Moonless Cherries

“Is it you?”

Eli’s fingers were pale from gripping his pencil. His shirt now stained with sweat as a musky smell emitted from the fibers. A late night at the office, his morning coffee still rested on his desk, now colder than the voice coming from the scratchy box.

The voicemail looped again. A perfect gift for a fifteen-year anniversary. The anniversary of an unmarked calendar day to be forgotten by most.

Eli felt the urge to turn it off, but couldn’t move a muscle, as if upsetting the air would awaken the shadows. Shadows that stayed still, but stretched out like claws. City life always bustled around him, but on nights like these, nothing moved.

“I see the sunrise against my hills of gold. I miss that sweet smell that came from the cherry tree. Can you smell it, Eli?”

He knew. And no, he could not smell it.

In fact, other than his own stench, the room stayed odorless. Dust motes stopped floating and instead sat suspended in the air. The whirring sound from his laptop steadied so as not to upset the balance.

“Red cherries. I loved how they tasted. Oh, how I wish to taste them again.”  

Droplets sprayed across his cheek. Where they came from, Eli could not figure out. But they were red like cherries. One of the droplets had a larger mass as it rolled down first and touched the tip of his lips.

This droplet contained no sweetness or cherry flavor to it. Instead, it held more of an iron taste with bitterness.

“Wouldn’t it be wonderful to taste the cherries again, Eli?”

The wall adjacent to his desk dripped red until a full stream ran down the side of it. Eli jumped but stayed seated in his chair. A hallucination, one to trick his mind as the voicemail did. But the thick substance flowed downward almost like it mimicked blood.

His own blood rushed through his veins, now the only thing moving in his body. He dared not move any other muscle. If another unsettling vision came to life, he’d make sure his eyes avoided it this time.

“You stay silent.”

He scoffed, “like you can hear me.”

“I can.”

The words shattered like glass, trailing down his spine and tearing at every nerve he had. All courage left him now.

“Too stunned? That’s not like you.”

He wanted to run, but his feet stayed planted, as if roots grew out from his shoes and snaked around the ground.

“You were always brave.”

Eli craned his neck, the voicemail still blinking a bright red, wondering if he could switch it off. But the roots felt too real now.

“Which one are you?” His breath was now shaky in its speech.

“Eli, dear. Is there more than one?”

He shook his head. Lies. And the voice knew it.

“Look at the moon, Eli.”

No. He couldn’t. His limbs were locked. Somehow glued to his office chair. When he tried pulling, it wasn’t glue that came up. Like that of gum being pulled apart, hundreds of strands of skin stretched as he lifted his arm. Sickness filled his stomach, and his limb snapped right back into place.

“Look. At. The. Moon.”

Slow but disciplined, his eyes trailed to the right. In his peripheral vision, he saw the dark, empty sky. No moon. No stars.

The hot, breathless words left his mouth: “I can’t.”

“There was no moon. Not that night.”

He knew. Again. He knew. He knew all of this as if his soul itself couldn’t take the reminders anymore.

“Hell waits for you.”

Eli shook his head.

“It’s hungry for you.”

Eli’s violent shakes cracked the floor, sending up waves of heat and ash between each newly formed fissure.

“I don’t want this! I’m sorry, okay?!”

The voice now turned into a snarl, barking like a dog.

“You ended me. I hope the money was worth it.”

The polished office with its silver furniture, now covered in blood, oil, and fire, danced around him in a taunt. His bones now screamed out for the fear to end. But he felt the heat grasp onto his body, ready to tear him down into the deepest pits.

“Your own mother. Eli. Your own mother.”

A choked scream erupted from his lungs. The last thing heard in the office before stillness reclaimed it.