Chapter Six
"MY CHILD, MY child, my ruined baby..."
My eyes popped open and I spun about the room, looking for the source of the heartbreakingly familiar voice. Against the misted glass of the window I could see my mother's corpse clutching herself as though she was dying of cold.
Was it me or had something changed in her? Even in death, her flowing hair had always floated around her shoulders like a halo and her skin a flawless marble. Now her hair appeared snarled and ragged and I could see gashes on her protruding cheeks that bubbled and frothed with maggots.
My apparition was changing. Impossible, I knew, she was merely the figure of my own corrupt imagination.
"Judas, my wretched son, how could you do this to me?" She sobbed quietly and I turned away from her, unable to bear what she had become.
"I'm sorry Mom," I whispered. I unzipped the pocket of my biggest bag and withdrew a framed photograph my mother and I, taken on our first trip to Coney Island when I was about ten.
It was my favorite picture and even now, when I concentrated hard enough, the image was enough to bring back the faintest whispers of laughter, the smell of hot dogs, and the thrill of the roller coaster....