Here is the first chapter of Spiritual Sorrow by Aaron Rayburn.
CHAPTER ONE
Danny Davidson flitted his eyes open and stared up at the dirty white ceiling of his spacious, but empty bedroom. Perched in the far corner was a little black spider. It reminded Danny of himself: small and alone in a big vacant room. Vacant, save for a few items between each wall.
There was a twin bed, (no sheet or blanket because Danny was being punished for back talking) a small, chipped, three-drawer dresser pushed crookedly against the far wall. Five tattered shirts and three pairs of ripped jeans hung in the large closet. He wished he had more clothes because almost all of the other kids in his kindergarten class laughed at him. But he knew his parents had far worse problems than worrying about their five-year-old son getting made fun of at the local elementary school.
Danny's parents, Tony and Emily, were constantly arguing and it seemed the later the hour, the more intense the altercations were.
The Davidson's lived in a large, shabby, dark brick house on the corner of a run-down neighborhood. A busy roadway stretched out in the front of the property no more than twenty feet from the front steps.
Most nights Danny would lie awake, listening to the cars and trucks rush past until he finally fell asleep. Or, when there was little traffic, he would listen to the sounds of the old house; the scratching and the popping of pipes. Those were the scary sounds. Monsters foraging about inside the walls, whispering into the iron vents. But as long as Danny paid them no attention and gave them the respect they thirsted for, they wouldn't get him. He had an understanding with them-or as much of one as a five-year-old could possess anyhow.
But the one monster he had no control over was his father.
For the past week, Tony had been coming home late-later than usual. Soon after the door slammed shut, the shouting would instantly begin. Unlike the monsters, Danny didn't understand this. What was all the arguing about? For two people to despise each other so much, why were they still together? They didn't have to be, did they? It just didn't make sense. But maybe he wasn't supposed to read sense into it. Tomorrow, he would ask his friend, JR, about it. He might know. JR knew everything.
JR was Danny's closest friend at school. But JR wasn't like any other friend at school. He was an imaginary friend, but he was a lot more than that. He was the very essence of what Danny craved. He enjoyed every moment they spent together.
During outside recess, Danny would sneak back inside the classroom to the Games Section in the back and dig out the old Ouija Board from the stack of games. (Many years later, Danny thought how very odd it was to have a Ouija Board in a kindergarten class.)
That was the game, his human friend, Jesse Serends, had introduced to him. And for the past two months, Danny was enthralled with it, mesmerized that a dead person from the spirit world had such a personal connection with him. JR informed him that he had had a similar experience as a boy, mimicking the same things Danny was going through at home. JR told him not to worry because everything always worked itself out in the end.
Danny didn't know what that meant, but tonight he was going to have to deal with his parents' arguing again. And alone. As always. But maybe there was something he could do, something to stop it from beginning or at least cease it from becoming so violent.
As Danny watched the small black spider in the corner work its legs, then descend down a thin line of web, an idea struck him. But it was an idea that included bravery as one of its main ingredients-something he didn't have much of. But as the movies sometimes said, he was going to have to "be a man and suck it up".
Suddenly the front door clicked open and boomed closed. How did Danny not hear Tony pull up? Or the car door slam? Nevertheless, show time was a mere half minute away.
His mother said something softly, then came his father's roaring voice: "I told you over and over not to drill me when I get home! I can't fucking stand that!"
Emily's voice rose from its sweet questioning candor, though it possessed a beaten and defeated quality to it. "I just would like to know when you'll be home. That's all."
"And I told you! I never know when that's going to be! Especially when my fucking car breaks down!"
"If you would call-"
"Is that gonna fix it? Huh? You gonna come rushing out in the middle of the goddamn night and fix my fucking, piece of shit car?" He paused, seeming to catch his breath. "Besides, I ain't callin you in front of the guys. I ain't gonna give them reason to call me pussy-whupped."
Danny could hear his mother taper off into a silent cry. He'd better make his move before the evening broke off into a tangent of severe destruction. He just didn't know what move to make.
He sat on the edge of his bare mattress, legs draped over the side. He just had his safety bar removed several weeks ago and was surprised he hadn't fallen out of bed yet. Maybe he was growing up, becoming a big guy. Just like his mother insisted.
Then let's take your big, bad self and go protect Mommy, said that rarely heard brave voice inside him.
He craned his neck to stare at the spider again. It was gone-a clear indication that it was time for him to be gone as well. He stood on thin, nervous legs, then padded over the worn boards of the floor to the hallway door. He turned the chipped, white-painted knob, then slowly pulled the door open. He slipped out into the hall, feeling a cool draft run up his legs, and hearing his father's voice thunder up the staircase. Before, in his room, he would always hold a pillow over his head, drowning out the malicious arguing tenure of Tony's voice.
But not tonight. Tonight he was going to confront the situation and see what happened from there.
His tiny hand trailed along the rickety banister as he treaded to the top of the staircase where he saw his parents' shadows dancing on the wall below.
"I don't give a fuck!" roared Tony, hoisting a ceramic figurine through the air. It exploded against the brick fireplace. Danny was just able to catch a glimpse of the tiny slivers falling to the hearth. He knew he should retreat, hide under his pillow-just like he'd always done, but something-an unknown force perhaps-moved his right foot down onto the next step. Before he could allow himself to turn back, he was descending the stairs one by one. He realized with growing panic that he was moving faster than he wanted.
As if in slow motion, Tony and Emily came into Danny's view. Tony stopped in mid-sentence to glare at him.
"Danny," said Tony. "What in the hell do you think you're doing?"
Danny was careful not to look directly into Tony's eyes because when he did, Tony's demeanor changed for the worse. He hadn't forgotten his last whipping. (It was more like a beating; complete with red welts and lacerations.)
Tony was a harsh-looking man, the contours of his face sharp and daring, the lines of his jaw coming to a point at his chin, the black hair there, scraggly. His cheeks and forehead were a rosy red, undoubtedly put there by mass consumption of alcohol.
A strange force made Danny suddenly shift his eyes into Tony's, which were bloodshot and leering. Danny knew the look. His mother told him beer and drugs were responsible for the way Tony turned out and if she ever caught him using either of them, he would turn into his father and most definitely go to Hell to spend the rest of eternity with him and never see her again.
Danny most definitely did not want that. He promised his mother he would never, ever use them for as long as he lived.
He looked to his mother now, who was a pretty woman, despite the heavy bruising on her arms and legs, and the discolorations around her face.
"Danny," Tony said, his tone more stern. "I asked you a question."
Danny regarded his father disdainfully. Now, more than ever, he wanted to run back to his room, grab his pillow and hide under the bed. Severe punishment was almost a certainty now.
"Do you have to use the bathroom?" Emily asked.
Danny looked at her, measuring her. Yes, he thought. That was as good an excuse as any. He nodded.
"Well, go on then!" said Tony. "And hurry it up because your mother and I are discussing things!"
Discussing. Was that when two grown-ups competed to see how many things they could smash against the fireplace?
Danny shuffled past him, careful not to touch or graze him in any way. He stepped into the bathroom, closed the door, then pressed his ear against it.
On the other side, Tony and Emily began to speak again. But this time their voices were softer. At least Danny was successful in moderating their language a bit.
"I don't want to," said Emily.
"C'mon, baby," Tony said softly.
Then all of a sudden, Danny heard Tony forcing himself on his mother. He heard the distinct sound of ripping fabric.
"Danny's in the bathroom!" Emily rasped between her teeth.
"So?" said Tony. "He don't know what's going on."
But he did. He hoped when he came out of the bathroom, Tony would stop whatever it was his mother didn't want him doing. At least until he could think of something else to do. He wiped away the tears that had formed under his eyes, flushed the toilet, and stepped out of the bathroom.
"Stop it!" said Emily, suddenly looking up at Danny, an expression of frenzied panic on her face.
Danny looked at his mother for a moment, which time allowed to progress in slow motion. His mother was naked. Her bareness flashed in his mind. That was all he could see. Her white boobs, her black private area and her shocked expression. No longer could he visualize her in a normal manner, but only the places she once explained to him as "forbidden".
"No!" Tony protested drunkenly. "I'm gettin me some of dat pussy!" He pushed down on her chest, forcing her to the couch, her legs draped over the arm. "I don't care if the whole fuckin boy scout club is watching!" He held Emily's legs up and buried his head in her crotch.
Another wave of tears overcame Danny. "Stop it!" he screamed at the top of his lungs.
But Tony continued on, his tongue plunged in the thatch of hair between Emily's legs.
Emily had begun to cry. "Please, stop," she pleaded. "Just not in front of Danny."
Tony smacked her hard across the face. "Shut yer fuckin mouth, you fuckin whore! I'll quit when I want to!" He looked back at Danny, his slick chin glistening with moisture. "C'mere, son."
Danny, still weeping, shook his head.
Tony snapped his fingers. "I said get over here!"
Reluctantly, Danny waded over to him, and looked nervously up at him, moisture affixed to the red rims of his eyes. Tony's intentions did not appear hopeful.
Tony snaked an arm around his son's sleek shoulders, still holding Emily's legs apart with his other arm. "Son," he said casually. "I know you're only five, but ol' Dad here is gonna teach you how to eat some pussy."
Emily violently thrashed her legs, but Tony was too strong for her. "You're not putting my son's mouth anywhere near there!" she stammered, particles of spittle flying from her mouth, her eyes lighting with rage.
"If I say he is, then he is!" Tony announced coldly. "C'mon, Danny. It's okay."
Danny watched his mother's face sob uncontrollably. "No, Danny," she said, shaking her head. "Don't do it. Run!"
And that was all she had to say. He took a quick step in the opposite direction, but Tony was there to grab him by the back of the hair.
"No!" Danny screamed, prying at his father's hand. "I don't want to do it!"
"Yes, you are," Tony argued. He forced Danny's head down toward Emily's crotch. "Stick out your tongue and lick that luscious pussy like a cat!"
Danny strained under his father's brute force, not able to break away. Fury steepled inside him and he lashed out at Tony's crotch. He knew that was the way girls were supposed to fight, but what did it matter who offered the punch? As long as it worked.
And it did.
Tony released him and Danny ran behind an end table in the corner of the living room, crouching down, disappearing from view.
Emily suddenly rose up and slapped Tony hard across the face, one of her fingers digging into his left eye.
"Oh, you fucking bitch!" he exclaimed. "You're fucking dead! So fucking dead!"
Emily raced to the oval kitchen table, Tony haphazardly following, gingerly holding his left eye, squinting away the pain.
"You'd better run, bitch. Cause when I get a hold of you, shit's gonna hit the fan!"
Emily said nothing as she leered at him, studying him, watching for sudden movement.
Tony lunged, grasping, but came up empty-handed. He chased her around the table several times. On the last trip around, Emily grabbed a steak knife from the counter and threw it at Tony like a skilled knifeman.
The blade stuck an inch and half into Tony's left bicep.
He stared at it, unbelieving and wide-eyed. And then the blood came.
Danny sobbed at the sight of his father's blood. He had no idea if this kind of behavior was normal between his parents, but he knew his little heart couldn't take much more of it.
Tony slowly extracted the thin line of metal from his arm, a nerve-wracking hiss issuing from his lips. An exhilaration of pain followed. He flung the red-streaked knife back at Emily.
She ducked, the wooden handle hitting her, then clinking to the floor. She picked it up quickly, then moved to the right, barely escaping another grasping lunge from Tony.
Halfway around the table, he stopped, then started laughing, the blood still pouring from his upper arm. He looked like a sideshow freak.
"You should be getting woozy by now," said Emily, now standing in Tony's initial blood spill. "I think you're about ready to pass out, dear. And when you wake up, me and Danny are going to be long gone." She paused, then: "That is if I don't decide to kill you while you're unconscious."
Tony continued to laugh.
"What's so damned funny?" Emily asked, annoyed.
Tony extended his bleeding arm to the top of the cabinet and brought down a revolver, which he excitedly pointed at Emily. "Would you care to explain what it is you're going to do to me again? I don't think I quite got all of it." He giggled.
Emily's face turned white, as her hands slowly crept into the air. "Now, Tony, you know I was only kidding. You're drunk. Put down the gun."
"Too late for that shit," said Tony with maniacal glee. "You tried to fucking kill me." He held up his bleeding arm.
"We have to get you into a hospital. We have to stop that bleeding, plus you have a drinking problem. We can get that fixed too."
"We have to get you to the morgue," he said, clicking back the revolver's hammer. "You've got a I'm-a-fucking-bitch-I-don't-deserve-to-live problem."
Emily slowly put the knife onto the counter. "See, Tony? See? I put the knife down. Now put the gun down."
Tony shook his head. "That's too bad," he said, a bead of sweat rolling down over his bushy eyebrow and into his good eye.
He pulled the trigger.
There was a loud explosion, then a burst of red below Emily's chin.
"Mommy!" Danny cried from the corner. He stood up and ran into the kitchen, oblivious of Tony and the gun in his hand. He stopped just short of his mother's red body, which had fallen to the dirty linoleum floor. He watched her convulse, clutching for breath, for life. Hot tears burned on his cheeks.
Emily's eyes glazed over as the gurgling in her throat deepened. Blood pooled out onto the floor around her. Finally, her eyes stopped moving and the gurgling ceased.
Danny couldn't stop crying. Though he knew what had just happened, a part of him-perhaps all of him-did not want to accept it. A voice slammed the reality home.
Your mother's dead, Danny.
It was the voice of JR. It was the voice of what Danny had known to be the truth. But he couldn't grasp the reality of how things had escalated so quickly. It seemed just seconds ago that he was walking down the stairs to use the bathroom.
And now his mother was dead? Just like that?
How?
Tony. That's how. He was to blame. He was the reason Danny's poor mother was laying dead on the kitchen floor.
Tony whirled around, the gun still clutched between his fingers. He looked at Danny, his lip trembling. "We have to get outta here," he said.
Danny regarded him wickedly. He wanted to kill him. No other punishment was severe enough. And suddenly he felt very weird. His body began to tremble, a deep pain engorging throughout his very soul. There were sharp pains in his stomach and a wave of nausea settled over him.
It's just the psychological pain from your mother's death, JR told him. With time, you'll survive, you'll get over it.
But that wasn't it. Not exactly. Something inside him was happening. His head boomed with strange voices.
Kill him. Kill him, Danny! You know you want to! He doesn't deserve to live. KILL HIM!
Danny stared at Tony, who was still holding the gun in his trembling hand. The look stitched into Tony's face told him that he was still unstable, still drunk and at any moment could decide to shoot him as well. He had to get away. He dashed for the stairs, taking them two at a time. He bustled through his bedroom door and dove under his bed-the spot he should've been in the first place. Then he wouldn't have seen his mother's blood smeared all over the kitchen floor, wouldn't have seen her gasp for her last breath.
Tony was frozen in place, staring at Emily's corpse. He looked around for Danny. "Danny? Where are you?" He marched up the stairs, tears stinging his eyes. "Danny," he said to the floor. "We have to leave. We have to leave the country. It's not safe for us here. It was an accident. I know you didn't mean it."
Even though Danny was under his bed, he could still hear Tony's detrimental words. He was trying to somehow blame him for what happened. Typical. Tony would tell others Danny was to blame, including the police. Danny could not let that happen.
Tony turned left at the top of the stairs, toward Danny's bedroom. "C'mon, Danny. We have to get you out of here. They're gonna be lookin for you soon." He stopped abruptly in his tracks and looked up.
Danny stood in the doorway, glaring menacingly at the man who murdered his mother.
"Danny?" Tony asked, hesitant.
Danny stood in the gloom, his chest heaving with malice.
Tony fumbled for the hall light switch. He finally found it and flipped it on, gasping at the sight in front of him.
Danny's skin was sallow and cracked, blood oozing from the separations, veins popping out in small blue pipes. His hair was strands of black straw that hung limply at the sides of his diabolical face. The crevices of his face were dark and ruddy. His eyes were inhuman, glowing a bright, unnatural yellow.
"Oh, my God," uttered Tony. "Danny?"
"What is it, Tony?" said Danny, his voice a deep, robotic tone. "Don't you recognize me?" He smiled, revealing spaced, green and black teeth. "I'm your son."
Tony shook his head. "No," he mumbled.
"If you don't kill yourself, I will do it for you!" said Danny.
"What happened …" Tony's breath caught in his throat.
Danny threw up two grotesquely blackened arms. "Me and Danny have an understanding!" he said, flashing his yellow cat eyes.
"No," Tony said again.
"Yesssss," Danny hissed.
Tony leveled his gun and fired at the thing in front of him.
Danny hissed again and bawled in pain, his black-clawed hands rubbing the holes in his chest, then cackled demonic laughter. He took a step toward Tony. "Kill yourself, Tony. Do the world a favor. Do Emily the favor."
"No," said Tony, backpedaling.
"You're already bleeding to death," said Danny.
Tony looked down at his arm. The blood was starting to boil on the surface of his skin. And only when he saw the huge red bubbles rise and pop, did he feel the immense burn all over his body. He screamed and ran toward his own bedroom. He raised the window, his heart pounding away at his chest. He climbed through it and jumped to the ground two stories below. He stood up on the wet grass, cast a weary, frightened glance toward the window and saw Danny standing in it, watching him. Without removing his eyes from Danny, he charged sideways across the short yard and into the roadway.
Tony Davidson was slaughtered by an oncoming tractor trailer, his body ripped in two underneath the truck's tires and heavy load.
Danny smiled from the second-story window. He was happy that he was able to provide justice for his mother. He stared down at the two mangled, bloody pieces of Tony for several moments before returning to his own bedroom.
During the walk back to his room, he changed back to the regular five-year-old Danny had always known.
Once inside his room, he saw the Ouija Board from school setting on top of his bare mattress. Excited, he put it on his lap and placed the tips of his fingers onto the planchette-just as Jesse taught him.
Danny tried to make contact with the entity that helped him rid the world of his evil father. To Danny, the world was a much happier place than ever in that respect. Still, he grieved tearfully at the loss of his beloved mother, whose only wish was to give her son the best life possible. Now that wish lied at the hands of JR.
"JR?" he asked. "Are you there?"
The almond-shaped pointer remained motionless.
Danny threw his hands to his face to catch the tears.
Then suddenly the planchette moved to YES.
Yes, Danny. And I'll ALWAYS be here.