The Execution.
In June this year, Drew* and I got engaged. I am not close with my family whatsoever, but Drew is, so we drove down to Virginia to celebrate with them. His parents and grandparents live together in a big old house and have people coming and going at all times of the day. They are a jolly bunch and I had a great time with them until the last night before our departure.
We sat on the porch, intoxicated on beer and the summer breeze, three generations, and chatted away when Drew asked his grandfather Everett* to share the prison story. They all shared glances and Everett shrugged, “what the hell! Ellie* is family now, so she can hear this.”
I leaned forward in my chair. This just got good. He began.
“This was in 19138-39. I was a lad of 19, newly hitched to this beauty over here and needed a job bad. We were still in the Depression. My old man’s good friend got me a job at the federal penitentiary as a janitor. I worked the day shift and the pay was good, so I didn’t mind working at a prison. Many of the prisoners were Blacks, they weren’t the problem. It was the Whites who were entitled little shits. Left poo on the floor, other bodily juices, if you catch my drift. Every other day I cleaned the blood off the stalls or walls. Anywho, one time as I cleaned the hallway, the officers walked in with a man in shackles. His hands and legs both were bound and an officer held him on a leash. He was tall, muscular, well built. He had short hair, a crew-cut, and a gash that ran from the left ear down to his lip. There was something so evil about his eyes; I couldn’t look at his face. He smiled at everyone as he passed as if he had won an award. He stopped when he saw me and said in a gruff voice, ‘so innocent, I can devour you in one bite’ before he was yanked forward by the corrections officer. I later found out he was a notorious killer of young, pubescent boys of my age or younger and was going to be executed within a few months. I won’t lie, I was relieved he was in solitary and I didn’t have to see him or talk to him. He gave me the heebee-jeebees.
“So the day of the execution came. It was right before Thanksgiving we were short-staffed. The executioner called out sick and guess who got roped in? I am going about my business and the warden comes and asks me to be in the kill room in 20 minutes. I had never been in there, not even for cleaning and I am half excited-half nerves as I walk in. Its a naked room, white walls, white floors, dim lighting and a brown leather chair with straps attached to a machine of some sort. There are three other men in the room: the warden and a couple of COs. In walks Mr. Wallace, and as usual he is in chains and is smiling that evil grin. He is made to sit in the leather chair and we begin strapping him down. He seems unfazed by it all. This ain’t a party son. He is going to die and he just sits there comfortably, looking around as if he is on a joyride, with those foul, foul eyes. He even blew me a kiss and winked at me. So he is strapped in tight and I am breaking into a sweat. We step away from him and the warden asks if he wanted to say any last words or prayers. He scoffs and says ‘you should pray that I don’t return because I plan to and when I do, I will exterminate more faggots and cleanse this earth of pestilence.’ He is a religious fanatic, who would've thunk? Anywho, at this point, I press the button on the machine and he starts shaking. Trembling, quaking whatever you want to call it. He soils his pants and pukes everywhere. But he doesn’t die. He opens his eyes and starts laughing, so loudly we all take a step back. He changes, I can’t explain how but he becomes bigger, his eyes turn red and he breaks free of his straps. How the fuck he managed to get out, is beyond me. He has this superhuman strength, he uproots the chair, its bolted to the floor and throws it at the warden. He starts attacking whoever he can lay his filthy hands on, all the while growling, salivating like a beast, and I kid you not, he has fangs. He finds me and latches on my shoulder like a leech, sucking blood and sinew. I scream in agony but he won’t let go. Finally, one of the COs shoots ten rounds and he collapses to the floor and takes me with him. I am on top of him in an embrace. Before he goes he says something in my ear and it gives me nightmares to this day. He says, ‘Everett, you are a part of me and I am a part of you. Your heirs will do my work. They will have the mark and they will carry on.’
“Only the four us know what happened there. We didn’t report this to anyone. Officially he was electrocuted. One by one, we all quit that job. A few years later, I have children, Samuel and Bernard. And Samuel has Drew and Carrie. Bernie has Bernie Jr, Freddie, and Christy and they all have the mark.”
He showed me the teeth marks on his left shoulder, as did Samuel and Drew. They all had marks. They even showed me photos of all the children as new-borns and they all had them on their left shoulder, teeth marks from something not quite human.
At this point, I know the Wilson* family has a terrible secret and it will be passed on to my children until one of them finishes the task Wallace set out to do. Unless this was a sick joke, I was stuck with bearing children for a monster.
We drove back home in silence. What could I say or do at this point? I was stuck with this family forever. How could the women bear this secret and then bear children? I looked at Drew, his face scrunched from concentrating on driving and felt a tinge of annoyance. He should have told me before. Shouldn't he?
How could I marry him now?
*Names changed to protect identities.