by S. Graham
"Thanks, Mom, for coming out. It's been a lot to take in!"
"Becca, that's what a mom does, plus I wanted to see my grand babies." She winks.
"It's insane to think about all the things that have gone wrong in this house," Grandpa says from the deep end of the pool. It didn't take long to get him in the warm water.
"You have no idea," says Mitch as he brings out a couple of cold Bud Lights for my parents. My parents are quite young, so it's like having our friends over for a cold one.
"We just had the pool lights done and some rewiring inside the house a couple days ago. We are lucky we didn't get shocked swimming in the pool with the lights out and faulty wiring. The kids have been using the pool almost every day since we moved in."
"That's just annoying and dangerous," replies my mom. "I'm glad everyone is safe and now hopefully settled."
The boys started school, and everything has been a little quiet with less supernatural activity than normal. I haven't seen or heard the boy since that one bad night. I spent countless nights with complete insomnia, scared to sleep but relieved I didn't see him. Nonetheless, he's still here. Every second night or so, Logan's room had the night light come on or random electronic toys turning on and off. I would hear movement upstairs while everyone is at school, but it has become normal for this house. It buzzes with energy but hasn't taken any interest in anyone hearing or seeing him but me. It was something I was now living with and trying to take no notice of. It was becoming my normal.
The boys finished the swim and were now finishing up the brisket and homemade potato salad. The recipe was a family favorite past down from my mom and a staple for a backyard barbecue.
"That hit the spot," says Mitch holding his stomach. "Why don't I take the kids and your dad down to the community center by our house to show him the gym? It's a five minute walk and the kids can burn off some energy on the playground too. Let the ladies catch up and give you some mommy time." Mitch leans over for a kiss.
"Sounds good, thanks babe."
Mom and I clean up after dinner. The front door slams shut with their exit, and I sit back outside by the pool with my mom. "So, let's talk about this, Becca. Has anything else happened here since the little boy crawling on the bed?" my mom asks.
"Just the usual stuff now with doors and lights. Sometimes even that's enough. It just gives me the creeps. I know we're not alone in this house, Mom. There's too much stuff going on all the bloody time."
My mom has always had a sense for this kind of stuff, starting when she was a little girl. She grew up having strange dreams or occurrences of faces she never recognized with messages given to her to give to loved ones left behind. Days later, she would see the faces of those people from her dream from accidents that happened on the local news channel. One day, she had a dream of a fireman asking to give a message to his wife. She never understood it until the firefighter's face was on TV the next day as being remembered from a tragic accident the day before thousands of miles away. She never gave those messages to the loved ones, sometimes I don't even think she believed it, but it happened.
"Mom, I tried to pull some research on this house, and I asked the realtor before we moved in if anything had happened here, and he said no. I honestly can't explain what's going on and I definitely can't explain this little boy. It's not random people in a random dream, it's the same boy with the same face in the same clothes, it's weird."
"I don't know what to tell you, Becca. I guess we'll see. There is an eerie feeling upstairs when I go up to the room, but it's also a new house to me. Let's sit back and enjoy each other's company until we figure this all out."
We let out a soft smile to each other and enjoy the sun setting in front of us. I'm so grateful my mom is here with me. Everything is going to be okay; I tell myself. Boy was I wrong; it was just about to get started.
***
The next morning, I put the coffee on, and not soon after, my mother came around the corner to the kitchen. "How did you sleep?" she asks.
"I actually slept fine, in fact the best I have yet in this house. Must be because you are here." I smile and pass her a fresh cup of coffee. "How did you sleep?"
"I slept okay," she says, but she's not finishing her sentence.
"Okay?"
"I thought I heard the boys up last night, walking and giggling outside of my bedroom door. I got up to look and it was pitch black and silent, they weren't there. I thought maybe they were playing a joke on me." She shrugs.
I say nothing and just maintain eye contact and silence. The best thing about being so close to my mom is sometimes we don't even need to say anything; she just knows what I'm thinking or, in this case, what I'm fearing. When the boys are ready to sleep, they are always down for the count unless they have an accident or a nightmare. I have always been blessed with great sleepers starting at three months old. Down comes my dad breaking the look of concern we are giving each other and letting out a good morning smile. "I slept great. The kids have a very comfortable bed," he says and stretches his arms out.
"That's great, Dad. Hey, today they are having the fall festival in our community with some vendors and some entertainment for the kids like bouncy castles and face painting. I thought we could walk over there this morning before it gets too hot, then spend the afternoon by the pool?"
"That sounds great!" he says.
The kids come running down the stairs straight for the grandparents. "Let's have some fun," Grandma says to the boys.
We arrive back home from the fall festival a couple of hours later, hot and sweaty from spending the entire morning outside in the sun. The boys come tearing into the house with large round red foil balloons. "I'm going to tie my balloon to the chair, Mom, so it doesn't fly away." "That's a great idea, Connor, make sure to do that to your brother's balloon too."
We cool down in the pool, and as the temperature starts to drop down, we fire up the grill. "I'm going to head upstairs and change, Becca. Then help you with dinner." My mother managed to get herself a very good start tan, maybe borderline burn by the pool all afternoon.
"Sure, sounds good," I respond. I start in the kitchen by grabbing the chicken that's been marinating all day to look up and see my mom's panicked face. Her tan is now gone, and she has turned a few shades lighter with a face that says something is terribly wrong.
"Mom?" I ask while putting down the kitchen knife.
"Becca… something is wrong here. I mean, really really wrong."
"Mom, you're scaring me, what do you mean?" I walk over to her, not sure what to expect.
"I got changed in the room and had this horrible feeling. I could feel eyes on my back. It was so bad I looked in the closet to see if the kids were hiding or if dad came upstairs. The feeling was so strong I got changed as fast as I could and went to the landing on top of the stairs. Becca… someone pushed me. I'm not kidding. I felt my back get pushed forward why the rest of my body snapped after. I grabbed the railing and saved myself from flying forward, but I almost flew down the stairs."
"What? Really? Did you slip?" I don't know why I even asked that because I knew my mom didn't slip. This was it; the boy was showing his face again.
"No, I didn't slip, Becca! I was pushed with such force my neck hurts from my head snapping back!"
The guys come in to grab the food for the barbecue. "Mom, don't say anything to anyone, not yet anyways, and I don't want the kids to pick up on this."
Dad came in and grabbed the plate. "What's going on in here, so darn serious?"
"Oh, nothing," my mom says as she puts on a forced smile. Her demeanor has changed now. She understands my dilemma, and it's not just me. She can feel it too, and it's only her second day here.
Chapter 6
We eat dinner on the patio and bring everything inside. My mom has not said much since before dinner, and I know she wants to discuss it further. Mitch comes down the stairs into the living room, where we have all just sat down to relax. "Boys are down for the count already. The sun just
tires them out."
"That's good," I say. "Let's put on a movie."
"Sure!" Mitch says. I watch him search for a movie on Netflix and happen to look over at my mother. She's just itching to talk to me, but I just can't do it. Now is not the time. The skies are turning pink, and darkness is approaching. Tonight is going to be one of those nights; I can feel it.
The movie starts, and Mitch picks an action-packed show. I'm watching, but nothing's registering. What's noticeable, though, is the rather drastic temperature change in the living room; it's so cold I grab a blanket from the couch and toss another one to my mom. The air conditioner must be on high, but this is ridiculous. My mom is looking behind me with a rather strange face. When I turn my head expecting to see one of the boys, I don't. Instead, I see the large ruby red foil balloon floating 4 feet from the floor gliding down the stairs. I look over at my parents, who have both now noticed it.
"The boys' balloon. I thought they tied it up. It will float somewhere and eventually stop, don't worry about it," Mitch says, taking no interest in it.
"I thought it was tied up like the other one," my mom asked.
"Probably just came undone," said my dad, now watching the movie again. My mom, however, is not; she is watching it behind me. I turn to look at it again and notice it's turning a sharp corner from the stairs and now coming straight for us in the living room. It's moving inch by inch slowly as if someone was walking the balloon right to us. It's hard to ignore as it approaches, and I can't help but think this is the perfect height for a child as if they were holding the string. It's not gliding up or down or left or right; it looks like it's being led right toward us.
"What's up with this balloon?" says Mitch with a confused look on his face breaking away again from the movie.
"It's probably following some air current in the house," my dad says, who always has science in his back pocket. He can explain anything rationally.
Aside from vents, there isn't anything that would explain this balloon. I glance over at my mom, and her eyes are getting big with worry. We watch the balloon float perfectly around the coffee table in front of us and stop mid-air in front of the TV, blocking it completely.
"What the?" Mitch gets up to try to swat at the balloon.
My mom pipes up, "No, Mitch, leave it for a second!" she must be curious about what would happen next. The balloon stays in that one spot motionless, frozen, and not budging an inch. We sit awkwardly, just watching it and looking at each other. Mitch sits back down, and we continue to watch the balloon now start moving again back around our table as if someone was now walking away from the living room, and the balloon heads back down the hall.
"I'm sorry everyone, but that's creepy. It literally looks like someone is guiding that balloon with the string walking around the living room table. It's an unnatural movement, balloons just don't do that!"
Mitch lets out a laugh. "That's why I don't watch horror movies, no one is guiding the balloon, it's just a defect, wind current or something else."
I get the same eerie feeling as my mom. My palms are sweating, and my nerves are frazzled; I know what's going on. It's him. My hair is standing up on my arms, and a cool shiver runs down the back of my neck. I turn to look down the hall, and the balloon starts moving again, turning the sharp corner and going back up the stairs. The guys are fully into their movie and not even taking notice of anything else.
My mom whispers to me, "Becca... it went back up the stairs, go see."
I honestly don't want to, but I need to look. Getting up, I walk to the bottom of the stairs and look up. It's not here; it has already turned the corner of the landing, and it's going all the way up to the top of the stairs. I take a couple of more steps, just enough to peek around the corner and see just enough to the top of the staircase. There is the balloon at the very top of the banister not moving, just hovering. That's when the shadow of something standing right next to it is noticeable. Squinting my eyes, I see the pale blonde boy with his veiny white arm holding onto the string of the balloon. Just like we thought, it was being led the whole time; that's why it never fluctuated in height. The boy does a malicious smirk, snaps his head left towards Logan's room, and runs right into it with the foil balloon following behind. I gasp, lose my footing in fright, and stumble down the three stairs I went up. My mom is now on the edge of her seat like she's ready to shoot up as she sees me fall into the hall.
"What on earth did you do?" says Mitch.
I stand up and fix my disheveled self, trying not to look completely crazy. "I…I... just lost my footing, no big deal. It's this maxi dress." I tug at my black dress, acting all frustrated. "It's too damn long." I look back at the stairs and shoot back up them as fast as possible. I make it to the top of the stairs, and I don't see him, nor do I see the balloon. My children are all that's on my mind; all I want is to see them tucked into the bed made in Grandma's room for the sleepover they so eagerly wanted. Their door is closed, and as I go to open it, there is red in the corner of my eye. The balloon is behind me, floating up towards the 9-ft ceiling. It makes the whole hovering around downstairs that much scarier. Opening the boys' bedroom door, I see them on their foamy's on the floor, safe and sound.
I slowly closed the door, letting out a huge sigh of relief. I turn around, and my mom is behind me with a serious look of concern. "Becca, I know you saw, what I saw! There was someone holding onto that balloon, wasn't there? Why on earth is it high up on your ceiling now stuck up there? It was full of helium, so it's not like it was deflating!"
"I know, Mom, it freaked me out too. This is the kind of weird stuff that happens."
"Let me tell you, Becca, this is beyond weird. Someone pushed me down the stairs earlier and someone wanted us to see him with the balloon today."
Telling my mom I saw the little boy at the top of the stairs and dart into the room around the corner from hers isn't a good idea. She is clearly already alarmed, and I need to calm her down. I'll tell her in the morning, or better yet, when she leaves. She needs to get some sleep here.
"Okay… it's late and I'm tired, this day seems to have taken a turn. Let's say goodnight and talk more about this in the morning."
"I'm not going to sleep tonight, Becca."
"Let's try, Mom" We head down the stairs to announce we were going to bed. I left Mitch to turn off the lights, and I head to my room to crawl directly into my bed. My mom upstairs is talking to dad about the red balloon. "I'm sorry, but something's not right," I could hear her say.
Ten minutes later, Mitch is in our bathroom getting ready for bed when my bedroom door flies open, startling me. I see my mom. "What are you doing?" I ask, surprised.
"Becca, I'm so scared to go to bed. The energy is so thick and heavy upstairs I can feel it. I went into our bedroom and the red balloon was there hovering at the end of my bed eye level! So I took it all the way to Logan's room and let it float to the top of the ceiling. I went into the bathroom a minute to brush my teeth. When I went back to our room I saw it floating at the end of our bed in the exact same spot!" My mom is as freaked out as I am, but I just don't want to show it. "Becca, I brushed my teeth for a minute… a minute! And it floated from one end of the house to my room again! I grabbed it and put it in our bedroom closet and closed the door."
"Well, that's good, Mom. It will just stay in there and maybe deflate."
Mitch walks into the room. "Whatcha talking about?" He looks at my mom and me.
"Oh, nothing," Mom says. "I just wanted to say goodnight again." She walks to the door and looks at me one last time, closing it behind her. I'm not going to sleep tonight; she's right about the house. It is vibrating with activity, and having my parents here isn't slowing anything down from happening. If he wants to be seen, he will show himself, and he is.
Hours go by, and I'm letting go of the thoughts of tonight and drifting off into a deep sleep. I had to take melatonin to help me settle, and it's helping my eyelids get heavy. Finally, my mind lets go, and I'm drifting o
ff when a slow squeak of my bedroom's door handle turning disrupts me. My eyes are so heavy, but I try to look and let them adjust to the bedroom door. My bedroom door is wide open. Sitting up, I call out, "Boys? Mom? Who is in my room?" Something is moving at the end of my bed as a dark shadow walking across and turning the corner, coming up my side of the bed. My eyes are continuing to adjust, but the moonlight from the pool gives me just enough light to know what I'm seeing. My heart is starting to race and beating so hard out of my chest. My palms instantly sweat, and pure terror is in the back of my throat as I can only get out the words, "Oh no, oh God no."
It's the blood-red balloon walking its way towards me with a small silhouette and a child's giggle. The shuffling of tiny feet on the carpet is now turning into a fast gallop. The string of the balloon is running towards me, with the red balloon following behind. The dark shadow of the child is running straight at me at full speed. In total panic, I reach for my lamp switch and see it has been removed. I can't turn on the lamp. Knocking it to the ground, I grab my phone and push the flashlight button on the home screen. The light turns on and floods my room with brightness. The balloon stops instantly in its tracks, half a foot from me, then shooting straight up to the top of the high ceiling, where it hit high above my head.
"Becca, why is your flashlight on?" Mitch says groggily.
"I spilled my water, babe, I knocked the lamp over. Sorry, let me clean it up." I head to the bathroom with my legs shaking, feeling like jello; they want to completely give out from under me at any moment. I want to collapse and cry; I want to get sick. What I really want is to move my family out of this horrifying house. Grabbing a towel bringing it to my side of the bed, I clean up the water from the nightstand and pat the wet carpet. The boy is long gone, but his balloon still floats on my ceiling, teasing me. Mitch can't know about this; he is also not a believer of the paranormal, what would he think? It would freak him out still, I'm sure. He works so darn hard; he doesn't need to worry about his own home. While cleaning up my mess, I notice my clock reads 3:39 am. I can't do this; I can't sleep with that balloon in my room. The balloon, it's still stuck at the top.