Dredging Up Memories Read Free Page B

bedroom, her head smashed in, her mouth bloodied, a chunk of someone’s flesh still clenched tight in her teeth. I lifted her lifeless body over my shoulder, carried her outside, and set her down next to the woman who had woken me. Back inside I went, up the stairs to finish the sweep. The bathroom was empty. The other bedroom had to belong to the child. This I knew before pushing the door open. 
    Unlike in the horror movies, the hinges didn’t scream. I was stunned when I stepped into the pink room. Nothing looked out of place. It was as I thought a little girl’s room should be: dolls and a play house in one corner, a mirror on the wall, stuffed animals on a blanket that held pictures of cartoon characters. The only thing that might have been odd was the stuffed bear lying on the floor, the one in the bunny outfit from the picture on the first floor. I picked the bear up. It was soft, plush. 
    I’ve never been an overly emotional man, but the events of the weeks leading up to that point in my life had changed things considerably. Tears tugged at the corners of my eyes as I thought about the stuffed animal, about the little girl, and what probably happened to her along the way. I hugged the teddy bear close, smelling little girl soap or shampoo or maybe just her natural scent. I smelled the innocence I saw in the picture.
    It took me back to Bobby, back to a little blanket he received when he was born. It was black and white. One end laid flat over his infant body; the other end had the head of a puppy and two front legs that looked more like arms for hugging. I remembered how he held it tight to his chest when he got older and “Doggy” no longer covered him. He took Doggy with him when…
    Turning on my heel, I hurried out of the room, teddy bear in hand. I closed the door behind me and made my way down the stairs. Outside, I set my pack on the porch. I opened it up and pulled out a red spray can, put a big X on the door, and placed the can back in the pack. I tucked the bear inside as well, zipping the pack on both sides so only its head poked out.
    “So, what’s your name?” I asked, knowing the silence I would receive. 
    As if on cue, a thought popped in my head.
    Humphrey.
    The thought didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel like it was mine but someone else’s, as if I had stolen it from the mind of the little girl in the picture.
    “Humphrey?” I nodded, pushing away an uneasy feeling. “Humphrey it is.”
    The other houses were similar: a couple dead folks, a rotter or two that had been taken down by someone else before they moved on. Or at least I hoped they were able to move on. The bodies were taken outside and laid together. 
    The afternoon sun was directly overhead by the time I had finished all but one house. That house I would leave for later. Another three hours and another mass grave—this time for seven people—had been dug and filled in. I was tired but not finished.
    I didn’t want to go into the Banks household. I guess I didn’t really have to, but I knew if I didn’t, I would always wonder if Karen were in there, if she were dead or alive or shambling about, not quite resurrected but something that was a perverse form of it.
    At the porch, my mind replayed Thomas’ tumble from the day before. I closed my eyes, shook my head, and then reopened them. A deep breath, and I went toward the house. My body moved on autopilot. Legs went up the steps, one hand pushing the door further open, the other hand clutching to my pistol. Again, legs moved throughout the house, room by room, eyes scanning, taking in the ruins of the inside of the house, hands pushing doors open until I had gone through the entire house, and Karen was nowhere to be found. I exhaled, thankful she wasn’t there.
    That was a short-lived feeling. Passing the back door, I peeked out the window. In the center of the yard was a grave, a cross jutting out from the freshly turned dirt. I knew it was Karen even before I walked