Christopher Ransom - The Birthing House

Laski took a Miller from the bartender, an attractive skunk blonde who would not have been out of place at a Def Leppard concert circa 1988. He shared a laugh with a mechanical old man at the bar, then glanced over his shoulder and looked directly at Conrad.

Conrad nodded without smiling.

Laski sighed, wiped his brow with his forearm and ambled to the corner table like he'd rather not. When it was clear Conrad was not going to be the first to speak, Laski set his beer down, magically produced another broken toothpick from his ear and hooked his thumbs through his belt loops.

'You look like a cowboy's been line-dancing with the wrong heifers,' Laski said, chinning at Conrad's hand. 'Trouble on the home front?'

'I spoke to my lawyer today,' Conrad lied.

Laski's smile faltered. 'Oh, can't be all that bad. Maybe we got off on the wrong foot. M'wife . . . she's not been herself lately. Said you was real nice to her the other day over'ta Wally World.'

Conrad smiled unkindly. 'I met the kids. They seem nice.'

Laski took a stool. 'You just gonna sit dare with a red ass or tell me what's on your mind?'

'Take a wild guess.'

Laski leaned in close. 'Your wife pregnant yet?'

Conrad tried not to give it away, but Laski saw what he needed to.

'Probably, what, about six weeks? Right after you moved in it woulda happened, so yeah, about six, maybe eight weeks. Only she just told you, right?' It was pretty goddamned specific to come out of the blue like that. But not impossible to guess. Young couple moves from the city into a four-bedroom house. 'You're trying to remember when was the last time you slipped her the Slim Jim. Because when it happens, it comes fast. All of the sudden you're gonna be a daddy. It's terrifying.'

Conrad finished his beer. Laski sipped, pretending to watch the Brewers on the TV above the bar.

'Okay, Laski. You want to play this game? Let's play this game. I hear things. I see things. Crying sounds. Something is tearing the place apart, opening the floor. You sonofabitch - you bring me this album with a baby tree, a photo full of ugly women, spiders. You want to tell me something? Tell me what happened in my house. I hear there's a lot of hiss-tow-wee .'

He didn't remember seeing Laski order them, but two more beers arrived. Conrad swiped one from the table and guzzled.

'Baby tree. That's funny.'

'What?'

'You know, like the placenta tree. Baby tree. Funny way to put it.'

'Placenta? What the fuck does that mean?'

'Old wives' superstition. Not important.'

'Jesus Christ.' Conrad thought about leaving then. He really didn't want to know more. But he had to. 'What happened in the house, Laski?'

'You think it's haunted?' Laski's eyes never left the TV.

'Without question.'

Laski nodded. 'What else?'

Don't tell him about the doll. You want him to think you're fucking nuts?

'I woke up in the middle of the night and heard this clicking sound. Fuck, it was--'

Laski cut him off, trying to make light. 'Hey, you think your house is haunted. Wait till you got a family. That's the real horror show.'

'Fuck you, Laski.'

'Aw, don't be like that. You think your house is haunted? Why? Because it's old? I got news for you, kid. A haunting is just history roused from her sleep. Any house can be haunted, even a new one. Know why? Because what makes 'em haunted ain't just in the walls and the floors and the dark rooms at night. It's in us. All the pity and rage and sadness and hot blood we carry around. The house might be where it lives, but the human heart is the key. We run the risk of letting the fair maiden out for one more dance every time we hang our hat.'

'So it's me? You think I'm nuts?'

'I didn't say that. I said what makes 'em haunted ain't just in the walls.'

'You think I'm crazy? Bullshit - I wasn't hallucinating the sound of a baby crying any more than I hallucinated my dogs finding a bloodstain under the carpet. We can go back right now--' Conrad was off his stool.

'Sit down.'

'You lying old fuck.' Conrad slapped the table. 'You knew all about it.'

Patrons turned to see what was what.

Laski waved them off. 'Sit down. There, we're just talking now. You're right about the history. It was a birthing house. But haunted? Now let's think about that for a moment. What does that mean? Like in one of those places where the shit gets handed down. Andyville, what was it called?'

'Amityville? Jesus!'

'No, no, listen. This Amityville was, what? Possessed? Some guy murdered his wife and kids up in dare? The Devil? What was the deal on that job?'

'Both, I think. No, it was the son killed his family first. The next one was the husband.'

'Right, so why come I lived dare twenty-six years and never seen boo?'

Conrad had no answer for that.

'You got to keep it together, Conrad. Play by the rules. Use your head.'

'I'm telling you--'

'But let's talk about murder, like one of these movies where the guy chops his wife and kids to bits and leaves a trail of black heart evil all over the house. It's like a coat of paint, this evil. Okay, so dare's dat den. And who cares where it came from. Satan, mankind, don't matter. It happens to good people, because even good people got problems. And problems is what your haunted house feeds on, son. Just like a one of them payday loan stores. So it goes, and sometimes it goes to murder. But if all that evil came from some murderin', what is the opposite of all that?'

'Of murder?'

'Yes, what is the polar opposite of murder?'

'Life.'

'Close. Murder is removing life from this world.' Laski was a professor now. 'Bringing life into this world is . . . ?'

'Birth.'

'Birth. Now let's say dare's a house. A house where not one murder was committed, but birth was committed, and frequently. Hundreds of babies entering the world through this house. Women come and go. Women are drawn to it. Women from all walks of life, from next door, from the next town over, hell, some of them from out of state. And the folks who live dare too, the family. Young ones and old ones. Women on top of women. You got pregnant mothers and children and runaways and strays. Dey come to this house. Why? Because it has magical vibes? Because God has blessed this house?'

'That's what your wife thinks.'

'Excuse me, but fuck m'wife. She's crazier'na badger with a sticka corn up its ass.'

They finished their beers. Conrad had arrived at drunk, and Laski was close behind. The man had begun to philosophize.

Conrad flagged the waitress. 'She said God has blessed this house. It doesn't feel like God blessed this house.'

'And fuck God, too,' Laski said. 'This is about the women.'

'The women in the photo?'

'Some of them. Some others.'

'What happened to them? Something bad happened?'

'Not necessarily. Women give birth and die in hospitals, too, and in greater numbers. A soul for a soul, if ya like. But that's not why dey come. Dey come 'cause the man who lives dare's a doctor. And this is all happening in a time when the nearest hospital, the only real hospital in the northern part of the Midwest for hundreds of miles around, is in Chicago. Later, another one opens in Iowa City or Des Moines, M'waukee. But back den, if you lived in south-west Wisconsin, you had few options outside of the home. These women don't want the Father, Son and Holy Ghost. Dey want the miracle of modern medicine. Dey want their baby to have the best chance at a healthy life. Even the ones who believe God created the world in seven days, comes to life and death, or in this case birth, do dey put their faith in God? No, dey put dare faith in science. Or a midwife. Folk remedies, natural birth, modern medicine. It all comes down to getting the most knowledgeable person in the room when the nipper's slidin' downda chute.'