Kurt's Stomach

Kurt's stomach was in knots as he sipped his coffee; his excitement ready to explode. It is 3:00 am and Linda is upstairs finishing up with the preparations. The children still sleeping after a long night of anticipation and family activities. Kurt's plan to keep them awake and busy long past their bedtimes so that they would sleep through the morning had apparently worked. Warming his hands on the coffee mug he reflected on all the planning that had went into this day: six months to be exact. The hours of internet research, the copious interviews, and the many phone calls and e-mails had all finally come to fruition and his carefully planned scheme was about to be executed.

The plan was actually hatched more than four years ago when the kids were still toddlers. It was a Saturday morning and Kurt and Linda had finally gotten the boys to settle down with the babysitter: the TV. As well intentioned as they were at the onset of their parenthood, the television had been a God-send and served to give them rest at various times throughout the day. Watching their boys react to the kids on screen dancing with purple dinosaurs and unfortunate men in tacky green sweaters, they devised an arrangement to where they could get the kids off their back for a whole week and relax with some time to themselves. Having the first child less than a year after their wedding, the couple did not get much time to spend together unburdened. Their jobs had taken them to the other side of the country, thousands of miles from their relatives. Pursing their careers, the last time they were able to vacation together was on their honeymoon to the ice hotel in Sweden. This time, they longed for a warmer climate; perhaps tropical.

Kurt had to pee. He had been up for over an hour now as his anticipation had kept him from sleeping. On his third cup of coffee, he soon realized that drinking so much before a long road trip was perhaps not the best decision. He resigned to hold it in until just before they left to make sure he was completely empty. Knowing Linda hates leaving behind messes, he finished off his drink and rinsed the mug in the sink. He grabbed the luggage near the garage that he had placed there the night before and loaded them into the van. He could still smell the cleaning solution from when he had shampooed the carpet just hours prior and remarked at how the van had not been this clean since the day they bought it: kids are filthy animals. Like a pilot exercising a pre-flight check, Kurt examined the vehicle once more for leaks, tire pressure, fluid levels, and anything else that might catch his eye. Finding nothing, he grabbed the cooler out of the garage and went back into the kitchen to load it with snacks for the long journey ahead.

The designated departure time at four o'clock was rapidly approaching, and Linda, finished with her packing and last minute dramas kissed Kurt on the back of the neck as he entered the bathroom. Without saying a word, she continued down the hall to the boys' room and proceeded to wake them and gather the things they had not packed the night before such as their clothes for the day and a few toys. Linda carried the younger of the two and Kurt; with his recently washed hands, picked up the oldest and the day bag. They piled into the van and opened the garage door. 4:00 am. – perfect.

"Are we there yet?" The kids are awake.

"No, we still have a long time to go. You have to be quiet so you don't wake Mommy." Kurt glanced over and saw Linda's face still stuck to the window. "You guys want to watch a movie?" Already cued up, he flipped down the monitor and pressed play on the DVD player. Satisfied, he resumed his position in the captain's chair as commander of his ship. The morning had been perfect. Everyone asleep, soft music in the background, the gentle drone of the tires on the asphalt: everything was going according to plan. He took great pride in commanding and expertly executing such a profusion of independent variables. He expertly weaved around the various potholes, chunks of rubber, and the catseyes in the road making sure to maintain a certain speed and stability to keep his family resting comfortably. Over to the left, he had the best view in the van for the sunrise. It was spectacular, probably one of the top five he had ever seen. He could not get enough, he had to keep looking; even snapped a couple pictures for later. If only he could paint it. His thoughts wandered ahead to tomorrow morning; where upon the balcony of the cruise ship, he ought to see an even more beautiful sunrise coming up over the ocean horizon. The imagery washed over his mind and was as refreshing as a cold drink of water on a hot day. He marveled at how astounded he could be with a simple yet glorious sunrise and how virtually identical it is to the mundane and commonplace sunset.

Kurt took notice of the homes alongside the highway. Miles of farmland dotted with single family ranch homes were all southern Alabama could offer to view. As the rose colored sky faded to blue, Kurt noticed a rather odd looking house. Painted in a faded lima-been green with a rusted tin-roof, junk strewed about the lawn and a sagging porch laden with old lawn furniture and an antique refrigerator with the cooler on top. The house struck him with an old southern charm hinting back to the depression. He could imagined a man sitting in a rocking chair, whittling on a stick with the wife inside baking a pie and the kids out front climbing on the tree. He wished to take a picture, but it was soon gone from view and in the past. The kids still quietly watching their movie and Linda still sleeping, Kurt reached into the cooler for a soda to help stave off his drowsiness and maintain his languor. Sipping the drink, he notices a familiar sight out of the corner of his left eye. Turning, he sees the old house again. The chipped green paint, the refrigerator, and this time red and white checkered draperies in the windows. He thought to himself how odd it was that two people living a few miles apart would have the exact same house. He shrugged it off as it was only a passing glance.

A few minutes later and finished with the cola, he turns to place it in a rear cup holder. When his eyes look back to the road, he spots the house again. Weird; same paint, same fridge, same curtains. He spots the mile marker: 192. Intent, he concentrates on scanning the area to see if there is another. Sure enough, a few minutes later; the same house. Mile 187. In fact, every five miles the house would appear. Not trusting himself, but not wanting to disturb the peace either, Kurt resigned not to wake his wife for something that was probably his imagination. Nor did he want the kids to think it was okay to start making noise. The car-ride so far has been tranquil, albeit a little more interesting now.

At mile 147 a scrofulous boy stepped out onto the porch. He looked as if he had been pushed but Kurt just figured he had tripped on the jam. He looked closer and passively noticed that the boy's eyes were encumbered with anguish. Kurt got excited and adjusted his position in the chair. If the boy is not at the next house, then he is not crazy. The next five miles seemed to stretch out for thirty. Eventually, Kurt rounded the bend and standing amongst the browned grass was the old house. As it came into closer view, so did the boy; now crying. At this time, a more aware man with full control of his faculties would have taken a picture, or at the very least roused his wife and called attention to this apparent phenomena. Such is not Kurt at this time, seemingly in a transcendental state watching the events unfold as mindlessly as his children watched their movie.

This time, the front door opened and a woman in a white dress appeared. Not a nice dress, but the kind with pockets in the front for a woman to place her sewing needles and recipe cards in while she cleaned the house. Nor was it clean. He noticed her eyes were burdened too.

Another five miles and again on the porch, door still open, the two embraced and held each other.

Another five miles and a man steps out. Boots, red trucker hat, and overalls without a shirt: deliciously white-trash. His eyes are red with hate. A chill ran down Kurt's spine as he sensed something fearful. He did not make eye contact, but the seething hatred emanating from the man's spirit was enough to beget trepidation into Kurt. It was like the feeling you get when you see your kid running out to a busy road or when you suddenly wake from a dream in which you are falling. He increases his speed.

The scene appears again with the woman and child on their knees and the man stepping into position behind them. He raises a shotgun. Impossible. The house disappeared from view again behind him and he shakes his head. In disbelief, he increases his speed again now writhe with anticipation.

He could not get to mile 117 fast enough. Engine racing, everything else was lost: the wife, the kids, their movie, the vacation. His own movie was developing before him. The porch in view again, the woman lay face down in a pool of blood. The boy trembling, looks up and makes eye contact with Kurt. His heart stops. The van, the road; time itself stops as he peers into the child's eyes and experiences ultimate fear. Fear so deep it causes his hands to atrophy and his stomach to turn out. He sees himself as a boy. He remembers the time at the lake with his family and touches something with his foot. Grasping it, he raises it to the surface only to discover a human hand. The terror experienced in that moment had suddenly emerged and began to terrorize his heart. Blood rushes to his head as his body silently screams to end this torture. Fire – blood – smoke. Snuffed out. A life ended as Kurt struggles to remember to breath. The van swerved and he is violently awaken to reality and a startled wife.

"You okay?" asked Linda with sleep still in her voice. "You're driving like a maniac, slow down!" The speedometer read 86. She tilted her seat back further and turned to face away from her husband and catch a few more minutes of sleep. A long day awaited her. If she had only seen the lifeless, pale, and sweaty countenance of her mate, she may have been able to comfort him. He checked the mirror to inspect the kids and they had fallen asleep again. Thank God, they had not seen the carnage. He glances at himself; what a wreck. Pasty and wet, he had forgotten to close his mouth still open in shock and disbelief. Closing it, he feels his heart begin to slow and feeling return to his extremities. A biting cold swept across his skin. He slowed back down to the speed limit and a new worriment filled his heart. He did not want to see that porch again; but slipping back into his insensibility, he felt he had no choice but to watch. Again, a reasonable man would have called 911 or at least woke up his wife; but Kurt just sat there and continued to drive toward a vacation that once seemed like a good idea.

Mile 113; dread. Soon that horrid house will appear and the atrocities on that porch will be realized again. And as they did, Kurt beheld the man again; standing solely amongst the bodies, shotgun draping from his right arm. His expression as lifeless as the two at his feet. No more anger, no remorse; nothing. And as quickly as it came into view, it was gone again not to be seen for another five miles.

This time, the distance was traversed in only a few seconds. Time was flying by like the time between dream and wake. Again, the same display, frozen now: three lifeless bodies; two on the floor and one standing in the middle. The scene repeated itself for the next hour until mile 42. The man had disappeared.

The boys were awake and occupied with their video games, Linda was up and making sandwiches, and Kurt was driving with a heavy heart and welling with sorrow. He knew that the occupied passengers would never notice the recurring house and the bloodshed that took place upon it.

Mile 37: Still gone.

Mile 32: He was on the porch again, this time on a short ladder and affixing something to the roof. Kurt squinted his eyes hoping to clarify just what the man was holding.

Mile 27: The man and ladder missing, a hangman's noose draped from the support beam. Kurt knew what was coming. He had already seen two deaths, another would antagonize his soul. He looked to make sure the family had not noticed.

Mile 22: The pain was overwhelming. Sorrow had turned into grief. His throat had constricted and his mouth had gone dry. The anticipation was building. No one else knew.

Mile 17: The man, again on the porch, stood atop a old dining room chair. The noose wrapped around his neck, the same blank expression on his face.

Mile 12: Still standing there. Kurt could not think straight. His body continued to drive, but his mind was a thousand yards away on that damned porch. He did not know who was in more agony; himself or the man. Their eyes met and instantly Kurt was transported into a swirling vortex of misery and torment. The tortured spirits had somehow connected and their affliction laid bare. Without seeing a physical manifestation, Kurt still acknowledged the presence of demons. Grasping at his soul, they struggled to pull him and the man down into the fiery darkness. His lungs vanquished of air, his muscles locked, and his eyes open and trained onto the man's. Kurt was lost for what seemed like hours. Hopelessness drenched his being. However, it soon passed as the house disappeared behind the van and Kurt once again regained consciousness and breathed heavy. Now, he hoped that the man would end their shared misery before the next time so as not to reconnect with that horrible man. He can not bear to stare into that bleakness once more.

The next time the house came up over the horizon, Kurt checked to make sure everyone was busy. The porch came into focus. The man had kicked the chair away and was apparently dead. Three lifeless bodies: two on the floor, one hanging from above. Kurt had never wished anyone to die before, but he knew that man could not continue to exist under the weight of the desolation they had shared and the only way to vanquish the pain was to kill himself. Knowing that his suffering was over, Kurt took in a deep, wholesome breath and exhaled all his stress. He was not ready to re-enter into reality just yet; he needed to make sure the man was dead.

The house appeared around the corner again and contentment poured into him as the man was still dead and now gone forever.

"Look honey, only two more miles to go until we reach Florida. Are you excited yet?" Lucky Linda. Lucky, naïve Linda. She could never begin to understand the complex emotions or the tragedy that had befallen that family just yards from her beautiful head Kurt would not consider telling her and risk corrupting that untarnished soul with the evil he had just experienced. His soul will forever be damaged and his heart blackened, but hers will remain pure.

He never saw that house again, or spoke of the horrors of that day. After their vacation, he took the interstate; his family none the wiser.