The Enemy Within
By C.A. Trigg
She sat motionless at the nook in her kitchen facing the window that looked out into her yard. Her coffee cup, cold and untouched, sat on the table next to her elbow. Her stillness was stoic, she had not moved in over 3 hours, less to breathe. Her eyes were aimed outside on the birds in her tree as they screeched and chirped and made all the sounds birds make. Her face held no affect, like a sculpture with fine creases left intentionally by the artist to show age; lifelike but frozen with one expression nevermore. Her exterior was like stone, but her innards churned with panic.
She could hear the birds, but she could also hear the vibrations; the soft electrical hum of robotics. The eavesdropping birds squawking their programmed noises for her benefit- yes, they were convincing. If she had never heard the men talking behind her fence she may have never even noticed their mechanical eyes snapping her picture; she still was not certain if they recorded sound. Sure, she had heard the recordings play through her television set, but she doubted those recordings were made by the birds since the recordings were taken from the living room. The Mother’s Day that woman, posing as her daughter, brought her that tempting pink package with the gorgeous silk bow tied atop like a cherry on a sundae. She heard the replay of that day playing through the television set many times; the voice was nearly indistinguishable from her real daughter’s voice, they had done well with the imposter this time. She wasn’t quite convincing enough though, too bad for them that the delicate pink package never made it farther than the fireplace. It burned like incendiary and smelled dreadful. She prodded it with the stoker and realized at once what a formidable foe she had that could conceal a spying device within what looked like a flowered cardigan. She relished the thought that she had outsmarted them, but was snapped out of the memory of it by another mechanical bird squawk.
She was brought back to the present and her burning gut. She was panicked, but not about the birds. She had accepted the birds, though she was weary of them; no, she was fearful of her impending visitor. Her daughter was coming to take her to the doctor. She was frightened of doctors since most of them were not caregivers, but sadists waiting to push a needle riddled with AIDS into your body.
She hated needles, like the ones she could feel just under the surface of the skin on her scalp. She was not sure how many needles she had embedded in her scalp, she tried to count them with her fingertips, but would always end up digging and scratching at her scalp to get them out and that was messy. The neighbors had been placing needles in her head while she slept for as long as she could remember, but she was sure they traded them out once in awhile too. She wondered if the needles helped their transmissions somehow, like a radio frequency or something. She suspected that they had gotten some wires crossed somewhere, otherwise she wouldn’t have heard all those transmissions from the television. She had heard the men whispering about the birds one day while she was in the yard. They were on the other side of her fence, in the alleyway. She knew that what she heard was not meant for her ears and she knew when she heard it again on the recording from the television that they hadn’t meant her to hear that either. No matter, she wouldn’t speak about any of it today.
Her daughter wanted her to tell the doctor about the television and the birds, but she refused. No one was going to force her to show her hand, she would play dumb, as she always did.
She paused for a moment to address her fear that they were monitoring her thoughts. After all, sleeping in such close proximity to one of them every night could make mind control that much easier for them. It was the man that worried her the most; the man they replaced her husband with. She cannot even remember her husband’s face clearly as it had been so long since she had seen him, years, maybe decades since they had taken him and replaced him with this other man. Imagine- one of them in her bed! She was hurt and angry, but she had to control her emotions around them. What if they thought she knew too much? She played it safe; played dumb, but she would never let them take all that was his- never! They could take over his life, his identity, but they would never take everything, it was all she had left. Every day when the impostor left for work, she would collect her imposter husband’s belongings and burn them. Little by little she burned everything. First, his clothing, and then his baseball cards- she couldn’t burn his coins, so she buried them in the backyard.
She had upset herself thinking about her husband and was angry now. She decided she would send her daughter away when she came and refuse to see the doctor. That was it, it was settled. Her daughter arrived minutes later and she sent her away. She stood triumphant at her front window and watched her daughter walk to her car; defeated.
Her daughter called the doctor as soon as she slammed her car door:
“She refused to come with me, she won’t see you today. She is delusional; crazy. I’m worried that she is dangerous. My dad is worried that he will end up with a knife in his back one of these days- she burns his clothes!” She rested her head on the steering wheel.
“I think she might be angry with me for not visiting her on Mother’s Day.”
- - -
My name is Chavala Trigg. I am 34 years old; an Army wife and mother of 4. I am a lifelong fan of horror and sci-fi and a hobbyist writer. I am currently earning a dual Bachelor's degree in Political Science and Business and aspire to go on to earn a Masters in business and a J.D. aided by the generous contribution of the G.I. bill. I currenly live and attend school in the Fort Lewis, Washington Army community. This story is inspired by my grandmother- a paranoid schizophrenic.
By C.A. Trigg
She sat motionless at the nook in her kitchen facing the window that looked out into her yard. Her coffee cup, cold and untouched, sat on the table next to her elbow. Her stillness was stoic, she had not moved in over 3 hours, less to breathe. Her eyes were aimed outside on the birds in her tree as they screeched and chirped and made all the sounds birds make. Her face held no affect, like a sculpture with fine creases left intentionally by the artist to show age; lifelike but frozen with one expression nevermore. Her exterior was like stone, but her innards churned with panic.
She could hear the birds, but she could also hear the vibrations; the soft electrical hum of robotics. The eavesdropping birds squawking their programmed noises for her benefit- yes, they were convincing. If she had never heard the men talking behind her fence she may have never even noticed their mechanical eyes snapping her picture; she still was not certain if they recorded sound. Sure, she had heard the recordings play through her television set, but she doubted those recordings were made by the birds since the recordings were taken from the living room. The Mother’s Day that woman, posing as her daughter, brought her that tempting pink package with the gorgeous silk bow tied atop like a cherry on a sundae. She heard the replay of that day playing through the television set many times; the voice was nearly indistinguishable from her real daughter’s voice, they had done well with the imposter this time. She wasn’t quite convincing enough though, too bad for them that the delicate pink package never made it farther than the fireplace. It burned like incendiary and smelled dreadful. She prodded it with the stoker and realized at once what a formidable foe she had that could conceal a spying device within what looked like a flowered cardigan. She relished the thought that she had outsmarted them, but was snapped out of the memory of it by another mechanical bird squawk.
She was brought back to the present and her burning gut. She was panicked, but not about the birds. She had accepted the birds, though she was weary of them; no, she was fearful of her impending visitor. Her daughter was coming to take her to the doctor. She was frightened of doctors since most of them were not caregivers, but sadists waiting to push a needle riddled with AIDS into your body.
She hated needles, like the ones she could feel just under the surface of the skin on her scalp. She was not sure how many needles she had embedded in her scalp, she tried to count them with her fingertips, but would always end up digging and scratching at her scalp to get them out and that was messy. The neighbors had been placing needles in her head while she slept for as long as she could remember, but she was sure they traded them out once in awhile too. She wondered if the needles helped their transmissions somehow, like a radio frequency or something. She suspected that they had gotten some wires crossed somewhere, otherwise she wouldn’t have heard all those transmissions from the television. She had heard the men whispering about the birds one day while she was in the yard. They were on the other side of her fence, in the alleyway. She knew that what she heard was not meant for her ears and she knew when she heard it again on the recording from the television that they hadn’t meant her to hear that either. No matter, she wouldn’t speak about any of it today.
Her daughter wanted her to tell the doctor about the television and the birds, but she refused. No one was going to force her to show her hand, she would play dumb, as she always did.
She paused for a moment to address her fear that they were monitoring her thoughts. After all, sleeping in such close proximity to one of them every night could make mind control that much easier for them. It was the man that worried her the most; the man they replaced her husband with. She cannot even remember her husband’s face clearly as it had been so long since she had seen him, years, maybe decades since they had taken him and replaced him with this other man. Imagine- one of them in her bed! She was hurt and angry, but she had to control her emotions around them. What if they thought she knew too much? She played it safe; played dumb, but she would never let them take all that was his- never! They could take over his life, his identity, but they would never take everything, it was all she had left. Every day when the impostor left for work, she would collect her imposter husband’s belongings and burn them. Little by little she burned everything. First, his clothing, and then his baseball cards- she couldn’t burn his coins, so she buried them in the backyard.
She had upset herself thinking about her husband and was angry now. She decided she would send her daughter away when she came and refuse to see the doctor. That was it, it was settled. Her daughter arrived minutes later and she sent her away. She stood triumphant at her front window and watched her daughter walk to her car; defeated.
Her daughter called the doctor as soon as she slammed her car door:
“She refused to come with me, she won’t see you today. She is delusional; crazy. I’m worried that she is dangerous. My dad is worried that he will end up with a knife in his back one of these days- she burns his clothes!” She rested her head on the steering wheel.
“I think she might be angry with me for not visiting her on Mother’s Day.”
- - -
My name is Chavala Trigg. I am 34 years old; an Army wife and mother of 4. I am a lifelong fan of horror and sci-fi and a hobbyist writer. I am currently earning a dual Bachelor's degree in Political Science and Business and aspire to go on to earn a Masters in business and a J.D. aided by the generous contribution of the G.I. bill. I currenly live and attend school in the Fort Lewis, Washington Army community. This story is inspired by my grandmother- a paranoid schizophrenic.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Must. Have. More!