Hi Curt,
The blonde girl is Amber and she gets punished a lot and you will too if you hang around her. Beth is crazy and sometimes flies into a rage and gets punished. Mat is crazy to. Hes neerly 18 and is afraid of what will happen then. Its making him try to be too perfect, like that will save him. i dont know why we have to clean, but we do. ive tried the chimney ive tried everything, the garage door, the back door the windows. Everything. i have been hear around three years, maybe four but i don't know for certen. i came when i was ten and half. What day is it?
This couldn't be.
He had thought that maybe Paul had been there for six months or so, but three and half years? All that time without finding anyway to escape? The idea seemed so impossible that Curt's mind reeled at the thought. Paul appeared to be an intelligent boy and if he hadn't been able to find a way out in all this time, there didn't seem a chance that Curt could. Suddenly, he had a great urge to scream out in rage and punch the door he was leaning against, but the words written about Beth kept the emotion bottled up inside him. In a few minutes, his anger left him and he found himself instead weeping, overwhelmed by helplessness. His emotions were everywhere, uncontrollable, yet also controlled, over powered by his fear.
Feeling an urgent need to have a friend, he got up to jot down a return note to Paul but just as he left his room to get toilette paper to write on, he saw Matt at the bottom of the stairs, heading right for him. Panic sent a bolt of pain into his chest and for a moment, he stopped in fright, but it was only for a second and then he turned to head into the bathroom. He almost made it.
Matt must have nearly run to catch him, but catch him he did just in front of the bathroom, and the older boy yanked Curt around, demanding the book that he still carried. The book was in his right hand, but the note that quite clearly stated that Matt was crazy was in his left. Though this was his first time locked away in house full of crazy people, it might have been his millionth time dealing with a bully. Pretending that the book was of paramount importance, he pulled it back, and to his right and when Matt lunged for it, Curt quickly stuffed the note into his mouth.
And as Matt angrily thumbed the pages, Curt allowed his saliva to melt away the note, swallowing it in little bits. Once the older boy had satisfied himself that the book was empty, he then went to frisk Curt, who gave him a bored expression and put his arms out without even being asked. Luckily, the pen still sat in its hiding spot beneath his bed.
When Matt was done with his pat down, Curt waved him toward his room as if he couldn't have cared less whether it was searched and walked casually into the bathroom. He didn't feel casual in the least however. For one, his mouth felt disgusting having eaten toilette paper and for two, he realized that he would have to find a new method for passing notes or they would be caught eventually.
In truth, he didn't want to think about passing notes, he wanted to devise a plan that would allow him to escape, but after five minutes of sitting on the toilette staring at the tile pattern of the floor, he had to give up. Depression robbing of him of any chance to come up with a serviceable plan. Therefore, he looked around the bathroom and in a flash, he discovered that he didn't even have to get up to see how they could pass notes. The toilette paper dispenser sat just to his right. Popping it out of place, he opened it up and saw the perfect spot to hold both a pen and a note. He and Paul would just have to make sure that one of them changed out the roll when it got too low.
After waiting what he considered a proper amount of time, he got up and left, only to see that Matt had inspected his room. He had also left it in a complete shambles; his clothes were strewn about, as were his sheets. Curt didn't know what to about this. Talking to Miss Feanor, a crazed rabid pit-bull of a woman, didn't seem likely to help, nor did confronting Matt, who outweighed him by at least forty pounds.
So with no better idea, he started slowly folding his clothes and remaking his bed. After a while, he began to daydream, wishing that again that he were back in his lair under the stage at Ben Franklin. He'd have to find a new lair when he finally escaped from Miss Feanor's house of horrors. That was a sad reality as well, since it meant that he would have to move up to middle school; he was simply getting too big to pass as a sixth grader anymore.
Of course, he didn't have to stay at a school at all, but he was used to them and he liked the surroundings. Food and clothing were always plentiful, as was companionship when he wished for it, and not only that, children belonged in schools and he was rarely questioned, even when he was found lurking about after hours.
"I'm just waiting for my ride. My mom should be here any minute. She likes it when I stay indoors when it gets: fill in the blank- dark or cold or rainy." One time he had used cloudy as an excuse and it had worked.
But middle school was a little different. For many kids, trouble began in middle school and teachers and staff did their level best to stamp it out early. Suspicious activity was now actively looked for and kids lingering at school were more likely than not to be questioned. Not only that, he would have to deal with more bullies. Bullies were very rare in elementary school, but were a dime a dozen in middle school. Not that they were so scary to Curt, but they were annoying.
Still, there was a plus side to moving up, namely ladies and lockers. Though he had a ways to go toward finding the correct rhythm when it came to talking to girls, he was still way ahead of his peers and he liked trying...it was fun. Lockers were fun as well. They were a snap to open and you never knew what would be inside, they were like a grab bag in that way.
There was one school that he had hung around for a few months where the lockers would open if you simply jiggled the handles enough. Curt smiled at that memory, but suddenly his mind strayed from lockers, as he remembered how easily Miss Feanor had opened the front door, while Miss Gladys had struggled with it. He hadn't really watched her closely, but now wished he had since there was likely some sort of trick to it.
Of course, the real truth about the door likely couldn't have been seen by him anyways, he thought. Classic misdirection. Show a sucker what they want to see, all the while hiding the truth. Who knows, she might have had a transmitter in her pocket that allowed her to open the doors anytime she wished. There would be no picking a lock on a door like that.
That thought killed his daydreaming and he hurried through cleaning up the rest of the mess, wishing to get his note written to Paul. His lack of patience was on full display then. When he had finished with the clothes, he grabbed the pen, stuffed it in his pocket and went to the bathroom. At the bottom of the stairs, Matt stood as if on guard duty. From his position, the boy could see the family room, the main floor hall, the living room, the stairs, Curt's door and part of the bathroom.
Curt realized how foolish he had been about not checking out the area first, but this time it didn't get him in to trouble. Matt only eyed him sourly.
Once in the bathroom, Curt quickly dashed off a note.
4
Dere Paul,
Its febuary 20 1997. Me and you have to be the only ones changing out the toilet paper or we will get caught. Put extra paper in the thing to keep the pen from ratling around. How does miss feenor do this? i was suppose to have a doctors apoitment, won't social services figure it out? Have you tried the garage door opener? How does she monitor us? Are there camras? Have you been in the basement or attic?
After this, he took another sheet of toilet paper and wrote on it: Toilet paper dispencer. He tore away the extra paper so that only the three words were left on the tiny scrap. Carefully he folded it and put it in his front pocket, next, he rolled up the larger note and opening up the little silver tube, slid the note and the pen into it, adding a few extra sheets to dampen any noise. Now all he had to do was get the tiny three-word note to Paul. This should have been relatively easy, but clearly, Matt suspected them of passing messages and was on the lookout for it.
Holding onto the little note for a short while didn't seem all that dangerous since
Matt's frisking had been amateurish, but Curt wasn't going to take chances; he wanted the note out of his possession as soon as possible. Unfortunately, however Matt still stood in his same position and gave all the appearance that he could stay there for hours. Curt gave an inward groan at the sight of him and scurried to his bedroom, deciding to test the older boy's patience. Opening up Oliver Twist, which had been flung onto his dresser, he forced himself to read the first thirty pages. In truth, though he was extremely slow at it, he liked to read, or rather, he liked to read what he liked to read.
He enjoyed sci-fi and fantasy and had read the Hobbit easily a dozen times. Classics such as Romeo and Juliet, The Catcher in the Rye and Oliver Twist seemed too much like work in his view. But despite this, he found himself getting into the story, which was about an orphan raised in a terribly run orphanage and who is then shipped off to a workhouse where things aren't any better.
Though he was slow, the thirty pages went by too quickly and he decided to read twenty more before getting up. When he did, he was surprised to see Matt still standing just as he had before. Oddly, Curt was impressed again. The boy's patience was as astounding as it was scary.
Scary or not, Curt wanted his note passed and so began a charade of misdirection. Tucking Oliver Twist closer to himself, he gave a purposeful pause just outside his door as if unsure whether to proceed or not, he then headed down the stairs. He kept far over away from Matt as he passed him and went into the family room. Knowing that if he attempted to stay, he would only spook the other kids, Curt quickly went to the shelves to put the book back, but theatrically fumbled it into position, even taking a moment to cast a guilty look over his shoulder at Matt as he did.
The older boy watched him hungrily.
When the book was back where it belonged, he left the room in a hurry, and kept his face set in a fearful grimace, refusing to look up at Matt. But going up the stairs, the grimace became a broad smile when he looked back over his shoulder and saw that the older boy had left his post to take the bait.
Figuring that he had at least ten seconds while Matt searched the empty book, he hurried to Paul's room, which was unsurprisingly as spartan as his own. In fact, the furnishings seemed identical and when he opened up the first dresser drawer, he saw the little stack of pictures that represented Paul's area to clean.
This was what he had fully expected to see and taking his three word note from his pocket, he placed it under the first picture and then left the room, going quietly to his own and lying down on the bed. Now he expected a visit from Matt, but that didn't occur, or if it did, he didn't know because within minutes he was fast asleep.
5
Paul shook him to consciousness, sometime later. As always he had no clue how much later it was, but he felt groggy and it took some time for him to come fully awake. When he did, he saw that Paul had an unhappy look on his face.
'Don't nap,' he gestured sternly. The boy actually gestured more than that, but slow and sleepy as he was, Curt couldn't follow the rapid hand movements and Paul, seeing his slack jaw, gave up on what he had been trying to get across, and instead informed him that it was time to eat. Glancing toward the window, Curt guessed that it was dinnertime rather than lunch and he wondered briefly when that meal had been served. Shaking off the thought, he hopped up feeling suddenly famished and in his eagerness to eat, he nearly forgot to tell Paul about the note. But as they were leaving his room, he pulled the older boy back for a second and motioned taking a picture and then nodded to Paul's room.
Paul's eyes narrowed for a moment as his mind worked through possible interpretations of this and then with a small nod, he turned on his heel and slid away on his white socked feet.
Curt didn't wait for him, thinking that would seem too suspicious. So he headed down the backstairs alone. He had not progressed very far in learning to navigate them quietly and after a good deal of near silent, but heart stopping creaking; he finally made it into the kitchen. There he had to take in the usual odd assortment of looks from the other children; mounting fear from the girls and nasty smugness from Matt, while Miss Feanor looked hard and cruel and he saw punishment brewing behind her eyes.
The look gave him a sick feeling, which started to overcome his hunger and Curt crossed the rest of the floor to the nook as silently as he could. He took up his position at the table and what he saw there made the sick feeling grow into a stomach churning nausea. The dinner set out before him was once again, steamed rice, spam and carrots. The sense of déjà vu he felt at this sent him swaying in his chair and he gazed about him, trying to get a feel for the reality of his situation, but all he came up with was more bewilderment.
It was as though this exact moment had played out before and it was like a dream had been laid over reality, distorting them both. With his head rocking, tilting back and forth on his slim neck, he looked around at the others feeling strange, wondering if they were experiencing the sensation as well. He felt a keen need to know, and at that moment, he knew a sudden desperate urge, one that was forbidden in the house.
Curt needed to speak.
It wasn't that he wanted to, he needed to, as a human, he had to. It was fast becoming a compulsion and he opened his mouth, staring at the faces around him, but they only registered a growing fear.
That little thing, seeing his drab plate set out before him, just as it had the day before had triggered a deep seated need to communicate, and it had been like a switch had been turned on within him. And now that it was on, he didn't think there was any way for it to be turned off, at least until he had spoken. Until he had his say. Until his many questions were answered. Until he could complain and whine and shout and yell.
He knew that he would be punished if he spoke.
It was quite obvious from the looks the others were giving him. Their eyes were all large and dry, as if they were watching someone who had just jumped from a building and they knew that something terrible would happen when he landed, but they were unable to look away.
Nothing made sense.
Why?! His mind screamed the word and it echoed throughout his being. Why did he have to be punished? It made no sense at all. What was wrong with talking, or laughing or singing? How would that hurt anyone? He looked to Miss Feanor, wanting to scream at her, WHY?! But the look she gave him stopped the word from coming from his mouth. Her face was set in cold indifference and it was clear she didn't care at all, if he screamed, or if he were to be punished, or if the teeth would hurt so bad that he would cry like a baby and maybe wet himself.
"But you should care," he said to her in astonishment. His amazement at her lack of feelings, fortunately for him, had taken away his breath, so that though the words had been clearly audible to those at the table, they hadn't been above a whisper. She only glared at him with hard dark eyes, and again her look quieted him, at least externally. Internally he raged. How could she not care what she was doing to all of them? That wasn't even human. Turning from her cold eyes, he looked at the two girls, his face pleading for understanding.
But he didn't get that, instead he looked into the crazy eyes of the mouse. He knew her name was Beth, but he could never think of her as anything other than mouse, and now her eyes spun with a greater madness than he had yet seen. He shrunk back away from her in horror, pointing, trying to get Miss Feanor to see those fantastic eyes. To recognize what she had done to the poor girl, but Miss Feanor only ate her food quietly, sneering around her spam.
Curt stood up then and his entire body began trembling. From head to toe he shook, his insides feeling like sticks held together by string. This wasn't right! Nothing about the house was right, but especially the mouse's eyes, they were definitely not right. He wanted to scream this at Miss Feanor, until she figured out that the mouse was insane.
He turned back toward the wild-eyed girl and saw that now she and Amber were shoveling food into their mouths as fast as they could. They expected him to blow sky high and he did as well. He had never felt so crazed and o
ut of control in his life. And clearly, Miss Feanor thought so too, or so at first he believed, because she slowly got up from the table.
Curt backed away from her with his small hands out but instead of heading at him with her teeth barred, she slid with dainty silent steps away toward her room.
Paul came in at that precise moment and his eyes went wide with fear for the newest member of the foster family. Coming up to the table, he shook his head imploringly and even mouthed the word 'No' to Curt.
But Curt was beyond pleading with. Even though the boy had been his only friend, he wanted to scream at the top of his lungs for Paul to go fuck himself. He needed to vent. Though he had been in the house for just two days, the intense silence had worked its way into the crevices of his mind and now it felt as if he were simultaneously falling apart and about to explode.
Paul held his hands out to him and his face seemed desperate with fear for Curtis, but he ignored the blonde boy. The need to scream had now become a heavy ache in his chest that he could no longer stop from coming and with a feeling of letting go, he filled his lungs to shriek loud enough to wake the dead.
Only just then, Matt saved him.
Angered over Paul's involvement in the situation and without warning, the eldest boy in the house punched Paul in the face. Curt was so shocked at this that the scream silently fled from his lungs and he only stood watching in amazement as the two boys began to fight in an eerie silence. They rolled around the floor, making the lightest grunting noises. And soon it was over and the house returned to its heavy stillness.
Paul got the worst of it, bleeding from both the nose and the mouth, and he seemed unsteady on his feet as he climbed back into his chair. Matt, on the other hand, looked perfectly fine, but disappointed as well. He obviously wanted to see Curt get punished. It was horrible thing to wish for and now Curt stared on the older boy with undisguised loathing. But Matt simply snorted at him derisively and began to eat, as did Paul. This was the strangest sight. The two boys who had fought in a vicious silence only moments before were now sitting next to each other, eating as if nothing had happened.
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