Friday, October 9, 2015

Fresh Cut Grass

Jonica snapped awake, thrown from a deep sleep by yet another nightmare. It was still about an hour before dawn and it took her almost a minute to realize that she was in her chilly Manhattan studio apartment. She'd only been living there for a couple of months and wasn't used to the strange, new surroundings yet, especially at four thirty in the morning.

Partially because of the cold air outside her cocoon of blankets and partially from the nightmare, Jonica felt wide awake. However, rather than rising from her futon bed to begin her day, she rolled over toward her apartment's lone window. Through it, she could barely see the night sky above the building across the street. Listening to the dull hum of her building-controlled radiator, Jonica found a star and made a wish that things would get better, that the nightmares would stop.

Louisville was far behind her now, but much of Jonica still considered it home. Her marriage to Wallace had fallen apart so quickly that she didn't really have time to say goodbye, but she felt that she needed a fast change to keep from falling into a deep depression. She wasn't sure that depression hadn't found her anyway, as she'd yet to find a job or meet any new people that didn't scare her. But she was determined to move forward, however slowly.

Still, there was so much that she missed about her former home, like her older brother and sister. They'd lost their parents a year apart over a decade ago, but they all stayed close in touch. At least they had before Jonica decided Kentucky wasn't for her anymore. She also had many friend still there, most of which she'd known her whole life. It was a good life for a long time, but Wallace had taken that away and changed the way Jonica saw the world.

New York is your world now, she thought. She made a second wish, one for fun, new friends.

There was a sound outside her apartment door, something in the hallway. It thumped and rustled like a plastic bag full of clothes being tossed up the stairs or, impossibly, falling from a considerable height. Jonica lived on the top floor of her building and the only other person on the floor was an older woman, a shut-in type, that lived across the hall. Jonica thought she wasn't likely to be taking out the trash at this time of the morning. She supposed that the noise could have been a weird echo from garbage collectors on an early run, but there weren't any of the domineering garbage truck noises down below. In fact, it was strangely quiet outside.

Another bag fell in the hallway. She noticed that the peephole in her door was dark and that the hallway lights, usually always switched on in the common areas, were out. Then the aroma struck her, the smell of fresh cut grass. It was unmistakable, the bitingly sweet fragrance of newly-mowed summer lawns. Jonica pulled her blankets up to her chin.

Since moving to the city, Jonica would go to Central Park whenever she felt more homesick than usual. Pushing through layer after layer of busy New Yorkers was much of the life outside her apartment, but the park offered an oasis of nature and city dwellers at their most relaxed. It was one place that seemed to have the smells that she remembered from home. However, she had arrived in New York during October and it was now winter, a harsh one at that. The smell of grass filling her apartment would be difficult to find in the city at any time of year, but especially during the likely beginnings of a snowstorm.

Jonica tore herself from the cocoon of blankets and eased her feet onto the cold hardwood floor. She stood up and wrapped the topmost comforter around her body as she crossed to the apartment door. More thumps of more bags hit out in the hallway. She unlocked the door and made a third wish, one that she hoped would negate the first one. She wished that the noise and the stink were all a part of a new nightmare, that she'd wake up in sunlight, even if it was under a Kentucky sun.

But then the door rattled as more bags fell against it from the hallway. The smell of grass was so strong, a rancid stench of rotting chlorophyll and foul dirt. Jonica took a deep breath and threw open the door.

Her tiny apartment was almost immediately filled with a wave of dark, thick-lined garbage bags. They were stacked beyond the height of her door and had filled the entire hallway, quickly spilling over and past Jonica as she involuntarily screamed out. And as the heavy duty bags hit the floor and walls of the apartment, the bags tore open, exploding with heaps of fresh cut grass. The odor was overwhelming, sick and putrid. The green leaf volatiles stung Jonica's exposed skin as she tripped and fell into the mounting pile.

Wallace always mowed the yard back at their home in Louisville. He wasn't a very athletic type, but he hated the idea of paying somebody to do a job he could do himself. Jonica used to joke that one day their kids would take over the lawn care duties, but that was more or less just to needle him, Mr. Careful who never wanted children. One time, Wallace had responded by throwing a clump of the fresh cut grass into Jonica's face. She didn't blame him for the playful act, but some chemical that he'd added to make the grass grow thicker caused her skin to break out into a nasty rash that never entirely left her.

Now, Jonica struggled to pull herself up through the dark mounds of clippings that surrounded and covered her. The smothering grass filled her mouth, causing her to spit and cough. Jonica's skin burned as she clawed her way to her feet, wiping the leafy blades from her eyes.

It was still dark in her apartment, but reflected light bounced across the sticky grass that reached halfway up the walls. When Jonica reached the top, she found Wallace's body resting against a dense pile of grass. He was lying next to his whore, the girl that he had impregnated. They were positioned the same way that Jonica had left them in Kentucky, the girl with her hand raised to her slit throat and Wallace clutching the stab wound at his chest. They had tried to calmly explain their situation to Jonica back in Kentucky, but she hadn't listened for very long.

Seeing them again now these two chaotic months later, Jonica had to laugh, even as it caused her to inhale more clumps of decaying grass. Whatever demon had sent Wallace and his lover to her had been with Jonica for a long time and she finally felt ready to meet the damned beast. The jolt from her nightmare had subsided and she suddenly felt very sleepy. She nestled into the grass between Wallace and the girl, drifting asleep with greater ease than she had since leaving Louisville.


5 comments:

Misha C said...

Great story! Made me think of a short story I read decades ago called "It Will Come to You." (Unfortunately I can't remember the author's name, but maybe, like his title promised, it will come to me later.)

Loved how you turned the pleasant smell of newly-cut grass into something oppressive and terrifying. And poor Jonica! At least she found some peace with her sins.

I've got your site bookmarked now. Looking forward to your next story.

Adam Fox said...

Thanks for reading & I appreciate the kind words, Misha. I'd be interested to check out "It Will Come to You", but my usually impressive Google skills weren't able to find it.

Writing these horror stories for the Halloween season has been a wonderful exercise in finding the payoff of a premise, like divining for water. I can't say that I enjoyed learning about Jonica's past once I realized that's where the story was leading me, but my heart stayed with her through it all.

And also thank you for bookmarking The Great All-nighter; you can expect a new story later this week.

Misha C said...

Finding "It Will Come to You" has been a mini-mission for me, and if I ever remember/locate the author's name, I really will let you know. Although the more I think about it, that story really is not all that much like "Fresh Cut Grass," but it did give me the same feeling of "Something here is not as it seems.... There's a secret lurking in the darkness.... Oooooh. So that's what happened." I love that, as a reader.

Sympathies to you on having to take that ride with Jonica. It can be rough, following your characters down a particularly dark rabbit hole.

Anyhow, I just wanted to add that short story writing is a talent unto itself, one which seems to have fallen out of fashion (some of my favorite short story authors: Cornell Woolrich, A.S. Byatt, Roald Dahl, Agatha Christie), so I'm especially happy to have found your blog and am looking forward to reading not only your future stories, but the older ones, as well.

Happy Halloween! :-)

Misha C said...

Oops, I didn't mean to say A.S. Byatt, I meant M.R. James. Initials always confuse me. ;-)

Adam Fox said...

Happy Halloween to you too! (And thanks for the reminder to read James's "The Haunted Dolls' House" again this season.)