First Chapter Madness - Be Kind, Rewind

My first foray away from horror

You are probably looking at the GIF for this and thinking I am leading you astray by telling you that this is a non-horror story. Originally, it was a good deal darker, but I flipped the script after hearing Margaret speak in my mum’s voice in my head. It became softer, lovelier even, but I did keep a couple of darker elements in there, one of which was the housefly.

From the outside, the Anderson house looked like every other property on the street. The exterior paint was an inoffensive shade of cream, the window frames white, and a little weather-worn. The grey shingles appeared to be in good shape, but closer inspection showed some spaces, giving the roof the appearance of a gap-toothed hobo. The only sign that something might be a little off with the inhabitants was the bright orange door and the plastic flowers sitting in large urns on either side.

Megan trudged up the front steps of her childhood home and rapped on the door, shaking her head at the garish orange hue that had remained unchanged since she was a girl. “Knock, knock,” she yelled as she opened the door and stepped inside.

“We’re through here, dear,” Margaret yelled from the kitchen.

“That kettle better be on,” Megan said, dropping a pair of full plastic bags by the table beside the front door. “I’m dying for a cup of tea.”

Hanging her jacket on the coat rack, Megan gave herself a quick once over as she passed the mirror hanging in the hallway. She tried to blow a stray red curl away that drooped between her green eyes, but after a few failed attempts, she reached up and tucked the rogue strand behind her ear.

As she stepped into the kitchen, the kettle on the stovetop whistled, as though on cue. Besides the kettle, water bubbled in two pots, and the scent of roasted meat spilled out of the oven.

“What are you making, Mom?” Megan asked.

“Sugar and shite,” Margaret replied in her thick Scottish brogue.

“That one never gets old,” James murmured from behind the oversized newspaper stuck in front of his face.

“You mind your business over there,” Margaret said, flicking a tea towel and catching the newspaper dead center.

James folded the paper over and cast a blistering gaze in the direction of his wife, but both Megan and Margaret could see the half-formed smile and twinkle in his eyes as he pretended to scowl. “You’re lucky I still love you, wee Marshall,” he said, invoking her maiden name and trying in a Scottish accent that totally missed the mark.

“What’s not to love?” Margaret said, shaking her ample behind as she dumped potatoes into one of the pots on the stove.

Megan tried her best to appear appalled at the displays of affection by her parents, but the reality was that she envied them a little. While their love had been in bloom for almost thirty-five years, Megan was yet to end up in a relationship that lasted more than three months. She was not picky or hard to get along with, but she knew that she perhaps put love on a pedestal, a trait that came from watching her parents behave like infatuated teenagers daily.

As though reading her daughter’s mind, Margaret said, “Has that lovely wee boy from the second-hand shop asked you out yet?”

“I don’t think he’s interested in me at all, Mom,” Megan replied, blushing furiously.

“Oh, away and don’t talk such silliness. Kyle is infatuated with you. I can see it. Although, maybe he’s trying to go through you to get to me,” Margaret giggled, once again shaking her behind.

“He could do a lot worse,” James piped up from behind his paper barricade.

“Will you two please behave yourselves. And by the way, his name is Kevin, not Kyle.”

“Either way, love, he is a tasty young man,” Margaret cooed.

“More than can be said for your cooking,” James said under his breath, but just loud enough to be heard.

Margaret bolted across the linoleum, her sturdy, rubber-soled slippers keeping her from slipping, and swatted her husband on the hand with a spatula. Dropping his newspaper, James yelped like a puppy that just had its paw stepped on. He fanned the injured appendage in the air while grabbing for Margaret with his good hand. She almost escaped, but James caught hold of her apron strings and pulled her onto his lap. “Apologize,” he said, tickling his wife all over.

“You…can’t…make…me,” Margaret laughed, trying to catch her breath between each word.

Unleashing a wolf-like howl, James buried his face into his wife’s neck, growling and nuzzling while he continued to tickle.

“I’m…going…to…pee…myself. Then you’ll…you’ll…be…sorry.”

Given her history of ticklish incontinence, James pushed her off his knee, landing a swat on her bum for good measure. “I heard you say sorry, so I’ll let it go this time.”

Margaret stood bent over, hands on hips, as she tried to get herself under control. Her short grey hair looked messed beyond repair, and her glasses sat askew on her face, threatening to drop onto the lino. Megan reached out and grabbed the glasses before they fell, trying not to laugh at the state of her mother, who was slowly moving upright, oohing and aahing with each upward movement.

“Do I need to get you a change of clothing?” Megan asked, smirking.

“Indeed, you do not. I have willpower, unlike that rascal of a father of yours. He can’t keep his bloody hands off me. Morning, noon, and night he’s pawing at me. Can’t say I blame him, though. I’m a fine figure of a woman.”

“That’s a little too much information, Mom,” Megan said, handing over the glasses. “How about we change the subject, and I show the books I got for you?”

“Oh, that would be a lovely wee treat, dear.”

Megan went back down the hallway to retrieve the plastic bags filled to the brim with books. She loved picking up things for her parents, but the truth was that she enjoyed spending time with Kevin at his store. He knew Margaret’s taste in books and always set aside titles that came into the shop that he knew Megan would pick up. He did the same thing with old VHS movies for James, but she wished that he would pay her a little more attention than he did. With a sigh, she hoisted the bags back to the kitchen, cursing as one of the handles snapped under the weight.

“Grab the soap, Margaret. Our daughter’s mouth needs washing out again.”

Ignoring the jab from her father, Megan dumped the bags of books on the kitchen table, the impact causing some of James’ tea to spill over the side of the mug. “Sorry, Dad,” she said.

“As long as there are a couple of books for me in there, then no damage done,” James replied, wiping up the spilled tea with the cuff of his sweatshirt.

“James Wilmington Anderson, I swear there is no fixing you,” Margaret yelped. “Look at the mess on your shirt. Get it off and give it to me.”

“It’ll dry up soon enough.”

“You are not eating dinner wearing a shirt that looks like it came from a street urchin. I’m about to start a load of laundry, so hand it over.”

Megan smiled as her father sheepishly tugged the sweatshirt over his head and gave it to his wife.

“Oh, Lord help us, what is that on your undershirt?” Margaret said.

James glanced down at the stained garment and started picking at the yellow stains that dotted the front. “It looks like egg yolk. Should I taste it and make sure?”

“You’ll do no such thing. What you’ll do is go upstairs and get changed for dinner and bring that filthy undershirt back with you.”

“Yes, dear,” James said, rising from his chair and giving his wife a peck on the cheek. “I’ll put on my Sunday best.”

Margaret aimed a playful kick in his direction as James shuffled out of the kitchen and up the stairs, his heavy footfalls echoing through the house.

“It’s like a herd of elephants marching when he walks,” Margaret said, easing herself into a chair beside the table. She absentmindedly rubbed the back of her neck as she pulled the first of the bags across the table. “What do we have here?”

“Are you okay, Mom?” Megan asked.

“What do you mean, dear?”

“You’re rubbing your neck again. Is it still bothering you?”

Margaret dismissed the question with a wave of her hand, but Megan noticed the pursed lips and the little exhalation of pain that came with it. “I’m fine. I’ve been on my feet all day long. I just need a wee break.”

A frown wove its way across Megan’s brow as she reached out and took her mom’s hand. “Are you sure that’s all it is? You’ve been having headaches for ages too, Mom.”

“I’m no spring chicken anymore, dear. I’ll slow down; I promise.”

“Get Dad to help out a little more.”

Margaret let out a little chuckle and said, “He would just get under my feet, and then I would need to go back and fix all the things he did wrong. Your dad worked hard his entire life, so that I could stay here and make a proper wee home.”

“But…”

“But nothing, Megan. He has given me a life that I only ever dreamed of as a wee girl. I know this house is old and could use a bit of updating, but it’s our home, and we love it.”

Megan nodded and patted her mom’s hand, feeling a twist in her gut as she watched a tear roll down Margaret’s cheek. The thumping on the stairs signaled James’ return. He stepped into the kitchen just in time to catch the end of the exchange.

“Everything okay with my girls?” he asked, a slight tremor in his voice

“We’re fine, my love,” Margaret said, wiping her hands on the front of her apron as she gave him the once over. “You look so much better now. Dinner is just about ready. Have a seat and take a look at the books that Megan brought. There are a few in there you’ll enjoy.”

As Margaret busied herself at the stove, James flipped through the books, creating a separate pile containing the titles that called to him. Megan looked at her parents and marveled at their almost blind love. They were so wrapped up in their own little world that they failed to notice all the other details going on around them. Their house looked like a museum devoted to the seventies and eighties, and it was becoming clear to Megan that her mother was not in the best of health. She could not understand how those details did not penetrate the sphere of adoration in which her parents existed.

“Can you two clear up those books, please? I’m about to serve dinner,” Margaret said.

James cleared up the stacks of books as Megan set out the silverware on the table. Setting the table had been Megan’s major chore as a kid, and while she had long since moved out and into her own place, she still felt obliged to take up the task once again every time she visited for dinner.

“This roast is amazing, Mom,” Megan said as she popped the first bite of perfectly cooked meat into her mouth.

“Thank you, dear.”

James remained silent on the subject, but the speed at which he shoveled food into his mouth suggested that he might well be ready to send in a five-star review to the editor of the newspaper that he always had in front of his face.

Taking her final bite, Megan pushed the plate away and looked around the kitchen. The cabinets were of a dark, aged wood that looked as though it might have come from a Viking longship. The wallpaper, once white, was now a light shade of yellow, the colorful birds and wreaths that served as the pattern somehow still thriving in a polluted world. A green rotary phone hung on the wall, directly beside a cuckoo clock that contained a bird that had been in hiding for the last five years. All of the appliances were on their last legs, the accumulated cost of keeping them alive more than it would have been to replace them. It was a story that repeated itself in every room in the house.

Clearing her throat to get their attention, Megan said, “Mom, Dad, have you given any more thought to having my friend Linda come in and do some work in the kitchen?”

“Who’s Linda?” James asked, sending a drop of brown gravy down his chin and onto his clean shirt.

Megan sighed. “I’ve told you about her before. She’s a girl that works in my office. She went to art school a few years back and studied interior design.”

“You work in a lawyer’s office,” Margaret chimed in.

“What do you mean, Mom?”

“Is she doing interior design for the lawyers you work for?”

“No, she’s a paralegal, like me.”

“How good could she have been at interior design if she’s not working in that field?” James said, mere seconds before his wife was about to say the exact same thing.

Megan picked up the napkin sitting in front of her and balled it up in her hand, the knuckles turning white under the pressure. “She works part-time with my company and runs her interior design business on the side. I’ve seen what she does; she is an incredible designer.”

“There is nothing wrong with this kitchen,” Margaret said, smiling as she surveyed the space.

“Mom, there are birds on the wall that would have died of natural causes out in the world by this time.”

“Oh, I love those wee birdies. I hear them whistle at me every time I come in here. They go toodle toodle tweet. It’s lovely.”

Megan gawped at her mother, mouth hanging open in stunned surprise. “In what world have you ever head a bird make that type of noise?” she asked. “Listen, all she wants to do is add a little distressed look to the cabinets, make them more modern. I could help her add a lick of paint to the walls, maybe get a little bit of color in here.”

“How much is all of that going to cost?” James asked, the newspaper once more up in front of his face.

“It won’t cost anything. She’ll do it for free and take before and after pictures. It all helps with her portfolio.”

“Oh, my goodness. The poor wee soul. That must be terrible for her,” Margaret said.

“What are you talking about, Mom?”

“My neighbor back in Scotland had that. He was on crutches and struggled to get around. It was so sad to watch.”

“Wait. Are you talking about polio? Mom, a portfolio is a book that contains all her work,” Megan said, trying to stifle a laugh and failing miserably.

“Don’t you laugh at your old mom,” Margaret said. “You are not too old to go over my knee for a spanking, young lady.”

“I bet Kevin would enjoy that,” James said, the newspaper trembling in his hands as he too tried to hold back his laughter.

“Speaking of Kevin, he asked me to bring you to the shop tonight, Dad. He has a surprise for you.”

“I do love a surprise. Let’s help your mom clean up the dishes, and then we can go, if that’s okay with you, my love.”

“I’ll clean up. You two go and have some fun,” Margaret said, already up and out of her chair and picking up the soiled dinner plates. Margaret piled up all the dirty dishes and silverware, but as she turned in the direction of the sink, they slipped from her hands.

James and Megan jumped as the sound of shattering china echoed around the room. They watched in horror as Margaret stumbled backward, her back hitting the table, which slid a few inches silently across the linoleum. James leaped from his chair and grabbed his wife, easing her down into his then vacant spot.

“Get your mom a glass of water,’ he said, never once taking his eyes off Margaret, her brow coated in a fine patina of sweat. “And get me some damp paper towels, too.”

“Is she okay?” Megan asked, her voice cracking.

“She’s fine, love. Please, just get the water and the towels.”

Megan’s heart threatened to burst free of her chest, and her hands trembled, the water spilling over the side of the glass as she passed it to her father.

“Okay, my sweet love, take a little sip of water,” James said, holding the glass against Margaret’s lips. She grabbed it and greedily drank it down as James wiped her brow.

“Can I get some more, please?” she croaked as James wiped the sweat from her face with a damp towel.

Grabbing the glass, Megan scurried to the sink and filled it once more. When she got back to the table, Margaret was sitting up and shooing her doting husband away.

“I’m fine, James. Just took a wee bad turn is all.”

Reaching inside the pocket of her apron, Margaret pulled out a bottle of aspirin, popping two in her mouth as she gulped down the second glass of water.

“Mom, you have got to go see a doctor,” Megan cried.

“I’m fine, dear. I promise. I just turned around too quickly is all. I’ve always had a wee touch of vertigo. I once fainted at a dance when your father spun me around too quickly.”

“That is true,” James said, patting his wife’s hand. “She has always been a wobbly one.”

“Megan, would you be a dear and clean up that mess. I think I’ll go upstairs and have a nap while you two go visit your boyfriend.”

“He’s not…Yes, Mom, I can clean up. I think we should stay home, though, just in case.”

“In case of what? I’m fine, Megan. Go and have some fun with your dad. We wouldn’t want that surprise going to waste.”

Megan watched as her mom and dad headed for the stairs, James gently leading his wife by the elbow and kissing her cheek every few steps. Her heart was not hammering as severely as before, but she still felt shaken to the core. She knew that the time to talk to her father about her mom’s health had come, and she was not going to put it off any longer.