Page 3 of In This Iron Ground
He hadn’t been there for the accident, but he could still see it. He’d heard a policewoman say that his father had bled out slowly. He’d been trapped with the body of his wife. Her death was the last thing he must have seen.
The earth in Damien’s room was shaking. It was unearthing sounds from the deep. Damien was dying too.
The door of his room opened. A rectangle of light casting a man’s shadow. Damien yelped, bolting upright.
“Hey. Hey! Calm down!” the shadowman barked in Mr. McKenzie’s voice. Damien couldn’t breathe. He was being covered in dirt.
The shadowman strode into his room. Damien tried to curl away from him, but a dark hand gripped his shoulder painfully, pressing him flat on the bed.
“Breathe!” Mr. McKenzie’s shadow face said, but Damien was a wild and broken thing. The caves of his lungs had collapsed. There was no air in the room.
Suddenly, Mr. McKenzie slammed a hand against Damien’s mouth, pressing there. Damien cried out, raising his hands defensively but not daring to touch Mr. McKenzie. Damien breathed wildly through his nose, eyes wide.
“Are you going to calm down?” Mr. McKenzie asked. He wasn’t a large man, more on the slim side, but his hand felt enormous and imposing on Damien’s mouth. Damien nodded jerkily, his whimpers caught in a painful tangle at the base of his throat.
After a moment, Mr. McKenzie removed his hand. Damien tried not to gasp for breath, but it still sounded overwhelmingly loud in the still room. He concentrated on the lingering pain of Mr. McKenzie’s hand. His breathing quieted, although his stomach remained a tight and rotting thing.
“See. You can do it if you try hard enough,” Mr McKenzie said. Damien nodded again, staring down at the shadows of the bunched-up sheets. The world stilled, and then Mr. McKenzie turned around. He stepped into the hallway light and dissolved as Damien’s bedroom door closed.
Damien screwed his eyes shut, pressing his own hand against his mouth.Breathe. Breathe!he ordered himself firmly, trying to imitate Mr. McKenzie’s piercing tone.
It didn’t quite work, but he didn’t make a sound.
*****
Sometimes, when the ghosts were too loud. Howling, howling in his room. When he was buried under the earth and he thrashed to get out. Sometimes, he’d be tied to the bed by the McKenzies like he’d be tied to the chair. He’d stay with the creatures of the night until morning came.
Even then, they followed him into the light.
*****
Here is a memory.
You are seven years old. The world is painted in primary colours. Every emotion is deep and singular, untangled from the rest. At least, that’s how you remember them.
Things were simple, then.
It’s the first time someone invites you to a sleepover. It’s like your belly has filled with fizzy pop and you’re floating to the ceiling. Everything tingles. Everything’s bright.
You’re going on an adventure.
You’re on your best behaviour when you get to their house. You play outside all day. They have a dog, and it’s the best thing ever. You’re going to ask for one next Christmas and are going to take care of it, even if it poops in the house.
You use your inside voice when you’re inside. You take your shoes off and say please, like Dad tells you to.
Everything is good and bright and then you look out the window.
It’s dark outside. The sun has set.
You realize, suddenly, you’ll be sleeping here in this strange place. The dog sleeps downstairs, and you’ll be with your friend in his room. It’ll be silent at night. You don’t know if your friend has a nightlight. You’re too embarrassed to ask.
You’ve learnt about sedimentary rocks in school. They roll around the bottom of the sea and collect particles and grow and grow.
You’ve got a sedimentary rock in your stomach. It gets heavier by the minute. Your tummy hurts.
When you friend’s parents ask if you want to go home, you nod quickly.
You want to go home. You want to go home.
