Building 8 “Grave Dirt and Rain”

Storming real bad tonight. Seems storms, especially the bad ones, bring out the worst in this place. Been years since I started this. Lots of storms in that time. Storms before that...I don't react well to storms. Always liked them, but...leave me feeling wrong.

Messy in the mind.

Ever since the dog. That dog in the storm.

I hardly need to focus to feel its wet fur under my nails. It has been over forty years and still it is so damn easy. Tried hard to push the memory down, but it won't go away. No matter what. Dog fur has a specific feel to it. So different from hair.

And that dog...the way the fur and skin shifted under my nails...

Margaret is sitting up with me. Watching the storm. She seems uncomfortable. I get it though; been a lot of damage to make up for. Even if I am not drinking.

Still shaky.

It rained the day Sarah died.

Rained when they found Margaret.

Today the swelling is low. Guess that never truly goes away. The skin grafts were mostly foreign tissue. But the pills are doing their job and keep her comfortable. She is sitting there, petting Loyd. He wants to go outside, but we won't let him out in the storm.

Just isn't safe.

I don't want him to bring back something nasty again. The missing neighbors...not the ones behind. They are okay. The ones next door...police have cleared the place. But you never known what Loyd can get his hands on. Better to just keep him in tonight.

Think I see something in the rain. Something sopping wet and covered in ferns.

It is nothing. Just the storm playing tricks.

I worked a little tonight, but business was slow because of the storm. Saw a group of old people standing on the corner. Damn fools. No umbrella or nothing. Tried to flag them down, but they just kept waiting. They looked sick, but eventually they moved on. One of them waved at me. Wasn't sure who it was. Seemed familiar though.

She smiled at me today. Margaret I mean. Or at least the face she has smiled at me. No matter how much time passes, it is so strange for her to have a different face from when I met her. It’s like a second relationship. At this point, I have known her longer with her new face than without it. I suppose that was going to happen, and that I would notice it eventually.

Just wasn't expecting to notice it so soon.

Kids are back in school. Can't remember when I saw them last. My sister says they are both doing well. Noah isn't sleepwalking anymore.

I miss them.

Nights like these were often consisting of the kids, Margaret, and I, just hanging out in the den. Just working on stuff silently. Just being a family. Now I think on it, I think storms brought us together more than anything. Now storms just make me remember them. It hurts like hell. But it was the right thing to send them away.

I am not a good father, but I try to be a good husband.

Made Margaret some coffee. Had to special order it. Hard to find. She appreciates the effort, even if she still feels distant. It’s okay though. We have been through worse. I've done worse. Paid for worse.

All we need is time.

First time Margaret and I met I was a mess. It hadn't been long after Sarah had died. Somehow that didn't bother her. She saw it as a challenge. She wanted to see what was underneath all of the pain. I don't think I'll ever forgive myself for exposing her to The Surgeon.

But she never has hated me for it.

And that likely makes it worse.

Dreams are getting worse. I am sleeping worse than Margaret. The dream of the thing in the rain. I wake up out of breath, with tears in my eyes. I try sleeping pills, but they just makes the dreams more vivid.

The reds become more vivid.

I think of the beach. The one with the beach house.

I think that was the last good day Margaret and I had. We have made it work since then. Every couple has had rough patches. Considering what we have been through it make sense for us to struggle more than most.

I think of the beach. The smell of the surf. The feel of the sand.

Struggling to remember it right. Keep seeing it in the rain. Wet sand underfoot.

Cold.

I remember something in the water. Or maybe I think I remember it. I see the lightening and the churning water and somewhere in the water is a thing I can't easily describe.

Its black, rubbery skin shifts about, and I realize it is tentacles, not the skin, that are moving.

They’re always shifting. Blood red eyes looking at me. Not with expectation. Just looking at me. The way a human looks at a blade of grass or a pebble.

Inconsequential.

I thought I heard a thump on the glass. I went ahead and looked.

Just a branch, but Loyd got out. Margaret tried to stop him, but he moves fast for a cat his size. No matter. He will come back, probably with something disgusting. I've started just burying what he brings us. Just too many garbage bags.

I especially don't like when he comes back wet though. It makes the smell of grave dirt even stronger than usual.

Loyd always wants me to pet him when he gets back. But I don't like to. Feels like the dog and it makes my stomach lurch. Or maybe it is something else. That curiosity that never went away. The way flesh feels under my hands.

I miss my children. I miss how my life used to be.

We make choices and I made mine.

Margaret has made hers.

Now all we can do is just try to live with what we have done.

Rain doesn't seem to be slowing at all. Going to probably check the siding in the morning

I talked to the psychiatrist.

Set up an appointment, but never went.

Why would I?

The rain keeps falling in sheets. Again, I think I see something move. Something large framed in the darkness.

But it is just the rain. There is nothing out there.

Just rain.

And buried corpses.