Chapter 9 #4
I shouldn’t have been thinking of that, not during my situation, but stress zoned me out, and the reveries that I had little control over came at random.
But like all dreams, it faded away.
My mouth was no longer lip-syncing words; my face no longer contorted in expressions. I was alone here, my daydreams replaced by the fears they had previously chased away.
I pushed the door again, my fingers trembling on the dark wood. The kitchen sat in darkness, just like I had. I crawled out from the space, staying low to the ground as I headed to the table. Breakfast was cold and still dwelling atop as evening shades claimed the sky outside.
I made the same mistake again as I slipped beneath the tablecloth. My stupid limb brushed the heavy chain belonging to the family’s invisible dog, and it made a noise. I could barely make out the silver spikes, standing large and proud around a thick black collar, in such poor lighting.
I crouched into a ball, lowered enough to see beneath the sheet and into the dark hallway.
Moonlight twinkled amongst fallen glass on the porch. Hell had broken the door on his exit.
There wasn’t a sound in the house. . . nothing.
I forced myself out, knees shifting over the hard floor. Fallen mush from breakfast had made it to the ground and was now squelching between my fingers. I stood, quietly, and with disgust on my face, I wiped my hands in my pajama shorts, staining the satin with a smudge of grease.
I crept through the hallway, alcohol hazing my vision and delaying my reactions, should I need to use them. I moved slowly, not bothering to look at the photos of the false smiles of the unhappy family lining the walls.
I peeked into the den.
The tv, as usual, was on, muted on a show I didn’t recognize. The light glow of the screen shone into the otherwise dusky room, skulking over dark and dated furniture.
I continued on, my hazy eyes probing the outside before I swallowed my fear and shifted to the stairs.
“Nessie,” I whispered, praying she was close by.
She wasn’t, and her absence called me forward.
I placed my foot on the first step and moved up, cringing as I waited for a creak as I got closer to the top. Nothing. I had learned where not to step.
I rounded the corner. The dark and gloaming hallway appeared longer. Shadows moved without a warrant, making the house act like the leading prop of an old horror movie—very fitting for its image.
My breathing stilled as I reached the first door. Wynter and Ville’s bedroom was exposed. The bed unmade from Ville’s laziness this morning.
I looked to the door opposite. My breathing dawdled in my lungs, and no rubbing or coaxing did anything to free it until I moved by Woodrow’s closed door.
It was open during breakfast, which meant. . .
He was up here. In there. Hiding behind the wood.
Tears filled my eyes, fright pushing them to my waterline as I gazed at the wood as if I was seeing through it.
But I couldn’t.
And I heard no noise. . . not from in there.
A hushed sound from my shared bedroom had me glancing down the hall. I felt my way through the dark until a prickly piece of dado-rail caught my finger and left a splinter in my skin.
Trying to squeeze it out in the dark was near impossible, and I gave up, figuring it would free itself by morning.
I reached for the doorknob to my room.
The door didn’t swing with ease. It had been barricaded with a toy chest, which wasn’t much of an issue for me, but it was the reason for Nessie’s exhaustion.
I looked around the room, the dark space filling my vision. The outline of Nessie’s blankets on the high bunk bunched where she hid and slept beneath.
I set the chest back in place, closing the door quietly. I knew it wouldn’t be any use keeping anyone out, but it would help my ears in discovering any unwanted guests.
On the floor at the side of the chest, was a doll—some kind of pink monkey holding an instrument.
Its heaviness had created the bang leading me here.
It must have been too close to the edge and finally decided to take the plunge and jump.
I picked up the toy and placed it back on the chest, more into the center than it usually sat.
Cold toes pressed through the carpet. I stood on my mattress. My fingers around the side rails, pulling me up to find Nessie sleeping peacefully under her blanket. An army of soft toys stood around her, feigning protection.
I settled in my own bed, pulling the blankets up high. Nessie had somehow managed to find a semblance of peace amongst her terror, and that terror hadn’t found her in her dreams. . . I prayed for the same amity.
Prayed that Hell had done the same.
The room brightened as I sunk under my sheets, car lights landing on the house. If the window was open like every other night, I’d have heard Ville muttering obscenities about the dodgy handbrake, and heard him jump back into his battered old truck to pull it up much higher than it needed to be.
I felt glad he was home. For the first time ever, I felt at ease by his presence. . . and I felt relaxed enough to close my eyes.