by Leon Logos
“Make a move already,” Agno snapped irritably.
“I’m thinking,” Kyler replied, face strained in concentration.
“For the past THREE minutes?!”
“His bishop is open, take it out,” Serenity whispered in Kyler’s ear.
“Really? You’re giving him pointers?” Agno snickered. “Go ahead and cheat, Kyler. I’ll still win anyway.”
“Stay out of this,” Kyler told her firmly, taking out Agno’s first bishop.
She obliged, taking a seat back on the couch. All she was doing was giving him some help. Kyler was clearly unskilled at the game, significantly inferior to Agno. But Kyler was an intelligent kid and a quick study.
The match ended swiftly with Agno’s victory. Kyler stared at his checkmated king, silently frustrated. Agno left the table, bored. She took his place, sitting opposite of Kyler.
“You want to play?” “I’m still trying to figure out he trapped me…” he said monotonously.
She rearranged the pieces to their starting positions. For the next hour, they played three games. She won the first two, the first win easier to achieve than the second. The third game ended in a stalemate; Kyler improved dramatically, playing more strategically and skillfully than he had with Agno.
“Let’s run it back,” he said, as she tried to leave. “I can win next time.”
“You’re getting really surprisingly into this,” she said, amused.
“I’m getting the hang of this. Make your move.”
Initially, she planned to play only a single game before quitting. But things didn’t go according to plan, as they continued to play for several hours until the sun was no longer overhead. Kyler had won the last three games they played. He was now on par with her, possibly even better.
Supper was zucchini soup, which tasted even worse than the stew they were usually served. It was thick and green, resembling slime. Nobody complained publicly, despite having strong inclination to do so. It was basic etiquette to not complain when being fed. But she seriously considered preparing their meals by herself from now on. Even she could cook something better tasting than this. Garen was the most choleric of them all; seldom did they eat meat, and his protein intake consequently became deficient during the past week.
“Now, before you all go up to bed,” Patrick cleared his throat, “do you remember the rules? Repeat them, please.”
“The attic and basement are out-of-bounds, bedtime at 9:00,” Desmos said curtly, rising up out of his chair.
“Forgive me if I seem accusatory, but the attic door was loose earlier today,” Patrick said straightforwardly, narrowing his eyes. “Any of you possibly know why that is?”
Serenity stared down at her empty bowl, unwilling to make eye contact out of fear of revealing any indication of culpability. She quickly realized this would only heighten suspicions, so she looked up.
“I barely noticed,” Desmos spoke, his countenance free of guilt, suspicion, or any intimation of deception. “It must’ve been loose for some time since none of us have even attempted to go up there.”
“I see…” Patrick said slowly, gazing at each and every one of them. “Very well, then. Off you go. And remember the rules.”
“The man is sharp, don’t do anything stupid,” Desmos warned, as they all walked up the rickety stairs that creaked loudly at every step.
“I’m surprised you didn’t snitch,” Garen remarked.
“What would that gain? I don’t need Patrick’s distrust,” Desmos said. “Especially when we’re only days from our departure. Ride it out smoothly.”
“You keep saying we’ll be out in a minute,” Agno said dubiously. “If you’re not right, we mind as well leave ourselves.”
“Shut up and go to sleep. If we can tolerate four days living in a murky swamp, we can tolerate this.”
“Well, at least that swamp was full of meat and mammals,” Garen said. “I’ll take a raw animal over that garbage they call food any day.”
Garen’s snores became distinctly audible two hours later, droning through the walls and awakening her. Her eyes scrutinized the ceiling as she struggled to find sleep again. Cackle was fast asleep, breathing softly. His hands were above his sleeping bag, a knife fastened in one of them. Each of the brothers always had weapons close by when they were asleep, either in their hands or behind their pillows. The others had taken what they could from the tool shed, permitted by Patrick. Only when Garen stopped snoring could she be able to get back to sleep, because only silence could lull her to slumber.
Then something else caught her attention. Something that made Garen’s snoring sound euphonious. She listened carefully. It was coming from downstairs, muffled. A horrid grating noise that sounded like vomiting mixed with croaking. The raucousness dissolved her sleepiness, putting her on high-alert. Whatever the sound was, the source was beyond the door and down the stairs. It fluctuated in noise level, meaning it must’ve been moving around the house. All of a sudden, the noises stopped, replaced by a banging sound. It was like somebody was repeatedly smacking the wall or even a door. Then, a high, shrill, yapping sound emerged. Then, the cycle restarted, mixing all the noises. The smacking, puking, croaking.
“Cackle,” she whispered, deciding to wake him up. “Cackle!”
How he was even sleeping through this was ludicrous. It was positive he would be upset at being awoken, but she didn’t want anyone to think she was crazy if she decided to share this with them. Another witness was needed. When he didn’t wake, she grabbed her shoe and threw it at him. It hit him on the back of his head. He lurched upwards, slashing wildly at the air with his knife out of reflex. After realizing there was no threat, he turned to her, his hair tousled, throwing her shoe back. It would’ve hit her square in the face if she hadn’t deflected it.
“What the hell was that?!” he said angrily.
“Can’t you hear that?” she hissed. “Downstairs. Listen!”
“Hear what—” he paused, listening attentively for a few seconds.
Serenity watched as his expression darkened. The throwing-up noise was at its highest peak, followed by intermittent croaks.
“What…the…hell…?” he said slowly, staring at the door.
“It sounds like an animal,” she said, equally as disconcerted.
“That isn’t an animal,” he shook his head. “It’s somebody.”
“But who—or what could that be?”
“No clue, but only one way to find out,” he said ultimately, slithering out of the sleeping bag.
“What? No!” she opposed. “Stay in bed; we don’t know what that is! I’ve been hearing it for a couple of nights now!”
“And you say something now?! I knew these old people were shady!”
“Look, just go back to sleep. Tell Desmos in the morning.”
“Yeah, right!” he said scornfully. “Like Desmos will do anything. Stay here since I know you’re too scared anyway. Besides, the others are probably hearing this too. Who the hell could sleep through this?”
You could, she thought. And so could Garen, whose snoring could still be heard. Garen was a deep sleeper. Serenity got out of her sleeping bag. Knife in hand, Cackle edged to the door but then halted. She looked at him, unsure of what caused him to stop. Then it occurred to her too. The noises were getting louder and closer as the stairs creaked. Footsteps were approaching, and the source was coming towards them.
She trembled, stomach tightening in panic. Now that the strident sounds were literally on the other side of the door, her fear elevated.
Cackle gripped his weapon tighter, debating in his head whether to go outside. She could tell that he was more intrigued than unsettled. Her muscles immobilized, and her breathing ceased, when the doorknob started rattling, the noises closer than ever. Whatever it was, it was trying to get through the locked door and into their room.
There was a brief pause; they were respite from the noises for a moment. Gradually, the footsteps receded away, down the stairs
as they creaked again. She exhaled heavily in relief, releasing her held breath.
“I was hoping they’d come through,” Cackle scoffed. “I should’ve unlocked it and welcomed them inside. Screw it; I’m going down—”
“STOP IT!”
“Quit trying to stop me!” he spat, feigning a knife throw.
She flinched, crouching down in frustration. He was right; she needed to stop. If Cackle wanted to endanger himself, why should she care? But she couldn’t resist following him through the door as he opened it.
They weren’t the only ones awake. Desmos, Agno, and Kyler were already out in the hall, arched over the banister; they were looking down silently. Cackle slinked towards them, peering down next to them. She tip-toed next to him and did the same as the others, investigating the source of the noises. Cackle was right; it was no animal, but a person.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Serenity chose to maintain a friendly relationship with the old woman, trying to disregard everything seen or heard the night before. Even currently, while she was assisting Helena in preparing tea for everyone. Helena smiled at her gently, and she reciprocated it without hesitation. Unfortunately, it was just an act. The sickening, stomach-churning, ghastly images were etched into her memory and wouldn’t fade away easily.
Desmos had ordered them to keep their lips sealed. She wholeheartedly agreed with this decision; as much as she wanted to know what abominable sickness plagued Helena, they had broken a rule.
While they sat together around the kitchen table drinking tea, and Patrick had left the kitchen with Helena, Garen immediately demanded more details. They hadn’t told him much, as much as he pestered them. Although she had no desire to recount the story, Cackle was eager to recall the night and descriptively provide the details.
“She looked like a ghoul! No, no, a zombie!” he said feverishly. “Throwing up all over the floor, vomit gushing down her face, crawling around like a damn monkey! She also had a freakin’ hunchback!”
“What the hell?” Garen grimaced. “She’s demented! And what do you mean by ‘crawling’?"
“Crawling like a dog! Nah, more like Spider-Man!”
“That’s not the creepy part,” said Agno. “This lady was banging on the walls and yapping like an animal. How the hell did you sleep through that, man? I swear you’d snooze through a bombing.”
“What can I say, I need my rest,” said Garen indifferently. “Anyway, I say we do something before she tries to kill us.”
“She’s a harmless old woman, don’t trouble yourself with her,” Desmos said unconcernedly, downing his tea despite how hot it was.
“She tried to get into my room, I agree with Garen,” Cackle refuted. “Lucky the door was locked, or else I would’ve shanked her ass.”
Serenity listened to their conversation in taciturnity. Their revulsion was understandable, but she felt Helena desperately required professional medical attention. The prolonged span of time spent cooped up in this house, and isolated from society, had to be a factor. Cackle’s description was correct enough: erratic movements, compulsive vomiting, and overall psychotic behavior. When they had been observing her from above, Desmos had told them to return to their rooms and to lock their doors. They complied, but she didn’t get a wink of sleep after that. It was downright impossible.
When she had went downstairs in the morning, all the vomit that had spewed out of Helena’s mouth was missing. It must’ve been cleaned up sometime around the night, or very early in the morning. There was no doubt in her mind that Patrick was aware of his wife’s severe malady.
“Dementia, schizophrenia, identity disorder, autism, Alzheimer’s,” Agno muttered, listing the disorders and counting them with his fingers. “As far as I know, she’s got at least one of those.”
“Or all of them at once,” Cackle quipped. “What’s ‘schizophrenia’?” “You know those people that hallucinate and are always delusional? That dude has schizophrenia, which is worse than dementia, if you ask me,” Agno explained, displaying his passably erudite nature.
Before school-season was a thing and they periodically attended public schools, Gunther had them unconventionally homeschooled. They had no tutors, but rather a plethora of random books Gunther had given them to read. These books varied in difficulty, length, subject, and type. They comprised of novels, dictionaries, thesauruses, encyclopedias, and even cookbooks (which she learned a great deal from). Agno retained the most during this period, next to Desmos, whose extensive reading contributed to his current articulate nature.
“Good news,” Patrick announced, entering the kitchen. “I’ve got a letter. We don’t have a telephone, so the only method of communication in this house is the postal service.”
He set down an envelope in the center of the table and then left again. Desmos didn’t hesitate in tearing up the envelope and taking out the letter. First, he read it himself, eyes darting left and right as he neared the end of the paper. Serenity waited impatiently with the others, waiting for him to share with them. Desmos set the letter down after reading it an additional two times. She craned her neck at a funny angle, attempting to read the words that undoubtedly matched Gunther’s handwriting:
I apologize for the unexpected delay. Things did not go according to plan, thus protracting my task. I will be seeing you all again in two days, so be prepared to depart. I am sure my acquaintance, Patrick, has given you adequate hospitality. I’ve explicitly stated that this letter be only be read by you all, nobody else; therefore, I warn you to be cordial with Patrick and listen to him unconditionally. Desmos, I can count on you to keep the pack together and make sure the others behave. Although we are allies, Patrick cannot be trusted entirely. Our relationship shall remain unknown to you all until I return. Knowing how intuitive some of you are, I’m sure you are aware that life will get dangerous from here, and we will be audacious. Be vigilant, be alert, and be intelligent.
-Gunther Carlisle
“Two days,” Garen nodded approvingly. “I expected longer, but I can take it. Two days, and then we’re out of this shithole.”
“See? I told you,” Desmos said triumphantly. “Just a small delay.”
“‘See? I told you,’” Cackle repeated sardonically. “Patrick can’t be trusted; you heard Father. His word is absolute, isn’t it?”
“We can trust him; Father only advised us to tread cautiously with him,” Desmos said exasperatedly. “Again, they’re allies. ALLIES.”
“Life will get dangerous from here…” As if life, their life wasn’t fraught with enough danger already. If there were ever a time to run away, this would be the perfect day. What were the chances of her surviving until twenty? Gunther’s letter disappointed her; it was just evidence that he was alive.
Later that day, the others went off on another hunting trip with Patrick. Serenity stayed behind with Helena and Kyler, who was sick in bed with a mild fever. Although it wasn’t serious, it was bad enough to confine him to his bed. Helena prepared a bowl of steaming zucchini soup for him, asking her to take it up to him. She nodded, knowing Kyler probably wouldn’t eat it. As Helena prepared the soup, she observed her closely, seeking any signs of a mental disorder. But aside from the compulsive face twitching and muttering, there was nothing out-of-the-ordinary. Only the eccentric, genial elderly woman stood in the room.
“So, did you sleep well last night?” she tested.
“I believe so,” Helena replied. “How about you?”
“I slept fine,” she lied, taking a seat at the table. “So—you don’t remember—maybe getting out of bed late at night?”
“I don’t recall, no…is something the matter?” she asked innocently.
Serenity shook her head, smiling convivially. She didn’t want Helena to grow suspicious. It seemed she wasn’t conscious of the night before, or her condition. Her face displayed benign innocence and friendliness, so much that Serenity considered dissociative identity disorder to be plausible.
“Now, where i
s my medicine…?” Helena mumbled, scouring the kitchen inch-by-inch. “Feeling…rather dizzy…”
“Medicine? Are you ill?” she asked, hoping to get answers.
“Oh, nothing serious,” Helena said dismissively. “Just one, or two, or three complications which entail the life of an old woman…”
“Maybe your medicine is in your bedroom? Would you like me to retrieve it for you?” she suggested politely.
“NO!” Helena yelped abruptly, spinning around and making her flinch. “N-no…I mean, yes, it must be down there. I’ll go and get it, and you take this delicious soup up to your brother. Okay, dear?”
Serenity nodded wordlessly, stunned at the sudden shift in tone and demeanor. As Helena hurried out of the kitchen, she took the bowl of soup and walked after her. The woman opened the door to the basement with a rusty key and then descended the dark steps, closing the door behind her. Cackle was wrong in investigating the attic. The basement was where he needed to go.
“You could’ve made me something else?” Kyler complained, sulkily eyeing the bowl of zucchini soup with distaste.
“She insisted, you should finish it just to be nice,” said Serenity, sitting by the foot of his bed. “Where did your fever come from?”
“Probably from something in here,” he said, stirring the soup with the spoon inattentively. “Not the soup, this house in general.”
“We won’t be here for long,” she informed, remembering that Kyler had not yet been notified of the letter. “Father finally got word to us. He sent a letter saying he’ll be here in two days.”