by Ray Garton
I stood that way for several seconds, my arm up, my hand doubled in a fist, my lips pulled back over clenched teeth. I trembled all over. I wanted to hurt that thing. Not Maddy, but the thing inside her. I wanted to cause it great pain.
“You can’t hurt me, Ryan,” it said softly. “You can’t touch me. I’m not a person or a thing you can harm or damage. I’m the bad things that happen to good people. I’m the unfairness in life. I’m every bit of bad luck anyone ever had. I’m not just here in this little girl, Ryan, I’m everywhere. You can’t touch me. There’s nothing you can do about me.”
I dropped my arm and spun around, went to the door.
“Running off so soon, Ryan?” it said.
I opened the door.
“But you just got here.”
It was laughing when I closed the door.
Tears stung my eyes as I hurried up the stairs. I went to the kitchen and found Marie. When she saw me, she stopped what she was doing and turned to me, and said, “Ryan, what’s wrong, honey?” because I was crying, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t hold it back and didn’t even try. She came to me and put her arms around me.
“Get rid of her, Marie,” I said quietly, near Marie’s ear. “You’ve got to get rid of her. Tell them you can’t take care of her anymore, that they need to find someplace else to put her. Please, you’ve got to, you’ve got to.”
“Oh, honey.”
We stood there like that in the middle of the kitchen for awhile, Marie with her arms around me, and me bending down to put my arms around her (I’m taller than her). She said nothing for awhile, just patted me on the back gently as I cried. When she finally spoke, I wished she’d said nothing at all.
“I know it’s kind of scary having her around, Ryan, but if you just ignore her, it’s not so bad. Just stay away from her, that’s all. It’s not hard to do, since she stays in her room all the time. Just don’t even think about her. And it’s not all bad. The next time Dr. Sempris and the others come, Hank is going to ask for a hot tub and an SUV. Wouldn’t it be nice to have a hot tub?”
I left then, and came up here to my room to write.
I’m afraid to be here, but I have nowhere else to go. I keep thinking of what the thing said – “Now that I’ve told you, I’ll have to kill you.” I don’t feel safe here. I don’t think Lyssa is safe, either. None of us is safe here with that thing in the basement.
I wonder if killing Maddy would get it out of the house. Why not? I’d killed my mother, why stop there? But I know I’m not going to do that. It’s just something I think about. I couldn’t take it out on poor Maddy.
What must she be going through, the poor girl? And there’s nothing that can be done to help her.
I’m hurt and I’m angry. I feel responsible for my mother’s death now, and I feel stupid for falling into the thing’s trap. I want to pull all my hair out, break something, scream until I have no more voice. But I can’t do any of those things, so I write.
ELEVEN
“Ryan, you can’t think that way,” Elliott said. “You are not responsible for your mother’s death. She was a drug addict, and apparently, she had been for a long time. That’s what happens with drug addicts, eventually they OD.”
Elliott sat in his recliner. Ryan was on the couch, leaning forward with his elbows on his thighs and his face in his hands, sobbing.
“This is exactly what that thing wants,” Elliott said. “It wants you to feel responsible. It wants to ruin your life, Ryan. It wants you to give up. You can’t. You just can’t do it. Your mother OD’d and choked to death on her own vomit. How could you possibly be responsible for that?”
“But if I hadn’t gone over there – “
”You did that because you were concerned about her. You did what anyone would’ve done, Ryan.”
Elliott said nothing for awhile and let the boy cry. Ryan rocked back and forth as he sobbed. In his silence, Elliott groped for something he could say to ease Ryan’s pain, but he could think of nothing.
After his sobs subsided, Ryan got up and went to the kitchen. He got a couple papertowels and wiped his face with them, blew his nose, then sat down on the couch again.
“I don’t want to live there anymore,” he said. “But I’ve got no choice. I’m still scared that thing is going to try to kill me because I know about it.”
“Look at it this way,” Elliott said. “You lived there three months before you knew about it and you were fine. You’ve got no choice now but to put it out of your head and stay away from it. The girl stays in her room, right? So just stay away from her room. Mind your own business. You haven’t told any of the others about it, have you?”
“Only Lyssa.”
Elliott saw an opportunity to change the subject, which he thought needed to be done. “It sounds like you’ve got a great relationship with Lyssa.”
Ryan smiled a little and nodded. “It is great. Lyssa means a lot to me. She’s the best thing that’s happened to me in a long time.”
“Why don’t you focus on that now,” Elliott said. “Cultivate that relationship. Make it a strong and healthy one.”
“Would it be all right if I brought her over sometime?”
“Sure, bring over her anytime. Come over tonight after dinner and we’ll watch a movie. I’ve got a pretty big collection of DVDs to choose from.”
Ryan’s smile grew a little. His eyes were still puffy and red from crying, but he’d stopped rocking back and forth on the couch. He had, at least, pulled himself together again.
“I think we’ll do that,” Ryan said.
“I’ve got popcorn.”
“Thanks, Mr. Granger. I appreciate it.”
“If you’re going to be hanging around, you might as well call me Elliott.”
* * * *
Ryan was relieved when Lyssa got home from work. They spent the rest of the day together, and Ryan told her everything that had happened that day, paying particular attention to what the thing had said about his mother’s death. He felt like crying again as he talked, but he’d cried himself out over at Elliott’s house. She listened and held his hand, held him. At dinner, they sat side by side at the long table in the dining room. After dinner, Ryan asked Marie for permission for the two of them to go over to Elliott’s and watch a movie, and she said yes.
Ryan introduced Lyssa to Elliott.
“Elliott’s a famous writer,” Ryan said.
“Not that famous, I’m afraid.”
Ryan said, “You’re a lot more famous than I am.”
Elliott laughed.
Ryan made two bags of microwave popcorn – one for Elliott, one for himself and Lyssa – and told Lyssa to choose a movie from one of the shelves in a cabinet beside the television. She had never seen Alien, so they watched that and ate popcorn. After the movie, they watched some of the extras on the DVD and finished the popcorn.
Ryan did not want to go home. It no longer felt like home.
For three months, he had enjoyed living in the Preston house. He had concluded that Hank and Marie were good, decent people, and he got along with the others in the home. Best of all, he’d met Lyssa. He should’ve known then it was too good to be true. Now it all looked and felt different. Hank and Marie happily allowed that thing to live in their basement in exchange for swimming pools and television sets and maybe an SUV. Now, the Prestons looked as twisted and corrupt as everyone else. And now, Ryan did not feel comfortable in the house knowing that thing was always downstairs, knowing it could watch him whenever it wanted to. That thing that tricked him into killing his mother. He knew Elliott was right, that he shouldn’t think that way and drive himself crazy over something he couldn’t possibly have helped, but he was finding it hard to shake the fact that he’d been tricked into killing his mother. Being with Lyssa helped. Lyssa was good and decent, he had no doubt about that, and if she were with him, then he couldn’t be all bad. She saw something good in him.
They walked very slowly from Elliott’s house, hands joi
ned between them.
“I don’t want to go back in there,” Ryan said.
“Then let’s not.”
He smiled. “Where would we go?”
“We’ll go into Redding and get a hotel room. We’ll order room service and watch the dirty movies.”
“I wish.”
“When are you going to let me read your stories, Ryan?”
“You really want to?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t mind that they’re written by hand?”
“I can read your handwriting, I’m sure.”
“Don’t be. Okay. I’ll bring you some tonight.”
“When do you want to meet?” Lyssa said as they neared the house.
“A little later tonight. I’m tired and I think I’ll get some sleep first. I’ll set my watch for three, is that okay?”
“Three o’clock in the rec room.”
Inside, they went down to the rec room and played some games, until Marie came down and told them it was time to clear out and get ready for bed. While everyone was going upstairs to bed, Ryan and Lyssa ducked into the laundry room off the kitchen and kissed.
“I’ll see you at three,” Ryan said.
“All right.”
They kissed again, then headed upstairs. When he went to bed, Ryan set the alarm on his wristwatch for three o’clock. He fell asleep less than a minute after putting his head on the pillow.
It was the last time he ever saw her.
* * * *
Ryan awoke with a gasp. Something loud had startled him from sleep, something much louder than the alarm on his wristwatch. He was awake instantly, pulled completely from sleep in a heartbeat. He heard the sound again.
Bam! Then, a moment later. Bam! Bam!
Gary was on his feet. “Did you hear that?”
“It came from the attic,” Ryan said as he clambered out of his bed and stood.
“Those were gunshots,” Gary said.
Ryan looked at the bed beneath Gary’s bunk – it was empty.
“Where’s Keith?” Gary said.
In a fraction of a second, Ryan flashed on Keith coming out of Maddy’s bedroom, on Keith coming up the basement stairs with that funny distant look on his face.
“Oh, my God, Lyssa,” Ryan said as he ran from the room wearing only his boxer shorts. He rushed down the hall and pressed his back against the wall beside the attic stairs when he heard someone coming down them.
The instant Keith stepped out of the narrow stairwell, gun in hand, Ryan jumped on him. Keith was bigger, but Ryan had caught him by surprise and he went down. But as soon as he hit the floor, Keith flailed and kicked and, before Ryan knew it, he’d been knocked off and was lying on the floor. Ryan scrambled to his feet, but as clumsy as he was, Keith was faster. He pointed his gun at Ryan and fired.
Ryan went down as if kicked hard in the stomach, but he remained conscious as he lay on the floor in the hall. In great pain and bleeding from the wound in his abdomen, he watched as Gary came out of the bedroom and Keith spun around, aimed the gun, and fired. He saw the hole appear in Gary’s face just before he went down.
Then, without hesitating for a second, Keith put the gun in his own mouth and pulled the trigger. Ryan saw it happen in profile. He saw the splash of blood from Keith’s nostrils and the spray from the back of his head half an instant before he dropped to his knees, then fell forward.
One thought repeated itself in Ryan’s mind: Lyssa ... Lyssa ... Lyssa ...
He tried to sit up, but found he could not move his legs.
Lyssa ... Lyssa ... Lyssa ...
Ryan closed his eyes. He heard Marie scream before he slipped away.
Lyssa ...
* * * *
Elliott was lying in bed trying to sleep when he heard the gunshots. They sounded very close – like they came from right next door. He heard another, then a couple more. He winced with pain as he slowly swung his legs over the edge of the bed and sat up. He turned on the lamp on the bedstand and picked up his phone. He heard a scream – it sounded like it might be Marie. He called 911.
He gave the female operator his address. “I just heard gunshots and a scream from, I think they were from the house next door.”
“Do you know the people next door?”
“Yes, it’s a foster-care group home. I heard seven shots.”
“When did this occur?”
“Just now, just seconds ago.”
“What is the address of this group home?”
He answered that and a few more questions, then the operator told him, “A unit is on the way, sir.”
After he hung up, he stood and decided he might as well get up since he’d been unable to get to sleep, anyway. He slipped his robe on, pushed his walker to the kitchen, turned on the light, and put a kettle of water on the stove to boil. In the living room, he went to one of the side windows that faced the Preston house, pulled the curtain aside, and looked out. He saw nothing, but he had a bad feeling.
He put an Oscar Peterson CD into the player and turned it on. He took the book he was reading from the endtable by the recliner to the kitchen table.
By the time the water started to boil, Elliott heard the sirens drawing closer. He could hear them from all the way down on the river, and they got louder as they came up Airport Road. They didn’t often come down Fig Tree, so it seemed odd when they got even louder.
He poured water into his mug, then went to the side window again and looked out. Two police cars with lights flashing were parked in front of the Preston house and officers were at the door.
Elliott cursed his temporary disability. Normally, he would go over there and see what was wrong, but not with his walker, or even with crutches – he didn’t want to hobble around out there in the dark and risk falling and breaking his good hip.
He took the phone from beside his recliner to the kitchen table and called Marie’s number. It rang several times, then the answering machine picked up.
“Hi, Marie, it’s Elliott Granger. I just wanted to find out what’s going on over there and see if there was anything I could do to help.” He waited a moment, hoping someone would pick up, but no one did. “Please give me a call when you get a chance.” He punched the Off button and set the phone on the table.
Elliott sighed and tried to do some reading. He was in the middle of a collection of short stories by Richard Matheson. But he couldn’t concentrate. He took the teabag out of the mug and tossed it under the sink into the garbage can, and sipped his jasmine tea.
He heard another siren coming. And another. They were closing in fast. Elliott got up and went to the window again. Two ambulances raced down Fig Tree and stopped at the Preston house. They backed up to the front yard.
“Oh, my God,” Elliott muttered. He was worried about Ryan and Lyssa.
Seven shots. Nine people living in the house. Elliott wondered who had shot whom.
He went to his recliner, took the crutch leaning against it, and left the walker behind as he hobbled painfully into the kitchen and got his tea. He brought it back to the living room and put it on the endtable beside the recliner, then sat down. He turned on the lamp, turned off the music. He switched on the television and channel-surfed for awhile before getting up and going to the window again.
Four paramedics carried two bodies out of the house on stretchers – the bodies’ faces were covered.
“Oh, no,” Elliott breathed.
He went back to his recliner and sat down again, reclined.
Mona, his chubby dilute calico manx hopped up onto the broad armrest of his recliner. The cat sat on her haunches and faced him, meowed once.
“Hello, Mona, darlin’,” he said as he stroked her back.
The cat locked Elliott’s gaze with her large golden eyes and said, “You couldn’t mind your own fucking business, could you?”
Elliott’s entire body jerked in the chair, as if he’d been shocked. Mona’s mouth had moved, and out of it had come the deep, rough, whisky
voice he’d heard on the tapes Ryan had recorded.
Mona held his eyes.
“In a way, you’re the cause of all this, you know,” the cat said. “If you would have laughed off the boy’s story in the first place, like a normal person, maybe none of this would have happened.”
Cold hands closed on Elliott’s throat and squeezed. Elliott clawed at his throat, but there was nothing there.
“But no, you had to encourage him. You had to give him a little James Bond tape recorder.”
Elliott could not breathe. He tried to sit up, kicked his legs, flailed in his chair.
“Now you know too much. You, Ryan, and the girl. To be on the safe side, I just killed all the kids over there. And now I’m here to kill you.”
Tiny spots began to speckle Elliott’s vision. He felt as if his tongue were twice its normal size. His heart throbbed in his ears as the room darkened.
“For what it’s worth, Mr. Granger,” the voice said, “I didn’t lie about my involvement with the government. I know you were curious about that, so I thought I’d let you know. It’s so frustrating to die with unanswered questions weighing on your mind.”
A second before he lost consciousness and then died, Elliot heard Mona meow.
From the Journal of Ryan Kettering
It’s been fourteen months since I’ve written in this journal. I was in the hospital some of that time. When Keith shot me, the bullet went right through me without hitting any major organs, but it knicked my spine on the way out, and now I’m paralyzed from the waist down. I had to have a couple operations, and then a lot of physical therapy, but it didn’t do any good because I’m still in this fucking chair.
No one ever figured out where Keith got the gun. I was the only one who survived. Keith killed all the others and himself. Except, of course, for Hank and Marie. Keith didn’t go after them. Or Maddy. He left her alone. But that only makes sense because it was Maddy – it was the thing inside Maddy – that made Keith do it. I have no doubt of that. Keith was as pliable as Play-Doh. If he’d do anything Gary told him to, then how easy would it be for that thing to bend him to its will?