Broken Vows

Every one of Jim’s friends, all two of them, thought he was being stupid. They had many, many reasons, but most recently because he had dragged them to an abandoned church in the middle of the forest, all crumbling stone walls and no roof. Plus, he had brought along what they thought was the latest proof of his bad taste in women. The two of them would love to tell Jim he was being stupid, but there was a question of protocol. How soon after a man had lost his three children in a horrifying car accident could you tell him he was being an idiot? One year? Two? When you lose your wife to that same accident, one year and an asylum later, is the clock reset?

Nearing year three, neither of them had yet found the courage to call him out for the drinking, the short but intense carousel of relationships, and the drugs. Not that they did not partake in the drinking. Telling their wives they just wanted to be there for their friend. Not that they did not partake in the drugs, though they conveniently left them out of the stories told to their wives. That was the real reason they bit their tongues and went on this ridiculous adventure. The promise of mushrooms, brought by the waifish girlfriend, whose continuous smile of contentment seemed like the promise of good product and a good trip.

Lizalea, the girlfriend (though she would never use that term), tiptoed around the empty church, feeling history in the stones. Vibrations from joyous songs and cries of lament came through the screams caught in soot smeared on the walls like runny mascara. This was not the right base camp for communing with the universe. Just a few hundred yards into the forest would have been much better, but it held some fascination for Jim. He and his family had visited during a hike before he had lost them all. She watched him set up a little fire pit with a rueful smile. Lizalea wanted to help him find peace, however she could. Then she’d move on as she always did.

Out of the corner of her eyes, she watched his friends. Inane comments on the architecture spilled silently from their lips about the random arches and bits of old stained glass. Lizalea pursed her lips, trying to remember which friend was Doug, which one was Dave. Clad in interchangeable flannel, one red and one green, they were just a stock picture in a store-bought frame to her. Maybe they would be more interesting, worth knowing, once the mushrooms kicked in.

As the stars arrived to watch the show, Jim lit the fire, and Lizalea set the men around it at three points of the compass, taking the last for herself. In between the eyerolls of the interchangeable men, she recounted the story of how Mother Earth had bequeathed them the gifts they were about to receive. Jim smiled as he listened to this little ray of light, her shadow dancing on the walls. Taking a moment, he looked around the church again, remembering how his kids had climbed over the fallen stones, played tag through the empty doorways while he and his wife laughed. He could almost hear that laugh again. The one she’d lost after the accident. No. Jim looked around. The wind shook the trees and seemed to carry…Jim shook his head, but he still heard it. Just a whisper. A whisper of the laugh she’d found. The one that chilled his bones.

“Hey, what’s that?” Doug, or maybe Dave, asked, pointing to something behind Jim. Something had caught a glint from the fire. They all turned to look, but Jim quickly stood up and grabbed it. A small pendant with a unicorn’s head. He cradled it in his hands, opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

“Hey, you hear that?” Dave, or maybe Doug, asked. From the other side of the church, a tinny roar came from under a charred pew. Jim raced across the room and picked up a small T. rex with red-glowing eyes.

“Jim, what’s going on?” Lizalea asked.

“These…these were the kids’.”

“Did we even take the mushrooms yet?” one of the friends asked.

“No,” said the other. “Why?”

“Because I don’t remember that bear in Jim’s seat.”

The rest turned to stare at the threadbare teddy. One eye missing, a gash across its stomach, stuffing spilling out, head slumped like it was asleep. Or dead.

Jim stumbled slowly over to the bear, the roaring dinosaur in one hand, the unicorn pendant in the other. He fell to his knees.

“Is this the universe, Lizalea? Is it talking to me somehow?”

Lizalea knelt next to him, “This…this isn’t how the universe talks.”

“It’s how I talk. And I’ve got something to say.”

The group spun, looking for the voice that seemed to come from every stone and down from the trees.

“Who was - ?” Doug tried to ask, before a unicorn's horn burst through his chest. Bits of flesh and intestine dropped from the wooden spiral, now dyed red where the old pearl paint had chipped off. Blood pouring from his mouth, Doug fell to his knees as the horn pulled out. The rest of them tried to scream, but the wind caught their voices and stole them away. The body was a girl’s, maybe fourteen or fifteen, in a torn black dress. But the head. A wooden carousel unicorn covered in viscera.

Dave couldn’t find his voice, but he did find his feet and ran for an opening. Eyes, glowing red, made him stumble. He fell to the ground, hitting his head against a rock. Feeling the wound, he stared at the blood when a roar made him snap his head up. Just a boy, maybe eleven years old, in a dirty blue suit fit for a body lying down. But the head. A child’s oversized plastic T. Rex, jaws chomping rhythmically. Desperate not to look at the monster’s eyes, Dave stared at the boy’s chest, which did not rise or fall with the roar that poured out every time those terrible jaws opened. The little monster leapt on him and let the jaws clamp down on Dave’s arm, releasing an arterial spray. Bathing in the red liquid, it let the next chomp close on its victim’s throat again and again.

“You broke your vows, Jim,” a hollow voice echoed.

Lizalea held tight to Jim’s arm. She gasped as something stabbed her. Looking down, she found another little boy, hugging her leg tight. So small with razor-sharp glass for fingers and a teddy bear’s head that stared up at her with its vacant smile and cracked button eyes. Lizaela felt herself draining away, so she pet the little bear and kissed the top of its head as her life spilled out.

Jim held Lizalea’s limp body. The unicorn and T. Rex circled, poking and snapping at him. The little bear climbed onto her body and curled into the little cubby of space between it and Jim’s arms, its fingers scraping at his flesh.

“How could you do this to them?” Jim asked.

“These are my babies. Not yours,” Julia answered, stepping out of the dark, the shadows still clinging to her body. “Ours were too far gone. Like you thought I was. But death. Death comes for children every day. I took some of them back.”

Julia wrapped her long fingers around his chin and pulled his face to hers, “You said the words, Jim. Until death do us part. Did you mean them? I know I did.”

“Death did part us.”

She slapped him lightly and laughed high and hollow, “I’m not really into nuances, Jim.”

Petting her children, Julia walked away, stopping at the entrance of the church, “Go ahead, children. Help him keep his promises.”

Jim closed his eyes as the children closed in. Hugging the little bear tight, he forced the glass deep into his body. He buried his face in its musty fur, muffling his scream as the unicorn punctured a lung through his back and the T. Rex bit through his arm.

Julia ran her hand along the stones,“ Good job, my little ones. Now be quick. Its time to go. Others have broken their vows to me. And, now, none can hide from me.”

As she stepped into the forest, her children marching behind, Julia’s shadow cloak danced angrily in the wind. She stared up at the sky and screamed into the expanse,” NONE CAN HIDE!”

And the universe flinched.