Most dads would be bursting with pride at this sight, feeling honoured to have such an industrious and intelligent son, but not him, he left such chores to his wife. Just as the steps slowed outside his door Declan stopped breathing to heighten his ability to hear and anticipate his father's next move.
Each second dragged on like a Sunday shopping trip, each second appearing to last an hour. His nerves were being sliced with a blade and his lack of breathing was causing dizziness and a throbbing migraine. He daren't take a breath and risk being caught off guard. But soon the steps continued and went past the outside of his door, and his drunk of a dad went into his bedroom to sleep off a hangover no doubt.
Once he had calmed down and recovered, Declan spent the next few hours researching online. His fingers tapped the keypad like a psychopath repeatedly stabbing his victim. His eyes skimmed text on the luminous screen. His rump soon began to go numb at the bone of his butt squashing down on the skin and trapping nerves, creating a tickling sensation on his cheeks. Most information had been useless: rants of crazed individuals, blogs of disturbed people, incredibly intellectual and pompous explorations of the history of dolls and their symbolism. Some of which were fascinating, but never the less, it would not help his situation. Then out of the pages of pointless considerings came a website that stuck out from the rest. The words were informative, and very useful. Including everything about dolls, and the insertion of first hand accounts of people that have experienced hauntings and strange phenomenon.
One man whose screen name was 'I.knw.my.sh*t' which made Declan chuckle, had posted his own real experience of dealing with a doll which he had bought on holiday. He had taken a trip to Spain and explored the entirety of the place, and found a shop that sold strange occult items and antiques, a doll caught his attention. He wasn't usually one to be drawn to that kind of thing, but for some peculiar reason this doll had captivated him so much that he purchased it, taking it back to his home in England. Weeks had gone by and nothing strange had occurred, but then after a month of having the doll in his possession an avalanche of mishaps began to happen.
He had explained away so many strange situations, his denial had overpowered his logic, at first. But eventually his logic sneaked in a devastating blow and blew his denial out of the water, giving him no choice but to face the facts, something was very wrong with his Spanish souvenir. So he took to the internet just as Declan had, and found a very easy ritual that could be done. Some dolls can be 'active' as the man called it, meaning spirits can become trapped inside them, or some intentionally use the pottery bodies as a vessel they can occupy. Most spirits are nocturnal, during the day they usually remain dormant, but at night come alive and explode like volcanoes spurting out lava. The ritual he was referring to was the resting of a spirit. The doll had to be placed in a bag, and buried in the garden of its current residence of more than a month, after midnight. Declan assumed the home was the place it resided, which would be his house, as it had been given to him as a gift and been living with him for over a month.
So that night when his parents slept blissfully unaware, he would creep out of the house, dig a small hole and put Rose to rest. This task in itself was so scary it was beyond any depictions, just the mere concept of taking a creepy doll out into the darkness and burying her in the garden. But this heart racing mission came with one huge risk. If he was caught by his father, with a doll, sneaking around the house in the middle of the night, he had no disbelief in his mind that he himself would be the one that would end up under the soil.
Declan lay in bed, anxious, holding Rose tightly under the covers. His heart hammered away, as a result his breathing became insanely fast. He heard pulses on his temples, tapping each side of his head. He had waited patiently for many hours until he was absolutely certain his parents had drifted off. He himself, tried passionately to stay awake, he had used the last remains from his candy collection under his bed. His sugary treats were scattered around his bedroom, hidden in various places like children playing hide and seek. They were plotted at the driest and cleanest of areas, packaged in protective bags to hold onto their flavour. He had eaten several jelly babies, enjoying the fruit juice painting his mouth and the chewy soft texture popping beneath his teeth. Declan had also swallowed several bonbons, exploding with sugar and sending his drowsiness to the back of his mind, and bringing forward an eager, awake, and agile young boy readying himself for the scariest voyage he had ever taken.
He kept glimpsing at his watch, to a yellow and blue one his mother had bought him last Christmas. Head restlessly twitching back and forth every few minutes.
Every present his mother got him was saved in a small wooden box underneath his bed. Everything from toys, books, novelty gifts, DVDs, and stationery. A gift from his mother was heartfelt and thoughtful, she paid very close attention to her son, in specific, his interests, in order to purchase the present of a lifetime, and each year, she somehow managed to outdo herself. Except for this year, when his disgusting and reprehensible father had gotten him no presents, none of the main presents anyway. He could only imagine how guilty his mother no doubt still felt, such a warm, generous and caring person. She works herself to the bone, so left the present buying to her husband for a change. Regardless of Deirdra reminding her oaf of a husband several times a week, he still forgot. And even worse, David expressed no remorse whatsoever. Declan often scrutinized how his mother and father had met, they could not contrast more if they made it their life's goal, but he remembered hearing an old expression from one of the teachers at school, 'opposites attract'. This was factual in science, and often believed was the truth when it came to matters of the heart. The marriage of David and Deirdra was proof enough of this in Declan's eyes.
His mind, in turmoil over the details of his parents' first meeting, he noticed his small watch read 1:02. Past midnight, they were both sure to be in a meeting with the sandman by now. So, using all the tips and tricks he'd acquired from spy movies, he quietly, but quickly got out of bed dressed in his blue and white striped pyjamas, kept hold of Rose, and headed to the door. The key turned, the bolt slammed back into the door, and it then swung open. He left the door ajar until his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the hallway whilst he surveyed it for any sign of his parents, but could find none. He could however hear his father's oafish snores, echoing through the house, and vibrating every wall like an earthquake. However annoying this sound was, it was a guarantee that his father was definitely asleep. This would act as a warning alarm, if the snoring stopped, his father was awake, and that meant trouble.
He had closed his bedroom door, and fluffed his pillow very quickly to act as a Declan duplicate. While the decoy lay in bed, the actual Declan would be ripping and tearing at the grass in the garden to build a new home for Rose. He held her in the bag, just as the web page had recommended, and it was after midnight, also as the man had advised, and was headed to the soon to be burial ground, to lay Rose to rest.
***
The air was bitter, so sharp he was afraid it may cut his skin, and the grass was soggy from an epic downpour of rain earlier in the night, which made his feet feel like they were submersed in an ice cold lake loaded with seaweed. The intimidating glow of the moon gave the garden a feel of a graveyard, where a hungry zombie craving flesh may break free from a coffin at any moment. Or a blood starved vampire was waiting in the shadows to puncture, drain and devour Declan. He dreaded kneeling in the green moisture of the garden to start digging, but he dreaded being caught by the devil's most recent reincarnation even more: his father.
He had grabbed a large soup spoon from the kitchen in his trek downstairs and held it tightly in one hand, with Rose in the other. Every few minutes he would peer back to look upstairs and see if there were any lights on, or if he could see any shadows moving around. All clear. So plucking up his inner warrior he drudged his knees into the grass, feeling their wet embrace, tickling and slapping residual rain onto his thin pale legs. He began clawing to u
nearth a new home for Rose, he could feel the mud building underneath his nails and the damp grass stroking his hands.
After a few minutes he hadn't been able to make much of a hole, so he grabbed the spoon from his side and used it to lift up more dirt and grass; this proved a lot more productive. It was like an incredibly small construction site, only the main power tool was the spoon in the hands of a young boy, the lighting was minimal, and the pay was slave labour, with the risk assessment being short, but deadly, the only risk being a devilish man discovering the work site. The moon glided through the sky, Owls whooped, and the electrical buzz of lamps could be heard from every direction as Declan dug relentlessly.
Soon enough the hole in the ground was big enough to lay Rose to rest, so to speak. So he kept her in the bag and dropped it in the reasonably sized dent. After padding the bag down he began moving the dirt from the small pile back into the hole. He was thankful this was much easier than digging, and within a very short space of time Rose was accommodated safely and securely, with minimal evidence of the grave. He thought of how rash he was acting, and how if people, or Emily, ever found out about his presumably premature actions, they would judge and say how crazy he was.
But even though the number of situations had been minimal, they were enough to creep him out enough, and prevent any sleep or rest within the short time it had all began, so he wanted to cut the rope before the flame reached the explosives. It had haunted several days of his life, it was not going to haunt weeks or months. From blogs he had checked out online, people had been living with possessed dolls for months, some even years, he was not willing to let it last that long. This journey of horror was over.
He felt as if a huge weight had been lifted from his petite shoulders, a backpack full of fears and worries had been taken from him and discarded, or more specifically, buried. The days blurred together inside his violated mind, how everything had happened so fast, how his reactions had been very instant, and his actions quickly thought out in order to rid this deceivingly docile doll from his life. His body was now screaming for him to move and return to bed. So he abided his body's wishes and stood, wiping dirt from his pyjamas and shaking his feet free of any crumbs of mud that would cause suspicion in his father. As he turned to face his house, an upstairs light burst on and stung his eyes. Declan froze, as did his heart.
He stood, paralysed in fear, struggling for breath, and fighting for a plan, whipping his brain for a way out. The light was that of the hallway, so hopefully it was just one of his parents going to the bathroom for a midnight leak. As the shadow moved toward the bathroom Declan seized the moment and ran to the back door. In the haste of his actions he had completely forgotten about the security flood light; It burst on and exposed the whole garden, including Declan.
He didn't know how much more his heart could handle, regardless of his youth. This time though he did not freeze, he stepped into the kitchen through the back door and crossed his fingers, aiding for the Lord's help in the unlikely chance that one of his parents didn't see the flood light. He waited silently and patiently, hands trembling and body ice cold. He had locked the door and stood in the darkness of the kitchen, listening intently to the sounds coming from upstairs. Declan was predicting a flush, but nothing, no flush, but a sound that did echo was that of the stairs: heavy, slow noises. Footsteps. His father was coming downstairs. This both frightened, and surprised him. Daddy not so dearest was very brave when it came to hitting Declan, but against men his own age and size, he was a snivelling coward; a weak, miserable human being. He could and would not stand up for his family, he would cower in a corner like a frightened dog.
Unless he knew it was Declan that was creeping around downstairs. He assumed that must be it as Declan found it hard to believe that his feeble father would come down to investigate the light and risk a confrontation with a thief: someone of his own size and build, not a little child he could beat on. Not to mention it could be one of many enemies his father had acquired over the years, his drunken behaviour and constant lies gave him a reputation for being unreliable, agonising, and all in all, a joke. But this provided a small slice of time for Declan to find a hiding spot as David descended the staircase. There was a cupboard under the stairs that he could just about squeeze into.
It was used to store cleaning supplies such as: vacuum cleaners, dusters, mops and cloths. He would be willing to bet that his flagging father didn't even know that the storage space existed due to his dallying demeanour and alcohol poisoned memory.
So the little boy scurried into the cupboard and crammed himself against polish and air fresheners, and pleaded for help from anyone that was willing to listen to his thoughts. The steps felt so close, growing louder by the second, it was as if his father was stomping on his back. Declan was once again stood, not moving, breathing steadily but faintly, and with his ears pricked up listening profusely.
The oaf reached the bottom step and turned towards the kitchen, the creaks of his sturdy gait were causing Declan's breathing to spiral out of control, he was struggling to remain silent. As the sounds of wood receiving pressure got closer Declan chose to close his eyes and remain in a kind of denial, and make a wish that his father would simply go to the fridge for a can of beer and return to bed.
A few grunts and the noise of wooden stairs moaning could once again be heard, his forbearer was fleeing back to his bedroom, without even grabbing a beer while he was downstairs, he was in shock, but could breathe more controlled now. He could not accentuate his overwhelming relief. While the cleaning cupboard had provided a rescue and safe shelter from the monster, the stench of various products were now intoxicating his lungs and burning his eyes.
He gently pushed the door and crawled onto the floor, the absence of light still remained, so his patience prevailed in the wait for his eyes to make the necessary adjustments in order to make it back to his room without banging into a wall. The tissue at the back of his nose was still itching from alcohol cleansers and a bleach pungency that also tormented his tongue. But this was the least of his current worries; he had to retreat to bed in order to complete this task. The mission was only half complete, he now needed to remain undetected and make his way to his room. In order to not make the same mistakes his dad had made, he climbed up the stairs with his legs and arms fighting against each wall to the left and right of him. He felt like spiderman, climbing upstairs using the walls for a hushed approach. Except he didn't have the webbing power. Just as the muscles were beginning to let him down he had landed at the top step and gradually brought himself down and stood for a moment observing both sides of the hallway. The coast was clear, and the gleaming white finish line was finally within his grasp.
Only the finish line was not shining, or white, it was the dankness of his bedroom, which was only a matter of tiptoed steps away. Using all his skills of agility, he made his way towards his bedroom's entrance. He kept his body tight and tensed, ready for any sign of trouble, and his ears were yet again jolting outward from his head, listening to every audible sound possible. The threshold soon came within his reach and his hands travelled through the air and touched the wooden frame to his door. The relief was exhilarating, he was becoming addicted to this rush of adrenaline and the euphoric feeling he got from completing a scary task. The handle was eased down with caution and nudged open. Within seconds of entering his room he noticed how unnaturally cold it was.
An icy bitterness, not unfamiliar to that he had endured outside, had enveloped him within the room. The smell of grass and dirt reeked and stained the air particles with its ripe stench; this made Declan feel dirty. A howling of wind whistled loudly unnerving him slightly. But he knew it often made that racket when he had left his window open and small tunnels of wind ploughed through the gap. But to his knowledge he hadn't opened the window. So as he slowly closed his bedroom door he began to put the wheels of his brain in motion. Had the heating broken down? He just wanted to know why it was so cold in his bedroom.
&nbs
p; His mother would have never left the heating off with such cold temperatures outside, it would be on pretty much constantly, as his father would be at home most of the day, not working or accomplishing anything, but wanting to be kept warm. This thought infuriated Declan's entire emotional being, he found it to be completely unfair that when he was at school, and his mother was working, his father had a warm home to lay around in. What an utter slob! Declan scowled. I hope they get a divorce. But he knew that the chances of that becoming a reality were slim. His mother was so modest she was completely unaware of what an amazing woman she was: caring, warm, generous, forgiving, selfless, always willing to help others, trusting, open minded, just the absolute definition of a great humanitarian. His mother deserved so much better, but the real question was, would she ever discover this and free herself of this horrid marriage? He often dreamed of a life with just himself and Deirdra. Where she had a job she loved, and one that paid generously, and they were happy. She would find a new husband, one that would treat her with kindness and total respect, and appreciate just what an incredible person she was. As his thoughts were spinning around like a Frisbee, his eyes stopped in their tracks as they noticed that the window was in fact open.
He's Watching Me Page 11