IS YOUR FAULT, NOT MINE! IF YOU CARED ABOUT ME AT ALL YOU WOULD HAVE KEPT US SAFE FROM HIM, BUT YOU LOVED HIM MORE THAN US. THIS IS NOT MY FAULT. ITS NOT MY FAULT!" we started sobbing as we broke down on the cellar floor.

Sitting there, our arms wrapped around our knees and our knees brought to our chest, slightly rocking, we sniffled with the final remnants of our tears. We wiped our eyes starting with the backside of our wrist and ending below our index finger. We reached over, grabbed mothers head, and exited the cellar, making sure to shut the light off before heading up the steps.

In the barn we found a spade shovel and made our way to the back of the property, stopping at the large maple near the south west corner of the property. The shovel sliced through the dirt as easily as the blade cut through mother's meat, removing scoop after scoop, going deeper and deeper. Hitting almost 3 feet deep we gently set mother's head in the hole, removing the plastic so it can fully decompose, knowing full well she would be feeding the maple we tap each winter to make our maple syrup we sell.

Filling the hole in, we went back up to the barn, tossed the shovel by the door, and grabbed the pump sprayed to finish our last chore. We used the shovel to pick up half a scoop of manure from the pig pen, dumping it inside the sprayer, then filled it up with water. We shook the sprayer really well, then went to the garden and sprayed each of the rows with our homemade concoction.

With our final chore complete, we went inside the house and ran a warm bath to clean up. Today was an important day for us, and we want everything to go over perfect.

Drying off, we grabbed the clothes we laid out on the bed and began to dress. We debated between our belt and suspenders, choosing in the end to use both. Our shoes were scuffed and needed a polish, so we took extra time to make sure they looked immaculate. Like we said before, everything had to be perfect. Everything was going to be perfect.