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The Caretaker

A man destroys his life and humanity trying to save someone who doesn't want to be saved.

By LivPublished 2 years ago Updated 2 years ago 20 min read
1
The Caretaker
Photo by David Gabrić on Unsplash

Trigger Warning: Suicide and Depression

Silence felt like a heavy breath, yet to be released. It was suffocating. More devastatingly, it sucked the life out of the room, kept it captive. It made its victims on edge and squirmy, just waiting—waiting for it to end, to finally exhale…But once the silence began, it never ended.

Light bled through the cheap curtains into the apartment; the beams of light captured dust particles, spiraling through the stale air.

Esra scrubbed viciously at the pots and pans overflowing in the sink. He was a young man, supposedly at the prime of his life, but his face was sickly, puffy with exhaustion. His greasy brown hair was disheveled, his shirt asymmetrical from a mismatched button.

Water from the faucet bounced off a pan and splashed his face. He stumbled backwards, startled, and blinking hard. He wiped a hand down his face, then surveyed the living room: a stack of books toppled, cups and bowls littering the coffee table. Blankets and pillows strewn across the couch.

A long breath broke through Esra’s thinly parted lips. Another thing to do. God, there was so much to do…

Esra felt a tug on his shirt and looked down to see his small son, staring up at him with huge eyes and chubby cheeks.

“You’re not suppose to let the water run if you’re not using it,” the boy dutifully recited.

Esra smiled sheepishly, shutting off the faucet with a quick jerk of his hand. “You’re right, Tom.” Esra ruffled the boy’s hair. “I’m sorry, I just got distracted.”

Tom shuffled backwards, away from his father, eyes quivering in worry. “Distracted… you mean like Mom?”

Esra’s smile fell, stricken. His eyes drifted across the room again, to his bedroom. The door was cracked open, but just enough for him to see Leah, his wife, sitting on the edge of the bed. Her slender back was hunched, dark hair falling into her porcelain face, as she stared into her lap, unmoving.

Hot resentment flushed through him, and he trudged towards the door. “No, not like that,” he said stiffly as tears blurred his vision. Without looking in, he grabbed the door knob and slammed the door shut, hard.

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Clouds mask the dimly lit stars. The small city is nearly enveloped in darkness, except for the scarce lit window and lamppost. The streets are damp from recent rainfall, and mist hangs in the air. A man in a rain coat, hood raised, slowly walks along the sidewalk. At his side, he carries a metal lantern, unlit.

He stops when a large brick building comes into view, his lantern creaking on its hinges as it swings from the sudden pause in movement. He stands still, tired eyes watching on in silence.

Minutes pass. Maybe hours. Nonetheless, the man keeps vigil. The black sky fades into melancholy grey. His impatience reveals itself only in the form of a hoarse sigh.

But what he wants, happens. His eyes shift, alert, when he sees a shadow flickering through one of the windows of the building. Then, a glowing orb of warm light floats into view. The man’s breath quickens and the grip on his lantern tightens.

Without looking away from the ball of light, the man rushes forward, across the street, towards the building, the lantern jangling against him. The orb moves towards the window, slips through it, as if only air. Full of energy, it vibrates, a humming sound emanating from within. The orb sways with the soft breeze, otherwise unmoving, as if trying to adjust to its new surroundings.

Panting, the man skids to a stop directly below the light. With a swift flick of his wrist, he unlatches the lantern’s glass cage and raises it high above his head. As if enchanted by the lantern, the orb falls out of rhythm with the wind and is slowly lured inside the lantern. The man closes the small glass door, sealing the light within.

He lowers the lantern to his face, wide eyes staring down at the ball of light in pure wonderment. The orb bobs around in its cage, content, its shine illuminating the wrinkles in the man’s face. Dewey-eyed with hope, the man returns the lantern to his side and returns home.

As he walks, he passes the red glow of a hospital sign.

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Dawn has long captured the sky when the man enters his house. It’s small and cramped and creaks as he steps. Stacks of bills and letters cover the countertops. The sink reeks of mildew and the faucet drips.

He jolts a little when the landline rings. He shuffles over, peering at the screen for the Caller I.D.

Tom.

The man makes no move to answer, but stands there, listening to the shrill ring echo through the house. He mutes the voicemail before his son can speak. He’ll listen to it later.

With his lantern, he proceeds down the hallway, and with the key fastened to the lantern’s handle, he unlocks the door leading down to the cellar.

His joints ache as he descends the concrete staircase, step by step. He grits his teeth in frustration at his own frailty. He is running out of time.

The majority of the cellar opens up into a makeshift bedroom. A lumpy mattress beside a side table which held a lamp and stack of books. A standing mirror in the corner, cracked, but polished clean. Curled up on her side, a woman rests stiffly in the bed, her back facing the man.

The man grimaces, and trudges towards her and takes a seat on the side of the bed. She doesn’t acknowledge him. He unlatches the lantern’s door, and the glowing light slips out. It buzzes around the room awhile, like a crazed moth, bumping into walls and furniture until it finally dives into the woman. Her bare shoulder glimmers with warmth from the impact before fading back to the soft color of her flesh. The orb, now completely gone.

The woman heaves in a sharp breath, jolting under her blankets like a trapped animal. The man stands up and faces her with a stoic gaze, as she orients herself. Finally her charged, dark eyes find him.

“Esra!” She gasps out, her whole frame trembling. She rips the blankets off of her, and crouches on the bed, staring him down.

Esra’s chest tightens from her outburst. Not from fear, or guilt, but with hope. It’s been weeks since his wife had such an energy, and it excites him. The treatment must be working. But this treatment had done other things as well. Thirty years since Leah had first lost the will to live. But she looked more youthful than ever. Her skin, smooth and unblemished; body lean and healthy; eyes bright with anger, but wit as well.

“It’s good to see you,” Esra chokes out, his emotions getting the better of him.

Leah’s eyes glitter in irritation, “You cannot keep doing this.”

Esra frowns. He carries his lantern to the far end of the cellar where a barrel of water sits. Along its warped wood, markings and symbols of every religion one could name, are carved into its surface. Esra submerges the lantern into the barrel, splashes of water trickling down its sides.

Esra turns back to her, “These souls need a place to go.”

Leah leaps off the bed and grabs him, her fingers curling tightly around the fabric of his jacket. “I am not that place!” she spits at him.

They stare at each other. Burning dark eyes into crystal blue ones. Leah sees the grave sadness and weariness in their hollow depths. She softens. Her grip on his jacket becomes more clingy than aggressive.

“You have to let me go,” she whispers. Her face presses against his chest. She hears the quiet but steady heartbeat. When he doesn’t respond she cradles his face in her hands, “Esra.”

“I can’t,” he murmurs, snuggling into her touch. These moments of tender warmth few and far between.

Leah frowns, and Esra’s breath stutters as she pulls away from him.

“This is not a life,” she says, hobbling back towards her bed.

“I just need more,” he counters, voice cracking but determined.

Leah pulls the covers over her face.

By Matthew Landers on Unsplash

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Esra breathes heavily after ascending the steps, and locks the cellar door behind him. He turns on his voicemail and plays the message.

“Hi, uh, Dad. I…I don’t know what else I can say to get you to—I just really need to see you. It’s important…”

Esra listens intently, hears the frustration and pain in his son’s voice. Tom takes a long sigh in the recording, followed by an almost silence except for an anxious clicking noise.

Then, “I really would like you to be there,” the voice is choked, then Tom clears his throat, “Call me back.”

The voicemail machine beeps as the voicemail ends. Esra leans against the counter, his thumb kneading into his chin. He scrunches his eyes in regret…reaches for the phone.

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Esra stands outside the hospital. Dawn seeps into the sky, streaks of light threading through the darkness. At his side, his lantern remains empty. Esra grimaces, dread settling in his gut. He turns back home.

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Esra stares into the depths of his coffee cup. His trembling hands cling to it for warmth. His crystal eyes have dimmed, stale from lack of sleep and debilitating desperation.

“Are you feeling all right, Dad?”

Esra jerks in his seat, then turns to his son with a weak smile, “I’m fine.”

The two of them sit in the corner of a bustling cafe, each nursing a hot drink. Tom has aged thirty years. It’s difficult for Esra to see this as his son while the mental image of his six year old boy is ingrained in his heart and mind. Tom’s lanky with slicked back sandy hair, though it’s a bit disheveled. His eyes are just as big as they used to be. Esra shivers slightly as Tom stares at him, wide eyes full of emotion and curiosity.

But Tom’s anxious too. Esra can tell by the way his son taps his foot with no particular rhythm and how he picks at his croissant.

Esra shoots him an impatient gaze. “On the phone, you said there was something important.”

Tom flushes, lets out a shaky breath. “Yes, well…” He meets his father’s eyes, hot moisture misting in his own. “I know it’s been years, but ever since Mom left us—“

Esra cringes, his grip tightening on his mug.

“—We’ve been growing apart, and I know, I know I should’ve done something sooner—I should’ve tried to—But I was just afraid…that if I pushed, that you, you’d…”

Esra’s chest tightens in sorrow. He rests a hand on his son’s arm, and Tom flinches a little from the rare use of affection, but recovers with an honest smile.

It nearly breaks Esra’s heart.

“I should have reached back sooner,” Esra admits, his lips pressing into a thin, pale line.

Tom smiles, and Esra knows he’s forgiven too quickly, too naively. Though it is easier this way. Esra glances at his watch before lifting his mug to his lips.

“I’m getting married,” Tom declares with a giddy grin. His eyes are wide and earnest as he watches his father’s reaction.

“Married?” Esra nearly chokes on his coffee. He fixes Tom an inquisitive look. Have that many years bled by—that his little boy, with the big eyes and chubby cheeks, is getting married?

“Yes,” Tom’s eyes are twinkling, and he’s bouncing in his seat again—albeit for different reasons.

“When?” Esra asks, wiping at his mouth with the side of his wrist.

“Next month. The 23rd.”

“That soon?”

Tom stiffens, frowning slightly. He stares into his lap. “I…I’ve been trying to reach you… for weeks…” He looks up at Esra with unease, “I was surprised you called me back.”

Esra’s not sure what to say.

“But Dad,” Tom hesitates, “ I would really like you to be there, if you think you can—“

“Of course.”

“Really? I mean good, I’m glad. You’ll love Eric—he’s so excited to meet you. He just got off of work, but he’s on his way—“

Esra startles, checks his watch, “Here? Right now?”

Tom nods slowly, his smile faltering, “I-“

Esra grimaces, “Tom, I can’t. I’ve…I’ve really got to get going.” He reaches for his jacket, hanging on the back of his chair.

Tom grows flustered, helpless. He scoots out his chair as his father does, and they stand together as Esra pulls on his coat. “He should be here any minute…can’t you—I mean— can you you stay for just a little longer?”

Esra shakes his head, feeling a sharp pang in his chest. “I can’t. I really can’t.”

“Dad, please…”

Esra glances up at his son, and immediately regrets it. Disappointment and pain shine clearly in Tom’s eyes.

“I’ll make this up to you,” Esra whispers, looking away.

He leaves the cafe, just as dusk claims the sky.

By Ivan Zhuldybin on Unsplash

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After Esra climbs down the steps to the cellar with an empty lantern at his side, he silently watches his wife sleep, his cold gaze unsettled. She’s bundled in blankets, but the parts of her he can see, are slowly decaying. Her skin is grey and gaunt, becoming more of a translucent veil over the striking protrusion of bone. And her hair, once dark and beautiful, is now fading in color and thinning. Gently, he strokes the hair by her face. It's stiff and crackles, breaking off in his hand.

He steps back, wiping the broken remnants off on his jacket. “Leah,” he calls, his voice soft, but strong enough to rouse her from the seduction of sleep.

Leah’s head twists on her pillow, her face creasing with discomfort as she comes to. She opens her eyes, dark slits peering up at him. Her eyes, they are empty like glass without the warmth of sunlight. Esra’s hand twitches around the handle of his lantern, a chill squirming through him.

“I have good news,” Esra says. “Tom’s getting married. Next month.”

Leah shows no indication that she’s heard him.

Esra’s throat swells, and it becomes difficult to swallow, “Our boy, Leah…our little boy, can you believe it?” His voice trembles as tears slip down his face.

His knees feel weak, and so tired, so he lowers himself onto the bed beside her, facing away. He catches his breath, regaining composure, wiping the salty moisture from his face with a shaky fingertip. “How nice it would be…for you to go,” he wishes aloud.

Esra startles when Leah’s fingers latch around his wrist. And almost painfully tight.

“Again, your lantern comes back empty,” she says with surprising menace, “Have you grasped the inevitability of all this? That you are powerless?”

He sits there, rigid, as a dark determination settles over his face.

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In the darkness, Esra stands watch over the hospital. His eyes strain as they scan over the large building, searching for those orbs, those souls. Morning light starts to bleed into the darkness, and Esra’s stomach drops and with it, his knees onto the concrete walkway. He tightens his grip around the lantern. Its metal bites into the flesh of his palm.

He welcomes the pain.

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Esra trudges back home, mindlessly. The ache in his knees barely binding his thoughts to reality. The sky is a warm purple when he reaches an isolated bridge on the far side of town. At its end, his tired eyes make out a figure standing on the bridge’s edge, staring down at an outcropping of sharp, craggily rocks—preceded by a steep drop.

Esra’s heart nearly stops, but the surge of adrenaline pushes him forward, and he limps toward the person looking down at their death. Closing in, Esra’s able to make out the person. It’s a young woman, but with boyish features—cropped hair, face round and pudgy—the wet skin under her eyes glows from the lamppost, and her whole body trembles in fear, maybe anticipation.

A shriek of anguish rips out of her, and she takes a jerky step backwards, falling onto the bridge. She lands on her back, body scraping against the pavement. Esra’s face pales, and he struggles to quicken his pace, but makes it to her in moments, kneeling beside her.

The girl’s breaths are shallow and quick, a soft keening sound emanating from her throat. Esra grips her shoulder tight, in comfort, and as if just seeing him, her eyes widen.

“Are you all right?” Esra asks.

His words trigger a panic in her, and the girl’s wheezing intensifies as she tries to pull away.

Esra doesn’t let her go, squeezing her arm tighter. “Easy. Just take—hey, look at me. Take a deep breath with me…that’s it.”

The girl, entranced by his stare, mimics his calm and slow breathing, and the tension in her dissipates. Though she trembles still, beneath his fingertips.

She gives a sheepish smile, and Esra releases her. With a gloved hand, she wipes at her eyes, “Thanks.”

“What’s your name?”

“I’m Alma,” she whispers, grimacing, as if her words cause her distress.

“Why did you do that, Alma?”

Alma flushes under his intense gaze, and she ducks her head. She startles when she realizes he expects an answer, eyes burning into her. “I—I don’t know, I mean…I guess I haven’t been feeling myself—“

“No,” Esra says, voice cold and apathetic. The empty lantern is glaringly noticeable in his peripheral, “I meant, why didn’t you jump?”

The blood drains from her face, “What?”

“What made you change your mind? There must’ve been a reason,” Esra presses.

Alma stares at him, scared. She tries to scoot away from him, but he only inches closer.

“Well?”

“I—“

“Do you think that it’ll get better, Alma? Is that what you thought?”

Alma’s speechless. A tear silently escapes her eye, slipping down her face.

Esra sighs, looking away towards the early sunrise. He scratches at the grey scruff on his cheek. “I’m old, Alma. And I’ve been in so much pain…for years,” he looks back at her, “But I can’t end it. I have people that need me. Does anyone need you?”

She whimpers, more tears flooding her eyes. Her fingernails dig into her face, attempting to hide herself from him. “Please,” she sobs, “Why—why are you doing this?”

“Oh, honey,” Esra comforts, “I just don’t want you to kid yourself. If no one needs you, your pain, it’s just a burden on this world. It’s better without it.”

With a grunt, Esra rises to his feet, taking his lantern with him, “Goodbye, Alma.” He leaves her and starts across the bridge.

Alma hunches over herself, nearly convulsing. Her face scrunches up in agony, and then…the emotion fades. Numbness settles in. Without hesitation, she rises and jumps off the edge.

Esra turns back when he hears a squelching thud from below. He rushes back over, where the girl jumped, and arrives just as buzzing ball of light rises from the ravine. Esra catches the soul inside his lantern.

And only then, does he retch.

By Sandra Ahn Mode on Unsplash

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Esra splashes water on his face from kitchen faucet. Scrunching his eyes shut, he blindly reaches for a rag and scrubs his face raw. He looks at the lantern, on the countertop beside him. The soul within seems agitated, swirling around inside, like an animal pacing a cage. He grips the edge of the sink, knuckles turning white, and he steels himself, taking a quick breath.

Leah sees him when he reaches the bottom of the staircase. Her eyes focus on the glowing lantern, then flit to his blotchy red face, the haunted empty in his stare.

“Oh god,” she whispers, “What did you do?”

Esra’s skin flushes with heat, his stomach crawling up his throat, “Nothing,” he says quickly, defensive.

The orb inside the glass thrums with intensity, bouncing off the glass, like a moth crazed by a porch light.

Leah quirks an eyebrow, “They’ve never acted like this before,” she accuses calmly.

The glass clinks against the soul’s strength, and Esra’s thready heartbeat pounds in his ears, and his wife, with her self-righteous tone and glare in her eyes—

“Well, Esra?”

“It was necessary!” He nearly screams, “I needed to save you!”

The soul’s distress escalates to the point where its movements are shadowed by its own brightness—

Krr-krr—kx.

Esra’s eyes widen as the glass cracks—

—And the soul shatters the lantern, sending shards of glass flying.

The orb of light rushes around the room before finally vanishing through the ceiling.

“Wait!” Esra wails, and only then realizes that something is very wrong, when hot blood splatters onto his chin. Only then, does he see the pieces of glass sticking out of his gut.

Visualizing it releases the pain. His knees buckle, and he crumples to the ground, curling in on himself. Blood slicks his hand as he tries to put pressure on the wounds—he can feel it gushing through his fingertips. He gasps as his vision blurs, and he can barely make out Leah standing over him.

“Oh, Esra,” she croons.

Leah kneels and scoops his head into her lap. She stares down at him, with pity, brittle hair falling in her face, “You couldn’t even save yourself.” Her cold fingertips stroke his face as blood gurgles in his throat. She wipes away a stray tear from his eye.

Her eyes drift to his other hand, still holding onto the carcass of the lantern. “Let this thing go,” she says as she gently peels his fingers away from its handle, “For you, it’s been no more than mere fantasy.”

Esra’s eyes widen in pained acceptance, a bubble of blood bursting at his silent lips. When his vision fades and the world grows distant, Leah hums.

By Jilbert Ebrahimi on Unsplash

Thank you so much for reading, liking, sharing and subscribing! I really appreciate your support! xoxo, Liv

Horror
1

About the Creator

Liv

Massive Nerd. Pursuing my MFA in Screenwriting!

IG and Twitter: livjoanarc

https://www.twitch.tv/livjoanarc

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