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As always, I try to pay it no mind. It’s late October, and no one can walk more than three feet in town without tripping over a plastic pumpkin. For obvious reasons, I’m not a huge Halloween fan, but something about Eleanor and her track record as a self-proclaimed candy corn connoisseur makes me want to give Halloween a chance.
After my first day's meeting concluded, I whistled contentedly as I dreamt of Eleanor. Maybe she'd like to go on a hayride around the island or visit a pumpkin patch. I chuckle to myself. Here I am, planning seasonal dates like a hapless contestant on a reality dating show. I never thought I’d see the day.
I am a bit concerned about her health; she’s paler than usual, and her skin has taken on a waxen quality. Her once plump cheeks are now sharp, and the skin is pulled taut over the bones. She’s constantly hungry when she’s not hunched over the toilet. I found her eating a rotisserie chicken by the handful the other day.
I need to get her to a doctor, and soon. A needling voice whispers in my head,what if she’s pregnant?We’ve used condoms ever since that first night. Maybe we missed one time. We’re only human. If Eleanor were pregnant, I wouldn’t be complaining; despite my less-than-lucky lineage, I’ve always wanted to have a family one day. It felt impossible when I lived in Manhattan, but back in Weatherby, I realized my mother was right: it’s a great place to raise a family.
I see my mother coming upstairs and wave as I walk down the first flight. Instead of smiling back, she catches my wrist and grips it so hard I can see the tendons popping in her hands.
“How could you?!” she screams, shaking the vintage light fixture above us.
The last time I saw her this furious was when the man who killed my father in a drunk driving accident got released early from prison on account of “good behavior.” My mother is not quick to anger, so when she's angry, she usually has a good reason, but I have no idea what I could have done.
I stop mid-step. “Do you not like the new contractors or the floors? I thought they were doing a pretty good job. I know you’re attached to the attic, but we couldn’t have a gaping hole up there forever. We needed to fix it sometime. Remember the bird who got trapped there last fall?”
“I’m not talking about the fucking attic! I’m talking about the girl!” she wails. Now, I’m concerned. My mother never swears. She thinks “dang” is a bad word.
“What girl?!”
“The girl! She’s pregnant! Joseph, do you have any idea what you’ve done? The curse impacts us all, but Beatrix … there’s nothing she detests more than an Idylewylde man who is about to become a father! She’s going to come for you, just like she came for your father before you.”
“Hang on. What girl? Are you talking about Eleanor? She told you she’s pregnant?!” My mind is moving a million miles an hour.
“She didn’t have to tell me! I could tell. I know these things. I always have. Oh, Joseph.” She’s openly weeping now. I lead her to the landing, and we sit down, side-by-side.
“So, Eleanor didn’t take a test or anything. It’s just a feeling you have?” I ask again to clarify.
She nods. “I’m sure she’ll be fine. We’ll get her the best prenatal care money can buy. I’m concerned about you.”
“Why me? I know I wasn’t the most responsible guy in my twenties, but I’m ready to settle down now. It’ll be nice to have some kids running around here. You’ve always wanted to be a grandmother.” I place my hand on her brittle shoulder to reassure her, but she swats it away.
“Beatrix killed your father,” she whispers.
“Mom, you sound insane. A drunk driver killed Dad. We have the police report to prove it.”
She shakes her head. “No, no. This started long before that before you were born. When I was pregnant with you, I had these terrible dreams where Beatrix would threaten to take my baby and everyone I held dear. I’d hear her walking around at night, her skirt dragging along the floorboards. I could smell her. She smelled like death itself, like rot, the exact opposite of what you want when trying to welcome a new life into your home. And your father would wake up in the morning with bruises on his neck.” She sobs again, and a cold chill hits my stomach as I remember the outline of a bruise still fading around my neck.
“Or scratches even, we’d both wake up with them. And, as my pregnancy progressed, the dreams only got worse. Beatrix threatened to take my baby and my love away every chance she got. When you were born, it stopped for a bit. I think she liked you. But when you were two, you crawled out of your bed in the middle of the night. I don’t know how you got there, but you crawled onto the beach. We were terrified when we found you. We were about to file a missing person’s report. When we found you, you kept talking about your friend in the ocean and how she wanted you to visit her. And I knew it was Beatrix. She was trying to lure you away. She was trying to make me experience the pain of losing my baby, just as she had. She couldn’t stand to see another woman happy with an Idylewylde man and a healthy child of her own. I told your father that we needed to put a stop to this. He found a medium that specialized in paranormal activity. He was on his way to meet with her when he got in the car crash. Beatrix fucking did it. I know she did. She knew her time was up, so she went after the one person who was brave enough to face her.”
My mother collapses into sobs now, full-bodied sobs rocking her fragile body. I’ve never seen her cry so hard, and I’m dumbfounded by the similarities in our stories. Eleanor ended up on the beach a couple of weeks ago. I think of the scratches lining her shoulders, the constant chill in the house, and even the sense of unease that permeates the attic.
Growing up, my mother always told the story of Beatrix with obsessive detail, but she never mentioned how she fit into it all herself.
“And now, if you’re going to be a father, she’ll come after you and your baby,” my mother sobs.
“I won’t let that happen,” I say.
My mother shakes her head. “Joseph, the worst thing I ever did was assume I have a choice when it comes to all of this. Do you think I chose this? It’s not something you can choose to disengage from! You can’t opt-out. Beatrix will find you. She always does.”
My mother retrieves a handkerchief from her skirt pocket and blows her nose loudly. “Forgive me for getting so emotional. This is bringing back a lot of memories for me. I wish your father would have gotten the chance to meet Eleanor. He would have loved her.”
“It’s okay,” I whisper, even as a pit of fear fills my stomach.
“I’m keeping you from your work,” she says with a sniffle.
“I’ll tell the guys I took a long lunch. And I’ll make sure to talk to Eleanor tonight if she is pregnant—”
“There’s no ‘if,’” my mother interrupts.
