by Leon Logos
“What?” Kyler asked, alerted, setting down the bowl on the top of the nightstand next to him. “Where is this letter? Bring it to me.”
“Desmos has it, but he went hunting with the others.”
“So, what did he say? In the letter?”
“Well, basically…” she mulled, straining to remember the details, “…that we’re approaching the end of our lives, not to trust these people too much, be cautious, and that he was delayed.”
“So nothing I didn’t already know,” Kyler said. “Great.”
“I just told you that he said our lives will be put in danger after he comes back. Doesn’t that bother you?” she asked.
“Our lives are always in danger; you get used to it. It’s just that, now, we’re about to be getting into the really risky shit.”
“Yeah, that’s true.”
“How about witch-lady? What’s going on with her?” Kyler said, glancing at the door to confirm nobody was eavesdropping on them.
“I don’t think she knows,” Serenity said quietly, speaking in an undertone. “Whatever’s wrong with her, she’s unaware.”
“Maybe she’s got amnesia, who knows,” he guessed. “Take this soup back. I’m not eating this crap. I’d rather eat a raw fish.”
“Starve, then. I’m not taking it back, so just eat it. Since when were you such a whiner, like Cackle?”
These words had an impact on Kyler and constrained him to take back the bowl and begin eating. She offered to take his temperature with the thermometer when he was finished, but he refused, dampening his forehead with a soaked cloth. Sickness wasn’t common in their family, thankfully. She had only gotten sick a couple times in her life, the worst time being afflicted with pneumonia when she was twelve. As much as she needed a hospital, Gunther deemed it unnecessary. Instead, she was given negligent care from Desmos, who didn’t seem to know what he was doing.
Serenity opened the window and glanced down; from this room, the entire back of the house was visible. The grassy lawn, the tool shed, and the trees beyond. Directly below her, Helena was sitting on a rocking chair, eyes closed, humming. She wondered if she had found her medicine. Back then, offering to retrieve Helena’s medicine was only a pretext to search the bedroom. Helena must’ve caught on rather quickly, judging by her reaction. And this reaction only proved that there was something worth hiding down there.
Serenity bit her lip; Helena was outside, dozing off. This rendered the basement vulnerable. Should she chance a break-in? It was certainly a risky move, defying both Gunther and Desmos’s authority. The two of them had asserted not to break any rules, and to obey the couple. Even if she were to decide to go through with this, she’d need a key. From the looks of it, the key was not in Helena’s possession, as of now.
She left Kyler’s room and walked downstairs swiftly. The first place to search would be the kitchen. If she was lucky, Helena was neglectful and had left the key inside. And sure enough, the iron key sat defenselessly on the kitchen table. Serenity inched up to it, moving as quietly as possible. Helena’s back was visible from here, through the back door that was left open. She was rocking back-and-forth, oblivious to her presence. When it was certain to be safe, she snatched the key and snuck out of the kitchen. It was a guilty feeling, betraying both Helena’s and Patrick’s trust. She never considered herself a rule-breaker; this was essentially the first time.
The basement door, which was situated at the end of a corridor by the front door, loomed enticingly. The coast was clear, but she approached the door cautiously as if Helena was in a neighboring room. She inserted the key into the keyhole and twisted slowly. The lock clicked satisfyingly. She grabbed the doorknob, left-hand tremoring in middling trepidation, and was just about to open the door when—
“Keep talking shit, and I’ll rearrange your face again for you!” Garen shouted derisively from the kitchen, followed by a frenzy of other voices.
Her heart leaped out of her chest. In a panic, she locked the door again, withdrew the key, and then sprinted back into the living room. Patrick and the brothers had returned, quicker than anticipated. She turned her head rapidly in all directions, scanning for a place to set the key down. Somewhere obscure that was far from out-in-the-open. But she couldn’t find one in time. Patrick entered the living room from the kitchen, followed by the brothers. She hid the key behind her back, erecting herself.
“You all right, Serenity?” Patrick said merrily. “Garen tackled an elk like a rugby player, taking it down and snapping its neck! Boy, that’s a big man! And extremely agile! You should’ve come with us.”
“Woah, really?” she asked, acting surprised and intrigued (although, this was unbelievable). “Did he get stabbed by the horns?”
“Just a little prick, nothing too serious. Hey, lad, you still sour?”
“He took my kill, of course, I am!” Agno responded heatedly.
“Bro, you’re SUCH A—” Garen began.
“He claimed it first; you did steal his kill,” Cackle attested.
“First time you’ve sided with me; thanks, little brother,” said Agno.
Once Patrick proceeded into the bathroom downstairs to wash up, she followed the others up the stairs. The key was now hidden and secure in the back pocket of her pants. She was still indecisive, unsure of what to do with it. Half of her wanted to put it back; the other half wanted her to keep it. How long did she have before Patrick or Helena noticed it was missing? She would be the only suspect since the only other person in the house was a bed-confined Kyler. Hopefully, Helena was tricked into believing she had lost it. The first thing to do would be to hide it more thoroughly. Not just from Patrick, but from any of the brothers. She walked into her room, taking the key out from her pocket when it was safe to do so. Quickly, she stuffed the key into the bottom of her rucksack. There was no better spot, unfortunately. Nobody touched her stuff, and anywhere else would be too risky. It was bad enough that she shared a room with Cackle. If he found this key, he would neither turn it into Desmos nor Patrick. On the contrary, he’d use it himself to break into their bedroom when they weren’t home.
She had half-a-mind to recruit him into her scheme; two heads were better than one, their goals were aligned for once, and Cackle was way more proficient at stealth. Furthermore, she felt it would be too stressful to do this alone. If caught, better to have another culpable person to share the consequences. They’d all just assume he was the main perpetrator. Nevertheless, working with Cackle was insufferable; he, too, felt mutually the same about having to be with her. But the close-shave from earlier engendered disinclination towards essaying another break-in. She decided to hold on to the key. Just in case.
Supper that night was, thankfully, not zucchini soup. It seemed Garen did take down an elk, as their plates were filled with cooked elk meat. At first, she thought it was steak before Patrick clarified. Garen was beyond ecstatic at finally being able to consume meat after being deprived of it for so long. Even she could agree; this tasted far better than zucchini. Kyler was still not well enough to dine with them. Helena prepared a plate for him, ready to be taken up to him after they were finished. Like during all the other suppers they had together, she was invariably staring off into space, not uttering a word. The others looked at her in utmost suspicion, being watchful of her.
“By the way, what did your father say in that letter he sent?” Patrick asked curiously. “Something reflective, I hope.”
“He’ll be here in two days,” Desmos answered. “Two days and we’ll be out of your hands. In advance, thanks for your hospitality.”
“It’s nothing,” said Patrick, waving it off. “When he gets here, however, I’ll be sure to remind him of the great debt he owes me.”
“I’ll be sure to be present when you do,” Agno said.
“Don’t be too optimistic about that,” Patrick replied sternly.
Agno cracked his knuckles, holding back his indignation.
“Helena,” Patrick called, shak
ing his wife by the shoulder. Have you seen the basement key? You were the last to have it.”
Serenity stopped chewing, face burning in guilt. This time, she made sure not to make eye contact and look up from her food. One glance at her face would arouse suspicion, making her a potential suspect. Her face spelled misconduct; she had no choice but to hide it. Hopefully, the brothers, who knew her well enough when it came to trouble, wouldn’t notice.
“Oh, dear,” Helena spoke for the first time during supper time. “I don’t recall where I last placed it. My memory is awful, isn’t it?”
“You’ve lost it, then?” Patrick asked irked. “How about you, people? Have you seen the key? It’s old and iron; you can’t miss it.”
They all shook their heads in unison, but everyone turned to look at Cackle, eyeing him with arrant distrust. She imitated the brothers, content with using him as a scapegoat. Patrick noticed the attention Cackle was receiving and addressed him directly.
“Something you know?” he asked sharply.
“I don’t know anything,” Cackle affirmed, vexed. “So stop looking at me like I stole it. It’s probably under the fridge or something.”
“I’ll look for it later,” Patrick said, unperturbed. “It’s fortunate that I have a spare key. Otherwise, we would’ve been locked out of our room!”
“That wouldn’t be a problem,” said Cackle. “You could take one of our rooms. I have no problem sleeping on the couch. Now that I mentioned it, you mind if I take it anyway?”
“Yes, I do,” Patrick said strictly. “You are to stay in your rooms and stay there from 9:00 PM to dawn. Understood?”
“Why were you trying to take the couch?” she asked Cackle, after supper when they were in their sleeping bags that night at 9:00 PM.
Normally, she didn’t talk to him unless she had to; but she knew he had some ulterior reasoning behind sleeping downstairs, other than being away from her.
“So I don’t have to share a room with you,” Cackle snarled, as she expected. “Don’t ask stupid ass questions, just shut up and sleep.”
“You were hoping to see Helena again, weren’t you? Up close and personal? That’s stupid; you’d only cause trouble.”
“No, all I need is the footage! That way, I can use it as leverage.”
“‘Leverage’? For what?”
“For none of your damn business!”
“Typical,” she muttered, rolling over to her side. Having a genial, normal conversation with Cackle was more unlikely than getting struck by lightning. Probably even rarer, if she was the one trying to converse.
The next day, her indecision towards trespassing into the basement was tested. Gunther and Helena announced that they’d be going out for another walk in the forest. To prevent the brothers, especially Cackle, from doing anything illicit and against the rules, Desmos took them out of the house for training. However, she was exempted to assist Kyler. His fever had not subsided yet. Despite his fever, Kyler was stubbornly insistent on joining the others. She had to force him back into bed.
“How do you expect to train in the condition you’re in?! You’ll just worsen the fever, you need rest!” she urged.
“You don’t get it,” he huffed, beads of sweat trickling down his face, his breathing heavy. “I need to stay in shape! That’s two days off from training in a row! And I need to bulk up as well.”
“Desmos ordered this. You need to recover fast!”
“Fine,” he said, resigned. “But what about you? You’re slacking just as much as me. Go out there and work!”
“Again, Desmos’s orders,” she said calmly. “There’s nobody in the house, but us. If you need anything, just call me—”
“I’m not a baby, just go away,” Kyler scowled.
She frowned, taking the bowl of cold water beside him, and leaving him alone. Kyler was seldom irate like this. Being ill, and consequently incapable of functioning in daily activity, must’ve been very frustrating.
While she was idly dozing off in her room, her rucksack sat within her reach. She stared at it thoughtfully. The house was dead quiet, enticing her to disobedience. It was now or never. She grabbed her bag, zipped it open, and dug her hand into the bottom, groping for the key. When her hands made contact with the iron, she pulled it out. There was no time to waste. She stole a lighter from Cackle’s bag. Her body moved on her own as she left her room and made her way downstairs. She still was not fully committed to doing this, but nothing seemed to stop her. This was a valuable opportunity; tomorrow, they’d probably be departing due to Gunther’s arrival.
She jogged through the corridor leading to the basement door. This was the moment; there would not be another chance. She inserted the key, twisted counterclockwise, and withdrew it as the door clicked. Slowly and gingerly, she opened the door and stepped in. It creaked slightly.
Serenity stopped at the first step. It was dark down here, as expected. She closed the door shut behind her, the noise reverberating down the basement. The lighter provided sufficient light, enough to help her see where she was going. She descended the small flight of stairs warily. It was ten times mustier down here than up in the house; the air was stale and almost intoxicating, forcing her to keep her mouth closed.
Overall, the basement (bedroom) was very small; four walls, a couple of drawers, a wardrobe, a large, neatly made bed, a mirror, and plenty of unlit candles. Other than the fact that the basement was arranged into a bedroom, there was nothing really out of the ordinary. Her breathing was the only audible sound in the silence. She began looking around, using the lighter as a torch. The lighter would go out intermittently, enveloping her in uncomfortable darkness. She checked the drawers and the wardrobe, but only found undergarments, dresses, trousers, and an assortment of other ordinary garments. This supposed “medicine” Helena was taking was nowhere to be seen.
Her morals almost inhibited her from staying any longer. In her mind, she knew this was totally wrong; she was snooping around like some burglar. This was completely uncharacteristic of her. In addition, it was sweltering hot down here, likewise to up in the attic. There was no reason to stay any longer; she ascertained that there was nothing shady in the room. Serenity was just about to head back towards the stairs when something grasped her attention. There was a malodorous odor emanating from the closet. She noticed it as she passed by. Fingers fumbling, she opened the bifold closet door half-way. The overwhelmingly pungent smell almost caused her to faint; she gagged, clapping her hand to her face, pinching her nose. It reeked of rotten fruit, coated with feces.
With her other hand, she lit up the lighter once more, illuminating the closet. Nothing was in this closet but a large fuzzy blanket that was covering something up. The blanket was full of small holes, and it was in poor condition. Crouching down, she braced herself, pinching her nose harder to block out the stench. She then pulled the blanket off from the top slightly.
It was fortunate that her hand was covering her mouth. She recoiled backward, falling onto her bottom. Her eyes widened. Hand still clamped to her face; she stared at the head of a decomposed corpse. The eyes were missing from its sockets, the skin was rotten and resembled elephant skin, and the overall body appeared to be at least a decade old. On top of it all, maggots were feasting on the little flesh that remained.
The terror only exacerbated when she heard the basement door swing open. Instinctively, she dove into the closet and closed it. She also covered up the corpse again, making sure not a shred of it was visible to her eyes. Hurried footsteps came down the stairs and into the room. Squatted down and making sure not to make any sort of physical contact with the corpse, she leaned forward, peering through the shutters in the door.
It was Patrick, accompanied by a weakened Helena. She flopped onto her bed, coughing and making guttural noises. Patrick set the bright lantern that he was holding on a stool. The lantern illuminated more than half of the room. She spied, as Patrick rummaged through the drawers.
Holding her breath an
d keeping frozen, she focused her attention more on Helena, who was quivering on the bed, lying down on her back. It was unclear whether she was sane or not, but Helena was definitely on the verge of another one of her episodes; the noises she was producing were beginning to resemble the raucous dins she heard the other night. The incoherent, rapid mumbling also started to commence.
Patrick trundled towards his wife, a tin canteen in hand; she had found this canteen when she was searching the drawers but didn’t think much of it. He put a hand behind the back of her head and lifted it. Then, Patrick started to force the liquid down Helena’s throat. Helena didn’t resist, gulping down the liquid for a continuous seven seconds. She gagged, prompting Patrick to withdraw the canteen from her mouth. Serenity presumed this was the medicine.
“Now, now, dearest,” Patrick said gently. “Swallow it all, and you will be just fine. It’s a good thing we returned on time.”
“Cauliflower!” Helena croaked, her voice hoarse and entirely different. It was no longer mellifluous. “The blasted rubbish you keep giving me always tastes like cauliflower!”
Helena clawed at her husband, wriggling erratically. Patrick restrained her with equanimity and patience, his facial expression blasé. He must’ve had experience with this, having to administer the medicine routinely.
“The door was unlocked; let me loose! I crave them!” she rasped.
“Shhhh,” Patrick said soothingly. “Just a couple of seconds now…and you’ll be just… fine… you back yet?”
Helena suddenly stopped fidgeting, pacified. Her visage reversed back to the kind and amiable face she presented to them. Patrick released her and sat next to her, helping her upright. Serenity was straining, trying her hardest to remain silent and hidden. The malodorous odor pervaded every inch of the small space she was cooped up in. On top of that, she was holding in her breath. Opening her mouth and breathing would just force her to gag, cough, and possibly throw up. She was feeling lightheaded.
“Would you like some black tea?” she asked warmly.