Makowski’s Brood (Mark Hardcastle)

MAKOWSKI'S BROOD

Raindrops big as bird shit began falling on Donny Cross - a drifter by the looks of him - as he
made his way west along a lonely stretch of highway 6.
Thunder rumbled in from a distant horizon that was getting darker by the minute and in the
summer months he might have been safe enough under a canopy of green leaves, but autumn
was well past its prime and the sparsely-leaved limbs above were only spears against the sky. He
regretted not stopping at the graying corn-crib six miles back, but what was done, was done, and
with the wind picking up there seemed no time to turn back now.
As luck would have it, where the road bottomed out he came across the entrance of what was
once someone's driveway. Carved into a hillside, the weed-choked lane was in the process of
being taken back by nature. An old farm wagon of indeterminate brand sat rusting a hundred feet
up its incline, nearly blocking the way to an old house sitting at the apex of the hill.
The 2-story house was the center piece of what had probably been a successful farm once. But
decades of dereliction had left it shabby and decaying. Its thin white siding - probably original to
the house - had been patched with a wider, slate-blue siding, most notably where windows had
been blocked off, and a later addition to the back of the house seemed to be seceding from the
main - pulling away to become a three-walled house of its own.
As Donny approached across the front yard toward the house, an older woman emerged from the
shadows on the porch, startling him. “ Oh, I didn't know anybody lived here,” he stated as he
stopped short. She stood silently staring at him with her hands clasped together almost prayer
like. She was dressed older than what she looked, wearing an apron over a faded print dress, with
an oversized cardigan sweater over that. Her large brown eyes (made larger by thick-lensed
glasses) never left his own.
An older man stepped up behind Donny, his voice startling him. “Why wouldn’t anybody live
here? It’s a house ain’t it?”
Donny jerked his head over and beheld a brawny older man with a full beard and an intense
penetrating stare. He was dressed more like a woodsman than a farmer, a fact Donny was quick
to pick up as his eyes traveled from the man’s craggy features to the axe in his gnarled hand.
“I'm real sorry about this,” Donny offered regretfully.
The old man held his ground. “Sorry 'bout what, exactly? The tresspassin'? Or botherin' poor
folks just tryin' to make a quiet livin'?
Donny had nearly forgotten about the woman until she finally spoke, “Now Harold, that's no way
to be.” She said, stepping forward to admonish her husband. “You forgotten your manners?
Seems like he's just a nice young man trying to get on up out of the storm that's brewing.”
“Yes, ma'am. That's about it.” Donny countered, his gaze staying with Harold.
“And besides,” she continued, “I doubt very much he's the kind that'd bother anybody less'n he
had to.”
“Thank you, ma'am, I appreciate that.” said Donny.
“Where you headed, boy?” Harold said, stepping closer.
2.
“Nowhere in particular." Donny answered. "West, I guess.”
“Hmph. Young people." Harold groused. "Always feelin' the need to be goin' someplace.”
“Isn't that the sad and pitiful truth?” The woman stated, looking towards Harold, who only
scoffed in reply.
Donny, feeling too much like the net in a ping pong match, decided to take his chances with the
coming storm and began edging off. “I should let you get back to what you're doing.”
Harold raised his non axe hand, stopping him. “Suppers 'bout all we got doin'. And you're nearly
late for that.”
“Ain't that just like a boy?" She said, shaking her head.
Harold took another step towards Donny, nearly parallel to him now. “Ain't it, though?”
As she stepped out to the edge of the porch, the woman placed her hands on her hips and leaned
forward. “And I should know from boys, we've got five.”
“Harold urged him along with the head of the axe. “Well... go on, now.”
They climbed the steps, as Mother backed into the house. She was clearly enamored of her
young guest.
It was raining pretty good outside as Mother shut the window. She looked back at Donny who
was admiring a cluster of family photos on the wall - more out of an uncomfortable-ness than
real interest. “That's our little brood.” She beamed. He turned to face her as she approached.
“Very nice.”
She came up alongside him and, taking his arm, turned him back towards the photograph. It was
a large one - taken possibly in the early 1980's, if hairstyles were any indication. Harold, axe-less
now, sat down heavily into an old doily covered wing-back chair and watched warily as she went
into her spiel.
“Now let's see. That's Paul and Theo and David and Michael - and my youngest, Johnny,” she
waved her hand dismissively, “and of course that's Harold and me.” Then, with a hitch in her
demeanor she added, “And Kim.”
With the mention of the name she turned away. Donny, aware of the downward shift in her
mood, felt obliged to say something. “And where are your children at now?”
Mother busied herself setting the table in the next room. “Oh, they're around here somewhere.”
She stated, cheering up. “Mostly they take supper in their rooms, or end up at a friend's house.
All except for Johnny.” Her shoulders slumped a little as she hesitated in her work. “He didn't
like living here so much, so he left awhile back.”
“Oh, I'm sorry.” Donny empathized.
3.
Harold, still sitting in his chair, grumbled through his beard, “It's what kids do, they leave.” He
slowly took a pull from a fifth of blackberry brandy before adding more optimistically, “But
another thing they do is come back. They all come back... eventually.”
The words gave Mother hope. Even a false hope, was better than no hope at all. “Yes. Yes they
do. They all left at some time or another. But they came back. Can't seem to stay away from their
dear old mother.” She brightened further, “Maybe it's my home cooking. Excuse me a moment.”
She turned and walked into the kitchen.
Donny looked over to find Harold staring intently at him. “Yep. They all come back...
eventually.” Withering a bit under Harold's disdainful gaze, Donny turned back to the
photograph, leaving Harold to turn back to his brandy, and his own dark thoughts.
Dinner was all but finished. Donny cleared the last of the mixed vegetables from his plate while
Harold sopped up his remaining gravy with a biscuit. Mother, too busy stealing prideful glances
at Donny, had yet to touch her supper “Johnny, where are you from?”
“Donny, ma'am.”
“Hmmm?”
“Donny, ma'am. You called me Johnny.”
“Oh, yes. My youngest boy is named Johnny. We have five boys, you know.”
Donny looked over at Harold who was now chewing on the biscuit. Harold nodded with a smile
that seemed more like a grimace.
“Let's see...” Mother continued, “there's also Paul and Michael and Theo and David.”
“And Kim.” Donny added quickly, and then just as quickly wished he hadn't when he saw
Mother's mood shift poorly again as she frowned into her plate.
He looked over at Harold and quickly wished he hadn't done that either as he stared into a mask
of indignation.
Suddenly Mother slammed her palms on the table, sat up straight, and yelled, “Who wants pie?"
Wild eyed, she looked from one to the other before liltingly adding, “It's pee-eaach.”
“Sure, Mother.” Harold sighed, like he’d been through this before.
“Yes, ma'am.” Donny added placating. “That sounds delicious.”
With the exception of utensils scraping plates, there was silence. Donny shifted in his chair,
uncomfortable under the weight of mothers proud and loving gaze, which he understood not at
all. Harold chewed mechanically while staring a hole in the center piece.
Donny's attention was solely on his plate, finishing the last bit of pie with the hope of clearing
out of there soon.
"Would you care for another slice, Johnny?" Mother asked hopefully.
4.
"Donny, ma'am." He corrected her.
"Excuse me?"
"You called me Johnny again, ma'am." He added with irritation. "My name’s Donny."
"Oh, my youngest is named Johnny. We have five boys you know."
Donny started to answer her, when he looked over at Harold now staring a hole in him.
"Yes, ma'am." Donny demurred.
"Now let's see." Mother began again. "There's Paul and Charles and Theo and David and
Mark..."
Without anyone saying another word, Mother began to get melancholy. "And my Kim..."
Donny looked over at Harold as if to say, "don’t look at me!" It didn't matter, Harold still blamed
him.
"... My star..."
"Now, Mother." Harold began.
"...my angel – left me with all these devils!" The last words came out low and guttural, shocking
Donny and unnerving Harold. She was losing control and Harold knew it.
"She came back, now," Harold tried to reassure her, "didn't she though?"
He reached across and took Mother by the hand, and as if to emphasize it, he turned to Donny,
nodding his head. "She came back. She came back."
Donny nodded back because he didn't know what else to do.
Mother was quickly sinking - it was written on her face, like she was about to implode from
despair. Suddenly she perked up, chipper as all get out, as if the previous few moments never
happened.
"Time for tea!" And with that, she stood up and speed walked into the kitchen.
With a cup full of tea steaming before him, Donny looked around the room and noticed an
inordinate amount of dolls. He then focused on the table setting in front of him – again, a doll.
"Your table-scape’s staring at me." He said flatly as he turned his tea cup around in circles on its
saucer.
"Oh, I just love that one." Mother beamed. "I made it myself."
"It's very nice." Donny stated, trying to sound sincere. "Except for the... staring part."
Staring at the one in front of him, Harold agreed, "Yeah, gotta agree with you there, boy."
5.
"Most of them are from kits I sent away for." Mother explained. "They come in pieces. I sew the
bodies together and stuff them with cotton. The faces come pre-painted, but I like to put my own
special touches on them. I just love them. Always smiling never sad, never angry, never feel they
have to be somewhere else. They're content to stay where you put them.
Harold chinned over to Donny, as if trying to remind him of the tea cup sitting before him,
"Drink up."
Mother reached across the table and waved her napkin over his cup, trying to cool it. "Children
should stay put in case their mother needs them."
"Drink your tea, boy." Harold urged.
"Don’t you agree, Johnny?" Mother said as she pushed the teacup and saucer towards Donny,
with a silent urge for him to drink. He could feel the tension in the room ratchet up, but he
couldn't understand why.
"Don't upset your mother... Johnny." Harold insisted.
Mother pushed the teacup and saucer towards Donny again, seeming a little too insistent.
Donny saw the desperation in her eyes, and heard it in her voice. "Please, Johnny, it's getting
cold.
I know how it upsets your tummy when it's cold."
"Drink your God damn tea." Harold hissed.
"Please, Johnny!"
It had become too much! Donny pushed back from the table, deciding to end this bizarre
charade.
"While I really do appreciate the meal, and the... hospitality," Donny began, "you people are
whacked! Especially her. You’re creepy and all, but she’s completely off her nut!"
When Donny stood up, Mother bolted upright out of her chair, as if in reflex.
"Harold!" Mother shrieked before adding in a guttural voice that chilled Donny to his bones, "He
didn't drink the tea!"
Donny's suspicioned that something was amiss with the tea seemed and he backhanded the cup
off the saucer! End over end, splashing tea across the length of the table.
With that, Harold lunged from his chair and overhand swung a ball-peen hammer down towards
Donny's head. Donny moved just in time, sending Harold and his hammer skidding into the
table, shifting it about three feet.
"Watch his face!" Mother screamed, "Don't ruin it like you did the last one!"
6.
Donny tried to extricate himself from the chair he fell over with. Pushing off from the edge of the
table, Harold had found his sea legs and came after him, swinging the hammer back and forth
over Donny as he scrambled backward across the floor.
Settling back into her meek disposition, the scene seemed to greatly unnerve Mother and she
began screaming. With her arms flailing above her head, she fled the room.
Donny pressed himself into an alcove, listening to the floor creaking as Harold, hammer in hand,
stalked the darkened hallway looking for him.
"Where are you, you little prick?" Harold hissed. "Mother wants her Johnny back."
Harold turned and took a swing at the air as if Donny may suddenly appear behind him. Funny
thing is, through nearsightedness or just Donny’s good luck, Harold walked right by him in the
dark.
When he thought enough time has passed, Donny stepped out from hiding. No sooner than he
did,
Harold was on him with the hammer. Donny tried to ward him off, but suffered severe defensive
wounds on his shoulders and both forearms. Eventually, he got a good shot on the old man,
sending him crashing to the ground.
Donny ran down the hall and found himself in some sort of sitting room where the mummified
corpses of three younger men sat "watching" a game show. Stopping in his tracks, he suddenly
heard screaming, and another mummified corpse came at him through an adjacent doorway.
Mother was behind it pushing.
"Get him, Paul!" She shrieked as she shoved the corpse at Donny.
Mortified, he caught it by the arms and found himself face-to-face with the stitched up leathery
visage of the couple's eldest son. Donny threw the stiffened corpse to the side where it bounced
off “David” and landed on the floor – its head popped open with a sickening crack and sawdust
and cotton spilled out onto the floor. Mother leaned down with shaking hands, and hovered over
"Paul".
"Oh, Paul." She fretted. "Your poor head."
Donny fled out through another door, and Mother heard him ascending the front stairs.
"Harold! Harold!" Mother shouted, following him.
She rushed in and all but collapsed at the bottom of the stairs just as Harold lumbered up from
another room. He had stopped by Mother's side when they heard a door upstairs slam shut.
"Kim!" She cried. "Oh my God, Harold, our baby girl!"
Alarmed, Harold brushed forcefully past Mother and on up the stairs.
7.
7.
With his back to the door, Donny found himself in near darkness. In the low light he could see
someone across the room sitting up in bed, motionless and staring. He took a step forward and
stopped.
Reaching back he flipped on the light switch, illuminating the corpse of a teenage girl in all its
horrifying glory. A strangled cry was all Donny could manage as he threw himself backwards
against the wall.
Harold entered the room in a panicked rush, stopped, and took several furtive steps over to the
side of the bed. His shoulders slumped and he turned to see Donny standing by the door. Their
eyes locked.
Harold's defeated gaze met Donny's look of harrowing contempt. Mother's anguished cry startled
them both. She was in the doorway staring towards the figure on the bed.
A young girl's withered corpse lay propped up against the headboard, her large white eyes staring
and vacant. Her mouth, hanging open grotesquely, was torn at the corners giving her a wide
jester's grin, with broken thread fringing her lips where they'd once been sutured shut. Her
stained nightgown was pushed up around her waist and her legs were erotically splayed,
exposing the leather-like skin of her inner thighs, blackened and shiny from wear.
Mother, clutching the doorway to keep herself upright, looked over at Donny who was still
glaring at Harold. Turning her head, she stared into the face of her husband. A sickening
recognition came over her as she saw the guilt in his eyes.
"It's okay mother – I'll take care of it!" Harold exclaimed as he stutter stepped over to the bed
and tried to fix the sheets over "Kim's" corpse.
Then he stopped, realizing that his shame was exposed, and he let go the sheet. With outstretched
hands, he shuffled back towards them, he stopped in front of Mother, mournful and sorrowful.
But she couldn't look at him anymore. She could only look past him to the memory of the
daughter that had run away from home at fourteen.
"My Kim." She moaned as if her soul had shattered.
"But... she left you." Harold said in a way that seemed he was justifying his actions.
Mother snapped out of her melancholia. "And now I know why!" She screamed as rage replaced
anguish.
She glared into the face of the man she'd been married to for forty years. It was as if she was
really seeing him for the very first time. The way he had treated the boys and now the realization
of what her daughter had gone through. Harold knew how much it broke her heart when Kim
left. She thought he was sparing her feelings by insisting on bringing Kim's food to her room
after she returned. An act of kindness. In the blink of an eye, her world crashed down around her.
Mother slapped him hard across the face with the force of forty years of repressed truth. Harold
absorbed the blow and slowly recoiled back.
8.
Recovering, Harold looked to Donny imploringly, seeking understanding, but found only
contempt. Harold's mind spun out of control. After years of catering to her mental illness,
placating her delusions, even killing for her, this is the thanks he gets?! And now this snot nosed
little bastard has the temerity to look down on him?! Harold seemed to swell up with an
agonizing rage, and quick as lightning smashed the hammer into Donny's forehead. Like a
marionette that's strings were just clipped, Donny dropped to the floor with a sickening thump.
Harold pushed past mother and ran out into the hallway. Down the steps and through the kitchen,
passing the last son, “Michael,” who sat at the kitchen table, a large slab of peach pie in front of
him. The screen door slammed and Harold was gone into the darkness of the night.
Mother was covering “Kim’s” corpse with a quilt, muttering apologies to her when she heard
Donny moan. She rushed over and fell to her knees in front of him.
"Johnny, sshhh, it’s okay." She cooed. "Mother’s here. Mother’s here..."
Snow was falling softly, covering the ground as an older man in an overcoat and scarf, trudged
up the long incline to the house. But before he could set foot on the bottom step, the front door
opened and Mother was there.
"Have a bit of trouble on the roads, did you?" Mother asked before adding, "I thought I heard
tires skidding."
"Heard that, huh?" The man chuckled. "Yeah, well I guess my foot was a little too heavy for my
own good. It doesn't pay to be in a hurry in conditions like this."
"It sure don't." Mother said with a chuckle of her own. "I'm Lita. Lita Makowski."
"Bob Sweet." The man said as he tipped his hat. "Good to know you, ma'am."
"Likewise, Mr. Sweet." Lita returned, as shuffling steps could be heard from inside the house.
Donny appeared in the doorway wearing thick glasses and clothes that were ill-fitting at best.
With his lurching manner and dented forehead, it was clear to Bob that he wasn't quite right. Lita
took him by the shoulders and walked him forward towards the edge of the porch.
"Mr. Sweet," she began, "I'd like you to meet my youngest boy Johnny."
Donny made some manner of declaration neither one of them could understand as he tottered
unsteadily next to Lita.
"That's alright Johnny." Lita reassured him before turning her attention back to Bob. "He's been
away for awhile but he's back with us now."
Bob approached and extended his hand, "Nice to meet you young man. And you can both call me
Bob." Donny thrust an unsteady hand towards Bob, and they shook hands.
"And you can call me Lita. I'd say you could use our phone, Bob, but I'm afraid the storm has
knocked our service out." Lita apologized. "But I do wish you'd come in just the same. It should
be back up momentarily and this weather is awfully chilly."
9.
Bob placed a foot on the bottom step. "Well, I might could take you up on that offer, Lita. At
least until your service comes back on."
"Wonderful!" Lita exclaimed joyfully. "Until then we can sit down and have a nice hot cup of
tea."
Bob ascended the steps and moved past “Johnny” and on into the house. And as “Johnny” was
shutting the door, Mother could be heard inside, "My husband should be back shortly."
The End