The McKinley Review Magazine

Nutmeg

By: Franc Derik | Posted on: March 2018 

Meg Smith couldn’t help but think about how she would never be able to see her dear Grandma Gertrude again. The day when she received a visit from Grandma’s attorney, Mr. Sandford, a few days ago, couldn’t help but be tied to even the simplest of thoughts. Everything went by ever so slowly as Mr. Sandford solemnly recalled how he found her dead body in the middle of a busy road full of vehicles, tied up tightly with thick iron coils, as numerous cars trampled all over her. For some reason, not one person claimed that they saw the dead body. She remembered stroking her snowy-white and silky hair. She remembered holding her thin, skeleton-like hand and refusing to let go when Grandma had to leave. She remembered Nutmeg, her pet-name only Grandma and Meg knew about.

 

Loud knocks coming from the front door resonated throughout the room. Meg woke up abruptly from her thoughts and lament. At once, her cousin, Mary called out, "Hey, Meg. Could you answer the door, I’m a little bit busy with some homework.”

 

Meg ignored Mary’s words. Instead, she unplugged her now fully charged iPhone, and began checking her Facebook. Another series of knocks echoed this time, more violent and harsh. Ever so indistinctly, the rapping of iron coils seemed to conceal itself behind the strikes on the door. Mary sighed, and after giving a look of loathing at her cousin, went to admit the unknown visitor. Then, a third, final, ear-splitting knock was heard, and Meg could swear that everything in the room was vibrating rapidly. As the front door creaked open, the lights went out, the heavily tinted windows sealed closed, and the display on Meg's iPhone shut off. Everything was pitch black, but Mary’s shriek of pain and terror was clearly heard. Meg rushed around blindly, and when she finally located the door, she found that it was locked. Sweat was pouring down on her face; her whole body was trembling, but she just didn’t know what to do. And then, in the distance, Meg heard a familiar croaking voice cry out ever so faintly, her pet name, “Nutmeg.”

 

Meg could hear steps coming closer and closer, each one louder than the next. She tried to move her body, to hide, to do anything, but nothing would work. Her mind was racing, but she couldn’t get anything out of it. The word “Nutmeg” was repeated over and over in the same croaky voice, and with each one, Meg became more apprehensive, and confused.

 

Unexpectedly, the footsteps and the voice stopped. A peculiar light appeared out of nowhere and shone right in front of the door. As it opened ever so slightly, Meg screamed as she saw familiar snowy-white and silky hair, smeared with fresh mud and blood.

Franc Derik is an emerging writer from Denmark. He has just started writing and hopes to see where his words will take him.