The creature came that night moving with the indolent slothful ease of a person fresh from a tremendous feast. It went about the house making far more noise than usual, but it did not tarry in any of the rooms and was back in the basement quicker than it ever had. For the other children, this was probably considered a good night. For Curt who now knew what it was lurking in the house at night, it wasn't, his bladder had let go at the first crreik and his tears flowed greater than his urine. Still, he wasn't punished.
Chapter 13
The New Pauls
1
Now the creature was in him. From the moment, he had seen it rushing at Darla it was in him. Beneath his breast, it sat as a cold hard lump of fear and in his every thought and action, it was there, making its presence felt. That feeling caused each moment to drag by in protracted agony and the seconds of his life elongated, stretching out and out. His days became slow motion monotonous hell.
Besides the notes that he and Paul would write back and forth to each other, the next four days were so dreadfully repetitive that Curt had trouble remembering which day was which. As they progressed, the increasing pressure to be perfectly quiet and to have their areas of responsibility exactly as the photos indicated, marked the only real difference between them.
That and the level of insanity in the house.
As in the prior week, each child continued to exhibit a growing madness that had Curt wondering what his would look like. Though it hadn't shown itself yet, he knew that it would become manifest eventually, logically it had to happen and everyday he'd stare at his reflection in the mirror checking for tell tale signs.
For now, the mirror only showed him an increasingly haggard looking boy. His eyes became more and more red, the circles beneath them growing darker with each passing day, but still no insanity. He had begun figuring out little tricks to stave off the inevitable lunacy. When the silence in his head began to take on that great empty ringing tone, he would run water, or slide his hands gently over his blanket listening to the tiny sound it would make. When he felt the overwhelming urge to talk or to scream, or to shout, he'd seek out one of the other children and force them to converse in their made up sign language. Even the mouse he'd corner in order to break up the monotony, ignoring the vacancy behind her spinning eyes.
When the pressure to be perfect in his duties became unbearable, and he found himself checking and rechecking and re-rechecking the exact position of the porcelain cats, or the angle of the satin pillows, he'd purposely leave some items improperly placed. Obviously so. For instance, once he left one of the cats with its paws hanging egregiously over the edge of a runner. All day it sat like that, secretly amusing him and he'd walk by and have to suppress a giggle.
The toughest thing to remain sane over, other than the thought of the creature and its horrible tortures, turned out to be the food. Curt couldn't imagine his way into liking spam or carrots, while the rice was so dull it was déjà vu in every bite! He tried mixing up his eating patterns, one day eating his carrots first and then the rice and then the spam. The next he would reverse the order and the next he'd alternate bites of each, but by the fifth day, he dreaded the sight of his dinner plate, scared to death that he would snap and fly into a screaming fit if he saw one more pale slab of pink spam.
He saved himself, by eating that meal completely blind. Closing his eyes tightly before walking into the kitchen, he kept them closed until not a single grain of rice was left on his plate. Feeling quite foolishly proud of his minor accomplishment, he opened his eyes and was surprised to find the table completely empty, save for a blank staring Miss Feanor.
Now it didn't happen that week, but he eventually found a way to get through his dinner meals in one piece. Bored silly one day over the horrible sameness of the evening meal, he found that no matter what he tried he couldn't choke down even a single grain of rice.
His throat simply tightened up too much to swallow spit, therefore with the possibility of actually eating the food apparently gone, he began to play with it instead. Using the carrots as legs, he built a little table from his spam. For some reason he saw this as immensely entertaining and continued to add to it, soon he had built something closer to an alter than a table and naturally, as all twelve year olds would have, he began to sacrifice the rice to an all powerful evil god.
One by one, the sacrificial rice emitted long but inaudible shrieks as he popped them in his mouth. When he had finished the rice, the all-powerful god then grew angry, destroying the alter and shoving it into his great gaping maw, crunching down loudly.
The others looked at him as if he had finally gone crazy.
2
The notes that he and Paul wrote to each other were at the start completely one sided. Curt had a tremendous need to know what was going on in the house and it wasn't a matter of curiosity, but of survival.
His first note, of the week he wrote on the morning after their McDonalds feast.
Paul,
Please tell me everything you know about that creeture that attacked the case worker. Why didn't you tell me what it was before? Was this one of the things the voice in your head told you not to tell me about?
Hi Curt,
Simply put you wouldn't have believed me. You would've thought i was crazy. Yes, i know i'm crazy sometimes, but in this, sad to say, i'm completely sane. i don't know much about the creeture, besides that it bites and bites and chews on you hungrily in the worst way. It hides in the basement, so never go down there. its not a ghost, or i think its not a ghost...it feels worse than a ghost. Never touch the doors leading outside. ive told you before, but hopefully you will take it to hart now.
Paul,
How is the creeture connected to the house? Is it part of the house? Does it feed on us or the house? Do you think if we burned down the house, it would kill the creeture?
Hi Curt,
I'm surprised you know about the house being alive. It took me months to figure it out, of course I was in shock for most of those months. My first few months, I was punished a lot and I was so thankful when Amber finally showed up and she started to get punished. I know that is a mean thing to say, but I'm just trying to be honest. I'm sure she is thinking the same about you.
Curt read this on the morning of the second day after Darla had been killed and his eyes had narrowed at it. Paul was being uncharacteristically mean and not only that, he had totally blown off answering his questions, Moreover, despite his declaration of honesty he had made it clear that he had been withholding information.
Paul,
i don't mean to be rude, but you answered none of my questions. i repeet, how is the creeture connected to the house? Is it part of the house? Does it feed on us or the house? Do you think if we burned down the house, it would kill the creeture?
Paul's note took a long time in coming and Curt checked the hiding spot four times before finding a message there just before dinner.
Curt,
Perhaps you don't mean to be rude, but you are nevertheless. You assume that I have to tell you these things but I don't. Maybe if you were nicer to me, we would be more inclined to answer directly.
This note sent a shiver down his spine. It was as if someone other than Paul had written it, and not even the handwriting was the same. For a moment, Curt looked around the bathroom as if expecting the house to suddenly confess to leaving the note. But he knew logically it had to be Paul and he wondered about the extent of this 'voice' the older boy had mentioned. Perhaps it wasn't a voice at all. Perhaps he had a split personality problem as he had silently accused Miss Feanor of having. In this house, it was a painfully real possibility; he would have to tread carefully.
Hi Paul,
You are right. i have been demanding alot from you and i'm sorry. i think the house is getting to me and making me cranky. You have been an excelent friend and i never thanked you properly the other day for saving me from the creeture. i would have been punished for sure, or worse.
Your friend
,
Curt.
He wanted to write sincerely at the end, but the spelling of the word was beyond him and he didn't want to come across as stupid.
The dinner that night, the second one since Darla's death, was a most difficult affair. Because of what he suspected about Paul's mental state, Curt was afraid to look too closely at him, yet time and again his eyes were drawn to the boy's face. What he saw there only confirmed his suspicion of the idea of Paul's schizophrenia, part of the time he looked fearful or sad and at other times he'd glower angrily at his food and his lips would start to move as if he were talking to his plate.
Curt began to be afraid of Paul and after the way the notes had progressed, he sadly had to begin considering the possibility that the blonde boy was now as much an enemy as Matt. The thought sent his soul sinking low. Two older boys, bigger boys, both working to see that he was punished rather than they, it was hard to take. His mind went into overdrive attempting to discover some way to deal with both of them at once and that night was the first that he began practicing his purposeful deception.
With no one looking, he took the contents of his own dresser drawer and threw it around the room.
After which, he snuck down the back stairs and went about his chores, making sure to leave enough time to clean up his own mess. He found it hard to keep a straight face when Matt came by and gave him a quick look, his lips were barely holding back a smirk and his eyes held a malevolent glee. It was clear that the eldest child had seen the mess and was himself trying to keep a straight face. After Curt finished his chores he nonchalantly went upstairs preparing himself to make a great silent fuss, but what he saw in his room killed that idea.
Paul knelt busily folding the clothes and when he saw Curt, a look of intense guilt swept across the aspects of his face. The blonde boy clearly didn't know if he had made the mess or not and as he folded, his eye began to twitch badly.
In a sense, this was part of Curt's plan. He could deal with messes when he knew where they were, these weren't a problem, it was the secret attacks that he feared. The boys could come at him from any angle, while his back was turned and he would never know for certain who was after him and what exactly they were doing. So purposely, he began sabotaging his own areas of responsibility. He wanted each of the older boys to think that the other was setting him up, with the idea that both would then sit back and let the other destroy the new kid. While all the while neither was.
Seeing Paul's sad face sent a little pang of guilt through him, but he stuffed that away, he'd rather see that sad look than the creature's teeth any day. In keeping with his plan, Curt left to blame Matt and gesticulated in front of him in fake indignation, the older boy only professed silent smug innocence.
On the third day, Paul started with an apology.
Hi Curt,
i think i might have given into the voice in my head and messed up your room last nite. i told you about how I sometimes do bad things to get people punished and this is one of them. i will do things and blame others, usually Matt. i'm sorry that i did this. i don't know much about the creeture. It is connected to the house, but i don't know how. i don't think you could burn down the house even if you had matches, which we don't and even then, i don't know it would kill the thing. i don't think it is alive.
Not alive?
In his heart, Curt had known this to be truth, but his mind nearly went into open rebellion at the very notion; he stared at the small white tiles of the bathroom floor for a long time trying to get it to sink in. At length, he decided, that although it may not be alive like a person was, he was certain that it could at least be destroyed. Everything could be destroyed.
The house certainly, it was made of wood after all and for a while, he pondered how it could be done. Fire seemed the best option, but realistically he didn't see it happening. There were no matches or lighters about the place and since the house was somehow alive, then in all likelihood it could control the electricity just as it did the phone, so the idea of an electrical fire went out the window. And possibly as well the house might be able to flood itself, making it a moot point either way.
A bomb could do the trick, Curt reasoned, and not only that, it would be much more fun to watch. This brought a smile to his weary face and he spent a good hour, still sitting in the bathroom, imagining how he could make a bomb out of normal household goods. It was fun to make believe but eventually he had to turn to more immediate matters.
Hi Paul,
Thank you for your note. im sorry to hear about your 'voice' i hope we can all get out of here soon and im sure that we can get it fixed. i only have a few more questions, if you don't mind. How is Miss Feenor connected to all this? She was very afraid of the creeture, why doesn't she run away while she is out? Does she sleep down stairs?
Your friend
Curt.
He thought it a smart thing to keep using his manners, he didn't know which Paul would be reading the note after all.
Paul again took a long time in answering and in the slow hours of that third day, his twitch worsened noticeably.
Hello Curt,
I honestly don't know how she is connected. From the information I have gleaned, she has been here fourteen years and has been doing foster care the entire time. She sleeps upstairs in the attic, but that really shouldn't be your concern. I understand the desire to escape, but you should really concentrate on surviving. Last night I heard voices coming from your room, I think you were talking in your sleep.
3
The little piece of toilette paper fluttered to the cold tile of the floor. Talking in his sleep? He was going to die. He couldn't control what happened in his sleep. Nobody could. He was going to die. He would be punished night after night and he knew that if that ever happened, he would never survive.
"Oh my God!" he whispered. He was going to die.
Getting up suddenly, he began pacing the room in weird jerking motions, sucking on his fingers once again. Unable to stop himself. Unaware. He pictured how it would be, laying in bed, fighting to stay awake, his eyes getting heavier with each passing second, going crazy.
An idea struck him, maybe if he slept in the day and had Amber or Paul wake him if he began to talk... Sudden realization stopped him in his tracks. Paul had set him up...again! He wasn't talking in his sleep, the boy only wanted him to think so, he felt like he had been slapped.
"What happens if you're wrong? You know it..." Curt stopped in mid-whisper, realizing he had spoken aloud to himself. He clamped his lips shut tight.
There was a chance he was wrong, but he doubted it. This new aspect of Paul was just too diabolical and Curt wondered why he hadn't shown himself before. He hadn't been in evidence at all last week. Perhaps it comes and goes with the amount of stress he was feeling, he wondered. Or maybe the death of Darla triggered it. Or maybe it was there all along and the nice Paul was the fake one.
Curt hated this. There was no way of knowing what was true and because of that, he had to lie as well.
Hi Paul,
Thanks for the heads up. Now im really afraid to go to sleep. Do you have any advice? How do you stop somthing like this. im so scared.
Thanks
Curt.
He left the note and wasn't eager to get one in return and didn't bother to check for it until the next morning.
That evening, he pulled his same trick, throwing his own clothes about, but he was very wary of Paul. When he came up the stairs again, just as the night before there was the blonde boy folding his clothes. In a huff, Curt again went to Matt, who was getting nastier as the pressure again began to mount.
But the young boy didn't push his luck and only glared, acting his part. That night, as the lights were being turned out all over the house, Curt did a recheck of his drawers, all of them and saw numerous glaring errors, obvious purposeful mistakes just underneath the facade of the top layers. The sight made him cold. Paul was even more cunning than he had thought. In a rush, he fixed it as best as
he could.
A little while later, Crreik...
Every night the creature came, and every night Curt hid beneath his covers, picturing it looming over him and he would shiver in fright and sweat with anxiety.
But that night was exceptionally hard on him.
There were just too many ways for him to get in trouble and having both Matt and Paul working against him left him feeling small and helpless. In truth, Matt seemed not to be doing much to hurt Curt at all. It was as if he knew what was going on with Paul and was content to sit by and let him destroy Curt. Hating Matt, he wondered if the older boy had something to do with bringing this worse side of Paul out. It was possible, but the more he thought on it, the more Curt doubted it. The nasty side of Paul seemed so dreadfully devious, and was thus dangerous to everyone, Matt included.
Crreik, crreik...
That night the creature stayed long in Curt's room, but eventually moved on and no one was punished for the third day in a row.
4
Day four since the death of Darla, showed pressure building in everyone. This was exactly how Curt thought of the days now, since he already had trouble remembering how long he had been in the house.
He knew this would get worse as weeks turned into months, and that eventually he'd be like Amber and walk about, wondering why it was snowing in August. But that didn't bother him too much since he rather enjoyed being surprised by the weather. Being caught in a rainstorm, truly only a summer rainstorm, was a delight to him.
The Punished Page 18