A Floral Streaked Room

Danny Simmons sat on the porcelain throne, his hands twisted with excitement as he fiddled with a metal cylinder. He’d been hiding in the bathroom for nearly an hour, but in all truth, he’d been done ten minutes into his trip. The cool blue tiles chilled his bare feet as he gazed around his only sanctuary from the perils outside. He couldn’t think of anything he hated more than his nana’s house.

Danny had lived long enough to have a difficult time admitting that. Oh, there was no way in hell he would say he hated his nana out loud, saying he disliked the sweet woman who helped raise his prepubescent ass was next to blasphemy, but he wasn’t opposed to thinking it… as long as it was quiet.

Nana’s house drew out the worst feelings inside Danny. The feelings that stretched the pit of his stomach until it was long enough to play jump rope. Ones that he was unable to place nor understand, no matter how long they lingered in his soul. He felt dirty in her house as if there was a plume of evil hovering around him, injecting his pores with its noxious gas.

That was only the beginning of it. Danny found his nana even more unsettling; she had never sat right in his developing mind. Her smile bent crooked instead of curved; the grey hair on her head curled in a way that was too perfect, and the wrinkles dug deep into her pruney skin, but that was his mother’s mother, and Danny had to love her.

The part of Danny that hated his nana managed to submerge the guilt that followed, but it had a hard time in the process. She was a sweet woman, in truth, and because of this, Danny was cursed with her love. His grandpa’s death hadn’t helped, and ever since, Nana had fallen hopelessly ill. From the moment of his passing, she had become a mysterious woman. She hid away from the family, refusing any condolence at all, and even went as far as to cancel the funeral. There was never a burial. This entire situation only worsened Danny’s situation, making it impossible to deny Nana anytime she wanted to see her “beautiful, smart, and funny young man.”

Danny didn’t feel beautiful, and he wasn’t smart either, funny maybe, but certainly not smart. At the age of nine, Danny didn’t expect to know how to reverse the log of a function, but he was positive he needed more knowledge than the amount he possessed. In Danny’s mind, he didn’t know shit (except for shit, that is).

He could still recall the glorious moment as if it had happened mere seconds earlier. His friend, Sylas Jones, had slumped over in his metal desk chair and whispered the most glorious sentences Danny had ever heard. Before then, Danny didn't know “bad words” existed, but that newfound information, and knowing the meaning of one of them—oh-boy oh-boy— Danny was in heaven! Shit this, shit that, this is shit, that is shit; everything was shit to Danny because there was nothing funnier on Earth, and he would be astonished if there would ever be something to beat it.

So Danny sat above his shit, focusing on the small multitool that popped in and out with gadgets. Around him, waterfalls of hideous floral wallpaper cascaded to the juxtaposed tiles below, and the ancient 60s style still managed to dance with vibrant life. Danny’s eyes skidded across the design, picking out the patterns that played on repeat while his fingers stayed busy with the tool. As a young man who teemed with an ADHD-infused brain, Danny found himself fiddling with anything he could get his hands on. A clicking pen, a coin he could flip, Danny could even satisfy himself with a cardboard box. However, there was nothing he enjoyed more than his trusty multitool (and shit of course).

His gaze continued to move around the bathroom walls, looking for nothing in particular, only dancing along with the looping petals. They continued their ballet until they naturally rested on a torn tab of paper. Danny’s stomach jumped into his throat. It was only an inch of runaway paper, but to Danny’s nine-year-old mind it might as well be buried treasure.

There was no hesitation before Danny found himself tearing into the decorated wall. His blade moved with precision as he pulled back a good foot of paper, and his mouth dropped in orgasmic awe as he stared into a small alcove that was dug into the building. Where thousands of paper flowers once bloomed, now sat a box smothered in brown paper. Danny’s heart fluttered as he stood from the toilet, and he wrapped ten giddy fingers around the cube. It squished in his palm, and he nearly let it go as the moisture from inside seeped through the flimsy packaging, carrying an iron scent into his nostrils. Something inside thudded against the package like a heartbeat, and Danny could feel a sort of life force flow from inside the box with a gasp of wind. What the shit is this?

Nothing better had ever happened to Danny, and he decided that there was nothing in his future that would ever trump this. He couldn’t let this go to waste. The toilet was flushed, and the door was unlocked as Danny hurried from the room.

He gagged as the outside air hit him. That was another thing he hated about his nana’s: her house always smells like shit. It didn’t stop him, though, and soon Danny found that he was a cheetah racing to his room. The door was shut quicker than Danny could have said shit, and he flicked the lock so it swung horizontal. It wasn’t common practice for Danny to lock his door, but this find was too precious for him to risk losing, and he was sure Nana wouldn’t question it (she was an overbearing woman, but Danny was a changing boy and she wouldn’t dare interfere with that).

He couldn’t get the knife out fast enough, and his heart slammed into his ribs as he looked down at the paper wrapping that was soon to be shredded all over the floor. But a fear stopped Danny. The beating heart grew louder and faster, and Danny couldn’t risk it. If this shit s’alive, I don’t wanna hurt it.

Night fell upon him, but Danny still found himself staring at the wet lump that sat alone on his bed. It entranced him, called to him, screamed for his attention, and Danny obeyed. His eyes refused to leave the box until the noises began.

They started small: howling in the dark, naked feet splattering down the hall, and light scratching up and down the walls. It was strange, but it was a custom in Nana’s house that Danny had grown used to. However, the loud slam wasn’t. It was an explosion that rocked the room and threw Danny scrambling to the far corner, away from the crashing door. A moment passed before another bang sounded, and Danny let out a tiny squeak in response.

“Danny.” A sweet voice, one that Danny had memorized, sung from outside the locked door. “Danny, are you ok? Danny, I hear you in there, are you ok? Danny, why is the door locked? Danny, open the door for Nana. Danny let me see my sweet baby’s faceeeee.”

That voice had graced Danny’s ears countless times, but never like that. It was as if Nana's voice had been possessed by a deceased Broadway star who had developed an odd obsession for the young boy. Yes, Nana loved Danny, but when he wanted his peace and quiet she respected that. Whoever this person was, was not.

“Ohhh Danny, open the door for Nana and let me see that beautiful face of yours. Ohhh Danny please won’t you let me see you.” —BANG BANG BANG— “Danny, I want to see that face.” —BANG BANG— “Danny ohhh.”

This sent shivers down his spine as Danny listened to the moaning that sailed out of his Nana, and as the woman spoke, the box begged to be set free.

“DANNY GIVE ME THE FUCKIN’ BOX!” The bare footsteps returned an instant after Nana’s voice ended, and Danny was left in silence. The scream had shattered Danny’s confidence. It was one of those demonic voices that flowed from the Hollywood horror flicks that always played on his mother’s TV.

His heart pounded as loud as the woman’s scream had been. Nana sure as shit isn’t normal, and if it’s because of this box then I need to be the one to find out why. His youthful mind gasped at the possibilities of being the hero as it ran through every scenario imaginable, but it was quick to forget when another thought arose. Nana’s gonna pick the lock!

Danny’s underdeveloped mind always hooked on the coolest thing he could think of, and that was lock picking. It sounded ridiculous, but he’d been trying to learn for months, and if he was Nana’s age, there was no way he wouldn’t have figured it out by then. He needed a new hiding place, and quick!

The solution was almost immediate: Nana’s closet! Danny had never seen it, but since Grandpa's death, Nana had moved all his possessions into a sort of shrine, and Danny had been exiled from that room. His nine-year-old mind reasoned with itself; if he wasn’t allowed in there, why would Nana check? It was flawless!

The shit smell intensified as Danny snuck the wide door open, brown box tucked under his arm. He gagged and covered his nose as he stepped in. The lights in Nana’s room were off, and Danny didn’t dare to turn them on, so her closet sat in utter darkness. Danny was immediately met with repulsion as his foot sunk four inches into a gooey substance, and he slipped to his knees, wet chunks splattering his face as he went.

From somewhere outside, Danny could hear Nana’s slapping footsteps continue. His heart raced as he slid through the muck; what had once been an entrancing idea of heroism had turned into a fear for his life. Something about Nana wasn’t right, and there was something about this closet and box that was much worse.

Chunks of the goop flicked up onto Danny’s panting tongue, and his stomach wretched as the wet lumps crumbled in his mouth. What is this shit? Danny paused for a moment and fumbled for the flashlight on his multitool. The bulb cast a faint beam, but it was just bright enough for Danny to make out what the muddy substance was. All around him was an enormous closet filled with literal shit. It piled inches into the air and covered the walls with its crawling body.

Danny gagged again, but this time a wave of vomit flooded out of his mouth. It hit the piles of feces and rebounded back onto his shit-splattered face. He kept convulsing as a figure began to shift in the corner of the room. Danny tried to move, but he was paralyzed by the sick that spewed from him. All he could do was watch as a human shape stepped into his flickering light.

Danny screamed through his puke as he looked up into the cold dead eyes of his grandpa, who limped towards him. “Save me from her!” The man moaned, and Danny’s eyes began to tear up. Shit streaked down the man’s naked legs, and his body had begun to deteriorate from a year of death. The skin rotted away to reveal a dying skeleton beneath, and the once strong arms dangled from cords that held the Frankenstein’s body together.

In Danny’s arm, the box began to pulse harder as it yearned for its owner, and once more, a scream escaped Danny’s puke-covered lips as the pattering feet crept closer behind him.