The Locked Cupboard

CW: Crude language, gore

The Locked Cupboard

by

Lije Clay

Isabella never could keep her mouth shut. Her mom really should’ve known better. Sooner or later she was bound to tell me, or one of our friends. It wasn’t so much that she was a blabber mouth, it was just that she couldn’t resist one-upping. For example, here’s a conversation we had a week before she told me her big bad secret:

“Did you hear Elijah got suspended?” I said.

“No, what did he do?” she said.

“He called Mr. Beach a bad word.”

“What was it?”

“Douche leech. I don’t know what it means.”

In hindsight I can see this moment was a bit of a quandary for her. I can picture the slight squint to her left eye and wrinkle of her brow. You see, she wasn’t the type of one-upper that just spit out the first thing they thought of. Sometimes there are multiple opportunities to deliver better conversational input than the person who spoke before you, and if you can think for just a moment you have the chance to not just say something better, but something great. So there she was, having to choose between a story of doing something worse than Elijah did, or knowing a bad word worse than the one I didn’t even know.

Her face relaxed into a perfect copy of one of her mom’s favorite expressions. “I know a worse word than that.”

“Really?” I said, actually curious. When you’re ten you need to know as many bad words as you can.

“Yeah.” She looked around the half open door to make sure her mom wasn’t near. “Blowjob.”

“I already know that one,”

“How about twat waffle?”

“Maybe. What’s it mean?”

“It means you’re a vagina eater.”

“Gross.”

“Totally nasty you mean.”

“Yeah…”

Something bumped the wall outside her room. I jumped in my skin expecting Izzy’s mom to burst in and catch us talking about twat waffles.

“I thought that was your mom at first,” I said when nothing happened.

“I was wondering why you looked crazy like that.”

We laughed.

So that’s what she was like. It was entertaining and you learned a lot, but eventually you kinda wondered if everything she said was true.

We were just going out for recess when we first heard about it. They always lined us up in the gym and that day they had the news on the announcements screen.

“…an eleven year-old girl has gone missing in the town of B—,” said the stern anchor in a voice that somehow seemed light and positive without sounding insensitive to the subject material. “Authorities are asking that anyone with information on the whereabouts of Sarah Hill to please come forward and are advising—”

“Watch this.”

“Huh?” I looked over my shoulder and simultaneously cringed away. There was Elijah, for some inexplicable reason whispering into my ear. Eww.

“Watch. I’m gonna call Mr. Beach, Mr. Bitch.” He smiled like I should be responding with uncontrollable laughter.

“Hehe,” I said. I didn’t really think it was that clever but I didn’t want to be rude.

“You’re so dumb,” said Stormy from behind Elijah.

“It’s funny,” he said turning back to her.

“It’s dumb.”

“Takes one to know one.”

“Takes one what?” said Stormy.

He thought for a moment and then, “Takes one what?” in a mocking tone.

“Ughh, you’re so annoying.”

“Hey guys, quite down and pay attention,” said Mr. Beach. “We put this on for a reason.”

The anchor started detailing instructions from the police on how to not get abducted or something like that. I remember taking it very seriously while my friends didn’t, but I can’t recall any of the anti-abduction advice so I might as well have been goofing off like them.

By the end of the day there were two girls missing. Two girls my age, and it became pretty apparent that they were definitely being abducted, and hadn’t just gotten lost like all our parents had hoped when it had just been one. By the end of the week, it was seven girls. My parents worked till dinner time every day so my mom set it up with Isabella’s mom that I’d go to their house after school until things went back to normal. I remember wondering how it was any different being over there since Izzy’s mom was gone half the time as well. Still, safety in numbers, and it ended up not being just us two. Stormy’s mom made the same arrangement and since it had only been girls taken I think our collective motherhood decided a boy being in the group was a good idea, so Elijah got roped in as well.

In the way that you only notice afterwards, those were some of the most fun and meaningful hangouts I had as a kid. Maybe it was like bonding through a shared experience or something but for the rest of my life it was hard not to compare any friend group to that squad thrown together by mutual fear of abduction. It’s strange thinking about it now. It’s like good things should rise out of other good things. That makes sense, or it seems like it should make sense. But it’s not true. I made some of my best friends out of horrific circumstances. Imagine telling someone that was when you made your best friends and it ended up being a good thing for you, and then they tell you it was their daughter or sister that got taken. Hard to make sense out of things like that.

It was one of those days stuck at Izzy’s that she blabbed something she really shouldn’t have. We were all sitting on the floor of her room outfitting barbies (Elijah will deny this but he was doing it as well) and talking about crazy stuff our family’s did.

“My dad makes me sleep with plastic under my sheets and I haven’t even wet the bed since I was like six,” said Elijah. “Do you think this shirt goes with these pants?”

“Eww no,” said Stormy. “Try this one.”

“But I don’t think you get my style.”

“I get that your style looks dumb.”

Elijah looked like he was about to cry then but seemed to just hold it together. “My dad doesn’t let me choose my clothes either.”

“Oh,” said Stormy and she almost looked sorry. “Well my dad is insane. One time, he locked my brother in his room for a week!”

“Did he feed him?” I said.

“Not at first.”

“Holy crap!”

“Well that was just a couple days. After that he brought him food, but that’s like jail or something!”

“What did your brother do?” said Elijah, almost for sure thinking about how to avoid her brother’s fate like I was.

“That’s nothing,” said Izzy. “We keep my dad locked in the cupboard.”

“….” we said collectively.

Elijah’s mouth caught up and he said, “What the hell?”

“Don’t say bad words,” Stormy said. Then, “Izzy, what are you talking about?”

For half a moment Izzy looked like she regretted the best one-up she’d ever delivered, then realized she didn’t and plunged fully ahead. “We keep my dad locked in the cupboard.”

“Why?” I said.

She lead us down the hall. Her mom wasn’t there but we were all tip-toeing. I didn’t want to go. I didn’t want to see or find out why they kept her dad locked in the cupboard. It was wrong. Like really wrong and it scared the crap out of me. I had seen an old TV version of some British novel where this guy kept his wife locked up in an attic. There was a doctor at one point and when he came out from seeing her, he had been attacked. Bitten. I never even saw the wife or the inside of her attic but my imagination was pretty good and I had gotten up, run to my bed, and pulled the covers over my head. Some part of me knew that wasn’t real though. But now it was real. Something was locked in a room and we were going straight to it. What if it was hideous? What if the sight made me run away in front of my friends? What if it attacked us and bit us with sharp teeth covered in stale saliva?

Izzy’s house had a big cupboard outside the kitchen in the hall and I had never given it another thought but sure enough, as we approached, I saw a padlock on the double doors. I’d seen it a million times before but now it meant something.

“Ughh, I forgot the key,” said Izzy. “I’ll be right back,” and she left us standing in front of the cupboard doors. There was light peaking from underneath like a promise that something really was inside. But the padlock meant the doors wouldn’t open. It meant we were safe. I didn't feel that way. I felt exposed. Like something was going to grab me from behind. Then Izzy was back and putting the key into the lock. She was going to unlock it. She was going to make it unsafe and open the door. She was going to let the light out.

“Oh God, Oh God. Oh my God,” I kept saying over and over.

Stormy grabbed my hand and Elijah stepped in front of me just an inch or two. I could see goose pimples on the back of his neck. Izzy opened the door and there he was. A dad locked in a cupboard.

“Basically, I think he’s got like magical powers or something.”

“Like Harry Potter?”

“No. I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Does he stay in here all the time?” said Stormy.

“Pretty much. My mom takes him to go to the bathroom sometimes.”

“What’s wrong with him?”

“Maybe he’s crazy.”

“Does he talk?”

“Not usually. But I don’t get to see him that often. Mom doesn’t know I found where she hides the key.”

I couldn’t believe it. There he was, just sitting on a bed. I can’t describe what he looked like except that his head was shaved with a few days stubble starting to peak up. What I can describe is the feeling of what he looked like. I didn’t know it at the time, but he felt like a long-term resident of a nursing home. I work in healthcare now and I see what it’s like living in those places. They’re not all bad, but the bad ones give the rest a reputation. A powerful perfume of pooled saliva and piss soaked sheets mixed with halitosis fills the halls. Wheelchairs roam aimlessly with an infinitely creative assortment of debilitating maladies sitting in them. The maladies, carry all their daily needs in their laps around with them like the homeless with their buggies. And that’s what it comes down to. You realize these people are not at home. They’re lost, alone, cast out like lepers in the ancient world. It’s a bit on the nose but I’ve coined a term for them that I think encapsulates what I’m trying to say. They’re the Nursing Homeless.

Looking at Izzy’s dad felt like looking at one of those homeless people. And yet, he was smiling. Maybe, like a lot of nursing home residents, his best moments were getting to see his family. Getting to see her. He seemed to be trying to say something but nothing understandable ever came out.

“Isn’t this like against the law?” said Stormy.

“I don’t know,” said Izzy. “It’s against the law if you lock up kids like this, but I don’t know about parents. Honestly, I don’t even think he’s really my dad.”

He started moaning loudly like someone who can’t speak getting agitated.

“What’s wrong?” said Elijah.

“I think he gets upset sometimes. We should probly go.”

He started trembling and his face turned purple. Veins popped out on his forehead and just before she shut the door, I saw something red in the corner of his eye.

We decided we didn’t want to stay in the house after that even though we’d been given clear instructions to not go out. It was hardly going out though. The park was basically across the street from Izzy’s. Nobody else was there since everyone was afraid a kidnapper van was gonna drive up and take them away. That was a concern, but for us we had a more pressing situation inside the house where we were supposed to be safe.

“What if her dad is the one taking all the girls?” Stormy whispered over at me so Izzy couldn’t hear.

“How? He’s locked in the cupboard.”

“I don’t know. But it kinda makes sense.”

I thought about it for a second. “It would make more sense if it was her mom. I mean she’s locked her husband up. She could have other people locked up in there too!”

“Holy crap!” said Stormy with wide eyes.

“Yeah. That would be crazy.”

“No! Look.” She was pointing back towards the house.

I turned around to see and almost fell off the monkey bars. It was Izzy’s dad. He had escaped and was walking straight towards us! I couldn’t move.

“Run guys!” yelled Elijah and booked it into the woods on the other side of the park. Vastly different fear responses.

“Oh no! I forgot to lock the cupboard,” said Izzy. She jumped down from the tower the slide was connected to and ran to head her dad off. Stormy hopped off the bars and followed. I didn’t wanna be left alone but also didn’t want to get any closer, so I hopped off and brought up the rear but kept a good distance away from the escaped dad. Izzy ran up and grabbed his hands.

“Come on. We gotta go back inside. Mom’s gonna kill me.”

He pulled back against her. Stormy halted a few feet away and then backed up several skips.

“Please, come on,” said Izzy.

He pulled back till she stopped to face him.

“What’s wrong?”

I could see his face turning purple again and a loud moan. But wait. That was a word! He was saying something. Against my better judgement I stepped closer.

“Isabella, I am your father,” he said and it looked like he was going to faint from the effort.

Izzy started to cry. “I know you’re my dad.” She wiped her face. “We gotta go. Come on please.”

He moaned again and nodded then let her guide him back to the house, holding his hand. I walked up next to Stormy and we watched them go up the porch steps and inside.

“Guys! Watch out!” yelled Elijah from across the park.

I turned around and said, “It’s okay—” My mouth dropped. It was not okay. Between me and Elijah, standing in the middle of the park were seven figures that looked like men. They all had long, gleaming hair, and were beautiful and built like Greek sculptures. They looked human, or like the best version of a human possible, but somehow I knew they weren’t. Maybe it was the fact that they looked naked but somehow weren’t at the same time. Probably it was the craft sitting in the sky above them in total silence and stillness as if planted in the air like a tree in the ground.

I didn’t get much more time to figure things out. The figures advanced. Stormy ran. I froze. A sculpture grabbed me. I saw Elijah running up, then he was down on the ground. My sculpture carried me towards the craft. There was shouting and the air around me got rigid and thick. The sculpture dropped me. They were all facing Izzy’s house. There, in front of the house, Izzy standing behind him, was another one of the aliens. At the same time, the way you know someone in a dream even when their appearance changes, I knew it was her dad only he wasn’t a nursing homeless anymore. If the other guys were sculptures, he was the god they based them on. Bronzed muscles bulged out of every possible place they could and his eyes were like lightning. The half inch of stubble on his head glowed and he began to tremble like he did before in the cupboard. The sculptures did the same thing, their long mane’s glowing with a power I could feel beating me into the ground. As awe inspiring as they looked, they were like boys next to a man compared to Izzy’s dad. He seemed twice their height and impossibly handsome. The world bent and warped around him. The air went tight. Blood leaked from his eyes and nose, and then something loud popped and all the thickness in the air burst away. The sculptures were knocked to the ground. They scrambled to their knees, blood all over their faces and their previously glorious manes fried to stringy, plastic wire. The next thing I knew they were gone and so was their craft, but in the middle of the playground surrounding a bewildered Elijah, lay seven girls fast asleep.

When I looked again, Izzy’s dad was his old self, but even worse. Older, more frail and withered. Izzy hugged him and he kissed her on the head. Then he shuffled back in the house and shut himself in the cupboard where he belonged, like a dog that knew they’d done something wrong. I don’t know why it seemed that way to me, it’s just what he looked like. I never saw him again and never told anyone about him, but every now and then when I was over at Izzy’s I’d open the doors to the cupboard as far as the padlock would let me and slip him some chocolate. I didn’t know if he liked it, but it was my favorite thing and I wanted to share it with him.

The End