Gregory was racking his brain. It had to be here, the yellow socks were here. He looked under the bed and followed the drawings around the room. But he didn't see anything that looked like a sixth birthday present. He even looked at the bloody red picture of the knife, being held by what appeared to be his mother.
A prickling feeling started on the back of his neck. He turned and looked around the room, but he didn't see anything. But, as if on cue, Calleo walked into the room. The cat looked at Gregory with knowing eyes, then hopped up and placed his paw on the picture of the little boy.
The answer suddenly came to him. But how could he tell Wynne? He turned and he started to run down the hallway, back towards the kitchen.
He threw open the kitchen door, looking around frantically. He could smell the fresh scent of flour and salt, and yeast blooming. He could see a bowl of dough rising. He turned and stepped into the formal dining room. As soon as he threw open the door, he shouted, "Wynne, it's murder"
Chapter Forty-Eight
Wynne was lying on the floor in the kitchen. She couldn't seem to get herself focused. "What did you do?" she said, whimpering. There was an odd sense of pain in all of her joints. She slowly pulled herself into a little ball, tucking her knees under her chin, her eyes still shut. She wrapped her arms around her legs and hugged herself. "What did you do?" she whimpered again. "You hurt me."
"Your cat scratched me,” said the boy. His voice was dripping with hostility. "How did you push Gregory to my room? And the cat?" He crossed his arms angrily. "You were meddling with the layers of my house. You are meddling with my memories. You…" said the boy, his finger jutting out. He poked her in the forehead, tipping her head backwards so that she would look at him. "You have powers." He spat those last three words out as if they disgusted him, as if those words tasted like shit in his mouth. He was revolted by her.
"I…" But before she could continue, before she could protest, he interrupted.
"I don't like you, Wynne,” said the boy with a hiss. "What did I get for my sixth birthday?"
She held her head in her hands, trying desperately to control herself. Pain and tears were attempting to fall. How had Wynne had her world turned so upside down? "I know. You got in trouble,” she said suddenly, snapping her eyes up to him.
"No!" he screamed, his jaw opening farther than any human child's could possibly open, his teeth glistening. He screamed in her face. "You have now lost twice. Eight questions remaining. What is my mother's name?"
Wynne burst into tears, completely unable to control herself.
Chapter Forty-Nine
Mike charged past the boy, terrified. He ran, slipping on the tile hallway floor. He took a turn to the right, then to the left.
The boy was going to kill him.
After trying to burn the picture, he had run down hallway after hallway until he found a small closet. He could climb to the very top shelf and had taken his fat body into the corner of the closet as far as he could go. Thankfully, the shelf was strong enough to hold his heavy weight. "Little boy, can you see me now?"
He held his breath and listened for any sound. But he heard nothing.
"I have got to get a grip." Mike pressed his hands together tightly. He closed his eyes and counted to ten. "I am still asleep. That's the only explanation."
But when he opened his eyes, he was still a grown man hiding in a closet.
He slept there, then awoke hours later.
Nothing was chasing him. Nobody was around at all. He waited another hour for the slap slap of tiny feet. He was grateful. He had every intention of sleeping a thousand years until all this was over. He couldn't figure out what else to do.
But then a white thin body came scurrying up the shelves.
"Get away from me, cat," whimpered Mike.
"You have to help them,” said Calleo, though he didn't talk exactly. His mouth didn't move at all. His white eyes with the black pupils bored into Mike's eyes. Mike could feel the sound much before he could hear it. "Stop hiding. Start helping."
The firm confidence in the cat's voice built resolve into Mike. He felt invigorated from deep down inside of him. And the cat climbed up on his lap and he ran his fingers through his fur. It was like he was electrocuted, the tingling sensation running up his hands through his chest.
The fear that had been eating away at his soul relented.
And with newfound resolve, he climbed out of the closet.
Chapter Fifty
"Mama, do you remember the girl?" said Pear.
Aurora looked up from her knitting. She had promised Barnett that they wouldn't talk about it, instead choosing to pretend the whole thing never happened. It was a fool's plan, for one look in the mirror and no one could deny that there girl wasn't inexplicably changed forever. But still, she tried her best. "I don't know what you talking about."
"At our old house, there was a girl, and she wanted to kill us all. She made my eyes go odd." Pear stood up. "Mama, it's time to go to the summerhouse. Calleo is asking me to come, Mom. He wouldn't do that if he didn't need me."
"I should have put that cat to sleep,” snapped Aurora. "We are not going to go where Calleo is. We will not be visiting Wynne. We can't. They are at the summerhouse for a reason; they’re toxic. Whatever happened to you— and I'm not saying anything did! But whatever happened to you is their fault." Aurora pointed her knitting needle at the child and turned and frowned and went back to work, her fingers moving faster, the needles clicking louder. And just then, the perfect Barnett came through the front door.
"Hello, ladies!" he said. His voice was tired. Aurora knew he hadn't slept through the night since sending away Wynne and Calleo
The three of them were sleep deprived, and that was their only problem.
"Daddy, I want to go to the summerhouse. I want to see Calleo. I need to see Wynne. They’re in trouble, Dad,” said Pear confidently.
Barnett immediately frowned. "We are not going to the summerhouse. Look, we need to get over it. The cat… and Wynne… They just aren't." He paused and swallowed. His angry little girl stared at him with her hands on her hips and her green and yellow eyes blazing with anger.
Suddenly, Aurora and Barnett both slammed into the wall, both of them choking. They pressed their hands to their throat and their feet were dangling above the ground. Pear's eyes were flashing, as if a flashlight had been blinking across them. The lights in the room turned off, then on, then off again. Pear cried an unearthly noise, no longer speaking. Her vocal chords called forth a terrible racket. She was speaking directly inside their heads.
"To the summerhouse,” screamed Pear, using some sort of psychic force, painfully crashing inside their heads.
Then she dropped both her parents to the ground. They collapsed.
Aurora burst into tears. "We have to get it out of her."
"Yes,” said Barnett. He swallowed, his face racked with guilt. "But for now, let's go to the summerhouse."
Pear smiled on the way to her room to gather her stuff. "Mama, bring bread. We are gonna need toast."
Chapter Fifty-One
Wynne still hadn't gotten up off the floor. Her joints were still aching from head to toe. How did the boy have such powers over her?
Why couldn't she be as powerful as Pear?
She opened her eyes and looked around. The boy had gone. He was missing. She slowly started to untangle herself from the floor. When she stretched her hand, it hit the ceiling. For the first time, she wondered how tall and stretched her body had grown. She was now the same height as the fridge.
No wonder why everything hurt. She looked dismally at her half cup of tea and the dough still rising on the counter.
What had the boy done to her? He could sense her feeling into the house. Then he had somehow attacked, reaching inside her. The piece of her that wasn't quite her.
She frowned and looked at the bread she was making. The dough had risen up over the edge of the bowl. She punched it back down and formed a loaf, an
d slid it into the oven. She set a timer for twenty minutes, which would probably be long enough.
Wynne had a feeling that she wouldn't be seeing Mike and Gregory for a while, then found herself wondering if the cat would be able to come to her. "Calleo?" she called out softly. She felt for him, closing her eyes and reaching inside herself and inside the house, crawling with her psychic ability, the ability she could not quite control.
Or was she possessed by a demon?
She tried desperately not to think about that and swallowed hard. Gregory thought it was an evil spirit inside her. Wynne knew that the evil spirit was the boy. She didn't know what was inside her, something else entirely. It wasn't… not her. But it wasn't completely her either.
She wondered about the cat again. How was it that he could slip through the layers of the house so easily? She closed her eyes and tried to guess which room Gregory was in. But to no avail.
She slowly walked down the hallway, and it struck her suddenly that she could smell sweat in the air. It wasn't particularly unpleasant, but it was a certain sweaty smell. It smelled like Gregory. She reached her hands out and tried to touch him, her eyes flicking open. She couldn’t see him.
"Gregory?" she whispered.
"Why can't I see you?" he whispered.
“I think I'm… I'm on the other side. Of… I'm still in the house. But I'm…" But before she could say anything more, Gregory screamed.
Chapter Fifty-Two
Gregory had been walking long loops around the hallway. Sweat was drenching his shirt. He was beginning to think that it didn’t end, and he hadn’t yet found the front door or the kitchen. The idea was that if he kept moving, he’d find Mike, or Wynne, or even the boy. Fear was starting to take hold. He seemed hopelessly alone, drenched in sweat. He didn't want to be stuck in this house alone; it was too much. Nervously, his feet tapped the hallway floor as he walked, and he could smell himself.
He was panting, slowly walking through the hallway, which seemed endless. It was starting to feel like he was in a Bugs Bunny cartoon; the hallway lengthening in front of him. He couldn’t see an end to it. Identical bedroom after identical bedroom passed mindlessly on either side.
The kitchen, specifically, had become his focus. Where was it? He had been looking for the kitchen for at least ten minutes. His stomach rumbled in protest at walking further. He wasn't sure how he could've gotten so turned around. How was it even physically possible to be this turned around?
Then he heard the whispering, nearly non-existent voice of Wynne. It baffled him, that he heard her. He shouted her name, uncertain.
He could almost feel her voice more than he could hear it. There was a certain thickness to it, like her voice was not made of sound waves, but of water. Like he was listening to her through a thick pudding. Even the sensation was not something he could quite describe because he had never quite done this before.
Just that her voice was thicker.
He turned around as he frantically looked down the hall, trying to grasp where she was. And she was trying to explain it, but then he let out a scream.
For the boy had bitten him.
As he turned back looking for her, he saw the giant gaping mouth with the sharpened teeth clamp down on his shoulder. The pain was incredible, ricocheting through his spine down his hand.
The little boy didn't let go. Gregory found himself punching at the little child’s face. He was flailing.
But with every sound smack of his fist into the little boy, his teeth dug in deeper. He could feel the sharp little giggles. The boy was relishing his pain.
The terror, not just the pain. The terror! He could not make this boy release him. He tried spinning and slamming the little child into the wall. He could feel it crunch underneath him. It was sickening; he didn't even like hurting the little boy.
"Please stop!" he screamed, the pain obvious in his voice. He turned and he slammed the little body into the wall again. But his mouth would not release. Gregory suddenly had the unrelenting fear that the boy would bite his entire shoulder clean off. His arm would no longer be attached. Then, in a moment of total and utter panic, he slammed the boy with his shoulder into the wall repeatedly over and over again, like a frantic, terrified horse. Instinct was taking over, and the pain was now secondary to the fear. He was gasping, running with the small child still clamped permanently to his shoulder and he tried to charge the frame of the doorway with the boy's tiny body.
He did not.
In fact, when the little boy’s skull smashed into the door frame that Gregory was charging at full speed, the only end result was the teeth getting buried even deeper into his flesh. Gregory let out a terrible scream, the pain suddenly so intense that even the fear was forgotten.
His throat burned from the screams. The pain tearing through his body was like he was on fire.
And just as he started to black out from the intensity, he saw Mike holding a little wooden club with a devilish smile on his face.
Chapter Fifty-Three
Mike took the wooden club and held it over his head. He brought it right down on the skull of the little boy. His scream was intense and terrifying.
The little boy suddenly disappeared. Mike looked around nervously, but he saw nothing. Gregory was unconscious.
He leaned down and picked up the younger man, dragging him to the room he had been calling his own. He found it quickly and tucked Greg into the bed. He tore back Greg's T-shirt. The wound was deep, already infected with white pus.
Mike shuddered when he realized that the white stuff underneath was not in fact pus but bone. Mike felt so detached from the entire injury that he just stared at it in a cold shock. He was looking at bone. He had absolutely no idea how to proceed. Would Gregory even be able to stand? He could see the insides of his friend.
Calling 911 seemed like a good idea.
For a moment, he wondered if he would be able to find a phone.
But before he could think about this problem any longer, he heard the doorbell.
Chapter Fifty-Four
The doorbell was loud and ancient. It played a classical number from Bach, although the way it was slightly out of tune and booming seemed to be creepier than it should have sounded. The bell went on and on and on.
Wynne could smell blood in the hallway, but she wasn't sure what had happened. Gregory had screamed and gone silent. The smell of blood was strong, but she couldn't see any. The screams and thumps played back in her head. No hope.
“Gregory?” There was no reply.
She scurried to the front door. As she got to the little entry area, she could see the boy standing there, looking puzzled. His skull was mangled, but slowly pulling back into place.
"What is this?" he whimpered. "How did she ring my bell?"
He vanished with a wink when the door handle turned.
The front door opened very slowly. Pear stood there, both her parents behind her. But beyond them seemed to be nothing. Wynne's eyes grew wide with fright as she tried to look past them, but there was nothingness, as if they were standing in a black field of space.
"How…" Wynne whimpered.
"He won't let you go. That's why the sun looks like it's gone. The world looks black as dirt,” said Pear. She walked in like her normal boisterous self; her feet at least were skipping. But her face was somber.
"He blocked out the sun?" said Wynne, completely horrified.
"Only for you, but I can see what he's doing. That's how I got the door unlocked,” said Pear and suddenly a smug smirk ran across her face like water down a slide. "I didn't want to bring them, but they wouldn't let me come alone." She gestured at her parents.
As soon as the three of them stepped inside, the door swung shut. They all turned and looked at it as the handle suddenly warped and bent. "I think he's mad at me,” said Pear confidentially.
"You shouldn't have come. He is dangerous,” said Wynne.
"I am dangerous too,” said Pear with a smile. "Are you making toast?"
she said with a big grin.
Chapter Fifty-Five
Mike ran to the front door. He got there just in time to see the solid blackness outside. It was so dark, he was sure that he was looking into the center of a wormhole. The idea that the sun was gone, that the ground was gone, and that everything was black out there terrorized him. He stepped forward just as the door swung shut. He rattled the handle, but it stayed shut. Why had it opened?
His moment of apathy looking at Gregory’s shoulder suddenly shifted to horror. Were they on a spaceship?
He wondered if the boy was an alien, and this was Hell. Perhaps he deserved nothing better. He wasn't a good man; at best, he was a charlatan. This was the hell he deserved.
It didn't make him less afraid.
For a second, he thought he heard someone talking. He strained his ears listening.
But he heard nothing. He felt a gentle breeze that he could have sworn was the body of someone walking past him. And the hair on the back of his neck stood tall.
"Is someone here?" he said softly, and then as he gained confidence, he shouted louder, "Is someone here?"
"I am here,” said the boy. And he opened his oversized sharpened teeth, clicking them together.
"Are you dead?" asked Mike, stepping back nervously.
"A better question is, are you alive?" said the boy. "You aren't playing my game very well. I'm going to change the rules now. And you're not going to like it."
Chapter Fifty-Six
"I missed you,” said Pear with a smile. She followed Wynne towards the kitchen.
Shell-shocked, both Barnett and Aurora followed. Neither of them said much of anything.
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