Alone

by Eric Clay

  Chills raced down my spine and I hesitated on the stairs. A voice shouted my name again from above. Terrified, I turned and looked at the back of the room. I didn't see anyone. "Who's calling me?" I yelled. No one in the theater moved. As I turned back around, I suddenly found myself again sitting next to Matt and staring at the rear of the theater. Paralyzed by fear I thought: How can this be?

  I looked at Matt. He turned and smiled with his gapping teeth. "Are you okay, Roy?"

  "I have to go to the bathroom," I responded, and jumped from my chair. In the restroom I washed my face and stared at myself in the mirror wondering if I was going crazy. Now I wasn’t cold. I was so warm I was sweating. I never told anyone about this, not even Matt.

  Chapter Four: Secrets

  I've often wondered why I'm so different from my dad, mom, and older sister. My dad is six-three with light brown hair, dark brown eyes, and a tanned complexion in a narrow, clean-shaven face. As far back as I can remember he's always worn his hair with short spikes and a wavy mullet down his back. His work clothes consist of dark blue Dickey pants and a matching button-down shirt with his name, Roger Clawson, stitched across the breast pocket. He's the only mechanic I know who can always keep his boots looking spit shined. He's been the head mechanic at Charlie's Automotive located in the heart of downtown Fairview for too many years to count.

  Hannah, my mother is barely over five feet with long, straight black hair. She only trims her hair, so it reaches her waist and gives her a "hippy, flower-child" look. Her complexion is very fair and she never tans, just burns. The extent of her wardrobe is plain, earth tone dresses. I once asked her why she only wears dresses and she replied, "It's the best way to cover the extra twenty pounds I gained having kids."

  My mom is quiet and reserved with a passion for knitting. She knits scarves, sweaters, mittens, and comforters. I have a closet full of her knitting masterpieces—which I never wear. She's never worked outside the home because my dad is a firm believer in a woman staying home to care for her family.

  My sister, Serena, is the spitting image of my mother, with the same long, black hair, pretty green eyes, short stature, and earth tone clothing. There's no mistaking her as not being my mother's daughter. She loves to read. Growing up, she carried a book wherever she went. As for me, I'm definitely not a bookworm; my mind wanders after a few sentences.

  My family lives in an old, dingy gray—once white—clapboard house built in the 1950s. It's small and tucked away in the woods, with a narrow dirt road leading to it.

  Adding to my memories, I recall a strange experience I had in that house. It was the end of my senior year and Matt and I were going to attend the graduation party held in the high school gymnasium. I asked my father, "Dad, can I borrow the car to pick Matt up so we can go to the graduation party at the high school?"

  "Son, why didn't you let me know about this before now? Your mother and I already had plans to attend a movie. I've been promising to take her to that new release she's been waiting for. You'll have to walk or ride your bike."

  I decided to walk because I knew my fellow students would make fun of me if I rode my bike to the party. I shrugged. "Okay. I'll leave at eight for Matt's house. His mom said she'd give me a ride home when she gets off work if I needed one."

  That night when I started down the trail behind my house, the sun was almost down and the wind had picked up. I hurried and just before I got to the pond, I lost my footing and took a tumble. My left arm connected with a sharp rock and I yelled, "Dammit!" I used my right hand to feel my torn sleeve. Blood was oozing from the cut. I think I was more upset about messing up my party clothes than getting hurt.

  I removed my shirt and used it to press against the wound. I had no choice but to return home to clean up. Hurrying in the darkening night, I walked shirtless against the wind back to my house. I reached the clearing at the edge of the backyard and noticed the light in my bedroom was on. Through the pulled blind I could see two silhouettes walking around. Curious, I made my way to my window and heard two familiar voices. One was definitely my dad. The other sounded like my best friend Matt, but I knew it couldn't be him because he was at his house waiting for me. I stepped onto a flower pot under my window and strained upward, peeking through a crack at the bottom of the blind. I barely made out the lower portion of two bodies. For sure one was my father, and, if I hadn't known better, I would have sworn the other was Matt.

  So, here I was, shirtless and holding my injured arm, while balancing on the old clay pot and pressing my eyes to the bottom of the window. I heard my name mentioned several times and then, "He can't know about the meeting on Friday." It was my father's deep voice. Then my father said, "I'll drive you–"

  About that time, I slipped and fell on my butt into the pot, smashing the flowers. Cursing silently at the pain, but still curious, I got back up and repositioned myself on the plantar, pushing my face back to the screen. I heard one word, "Murdoch." Two more shapes entered the room and I recognized my mother's voice. "Do you think he has a clue?"

  I couldn't understand the response and then the light in the room went out. I jumped to the ground. What the heck was going on? Who was Murdoch? Had it been Matt in my bedroom talking to my father?

  I walked around to the front porch and reached to open the door. It was locked. I banged on the door until my dad opened it. I entered holding my bloody shirt against my arm. My mom and sister gasped.

  "What the hell happened to you?" my dad exclaimed.

  "Honey, are you okay?" My mother rushed toward me.

  My sister just stood there with her hand over her mouth staring at the blood-stained shirt.

  "I'm fine. I just had a little accident and fell at the bottom of the trail." I looked toward the kitchen and then down the hallway. The stranger had to be in the house.

  My mom lifted the bloody shirt. "Come to the bathroom and I'll clean you up."

  "I'll just grab a shirt from my room." What I was really doing was checking my bedroom for the person who'd sounded like Matt. On my way down the hallway I peeked into my sister's room. Her closet door was open and the closet looked empty. I passed the bathroom and quickly looked inside—empty. I walked to the end of the hall. My room was on the left; my parents' room was on the right. Both doors were closed. Warily, I opened the door to my bedroom—all clear.

  My mom who was now in the bathroom shouted, "Roy, come on before you bleed all over the place."

  "Coming, Mom," I called and returned to the bathroom. If anyone was in my parents' room, they would have to walk past the hall bathroom in order to exit the house. While my mother rinsed the cut, I focused my attention on the hallway.

  My father stepped into the doorway, blocking my vision. "Roy, you sure did a number on that arm."

  I kept my eyes on the cracks between his big body and the door jam, watching to see if someone passed behind him.

  He said, "I'll close the door until your mother gets you cleaned up."

  "No!"

  My father looked at me strangely. "What's wrong with you, son?"

  I couldn't think of a better answer so I said, "I want the door left open because I'm feeling a little claustrophobic right now."

  Slowly, my father removed his hand from the doorknob, looking puzzled.

  My mother finished washing the cut and started wrapping it with gauze. So far, I was certain no one had walked down the hallway. My father stepped away from the entrance to the bathroom. While my mother taped the gauze, I heard the opening of a door and the sound of his boots on a wooden floor. I knew he was in his room because my room was carpeted. I thought I heard whispering before the door closed.

  "Mom, is there someone else in the house?"

  "No, what makes you think that?"

  I thought I heard Dad whispering to someone."

  "I think you're hearing things."

  Not convinced, I charged out of the bathroom and down the hall.

  "Where are you going?" my mom cried.

  "
To my room to change into clean clothes." Closing and quietly locking my door, I dropped to my knees and laid my cheek against the old hardwood floor to peek beneath the crack at the bottom of the door. Focusing, I watched to see if anyone left my parents' room. I scooted around to find a more comfortable position. Refocusing, I thought I saw someone walk past my door, but it happened so fast I wasn't sure if it was a trick of the light.

  "Roy?" My mother called and tried to open my door. Quietly, I shuffled to my bed. "I'll be right out," I replied.

  Through the closed door she asked, "Since we didn't make it to our movie because of your injury, do you want us to drive you to your graduation party?"

  "Sure." A minute later I heard my parents' bedroom door open and I jumped to crack my door and peek out. My dad was following my mom toward the front room. The door to their room had been left open. Quietly, I slipped in and glanced around. Everything looked okay. I walked into their adjoining bathroom and closed the door behind me. Staring at myself in the mirror, I turned on the faucet and splashed my face several times. What the hell is going on around here?

  Drying my hands and face, I noticed the closed shower curtain and cautiously stepped to open it. Little by little, I inched my hand toward the curtain.

  "Roy!" my mother shouted from the living room. I jumped at the sound of her voice, releasing the curtain. Frustrated, I grabbed it again and jerked it open. Empty. Looking into the tub, however, I noticed smudged shoe prints. Whoever had been in the house had definitely hidden in the tub.

  Chapter Five: Uninvited

  Over the next week I tried to make sense of the mysterious stranger in our home. I was careful not to mention anything about seeing silhouettes in my bedroom or overhearing my father talking to someone. My mother fussed over my injured arm and watched me closely.

  Questions plagued me: What was Friday's meeting about? Where was the location of the meeting? Who was Murdoch? Who had my father been talking to? Something unusual was going on and I was determined to find out what it was.

  When Friday night arrived I figured my parents would try to ditch me in order to go to their mysterious meeting. It was around seven when my mother entered my bedroom and told me that she and my father were going to town for groceries, and my sister was being dropped off at her friend's house.

  I said, "I'll come with you. I don't really have anything else to do."

  "You never want to go to the store with us; why all of a sudden?"

  "I'm bored."

  "No, you stay here. We'll be back shortly."

  "But I really want to go."

  "Roy, what's the big deal? Just relax and we'll be back shortly."

  "Fine! I'll stay here!" I replied ill-tempered.

  My mom, dad, and sister loaded into the station wagon and headed down the winding dirt road. I'd prepared for this by stashing my bike behind the house, ready to bolt down the trail to the old road that intersected Main Street. I knew that if I made it down the backway before them, I could see the direction they were going.

  I jumped on my bike and pedaled as fast as I could. When I reached the bottom, I hid behind some trees waiting for their car to pass. When it did, I quickly followed, staying hidden within the tree line alongside the road. The old station wagon turned onto Main Street toward downtown and I soon lost sight of it. There weren't many places they could be going in our small community. I pedaled past McDuff's Grocery and didn't see the wagon in the empty parking lot, or any other cars, which was strange. This confirmed my suspicion that they weren't going shopping. Riding my bike past local businesses, I searched for evidence of a meeting.

  The town seemed unusually quiet. I didn't see any cars on the road or anyone shopping, walking, or anything else. Upon closer inspection, I noticed that Al's Hardware had closed early. Al didn't usually close until eight. The gas station was empty, the auto parts store was empty, Lucy's Cafe was empty.

  What the heck is going on? Why is everything closed?

  It was as if all the townspeople had disappeared. I rode into the neighborhoods past downtown and toward Fairview High School—Second Street, empty; Third Street, empty; Fourth Street, empty. There were no cars anywhere. As I turned onto Hailey Way, the same street the high school was on, I noticed a large concentration of cars parked in the neighborhood. I ditched my bike in a pile of bushes and proceeded on foot. Curious, I walked down the sidewalk past the cars. This must be some huge meeting.

  When I approached the high school, I saw a long line of people waiting to enter, so I hid behind some hedges. Sheriff Tanner was at the front of the line greeting everyone. It appeared the entire town had been invited to this meeting, except for me. My father, mother, and sister were in line. Matt's mother was there, too. I didn't see Matt, so I wasn't sure if he was there. Principal Hucklebee was there. Mr. Wilson, my dentist, was there. Everyone I knew was there. I felt like I was living in a science fiction movie which got me remembering my experience at the movie theater when I was fourteen.

  Why wasn't I invited to this meeting? I was determined to find out what the gathering was about. I glanced at my wristwatch and noticed it was around seven thirty-five. Everyone was now inside the high school with the exception of Sheriff Tanner. He stood at the front door scanning the neighborhood. I realized there was no way I could make it past him without being seen. I ran back a block and turned onto a side street, then cut through Mr. Larson's backyard and climbed over his chain link fence to land in the grassy area behind the school. There wasn't a person in sight. I ran to the building and then slinked alongside it, checking each window for entry.

  Locked. Locked. Locked.

  The only way into the building was by breaking a window.

  Screw it! I searched for a decent sized rock because the suspense of the unknown was enough to make me attempt things I wouldn't normally do. I came upon the perfect rock. It was a little bigger than my fist. I took off my T-shirt and wrapped the stone in it to muffle the sound. Locating the window farthest away, I hit it hard. It didn't break. My heart pounded. I hit the window with greater force. The glass shattered and a small piece cut my hand. Crap!

  I dropped the rock to the ground and wrapped my hand in my T-shirt. Carefully reaching through the broken window I unlocked the latch and pushed the frame up before gingerly crawling into Mrs. Stewart's English class. I would be in serious trouble if I got caught. Quietly, I tiptoed to the door and cracked it. The hallway was empty. I decided everyone would have to congregate in the gymnasium to make room for such a crowd. I started toward the gym, careful to put my back to the wall at each turn and peek around it to make sure the coast was clear.

  The closer I got, the more I could hear someone talking over a microphone in the gym. I had one more hallway to cross. Cautiously, I peeked around the corner to see an older, skinny man sitting in a chair at the gym's entrance. There was no way of getting around him without being seen. I could hear the man on the microphone a little better, but I still couldn't make out his words. An elderly woman opened the door to the gym and stepped out. While the door was open, I heard the speaker say, "Murdoch."

  The restrooms were just down the hall so I ran and peeked into the men's bathroom to make sure it was clear before ducking inside. Vigilantly, I cracked the door, watching to see where the old woman was going. She rounded the corner and went into the women's restroom, across from the men's.

  As I was spying on the hallway, I saw the skinny man come around the corner and I rushed into a stall, jumping onto the toilet. Careful not to make a sound, I crouched on the toilet seat and peeked through the crack of the stall. The old man entered. Trembling, I watched him walk to the urinal and piss. Moisture beaded my forehead at the prospect of being caught.

  The man went to the sink and washed his hands. After he dried them he started to leave, but paused. My heart galloped. Slowly, the scary, skinny man turned and scanned the stalls. I got a clear look at him—old, thin, wrinkled, and almost bald. He continued to stare at the stalls as if he could see
through them. Chills trickled down my spine.

  This is it. I'm going to get caught for sure.

  "Is anyone there?" the old man called with a firm voice, belying his frail body. The muscles in my legs trembled with the effort to keep my stance on top of the toilet.

  The old man shrugged, turned back around, and exited the restroom, but I stayed in that uncomfortable position a few more minutes before finally jumping down.

  Scared and still shaken, I edged toward the bathroom door. Cracking it again, I glanced down the hall and didn't see the old man or old lady. The speaker continued talking over the microphone. I crept to the edge of the hallway and peeked around the corner. Although the old guy's chair was still in front of the door, he wasn't there. Maybe he's in the gym.

  If I was going to solve this mystery, now was my chance. Stealthily, I ran to the gym door and listened. I heard the speaker mention my name and then Murdoch's. He then said something about everyone working together because this was a group effort.

  There was a long pause and I heard people talking to each other, like the meeting had ended. I ran back through the halls to Mrs. Stewart's class. When I reached her room, I peeked inside and saw Sheriff Tanner on the outside of the building looking at the broken glass. Turning, I ran toward the front of the school and burst through the front doors, running into the neighborhood across the street. I reached my hidden bike. When I gripped the handle bars, pain shot up my arm from the cut on my hand that was wrapped with the T-shirt.

  I pedaled toward home like the fires of hell were after me. When I arrived, I quickly stored my bike back in its usual place in the garage and jumped into the shower. I balled the bloody T-shirt and hid it in a corner of my closet. What the hell is going on?

  Chapter 6: Missing

  At nine o'clock I went to bed waiting to hear the old station wagon pull into the driveway. Events from the high school kept replaying in my mind, especially the mention of the name "Murdoch." I wondered what the speaker had meant when he'd said everyone should work together, and why was everyone invited to the meeting except me? Who was the old man guarding the gym door? Had the sheriff figured out I'd broken into the school? Had someone seen me sneaking around?