Paul Kohler - The Borrowed Souls, A Novel

Now, as I stood on the front step, my heart pounded from the anxiety caused by the passage of time. Memories came flooding back as I lifted a rusted watering can from the windowsill and grabbed an old skeleton key. Sliding it into the keyhole, I hoped that the lock mechanism wasn’t decayed. I twisted the key gently yet firm enough to throw the tumblers. A second later there was an audible click. I returned the key to the window ledge and stepped inside.

As I looked about the one-room cabin, memories continued to flow. Dust and cobwebs covered nearly every inch of the inside, but I didn’t mind. I found a broom and dustpan in the pantry cabinet and got to work cleaning.

After an hour’s effort, I had removed most of the visible grime from the walls and ceilings and dusted everything as best I could. In the process, I reminisced about the numerous days that I’d spent there in my youth.

With the sun quickly plunging behind the adjacent mountain range, I decided a fire was in order. Even though I was mostly dead, I still got the occasional chills.

With relatively little effort, I had a fire roaring in the open fireplace, thanks to the extremely dry kindling I found in the corner. As I kneeled on the floor in front of the heat, I felt the bulge of Calvin’s soul box in my pocket. I withdrew it and turned the box over in my hands, wondering what I should do. The worst part about my decision was that I knew Hauser was right. I knew that neither he nor I had the right to decide who lives or who dies. I was playing God. But as these regretful thoughts spilled from my subconscious, images of the happy couple in the maternity ward crowded my mind’s eye. Confusion quickly turned to anger, and I threw the soul box into the fireplace.

“There. I guess I’ve answered that question,” I said as the flames flared high around the wooden box.

I moved away from the fire and settled into the dilapidated sofa at the side of the room. I extended my legs out to relax and stared at the amber glow. The longer I gazed at the dancing flames, the less aware I was of my surroundings. As time crawled along, so did the shadows across the floor. I retraced the events of my day, thinking about all the places that I’d visited in such haste. I quickly concluded that all of that jumping and landing really wore me out. Before I could stop myself, I was drifting to sleep.

The faint glow of the moonlight cast eerie shadows along the floor. I wondered how that could be as the room was fully lighted by multiple ceiling fixtures above.

“Quick, Jack. Take my hand,” Cyndi demanded as she closed her eyes tightly and gritted her teeth.

“It’s almost over, Cyn. Just another ten seconds,” I assured her.

She squeezed my hand tightly, cutting off the circulation to my fingers. I remained strong for her support, but the pain was nearly enough to make me cry out as well. Finally, with the contraction subsiding, Cyndi released her death grip and opened her eyes.

“My God, that one was the worst,” she said.

As if on cue, the doctor stepped into our birthing room and proceeded to hunker down between Cyndi’s legs to perform a cervical exam. Peeking over the bed cloth, his piercing eyes looked at me first and then at Cyndi. A sudden sense of familiarity came over me, but I couldn’t quite place where I had seen him before. Strangely, this was not our regular doctor, but I was not about to question it in the eleventh hour. I wanted the pain to go away for Cyndi. I wanted my new child.

“Your husband is quite right, Mrs. Duffy. It’s almost time, and it’ll be over quite soon, I assure you,” said the doctor.

“Do you hear that, sweetheart? We’re about ready,” I said as I leaned in and kissed her forehead. “Now, take my hand again, and squeeze as hard as you want. I’ll share your pain, because I love you.”

Cyndi’s weary eyes rolled back momentarily and she smiled. She took my hand and tugged on my arm slightly before replying, “I love you too, babe.”

“Well then, shall we begin?” asked the doctor. “I need you to push, Cyndi. And when I tell you, I need you to push hard.”

Cyndi pinched her eyes closed but nodded in agreement.

“Now, Cyndi, push for ten seconds.”

With a guttural squeal emanating from her lips, Cyndi followed the doctor’s instructions. After ten seconds, she released her downward pressure and breathed in and out, rhythmically, as we were taught in Lamaze class. After a short pause, the doctor spoke sternly.

“Push, Cyndi. Push now.”

Cyndi squeezed my hand and cried out in pain. She pushed hard, and within seconds, she exhaled loudly.

“Good job, but we’re not through yet. I need you to bear down once more, and push with all your might. I promise, Cyndi, this is it. The pain will be over shortly.”

Cyndi took in several deep breaths and pushed our baby into the world. Her final scream echoed through the room, then there was silence.

The silence was quickly replaced with the faint cries of the newborn baby in the doctor’s hands.

“Congratulations, Cyndi and Jack, you have a healthy baby boy,” the doctor said.

Tears of joy flowed from my eyes. I looked down at Cyndi. She cried as well, but for a much more painful reason.

“You did it, baby. You’ve given us a son,” I said and kissed her warmly.

A moment later, the doctor interrupted our embrace.

“Jack, I need the box. Could you hand it to me?” asked the doctor.

“Box? What do you mean? Didn’t you just tell me that he was healthy?”

The doctor sat up straight, still cradling our child in one arm, and removed a mask with his free hand. Instant recognition overcame me as I saw the face of Enoch Gant.

“What the hell?” I asked.

“I need your box, Jack. This soul needs to be collected, and a collection will be made.”

“I will not. Just hand me my son, and you can go to hell,” I said.

Enoch tilted his head back and laughed out loud. “The only way you’ll hold your son is after I’ve removed his soul.”

Cyndi’s cries turned in to screams of fear. I released her hand and took a step toward Enoch and our newborn son.

“Give me my son, dammit,” I demanded.

Enoch backed up slowly, turning our son toward us. Seeing him for the first time made my knees weak. I could see that he was warming up slowly, his flesh turning pink by the minute. He looked healthy. Normal. Then, he opened his eyes and stared directly at me. They were not baby blue as I expected, but were black, black as coal. A moment later the child smiled widely, opening his mouth and bearing a full rack of teeth, each one sharpened to a point. Suddenly the child began to giggle. Within seconds, the giggle turned into a full-on growling laugh. I jumped back, repulsed by what I saw. Enoch grinned at my reaction.

“You see, Jack, this baby is not yours. Never was. He’s a product of the devil, and your only option in the matter is to release his soul to me.” Then, both Enoch and the baby’s cackling laughs joined in unison, causing Cyndi and me to scream in terror.

I lurched forward, raising my hands and aiming for Enoch’s neck. Before I reached him, the room went dark.

I bolted upright, unaware of my surroundings. As my eyes focused on the slowly brightening room, I remembered that I was in the old family cabin. The fire had long since burned out, and the sun was peeking through the dirty windowpanes.

I stood and stretched for the ceiling, feeling the knots in my back groan in protest. Walking past the fireplace, I headed for the front door to introduce fresh air into the musty cabin. As my hand grasped the door handle, my mind slipped back to what I had just seen. I whipped around quickly and darted for the fireplace. Inside the burnt ash sat Calvin’s soul box, completely intact. I grabbed it, noticing absolutely no blemishes on the surface of the collection chamber.