Elizabeth Devecchi spent much of her youth in New England, setting out after high school to gather degrees and experiences, jumping from state to state, country to country. Author of the hobby blog, themoonthesunandlittleman.com, lately, Elizabeth has delved into the world of horror. Her debut poem, “Oh, Brother,” appears in the newly released second installment of Black Spot Books’s annual women in horror poetry showcase, UNDER HER EYE, in collaboration with The Pixel Project, a non-profit whose focus is to eliminate violence against women. Her debut horror novel, SEWER DOGS, is set for release by Wicked House Publishing in 2024. Elizabeth currently resides in Colorado with her family.
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FAMILY TIES
by
Elizabeth Devecchi
They say everyone needs someone.
I scoffed, thinking proximity fulfilling enough. Until I met her.
My life began as one of many. Smaller than my siblings, but determined to survive, to find my way, to escape. Never appreciating the efforts of my mother until I was, myself, a single mother.
And, after the turbulence of motherhood, after all my children had gone their own ways, I surrendered to the easy comfort of a solitary existence. Like the warmth of a sunbeam, it dulled my senses, leaving me in a state of complacency.
The day she moved in I recoiled, determined to pull up stakes, move on. The fact that she did not arrive alone, that she arrived holding the hand of a small child, only strengthened my resolve. Children were nosey, destructive beings, a danger to the peace and tranquility I thought I desired.
So, I prepared to pursue my privacy and tranquility elsewhere. Until those first vibrations deep inside urged me to wait, to observe. There was no rush, after all. I had not yet caught the attention of these new tenants. And, something about this mother and child intrigued me.
They existed in relative silence, glided through their days like seasoned ballerinas, with familiarity and grace. I was enthralled. She spoke to him through motion, conveyed her thoughts with the subtle caress of a glance. I had never known a child to be so quiet, so introspective.
Still, the day he noticed me, I cringed.
Now, I must move on. I will not tolerate the curiosity of a child, I thought.
But, he spoke not a word. We gazed at each other, his pale rose lips lifting into a soft smile. And, I relaxed. Without a word, we arrived at an understanding. He had his space, and I had mine. Never would the two intersect. The contract between us signed and sealed by the time his eyes drifted at the sound of his mother’s footsteps.
Something in this child’s gaze acted as a gentle hand on my shoulder, rousing me from complacency.
I am lonely.
My family, my ancestors, they did not know lonely. Alone, yes. But, alone was a goal. It was a prize to be claimed after one’s offspring spread out into the world. What was happening to me?
I watched my new neighbors, shrouded in anonymity. Feeling a certain kinship with this woman, this single mother with her soundless child. She bore not the faintest sign of her burdens, her voice flowing like the gentle sound of winds rustling the leaves of an aspen. Her smile, a salve upon my heart.
“What have we, here?” she whispered one day, looking in my direction. “A neighbor?”
I froze, an embarrassed voyeur. Her words were not menacing, simply a declaration of fact. She smiled and waved. I stayed perfectly still, holding her gaze, ready to move on if necessary.
“Samuel and I love company,” she said, continuing on her way. I found her respect for my privacy refreshing.
With each passing day, I realized this would forevermore be my home. The loneliness once incubating inside me, no longer worked its poison. I was part of a new family, in my own way.
Which is why I could not tolerate his arrival. That man who oozed self-confidence and concern, but whose malevolent venom I sensed from a mile away. The boy felt it, too. I was certain. Yet, I watched from my home. It was not my business.
How could she not see through his facade, his web of mistruths? Had adversity not prepared her for the worst? Could she not see the distrust in her child’s eyes?
She is lonely, I thought. Loneliness has left her vulnerable.
I considered intervening, but there had been no outright violence, no moment to justify rash actions. Apologies always followed his insults when they were strong enough to sting. So, I watched him feed his poison to her, build her tolerance. Resentment filling me as he molested the peace I had found.
The child knew. No amount of candy, no toy, could blur his perception of that man. Hurt shimmered in his eyes. She loved him, adored him. But, the woman who had given him life, protected him, was blind to the truth of this interloper.
Then one day, I heard the crisp sound of his palm against her cheek, vibrating through to my very soul. Her cry sent the boy to desperation. He ran to her, hugged her legs. But, that man removed him, set him aside with the ease of a bear flicking a mosquito. Deceptive apologies flowed from his lips like syrup.
The boy looked to me. Our eyes met and a new contract was forged, one of solidarity, of action.
Bring me to him tonight, I thought, certain he understood.
He arrived in the deepest hours of the night, lit only by moonbeams passing through the window sheers. He came to me and reached up, his fingertips brushing the outer strands of my web.
Bring me to him.
His lips, thin and gray in the moonlight, parted as if to speak. And though no sound emerged, I understood. He lowered his hand, taking care not to jostle me, with the care and consideration of the closest of kin.
We crept down the hallway to their bedroom, her bedroom. When we arrived, he placed his other hand on the doorknob, then paused to look at me.
No need, sweet child, I thought.
He removed his hand, lowering me instead to the ground. Watching as I crawled to the space between the door and the oak floor boards. Before disappearing from his sight, I turned and raised a palp to him. He smiled.
Go back to bed, little one. I will fix this. Go back to bed and let me work my magic.
Powerful venom quickened inside me.