Maple Leaf

A woman returns to her home town in order to gain solace, but instead begins to be stalked by the spirit of her deceased mother. 

Written by Ember Condron. Hosted by Kyle Coffman

www.SebastianFilmsUnlimited.com

Transcript

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Hello listeners and welcome back to a brand new episode of Dark Corner. My name is Kyle Coffman and I’m your host.

I apologize it’s been a while since I was able to produce an episode. As some of you may know, I am a filmmaker and run the independent production company, Sebastian Films Unlimited, which produces this podcast. 

I have been in post production of my latest short film called Interview with the Devil which is about A recently fired television journalist scores the interview of a lifetime with a mass shooter who gunned down 23 college students years ago. He has never spoken to the press. Until now.  The film will be submitted to multiple film festivals over the next fews months and hopefully we’ll get some great selections and get to see it on the big screen. 

But now I’m back and ready to give you more episodes of Dark Corner. This episode is called MAPLE LEAF and is written by a good friend of mine Ember Condron. I actually met Ember in film School. She too is a writer and director and we originally met in a film photography class, then matriculated together through our film school’s program. I am so proud of this story she wrote and I actually asked her to read it since it’s told from the perspective of a female character. So I will not reading this story. 

So without further a Do, here we go!

MAPLE LEAF

Written by Ember Condron

I could only hear the echoed sounds of waves crashing on the seashore. I stood at the edge of a cliff, overlooking the waves below. I’ve been here before, and recently it had been hard to differentiate dreams with reality and this was quite literally, my nightmare. The smell of the ocean and rotting fish was overpowering and the world seemed to warp around me at the corners of my vision as I stared at the water below. I was terrified of heights, so why was I choosing to stand so close to this ledge? The wind grew stronger behind me forcing me towards the edge until I had no choice but to plunge into the dark waters. As I hit the surface, the water began to shift into a sticky substance that engulfed my body, I slowly sunk in as my arms were unable to move. I could feel the rush of the syrup pool around me and begin to fill my mouth and nostrils. Unable to breathe as the viscous liquid filled my airways. Everything began to fade, until a hand reached into the mess, grasping around my throat and pulling me out, or pushing me deeper under it was hard to tell. Until I opened my eyes as I felt a rush of air on my face, and finally a breath-

I sputtered awake and blinked my eyes open to adjust to the light. The heater blasted my face and the low hum of an old car engine gently guided me into consciousness and into the real world as the nightmare slipped away from memory. I could barely open my eyes as I fished for some sunglasses out of the glove box. It was cloudy outside, but that somehow made it brighter.

Once adjusted, I stepped out of the car, face to face with a row of seemingly dead trees, and a dilapidated fence covered in lichen. I wouldn’t say it was a pretty sight, the trees were barren and the branches spattered out above in only shades of grey and brown, A carved out wooden sign read “Juniper Farm Sugarhouse.”

A pang of regret in me wished that I had come in the fall instead as I noticed the remnants of once bright orange leaves turned brown among the path, trampled by the group of tourists as they shuffled through. I took a deep breathe before joining the back of the group. The air had a sharpness to it that was synonymous with the weather changes of late winter overturning to early spring. Breathing it in felt like fire in my nostrils despite the crunch of snow under my feet. I let the tour guide’s voice dissolve into the background as he spoke about how old the trees that surrounded us were, and suddenly the branches above me started to feel claustrophobic.

I watched as he attempted to jab the tree with the metal tap he brought along. His mittened hands grabbed at it clumsily and I started to feel irritated that he was teaching us something he clearly knew nothing about. I don’t know why I agreed to come here, maybe as some sort of exposure therapy.

With a final crack through the wood he succeeded, for some reason the noise made me jump back, a little nervous. The other tourists cooed in admiration and gathered around to see the fruits of his labor before being handed their own tap and bucket to try for themselves. The excited voices sounded like a drone of bees in my brain, slowly growing louder.

“Are you sure this was a good idea? You’ve been quieter than usual, and you left me back at the car.”

A low whisper snapped me out of my trance and I had already forgotten I didn’t come alone. My husband Jamie stood across from me, he was bundled up in a puffer jacket resembling of a grumpy marshmallow, his brows furrowed in concern and cheeks flushed in slight annoyance. I nodded and jabbed the tap we’d been given into the tree in front of me, albeit a little too hard but the excessive force in the moment felt nice.

The sweet sticky sap pooled out of the tap that was haphazardly shoved into the trunk. I watched the bucket as the syrup dripped into it, lining the bottom. I couldn’t help but think that the way it flowed out looked like blood from a wound and I felt nauseous. I used to love maple trees, and the sugary snacks that came from them. We lived on some acreage when I was a kid, not much, it was a modest farm with a few of the aforementioned trees but my family was proud of it.

“I’m okay. I guess it’s just weird to be back home. Sorry, I’ve been a little spacey”

It was my 30th birthday, and when I was 10 years old I found my mother’s body tied to a maple tree. I can still hear the creaking of the rope swinging against the dead branches when I close my eyes. It’s funny how some memories can stay so sharp in your mind while I can’t even recall what I had for breakfast this morning.

I was a selfish child and I remember thinking that I wish if she had to die, she would have chosen a different way out so that it didn’t ruin one of the things I loved the most. I still carry the weight of that selfishness today and the shame that it wasn’t that I didn’t want her to die, but how it made me feel that she died. Jamie smiled at me, his mood shifted, he was radiating kindness and I felt guilty. I don’t think I’ve ever told him how I really feel.

Ironically that day would be the quietest my brain would ever be again and I’ve grown to miss the sound of bees. This is the day that she showed up.

“We can go back now, we haven’t even let your dad know we’re here yet.”

I don’t remember how long it’s been since I’ve seen him, and the thought of turning back after all the stress of getting there and the emotional hurdles I had to overcome to even get in the car.

“We’re staying.”

I grabbed the bucket from the tree as the tap slowed down and worked my way over to another to drain it’s insides. As I smacked the tap into the tree a louder cracking sound rang above me, incomparable to sound that should have come from the small hammer. The crack repeated itself and I stepped back looking up against the white sky. In the tree perfectly silhouetted was a body hanging by a rope and my mind was transported back to being ten years old. The sounds echoed as the body plummeted to the ground the crumbling of bones and branches intertwined. Everything was almost unbearably loud, I wanted to scream but no one around me flinched. No one reacted but me. The bucket in my hand dropped as I stumbled backwards, almost hitting the ground at the same time. This time was different than my memory, the same body slowly raised out of the wreckage, limbs snapping into place. I could no longer hold my composure, I felt saliva build in my mouth and blood rushed to my ears before the world went dark. I felt Jamie’s arms around me as I crumpled to the floor passing out.

Ever since that day she hasn’t left me alone. While the presence is menacing, she only stares past me, always in the same room but never close enough to touch me even though I always worry that she will. Sometimes I wonder if she’s been here longer than I have known, as a different being, something unnoticeable like a pestering fly from childhood, constantly following and bothering me in the back of my mind.

Thinking back to the day I first saw her, she is no longer as scary to me. She looks like an older version of me. Sadder. Her hair always looks wet, or sticky and her skin is dewy with sweat, feverish and yellowed. Her eyes are always open and bloodshot, I wonder if she ever blinks when I close mine. I tried to meet her eyes once, but making eye contact felt like an ice pick had been jabbed through the back of my skull and I quickly learned to avoid it.

I felt a similar pain in my head when I woke up after seeing her for the first time on the farm. Back in the car when I came to I heard Jamie’s voice first.

“Are you coming back to the world of the living?”

I groaned and sat up, I was laying down in the backseat of the car. I rubbed my eyes, expecting to only see Jamie but two shapes were outlined in front of me. The blurriness merged together and I saw her.

She was sitting in the front passenger seat, my mother. She turned to stare at me, and she never looked away.

“Do you see her?”

I finally managed to whimper, my eyes darting to the seat next to him. Jamie’s face turned from slight concern to a panic behind his eyes.

“Blake. You’re scaring me, I didn’t see you hit your head but maybe we should take you to a hospital.”

My mom shook her head no when he said this.

“No!”

I gasped, almost surprised by the decision I blurted out.

“No. Sorry, it’s gone I think I was still half conscious. Can we please just go?”

Jamie turned back to the steering wheel, he didn’t seem fully convinced but he turned the keys to ignite the engine.

“Okay. I guess call your dad to let him know we’ll be there soon.”

I nodded in agreement, pulling out my phone I dialed the number but I couldn’t keep my eyes off of her as I did.

“It was probably best we didn’t bring any maple syrup.”

A good twenty minutes later we pulled off the main road into a gravel driveway. A sun bleached once red, now rusted mustang sits in the driveway on cinderblocks behind a patchwork metal mailbox. 37857 Bittersweet Lane. After my mother died, we sold the farm and moved into a modest farm house. I left when I was 18 years old but my father could never, knowing he’d have to leave my mother’s grave behind. I wish that he had her cremated so that he wasn’t tied down to the same place, but I think part of him loves having roots in a town that never changes.

All excitement or nervousness of seeing my dad was replaced by dread knowing I was bringing the re-animated corpse of my mother into a space my father had cleared of her presence. While he visits her grave on her birthday and holidays, not a single one of her things would be found in the house, not even a photo. My dad said that it only brings pain to him, but I think that the woman who replaced my mother had something to do with it as well. I know my dad loved my mom, but it hurt to see him move on so fast after her death, especially with someone as rancid as the woman he chose.

I can’t remember if the feeling of anger inside of me began before my mother’s corpse appeared, or if it only began stewing once I saw her again.

The front porch was sagging in the middle from years of weather wear. Moss lined the edges of the grayed wooden planks. Small trinkets, dead potted plants and abandoned birdhouses line the front in an attempt at decoration only suited for warmer weather. When my father opened the door her beaming eyes peered over his shoulder. I never really saw her walk. She would just appear in places after I blinked or closed my eyes. Sometimes she would stay in the same place for hours, but other times she changed position with every other blink, I started to grow insane wondering if she was going to move or if she would remain stable, it felt like torture.

My dad brought me into a hug when he saw me. I heard her breath close to my ear when he did this, it was thin and raspy. I think this was the closest she ever came to me and the hair on the back of my neck stood up. I pushed my dad away as my heart rate began to accelerate. I saw his facial expressions twitch and I could sense sadness from him. I tried to smooth over the initial hurt by squeezing his hand.

“It’s great to see you dad.”

His face softened and he stepped to the side to let us in, my mother already accepting the invitation early she hovered behind my dad throughout the visit. Her facial expressions changed from sadness to anger but always appeared frozen in time. As she moved along the house she left a trail of sap behind her, coating their belongings in slime. I know no one else saw it, but it made me sick to my stomach. My dad’s partner Anne joined the rest of us as we entered the kitchen. She puttered about nervously, the last time we spoke we didn’t exchange pleasant words and I could feel the tension, rightfully so. When she was around my mother’s skin around her mouth seemed to stretch in an inhuman way baring her teeth in anger.

The table was lined with a floral cloth and white china. I noticed a stain at the corner, and felt a twinge of validation that Anne wasn’t as perfect as she put on but there was definitely effort put into the setting. Anne ushered everyone to sit around the table as surface level conversation began. It felt like since I moved out there was an unspoken rule of not going deeper than what we’re doing for work or what’s on TV. This was only the second time he had met Jamie, and the first time was at our wedding. I looked at both my dad and Anne and started to feel some regret. Had I been the person to push them away? I looked down at my plate, a familiar dish sat before me.

A mound of potatoes, beef and other mixed vegetables, a homely meal more brown than any other color. I pushed everything around with my fork, my mother’s hand appeared above my plate for a moment, leaving candied flesh residue amongst the meat. I set my fork down, refusing to eat as bile rose in my throat.

Jamie stuffed his face with potatoes. “This Shepards Pie is delicious.”

Anne looked up with her round cheeks pushed into a smile. I felt guilty that I hated her so much when she looked so sweet and naive.

“Well you know this was Jane’s recipe. Blake’s father loved it so much he made me learn how to make it. I feel like it honors her in some way.”

Jane.

I hadn’t heard anyone say her name aloud for so long. It was like a rush of adrenaline was forced through my veins and I lost control of myself. The contents of my plate flew through the air onto Anne, covering her face and hair. Layers of beef and potato dripped down her skin and she began to cry, attempting to wipe bits from her eyes. I felt shame settle into my cheeks as my face turned red. What had I just done? I was harboring someone else’s anger and I could see her over Anne’s shoulder, hovering. I wanted her gone, but her mouth twisted into a version of a smile or grimace as she stared through me and at the chaos that I had caused.

“I’m- I’m so sorry.”
My dad stared at me completely in shock. “You should leave.”

I didn’t protest and ran to the car, but in the same selfish way from when I was a kid I hoped that she would stay there. I wanted her gone, I wanted her to torment someone else. Hadn’t she done enough? My whole life I felt tormented by her without having to see the aftermath of her death, this didn’t feel fair.

Jamie stayed behind to pick up the pieces while I waited in the car.I felt her eyes on the back of my head as I sat in the front seat. He got in the car without saying a word to me and we headed home. Jamie’s knuckles held onto the steering wheel uncharacteristically tight and I stared at them as they started to turn white. It had been over thirty minutes since he had said anything as we headed back to New York, we still had several hours home.

I heard an unsettling moan from behind me and I burst into tears. Jamie looked to the side at me and finally broke the silence.

“What the hell was that Blake? You are really scaring me this isn’t normal behavior.”

There was no way that I could explain what I was seeing without sounding insane so I just accepted my fate and looked out the window while I cried.

“If you can’t communicate with me about what’s going on, I’m not sure what we’re going to do.”

I saw her along the road as we drove home in silence, I could hear her muffled screaming from outside of the car and I covered my ears as I sunk into the seat hoping this is just another bad dream I could wake up from.

It wasn’t long after the first incident that Jamie left me. The episodes of anger became more frequent and I lost the ability to control myself. I blamed my mother. I didn’t ask for this to happen but I couldn’t beg for him to stay. What if something were to happen and she hurt him in some way, I would never be able to live with myself. It was better if he stayed away. When he packed his bags, she kept her distance. I felt like this was almost a mockery as if showing me what life could be like if she never appeared, if things were normal again. He barely said goodbye and when he pulled away from our apartment I felt her presence grow closer and her grin grow wider.

I missed my mother. I only remembered parts of my childhood and she was always so warm. This wasn’t the energy that I felt from her all of those years ago and I couldn’t think of what went wrong. I felt like the same little girl on her birthday, wondering what I did to cause my mother to leave me. This entity, this wasn’t her. This was a shell and it was taking me down with it. For the next few months I lived in darkness. If I couldn’t see her it felt less horrible. Even though she always made herself known, I could always smell a sweet scent or the noises she made as she shifted herself around my life.

This brings me to the present day. Months later I left the safety of the darkness. She followed me all the way up to the roof of my apartment building. I could feel her hair touching my shoulders as the wind picked up as I approached the ledge overlooking the water and the city skyline that stuck out from across the bay. I contemplated ways to get rid of her. Seeing her in full light was jarring again after living in shadows for so long. We made eye contact for the first time since she showed up and the pain seared through the back of my skull.

I wanted to look away but something told me this was the answer. It felt like the answer to end my suffering was in the pit of my gut and I would have to tear it out of me.

I couldn’t look away anymore and I locked eye contact with her. And the monster that I had made up in my mind, suddenly seemed less scary to me, a sense of sadness overwhelmed me when I looked into her eyes. Fear suffocated me when I saw her, for all of those months and I felt like it could consume me. But fear and sadness melted into anger, anger that she could ruin my life my entire childhood, into adulthood and then that anger became the words that I always wanted her to hear.

“I’m sorry that you’re hurting. I’m sorry that you never felt enough for us, but this is not my burden to bare anymore.”

As I spoke the words the piercing pain in my head felt like it was on fire. Even though the pain flooded my entire body , getting rid of her felt more important than losing myself again. I felt a wave of relief, she began to melt like candle wax and she disappeared from my view and the pain subsided. I blinked several times rapidly and she didn’t reappear in my field of vision. It was like she was never there at all.

I felt like I was in a dream again as I climbed back down towards my apartment, and I wondered if this will feel like a distorted memory. I wouldn’t be able to fix the damage that had been done, but I tried my best to move forward. I still scanned every frame of my vision for weeks after, searching for her.

Now that I’m completely alone part of me misses her, and sometimes on bad days I worry she’ll make another appearance because I can taste maple syrup and I can hear her in the walls.

Alright folks, well that was MAPLE LEAF written by Ember Condron. As I mentioned at the beginning of this episode Ember and I met in film school,  but we also belong to a writer’s group that we’re both in. We workshopped this story a while back and all of us writers absolutely loved it. Ember has such a way with her words and I thank her so much for letting us use her story for this episode of Dark Corner, and for reading it for us. If you want to learn more about Ember’s work you can find her on TikTok, ember.cloud

If you like this podcast, please give us a like, follow, subscribe— whatever your podcast player has you do. And we thank you so much for that. 

Alright, well we hope you have enjoyed this episode of Dark Corner and we’ll be back with a brand new episode soon. Until then, have a hauntingly good week!