Changing Seasons
I look back now and I wonder if all of this could have been avoided. I wonder if it was my fault. Maybe if I had been a better person, smarter, or stronger then maybe a lot of lives could have been saved. I wasn’t though. Perhaps if I’d been more like my father, things wouldn’t have turned out the way they did.
To know my father is to know about my family; the Caudwells. For seven generations since my family came to America from Ireland we have owned Caudwell farm. It was passed down from the oldest male to the oldest male to run it with each succession. My father Luke Caudwell was the most recent owner. He inherited it after the death of my grandfather about eleven years ago. To tell the truth I have only the barest of memories about him as he died when I was only two and from what little I have gathered he was a hard man forged from the harsh life of farming. He was as hard as the boulder at the end of the west field and just as weathered.
My father was cut from the same stone. He was unbreakable and tended the fields, livestock and raised a family through good times and bad. Never once did he ask for anything in return. He was my hero and I loved him.
I did my best to emulate him in thoughts and actions. Sometimes late at night I wondered if I could measure up to him. Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if we had continued on as we had for generations. Would it have been more of the same?
When I look back I realize that I had put my father on such a high pedestal that there was no way he could ever meet my expectations of him. For that I am sorry. In that regard, I suppose what happened was just as much my fault as his. After all when a man loses a wife it tends to change him.
The day my mother died our world crashed around us. The doctors said it was some form of cancer that none of us could pronounce. It didn’t take long. She was a shy, skinny woman who barely spoke to anybody except to my dad and even then it was only a few words at best. They were usually encouraging but, there were times they were cross.
Most of the time she was silent and dad did the talking for her. Yet for them speech was unnecessary because they had a bond of understanding eliminating the use of the spoken word. Their bond and knowledge of just how great their love was, was not fully realized by me until her death.
It was then that the photos of her in her wedding dress took on more meaning. In them, she was vibrant and beautiful. Then in later photos as she aged, her skin grew rougher and her hair grayed. Yet before she got sick even though she was wearing down she smiled a smile that was more radiant than the sun. It was that smile that I remembered most on the day of her funeral.
It was a warm day in early spring. My mother always loved that time of the year. It was odd that she left the world just when it was waking up. At her viewing my father, my sister Liza and I walked the lonely walk to her casket to pay our last respects to her.
I remember Liza growling at me as I smacked her thumb out of her mouth for the thousandth time that day. It was a bad habit she’d started after she was told about mom’s passing. She didn't cry or yell like you would expect any normal seven year old to do. Instead she calmly stuck her thumb in her mouth and began to suck on it as her eyes stared quietly at him. She accepted everything he’d said without a word before heading up to her room to play with her Legos.
I know the morticians did their best with her. The worst part was the wig they put on her head to hide the effect of chemo had on her hair loss. She never had her hair that style and the color didn’t match what it was at the time either. The makeup was caked on in an attempt to hide how sick she’d become. Instead of looking like the mother I knew she looked like some drug addled whore who was trying to get a bus ticket back to the big city. When I looked at her like that it just made the pain all the more real.
My knees buckled as a wave of sadness swept over me. The strength to continue on was rapidly fading as was my sight because of my tears that smothered my eyes. I couldn't do it. I couldn't go on. I couldn't say goodbye to her. I stood in the middle of the room surrounded by family and friends of the family unable to take another step. All I could do was stand there and cry.
I reached to where my father had been. I needed him at that moment. Yet, when I reached for him my hand only grasped the air. Quickly I looked about the room. The sea of faces shuffled by me until I finally saw him sitting alone in the back.
My father was hunched over on one of the chairs. His face was buried in his large hands as his shoulders heaved. There sat the man that I had looked up to all of my life, a man who stood so tall and strong weeping openly. I’d never seen it before.
I was stunned, shocked. Even more than anything hurt. I found the pain of our loss slowly giving way to a new emotion, anger. How dare my father be weak in the time I needed him to be at his strongest, I thought. How dare my father not be there for us. For me.
I could hear the blood pumping in my ears as the room started to spin. The press of bodies, the heat, even Liza staring at me blankly with her thumb back in her mouth. It all was too much.
A wave of nausea and dizziness hit me as I started to fight the spots appearing in my eyes. I had to get out. So I ran.
I didn’t care what people thought as I ran out of the funeral home. I ran and ran and just kept running. I had no plans, hell I had no thoughts at the time. The only thing that kept me from collapsing was the belief that if I kept running maybe all my problems would go away.
I did not know it, at the time but, running away from your problems just invites dark things.
The Truth Behind My Little Pony
presents
MOMMA
They say that time heals all wounds. In the five months since my mother was laid to rest at the family cemetery we existed. Our wounds didn't heal; they just festered and changed.
I don't remember much during that time as everything blended into a continuous cycle of work, school and sleep. We’d stopped being people and existed on routine. We moved from one mundane task to the next and when they were done we’d return to where we once lived but now merely occupied.
Time passed. Five months later in fact and I remember one day in particular after the school bus dropped me off just down the street from the house. The day was dull and lifeless as I trudged along the beaten down asphalt quietly when I heard a voice call out my name. I looked up and saw Uncle Larry wave to me from near our mailbox. “Joseph,” he called, “Hustle up. I wanna talk for a sec.”
Uncle Larry was one of the two farmhands that lived nearby and helped work the farm. His house was on the other side of the east field near the barn. We called him Uncle but he was no kin of mine. Rather he was a close friend of dads that knew each other ever since they were kids.
From what I’d heard he was supposed to have gone onwards to bigger and better things having gotten a full scholarship to one of them fancy colleges up north. Then 9/11 happened and he did what he thought was best and enlisted into the service. He never talked about what happened but when he came back he was a changed person, a sadder person. He didn't really want much to do with the world after that. Instead he chose to stay here with us and work the farm.
He was a good man, a proud man, a thinking man that rarely let on just how much he knew. Although I said he wasn't kin he was close enough to be considered family none-the-less. As I got closer to the mailbox his droopy grey mustache and sharp brown eyes came into focus. His enormous gut however, was easy to see from far away. The closer I got the more obvious it was that he wanted to talk about something. “Hey Uncle Larry,” I said to him when I got close.
"How was school?" He asked as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
"It's okay," I replied, "Got a B in my history test."
"Good, good," he nodded half listening. "You know, your daddy hasn't been out of the house all day. He just sits there in the living room."
"I know. It has been going on for a while now," I said, not really wanting to talk about it. It was pretty embarrassing watching a grown man like my father doing that.
"I came over around noon to ask him if he wanted to go to Stacy's Diner and grab some lunch. And there he was, staring blankly at the TV, like nobody was home up there." he said tapping his head for emphasis. "It was so strange."
"Yeah," I muttered staring downward.
"Has he been doing, um anything weird?"
"Like what?"
"I dunno ... it just seems unhealthy for a grown man watching cartoons all day," Uncle Larry said with a frown as he tried to choose his words carefully. "Something’s … not right. I can feel it. Used to feel it back in the desert at times too,” he paused and got a distant look in his eye before glancing down at me, “Anyway if you see anything… if anything happens… let me know okay?”
I nodded in agreement just wanting the conversation to end. Even after five months I still couldn’t forgive him for crying. My rage for him still smoldered and it would only take the slightest of breezes to set it off again and send me further away than my legs could ever take me.
"Anyway I better let you go. Still got to take care of the pigs before I head back home," Uncle Larry said as he started to walk away, "Also I picked up a cake for you and Liza for dessert. I put it in the fridge so help yourself."
I thanked him as I watched him leave. Once he was gone I stood there for a few minutes and looked at my house where seven generations of Caudwell's lived. Once it was a place of warmth, hard work and family. Now it was a place of wood, stone and pipes. The home had become a house.
The house was dim when I entered. The only light was coming from the television set and the dirty windows. Like Uncle Larry had said and I’d witnessed my father was perched on the couch staring blankly at the television. The same glazed over expression that I’d seen on some of the local cows hung on his face. On the floor next to him was Liza.
Liza had always been daddy’s girl. When mother was alive she would wander over to him and crawl into his lap to watch whatever it was that was on TV. Dad would hug her tightly then she’d crawl off his lap and under his arm. Now she just sat on the floor, glassy eyed as she leaned against his leg with her thumb jammed in her mouth. Neither of them spoke as the cartoon horses prance across the screen and talk about some dance they wanted to go to.
He’d discovered it two weeks ago. It was strange how a cartoon show for little girls had become his obsession. Yet, since he’d found it he couldn’t tear his eyes away from it. Before that time he’d at least gone outside and worked the fields albeit with limited interest or vigor. Now it seemed like the show was his entire world. The rest of us were just background noise.
I looked down at my sister and sighed. It didn't take a sharp person to know that all she wanted was her daddy back. I could tell she craved the return of her father and even if I was mad at him so did I.
"I'm gonna start make us some dinner," I said watching the both of them. "We got some cans of spaghettiOs and that left over garlic bread in the fridge. Liza can you give me a hand?"
As if she were waking from a long nap, Liza silently stretched then shook her head. Slowly she got up and followed me into the kitchen to help out. It was upsetting how quiet she’d become since our mom died. I don't think she’d said more than two sentences in a day on average since then. Instead she’d become nothing more than a ghost, always there but never heard.
"You want something?" I asked my father from the entryway to the kitchen.
There was only the barest of movement from him as he continued to focus on the TV. He mumbled some gibberish that I couldn’t make out. Was it a yes? Was it a no? I didn't know. Frankly, at that point I was running out of patience with him. I balled my fists so hard my nails dug into the skin of my palm as I watched my father drift back into the world of cartoon horses. Not a care in the world.
I opened up the cans of Spaghetti-O’s and began to heat them over the stove while Liza set the table. As I stirred I added a few odds and ends to make the meal more filling if not better. We never said a word as the sun slowly began to drop beyond the horizon.
"Yes I missed you as well ... I'd like that ... hey, you remember that? I thought you forgot."
We stopped what we were doing and stared at each other. “It’s happening again,” whispered Liza before she began to suck even harder on her thumb.
I gulped knowing what she meant. The first time we’d heard him talk like that we’d just assumed he’d called someone on the phone. That wasn’t it though. Dad was talking to the TV again. But not just talking, having full conversations about things. Most of the conversations seemed to focus on the farm, daily happenings or Liza and I.
"I can be anything you want me to be, sugar cube." came the voice of a woman cutting through the silence.
My heart stopped beating as a very real fear started to make its way through me. The faint odor similar to that of the dead dog I’d found on the side of the road last summer passed under my nose. It was sweet and disgusting, my stomach turned. At that moment it no longer felt like there were just the three of us in this house. It seemed as if another presence was watching us all from shadows.
I gathered my courage and made my way to the kitchen entrance and strained my ears for confirmation. I concentrated harder than I ever had but could only pick up the snatches of my father talking to someone. Their voices lowered to where I couldn't understand what was being said but I knew my father was talking to someone and they were talking back.
The air grew heavy as I listened. My heart began to pound and I felt like I was falling into the unknowable abyss, one that wanted to consume us all. Yet, even stranger and more terrifying was the sensation of warmth that attempted to intertwine with it. I could almost feel something unseen claw at me in some warped perception of love. It wanted to hold us tightly in its grip and never let any of us go.
It was Liza's whimpering that brought me back to reality. I could see tears flowing down her face as a thin trickle of blood from the corner of her mouth.
"Liza," I said exasperated at my sister, "You bit your thumb didn't you?"
Carefully I took her thumb out of her mouth and walked her over to the sink to clean the cut. As I let the water wash out the blood, I got her a glass of water and a Band-Aid.
"Here," I said, handing her the glass, "Rinse and spit."
Wordlessly she obeyed as I dried and cleaned the wound for her. The wound had already stopped bleeding. Even so I put a bandage on it.
"You need to stop doing that," I said, "It's not right for a big girl like you to suck your thumb like a baby."
"She's watching us," she whispered. Her brown eyes stared at me through her unruly black curls, "She wants daddy."
"Who does?" I asked, feeling once again the fear tighten around me, "Who’s she?"
"She watches us all the time. All the time. And she listens too."
"Who Liza?"
She stared at me in silence. Her brown eyes seemed to suck me into her fears. Yet, try as they might what it was beyond anything we’d experienced. Finally, she said, “I see her all the time snatching glances at daddy on the TV. She wants him.”
"The cartoon show?' I said and rolled my eyes finally understanding what she meant. "You’re being stupid Liza. Don't be a stupid girl."
“But…”
I slammed my hand on the counter and ended the conversation. Liza’s bandaged thumb flew back into her mouth and whatever doors of communication that were there slammed shut. No more discussions with her brother about this thing that bothered her. Slowly she walked away from me and moved to the table where I spooned the Spaghetti-O’s on to her plate.
It was totally stupid. Only a baby would believe that a cartoon show was haunted. Yet, as I thought that I could hear my father begin to talk louder to the TV in the living room.
The rumble of thunder across the sky roused me from the nightmare that gripped me that night. I rubbed my eyes and looked out the window that was next to my bed and watched as the storm approached. I felt Liza shift and groan as she lay next to me. Off in whatever world her dreams took her.
In the months since mom's passing she had started sleeping in my room. At first it was once or twice a week. But now it was everyday as I would drift off feeling her slide under the covers. Maybe we should have found someone to talk to about it all.
I sighed and thought about what was going on. We really did need help. This pattern couldn’t continue.
"I can be anything you want me to be, sugar cube." Again those words invaded my mind like the remnants of the dream I’d just had.
It had something to do with my father and black, maggoty things squirming out of the TV that endlessly played that damned show he always was watching. His face was twisted into a sadistic grin as he stared at the show. All the while those words repeated over and over again. "I can be anything you want, sugar cube. I can be anything you want, sugar cube. I can be anything you want, sugar cube." the creature in the shadows of my dream never stopped saying it.
I was there too. I screamed at my father, to warn him. But every time I opened my mouth no sound would come out. There was more but, by the time the first flash of lightning ripped through the sky it was forgotten. The more I tried to concentrate, the more it seemed to slip away.
My thoughts were interrupted when I heard my father's heavy boots slowly climb up the stairs and stop at my room. In the window I saw the reflection of the door open and I could see the silhouette of him standing there watching us. Even in the distortion of the reflection I could tell something was on his mind, something was weighing heavily in his heart. Slowly he lowered his head, his thick beard drooped past the collar of his shirt as he stared at his shoes. He was reaching out. He wasn't lost yet.
Out of all my mistakes I’ve made in my life this was the one I hated myself the most for. I know everyone has at least one ‘what if’ moment throughout their lives and Lord knows I already have plenty. But this one has haunted me ever since. "What if I had actually responded?"
But that night and in that moment I could feel my anger, grief and now a new emotion, fear all well up as I watched him stand there. I didn't want to talk to him. I just wanted him to go away, which is what he did after a few moments of staring at us. Quietly he closed the door and once again his heavy boots went stomped away.
Eventually I fell back asleep listening to the thunder as the storm rolled in.
The rainy night transformed into a cold, wet day. The rain never slacked and for a while I thought it would flood the farm. I got soaked walking to the bus stop and spent most of the day damp until I got soaked again once I got off the bus. I finally ended my day with a slam of the door while seeing my father and Liza once again in the same spots they were sitting in yesterday.
The weather played havoc with the power that afternoon. The lights constantly flickered off and on. Yet, the one station that played the cartoon show remained uninterrupted and crystal clear. Silently I watched them both as water dripped from my clothes and backpack and formed a muddy puddle as I stood by the door and observed them, watching the show.
"Hey," I said.
Liza turned to me and stared at me with those half lidded eyes of hers. Thumb firmly planted in her mouth as usual. She looked up at me and started to say something but the pull of the TV drew her back.
"I was going to take a shower then I was going to make hotdogs and beans for dinner. Does that sound alright?"
Somewhere in there I'm sure they heard me. Somewhere I know they wanted to talk, but they didn’t. Then without saying a word I headed up to shower and change.
It was a loud boom that jolted me awake in my bed. It was so loud I thought it was the blast of a shotgun. I placed my hand over my heart and cursed my choice of reading material. I reached for the book, The Amityville Horror, and tossed it across the room.
"Stop movin’," Liza mumbled as she rolled over in my bed.
I stared out the window and watched the downpour continue outside. Even in the darkness I could see breaks in the clouds. By the looks of it I estimated the storm would probably blow over by the morning. I grabbed a handful of covers, turned on my side and started to fall back asleep.
BOOM! Whatever it was it did it again. At first I assumed it was thunder but quickly I dismissed the notion. I crawled over to the window and looked out to check on whatever it could be.
It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the darkness and the rain but I finally saw the source of the noise. My father was outside walking towards the pick-up truck. I watched him unlock it and slowly get in, wondering whatever could it be that was forcing him to go out in this weather in the dead of night.
As I stared I noticed something else following him. In between the flashes of lightning I saw it follow my father. Whatever it was, it was bizarre and unworldly. It skulked along on four legs and was the most unusual shade of orange. I saw that thing walk to the passenger side of the truck and saw my father reach over and let it in.
I watched as he started the pick-up, headlights flaring to life. I felt something like a tickle on the back of my head. My eyes widened at the strange sensation as it worked its way forward. Sure as I was of anything I knew that the thing with my father could see me watching the pair of them.
"Sleep darlin’," whispered a strangely familiar voice in my head, "We shall be meeting soon enough."
Darkness overtook my sight and a yawn escaped my lips. I tried to fight the feeling but it was just too strong and was out before my head hit the pillow.
It was the early morning rays hitting my eyes that finally forced me awake. The events from the previous night seemed far away, and almost like a dream. I yawned and tried to fight the mental cobwebs. I turned over to wake my sister up so I could make breakfast and we could get ready for school when I found she had already gotten up before me. “Well, that’s weird,” I muttered as I crawled out of bed.
I heard clanging noises coming from downstairs in the kitchen as plates, silverware and other things were being moved around and my heart skipped a beat. The last time Liza tried to make breakfast by herself I was two hours late to school because of the mess she’d made. Dreading what was going on in the kitchen I burst from my bedroom and headed downstairs.
I slowed down as I heard pieces of a conversation going on. Was my father making breakfast?
"I can be anything you want me to be, sugar cube," Those words again floated up in my mind. No it couldn't be him. I found myself getting nervous as I approached the kitchen.
Liza was the first thing I saw as I turned the corner of the stairs to the kitchen. She was sitting at the table with an empty plate next to her. Liza's attention was focused off to the side and I could hear her carry on with someone I couldn't see as the morning sun shone through the back window.
"...Well we grow apples. Lots of apples," said the unknown person.
"I like apples," said Liza with a mixture of surprise, unease and excitement in her tone, a small smile on her face. "How long are you gonna be..." Liza stopped when she saw me.
Quickly a black shape engulfed the doorway to the kitchen catching the rays of the sun and the darkness. I stumbled backward and fell to the floor as I stared up at the silhouette of a woman that stood over me. It filled the doorway like some type of guard protecting a valuable treasure. For a second I caught the slight whiff of death again before it was masked by the overpowering sweet smell of perfume. I gulped.
"Why hi their darlin’,” said a cheery voice, “ I was wondering’ when you’d get up. My name is Applejack. Me and yer daddy just got married and well, just call me momma."
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Well, this is scary. Tracking!
I can't wait to see more. Thanks for the shoutout.
8132795 It's a pleasure.
8133477 The story is going to be multi chaptered.
Yay, another one! I LOVE these stories!
8134101 Thank you that means a lot.
*Terminator theme starts playing*
Ooh, you have no idea
GO BACK TO THE FIRE NATION!
Me everytime someone says creepypastas are real.
Aaaaaawww
Especially my father. Oh wait, nevermind, I almost forgot I hate him.
"Dad, stop playing Slender with us. It ain´t funny!"
https://media.giphy.com/media/kDjeEgPnVLTlm/giphy.gif
It all started when your father wanted to taste the "Apple Pie"
HELLOOOOO! I AM LINDSAY LOHAN!
1) You´re not Applejack.
2) So you two got married inside a truck, in the middle of a storm?
3) You´re not my momma......Ugh
8135804 That was great I couldn't stop laughing.
8136903 Looks like I really nailed it
Jokes aside, it was a good chapter and probably my second favorite story in this world so far (the first one being the "Anna Saga"). I´ll be waiting for the follow-up with big expectations
Before I read this, what is the Gore and Horror tag for ?
And how bad does it get ?
8145405 Well this is a horror series. as for gore, Their are worse stories than these in the gore department but their is slight to moderate gore depending on the story.
I'm new to Fimfiction, so I don't know how long it usually takes to write stories, But, when might the next chapter come out? It's been almost a month.
8190732 It will be out soon. Sorry I have been under the weather for the past few weeks.
_O__O_
The hype is real
Applejack being your mom sounds awesome!
Nice reference.
Good chapter, but every time Applejack is mentioned, I always imagined she was on fire (like from the first story). I can't wait to see how this will play out.
Also, will we finally have another pony protagonist?
btw, that song is from Resident Evil