The Niece of M. J. Gassen

               M.J. Gassen was a night watchman that me and the boys took a liking to. He was old enough to sufficiently fulfill his function but young enough to concern himself with the opinions of kids like us. He was clever too, realizing that shooing us away during our nightly excursions would not only risk a sour reputation for himself but would probably yield cruel antagonisms characteristic of directly confronted hooligans. A bawdy fellow who wore a short-brimmed hat, surprisingly spry for the hour when we normally chatted and, despite the overgrowth of his facial hair, he was reasonably handsome. Feeling sorry for the man’s solitary life we generally let him speak while we listened and never during anything but the most lonesome hours of the night. Despite his position in society I’ll attest that he spoke eloquently but, like everyone else from this town, any talent or intelligence he had was squelched by drugs and poverty. Lots of stories blossomed and came to life before our eyes and I’m sure they were all compelling but to be honest I cannot remember any of them, save one. The look in his eye as he told it conveyed more than a tinge of reluctance and his voice sometimes quivered as he spoke. He never halted or slowed down despite the quaking of his exposition and we listened somewhat dazzled and dumbfounded for the entire duration. It wasn’t until afterwards, after we had left M. J. Gassen, that we recollected his story, each of us three relating the fragments that due to temperamentally vivid description burned subtly different into our individual memories. In the darkness, in those early morning hours when we often sought trouble, we walked and almost hearing in the far distance the voice of M. J. Gassen calling out in order to retract his story or convey its fictional nature, my friends and I cobbled together what we remembered of the eerie tale.

               The story was annunciated after M. J. Gassen had made an unnecessary and honestly awkward apology for feeling under the weather. “Sorry… It’s just… My niece recently passed away…” he had said, to which I replied after a few stale moments, “How’d she go?” It’s clear in hindsight that I probably should have just moved on and changed the subject, clear to me at least, but I was bored as hell and looking over at Joe’s face and Robert’s, I could tell they were bored too. So… I asked. And that is when I noticed that his gaze was peculiar, like he wasn’t looking at anything in particular but more so seized by a vision. And that’s when he started talking:

               My niece is a… was a… pleasant girl. Always charming and she gave the best hugs, her age was sixteen and we were preparing for her seventeenth, it was going to be a surprise party… Well her best friends were Jack and Jill, funny I know… Yes very funny indeed and whenever she spoke of them she would without realizing it make a joke, she would say, ‘Jack and Jill went up the hill and I followed behind them’ and unbeknownst to her she would talk in a rhythmic manner as she said it. It’s the nature of the pairing of Jack and Jill that whenever one mentions the two names together whatever follows takes a melodious character. They had met in grade school and hadn’t separated at all, not ever. Three seriously good children. Never have I met any better or even equal to, present company excluded, ha ha ha. Well, they were exploring in the woods. Exploring… Exploring… And they came to that old Milton house out in the woods. Have you heard of it, that old house where Mr. Milton used to live a very long time ago?  He was the mayor and he lived in a modest house just outside of town and when he died it just kind of rotted away and trees grew up in it and all around it. Well those kids went exploring and they found that old house. I don’t know why it hasn’t been torn down or anything, just left to decay like that… Why on earth hasn’t anyone had the decency to just go and knock it down? It wouldn’t take much. Not at all, just go in there with anything, even just a couple of strong men with big hammers would be sufficient. They could have it down in a day, but no, it’s still there even now, and that’s where they went exploring, that’s where they ended up… It was midday, encroaching on late afternoon when they found the house and entered it. It seemed exactly as you’d expect of a lodging of that depiction; the boards were black and dust coated everything. Surprisingly, the rugs were still there and they were nice. That’s the first thing you’d see when you walked in, the rugs. Red with golden lace, cliché if you ask me but it was a different time when the house was decorated. Yep, that’s the first thing you’d see, you’d open the door and be greeted by a dusty red rug with golden lace, tasseled in the corners. Then you’d take a step and the wood beneath you would creak and a subtle cloud of dust would rise under your feet with each step. The webs in every nook imaginable would dominate your view and to the right would be a staircase that went nowhere on account of the whole second story floorboards that had given way fifty years ago. Walking on you would notice the golden lamps that hung on the wall to your right on the more formidable of the two walls and you’d be aware of the architecture that coaxed you onwards to what was once the main dining room. It was a large enough room comprising of almost the entire first floor of the house but time had rotted one of the outside walls completely away, leaving a large and open crevice taking up a forth of the room. One could look out and see the darkened woods that had encroached upon the property and yearned to at once take hold of the entire establishment. And so, my niece then Jack then Jill entered still, and not a soul to hear… Did you hear that… Did I just say that rhythmically? Ha ha ha. But they entered none the less and did what exploring there was to be done. Jack picked up an old book that rested on an abandoned table and blew the dust off of it. He wasn’t particularly interested in the book but that is the sort of thing a young man does when he is exploring, he picks up things that may be interesting and blows the dust off of them. Satisfied, he put it down and they continued on. And reaching the dining room, with one wall missing, they lingered for a moment.

               What little light emanated from the gray sky outside, penetrating the threshold where a wall once was, began receding bizarrely from where it came… The three of them watched as the shadow crawled away and out the rotted hole, which then, itself, began to fade. A transparent surface replaced the blackened wooden frame and by degrees almost imperceptible the barrier solidified and joined the rest of the now dark room. In the blackness they stared, unsure of their own senses and none daring to say a word, and only with strenuous perception was it possible to notice the walls continuing to change and the original decrepit state of them improving. What was once a harsh black covered in dust became a profound gray and then a modest white and finally an immaculate white. A mirror that hung but was previously unusable due to its cracked nature now grabbed what tiny morsel of light was perceptible in the dark room and shone with a subtlety that would go unnoticed in a normal circumstance. The three remained as the lamps adorning the walls flickered, revealing, for each, a mystified glance at the now pristine room. With an inanimate but genuine effort the lamps finally retained their glow and lit the room comfortably. They hummed with serious, warm, and wholesome sentiments, calling to mind distant memories of certain transitional moments lacking in reminiscence that only return rarely and in similar fleeting moments. For instance, waking up in the middle of a nap after thanksgiving dinner and walking to the bathroom, careful not to disturb the delicate sleep of your family and friends. Or taking a moment for yourself in another room at a party and hearing through the door the pleasant laughter of celebration. Maybe being present as someone you care about announces they are pregnant. Such was the warmth emitted by the lamps and.. My niece, Jack, and Jill with horror still remained until… They looked at each other with desperation, an alarm painted on each of their faces due not to the nature of the warmth but by how out of place it felt. Without moving they surveyed the room with what seemed like one gaze as certain things called forth their attention almost unwillingly. First, they looked to the completed wall that stood firmly opposite them. Then they looked to the lamps that allowed them to see so clearly the features of the room. Then turning, they looked to a door that now appeared, closed, behind them where they had entered. Jack, nearest it, grabbed the handle sternly, clasping it tightly in his clammy hand but despite his firm grip on it, it provided not even the slightest indication that the knob even functioned, due to not the faintest jiggle. In fact, when Jack jostled it back and forth the entire door itself made no movement. The other two watched stoically as Jack tussled in a futile panic with the door, and finally giving up, all three turned around to view, sitting on the floor in the middle of the room, a knife. It gleamed as it sat and their gazes remained locked on it. Jack labored as hard as he could to turn and attempt to escape the room once again but could not move. He thrashed internally but his body would not follow, just as the door was a door in so far as it appeared a door, so was he a man of only appearance in all except his eyes which remained inquisitive. With his eyes redirecting to Jill, who did not seem to notice his gaze, he caught sight also of my niece who stood a few feet nearer the blade.

               All remained still until my niece lunged for the knife and Jill followed suite. A struggle ensued, my niece clamoring for the weapon with Jill on her back, legs wrapped tightly around my niece who threw herself backwards attempting to relieve the pressure on her abdomen. Jack, locked in place, watched on as they rolled to and fro both breathing heavily, letting out an occasional whimper until finally, Jill, in control, managed to shimmy them close enough to the knife for her to reach out and grab it without releasing her clasped legs from the waist of my niece. With the knife firmly in her hand she leaned back extending my niece on top of her and slid the sharp knife gently but deeply across my niece’s throat. Jack’s limbs slowly unhinged and regaining sensation little by little he watched as the hands of Jill with equal rapidity clutched her own disheveled hair after all but throwing the knife across the room. She convulsed, fetal, as the old shadow that had greeted them from the decimated wall crept back into the space. The lights, fading as dust reappeared, eventually flickered out until no light emanated from them. In the faintly lit room blood spread from the lifeless corpse of my niece that occupied the near center of the room. Any evidence of the incident had vanished, other than the three who had been present, only two of which remained, and the gloomy knife which sat ominously in the squelched daylight that penetrated the house. Jack let out a cry when, after blinking, the knife upon which his eyes only left for a moment was gone, as if it had never existed to begin with. Jill hearing his alarm noticed the cause and silent sobs escaped her heaving body…

               After that there wasn’t much to say. We all just kind of stood there in silence, M. J. Gassen stared at the ground like he was embarrassed, like he didn’t mean to say so much and so me and the boys just walked away without saying anything. It might sound harsh or something but let me tell you walking away right then felt like the most natural thing we coulda done. We recalled the story after a bit and each went our separate ways. I went home and fell right to sleep. I did have this dream, that M. J. Gassen kicked in my door and had a knife in his hand, the knife was the same that I pictured when he told the story, and in my dream he grabbed me by the hair and said, “I can’t let you figure out the truth.” and sure enough he tried to slit my throat but I woke up. I laid there with a serious feeling that M. J. Gassen had been the one who killed his niece, that is, if it’s even true that she’s dead. But that’s no trifle of mine other than a curiosity, me and the boys have met killers before, where we reside I think one can’t avoid it. What I mean to say is even with proof I’d never get the law involved, but even so, it was indeed a curiosity and the only thing that makes life worth living is confirmed curiosities, so I decided to investigate.

               It was a cold day and all I had was a sweater but that wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, you just kind of get used it. I did find a decent jacket once but it didn’t last long. In these parts people will steal your jacket just cause’, and after a while everyone sorts out for themselves whether a jacket is worth having. I personally don’t need one and so it was fine that they took it, but as I went out, I couldn’t help but shiver. After meeting up with Joe and Robert we decided to ask our friend Chase, who was a dirty cop similar in age to M. J. Gassen. He confirmed that there was a murder at the old Milton house and that the victims last name was indeed Gassen. As far as he could tell it was a standard murder; body dumped in a secluded area and the police looking for a suspect. That was all he revealed and I took it for all he knew, Chase made his money in other ways and was never concerned with what was actually going on in the department and, to be honest, I was surprised he had that much information. He said it was because he saw the girl’s picture on a bulletin board and thought she looked cute, despite the whole throat slit part.

               Continuing to ask around, we finally got some answers from a drug dealer named Tod. In terms of information drug dealers are one step above dirty cops. The reason being that dirty cops generally stay away from each other but they never stay away from a drug dealer. It’s true that all cops are individually dirty but not as a group, as a group they do things by the book, open and shut. They’ve learned the hard way that if the group itself is dirty the hammer comes down from the higher ups for one reason or another, and the higher ups operate in the same dirty fashion (in case you were wondering). Drug dealers are great because they are like a sergeant without the pretense of legitimacy. Tod made a few phone calls and sure enough he told us everything there was to know about the situation. The young Miss Gassen was murdered by her friend Jill who was on the run, Jack was the key witness openly communicating with police and M. J. Gassen was thought to be involved somehow. This was because Jack and Jill were seen together talking to M. J. Gassen after the murder but before Jill fled and both Jack and M. J. Gassen refused to acknowledge the meeting. No murder weapon was found. Locating Jill is the current priority of the police. Didn’t I tell you drug dealers were great.

               Well I wasn’t really sure what to make of that because it could be wedged into M. J. Gassen’s account of things pretty well. The story he told us could have been out of the mouths of Jack and Jill. If that’s the case the current situation makes sense, they must have agreed that the police would not believe their story about being some type of possessed and so Jack would just tell the truth about what happened, that he saw Jill slit the throat of M. J. Gassen’s niece. If she did do it willingly, why would she meet with M. J. Gassen at all, why not just run? And what would make Jack, who on all accounts is completely innocent, corroborate the story?

               I had a lot of questions and decided to ease my gaze away from M. J. Gassen’s story and more towards reality. I asked Tod if he had sold the three any drugs in the past few days and he confessed that he had, but not the type to make one do that. Everyone does drugs around here so that was no surprise but still, my main hunch moving forward was that they must have been on drugs. Hell, I’ve seen walls appear and disappear, ain’t nothing that unbelievable, but I still needed proof and the only thing that would prove my hunch would be to find the murder weapon. Me and the boys went off towards the old Milton house in search of that knife.

               It had taken a good legging to get there and we arrived a few hours past noon. After a modest break we decided to do a quick circle around the house. We wanted to look about inside before the sun left but couldn’t resist a quick glance around outside beforehand. My reasoning was that the cops would have searched inside pretty well so chances are if we did find the knife it would be outside, probably all that remained in there would be a large pool of dried blood and maybe some finger nails that got ripped out in the struggle, maybe some hair too. I don’t think most people realize how easily finger nails tear out. Any struggle that has even the slightest possibility of being life and death and peoples finger nails pretty much fly out and litter the scene… The house was beat to hell, I’d only ever heard of it but even from what I heard I expected it to be in better shape. Parts of the second floor were caved downwards and mangled the appearance to look more suitable as a pile of wood than a residence. The bottom floor was covered in vines and shrubs grew right out of the walls. Out back the wall was completely gone and only the thick trees protected the privacy of the dwelling, that and the high grass that made it difficult to maneuver. Satisfied with our survey of the property we entered, first Joe then me then Robert.

               I was surprised to see, as we entered, that the outside was a poor reflection of the apparently well-kept Milton house. I looked down and a nice red rug, with golden lace and tassels, was so comfortable and clean that it practically pushed my feet onward with every step. The pleasant glow of the lamps produced a serious warmth inside my heart and to be honest made me a little hungry, although I’m not sure why. We walked on, one foot being thrust forward followed by the other. There was an ancient looking book on a small table to my right and although I can’t read, I saw on the cover the picture of an angel that appeared almost like a photograph. The angel had red cheeks and was looking over its pale shoulder with a grin. The stairs to my right led upwards to what seemed to be a fully functioning second floor, but my eyes as well as my body felt drawn down the hall where I could see in the distance a large well-lit room. I followed onwards as Joe led the way and Robert accompanied closely behind me. I could hear Robert’s breath picking up and feel the heat of his frantic exhales on the back of my neck. Entering the room, we all took a position, completely stunned, around what occupied the center of the floor. A knife gleamed in the lamp light and we remained fixated on it for a few minutes in what felt like a dream. Then like clockwork and as if our gazes were locked together looked at the wall, which should have been completely destroyed, but was not. We then looked where we entered and where there now stood a closed door. Robert grabbed tightly but the handle gave no notice. He leaned his shoulder hard into the door but again nothing moved. In a final effort he planted a kick resolutely towards the knob, in hopes of breaking what he perceived to be a lock, to no avail. After his kick I noticed a mirror on the wall that reflected brilliantly the warm light of the room. I looked into it and my face glimmered back like it never had in any mirror I’d ever looked at. The thought entered my mind that I looked beautiful. Together our gazes fixed back on the knife and lingered there for a moment. In an instant my limbs felt seized, like I was being electrocuted, although I made no movement. I thought maybe I was having a heart attack, as it had begun beating rapidly, and I watched as Joe lunged for the knife. I felt my teeth grind together so hard I thought they might break but I couldn’t stop. Without realizing it I was on top of Joe and bludgeoning him with my fist from behind, as he clambered towards the knife. My body motioned aggressively for the weapon and we both clawed the ground just near it, but each preventing the other from clutching it securely and I noticed that almost all my nails had either broken off or at least couldn’t be seen through the blood that covered them. I felt as my body struggled against Joe’s and was beginning to get tired. We had both managed to grip the knife at one point or another, unfortunately on the wrong end and so deep slices garnished each of our hands and forearms. Finally, I managed to slap my bloody appendage against Joes face, over his mouth, and as he bit hard I felt the knife firmly in my grip. Slowly and deliberately it moved across his throat and I closed my eyes. When I opened them a few seconds later the room was dark. From my back I noticed that the only light shone from a hole in the wall opposite me and I could just barely make out the modest lamps covered in dust hanging around the room. Laying there I felt a warm liquid against my hand, slowly encroaching closer to me. I sat up and there next to me was the fresh corpse of Joe.