The Punished

by Peter Meredith

  After dinner, he kept his eye on Paul, following him around for so long that the boy almost screamed at him to go away. Eventually he did, streaking down stairs; he tore through his one remaining chore as fast as possible. But he wasn't fast enough, yet in truth, there was no way he could have been. It took less than a minute for Paul to dump the contents of his drawers around his room. Curt wasn't fazed by this at all, in fact, he had expected this very thing and with plenty of time to spare, he had his room ship shape.

  For some reason, now Paul seemed more relaxed, however his twitch worsened with each passing second. This sudden change worried Curt and he began to second-guess what the downstairs looked like. Was his area of responsibility ransacked? Was Matt Involved? Anxiously, he began to work a series of feints, going downstairs for a second or two and then racing back up, to catch Paul at whatever he was up to next. Eventually he knew he'd have to check his areas at least one more time and when he figured the time right, instead of coming back up quickly as he had been, he went and checked his areas closely; everything was in order. Unfortunately, Paul had only been fooled for a maybe half a minute and it gave him enough time to take a shirt of Curt's and throw it onto the chandelier at the bottom of the stairs.

  The shirt was quite high up, "Crap!" he muttered under his breath. Curt jumped at it a few times, but wasn't even close to touching it, he then went to the family room and grabbed a chair. In ten seconds, he had the shirt down and the chair back where it belonged. Curt thought he had been quick enough but he hadn't.

  Minutes later, he was lying in bed thinking he had made it through another day without being punished, lights were being turned off downstairs and he laid back, pulling up his covers over his head.

  "Aren't you forgetting something?"

  He yanked them back down in an instant.

  Paul stood there and in his hand was a porcelain figurine of a kitten. The boy tossed it in the air in a relaxed fashion as if it were of no more value than a stone. To Curt it was worth a small fortune, he knew that figurine very well and it certainly didn't belong in Paul's hands. He knew exactly where it belonged and he knew as well, the precise angle at which its ears aligned with those of its fellow frolicking kittens and he knew also just how close to the edge of the wall its tail should lay.

  It belonged on a shelf above the sink in the powder room on the first floor. Curt's heart went into his throat.

  "Paul may have never told you this, but you don't want to be out of bed when the lights are off," the boy he knew as 'Paul' said this quietly, just above a whisper. "The house knows and sends out its creature and then... it's play time." Another light, somewhere downstairs went out behind him, "I think we should start the games now, here catch." He casually tossed the figurine well over Curt's head toward the far wall.

  Since he lay under the blankets, there was no way he would catch it, and in his mind, he saw it hit the hardwood floor and explode into a thousand pieces. But his body reacted faster than his imagination and with his face turned, following the flight of the kitten, which arced high enough to nearly hit the ceiling, his hand had grabbed the end of his pillow.

  In a flash, his sharp blue eyes judged the trajectory of the figurine and with a dexterity few could match he tossed the pillow and to his delight, the kitten landed square upon it, but to his horror, it bounced off. Snink was the sound it made when it hit the floor. Curt couldn't tell if it had been damaged, but he'd have to wait to check as another light went off. He turned back to Paul and saw the blonde boy, shaking his head in disbelief.

  "That's not right," Paul said quietly, mostly to himself and just then, the final light went off behind him. Now he slunk away, knowing that Miss Feanor would be heading up the stairs any second, as he did Curt was out of bed in a blink and scrambled to find the cat in the dark. In horror, he found two pieces a small one and a larger one, the kitten had lost an ear and to Curt, it was as if his own child had been injured. Grabbing his pillow, he was back in bed in an instant.

  Under his covers in the pitch black, he strove to figure out if the ear would sit back on the kitten's head without falling off. It wasn't easy. Breathing heavily in his fright and the suffocating heat beneath the covers, he found that it would stay, if it were angled right, now all he had to do was go all the way down to the powder room and set it back up on the shelf.

  But there were both Miss Feanor and the creature to worry about. The lady would be relatively simple to elude. Though she moved very quietly, she still made noise, if you knew what to listen for and Curt had memorized her routine days ago, it was eerily similar to that of the creature. But would it matter? If Paul was being in the least bit truthful, Curt could expect the creature to come up out of the basement the second he got out of bed.

  But what choice did he have?

  Miss Feanor came up a moment later and Curt began counting as he had almost every night. In his mind, habits were made to be exploited and he knew that when she turned toward Matt and the mouse's rooms, he'd have a window of between twelve to sixteen seconds, to get down stairs. After that, she would turn back around and come along the hall, heading for the door to the attic.

  After peeking into his room, she went next to Amber's and as she did, he slipped out of bed, arranging the covers and his pillow as best as he could to make it appear as if someone could be there. It wasn't very good, since in no way did it look like a human under there.

  Now all he waited for was for her to turn away from Paul's room and when she did, he ghosted out past his door and down the stairs. He made little more noise than his barely visible shadow, but he had to sacrifice speed in order to move that quietly. Therefore, he was just getting to the bottom of the stairs when she began heading for the attic and he had to pause, sweat running down his cheeks, as she passed by only a few feet above his head.

  The downstairs was nearly perfectly the color of pitch and Curt had to reach out for the end of the banister so that he would know where he was. In shock, he snatched his hand back, holding it to his chest. The house was awake, and worse, aware. It knew that he was out of bed.

  It had a sharp anger to it, outraged that one of the vermin could think of strolling around her house anytime it wished. The entity within the house was feminine, but bitterly so, with a hateful streak when it came to children. All of this, Curt could feel and understand with that single touch of his on the banister, yet there was one more thing that overrode all of that. The house was demanding a punishment.

  It was eager for it.

  So horrible was that feeling that Curt almost turned and ran to his room, but the kitten still sat in his hand and the empty spot on the shelf where it belonged, would stand out, glaringly. Just then, Curt felt something through the white socks of his feet, a vibration in the wood of the dark gleaming floor. On impulse, he reached down.

  It was as if he could hear with his hand and what he heard, scared him down to the pit of his stomach. It was the sound of heavy footsteps coming up the basement stairs. They weren't charging up them, like they had when Darla the very dead caseworker had touched the door; no these were slow, measured and seemed to gain weight with every step.

  Curt's heart thundered huge in his chest, coinciding with each step, and he could feel the surge of his blood rushing along his arteries in a wave that went all the way to his fingertips. He felt three of these giant beats and then without thinking or considering any consequence, Curt took off, sliding into the inky blackness of the main floor hallway, into the very heart of the house. He raced in complete silence on numb feet heading straight for where the creature would emerge from the basement a few seconds from that very moment.

  If he had any chance whatsoever of avoiding the punishment, he'd have to place that kitten onto its shelf and then get back in bed, faster than the creature could climb those stairs. Despite flying down that hallway, in a silent blaze, he would never make it and he knew this to be fact. And he was right.

  The steps of the creature grew louder in the stillness of
the house as they advance upwards and Curt was still in the bathroom trying to put the kitten's ear back on it, when he felt the creature near the top of the basement stairs.

  The damned ear kept sliding off of the kitten and Curt was close to crying in his frustration, finally inspiration struck and he ran the porcelain ear over his very dry tongue and stuck it where it belonged. Now it stayed in place.

  Knowing he was out of time, Curt then slid out of the powder room, taking a single glance through the kitchen. What small amount of light there was, seemed to gather on the shining metal of the doorknob to the mudroom and it glinted as the door swung slowly outward. Even at a dead sprint, Curt would never make it halfway down the hall without being seen and so, desperate to put off his punishment for a few more seconds, he slid into the dining room and stood against the wall.

  5

  His body's reaction to his circumstance amazed Curt. He no longer felt his heart pound or his pulse race, nor was his breath coming out in great gasps of fear. Rather the air seemed to drift in and out of him on its own accord. He didn't sweat, or even shake or shiver. Instead, he became intensely focused, both with his mind and body, on the creature.

  It moved with deliberate slowness through the kitchen, toward the main hall and now Curt heard it pause only feet from him at the junction where the three doors met. The gambler in him weighed the odds and they weren't good. If the creature took a left, into the dining room, Curt was a goner, there was simply nowhere to hide. If the creature moved straight, down the hall, Curt would have to race in complete silence into the kitchen, up the backstairs, and then along the upstairs hall, before the creature reached the main stairs twenty feet away.

  That was impossible.

  Thankfully, the creature chose to go to its right, into the powder room. Hearing its sly footsteps, Curt peeked around the corner and saw it as a shadow moving in the blackness. He couldn't tell which direction it faced, but he had no time to consider it, and crept as stealthily as he could from the dining room. Now as he moved down the hall, he began to feel again the heart pounding fear that had left him momentarily, the thing was behind him and could, at any moment, turn and spot him outlined in the hall.

  But it didn't, and Curt made it to the stairs, feeling jittery. He was so close to making it back to his bed, where he hoped that he would be safe, that he hurried up the stairs...too quickly.

  Crreik!

  A single misstep and the sound carried clearly in the still, black air of the house.

  Once again, Curt's body overrode the spastic fear ridden thinking of his mind and took over, he raced up the remaining steps, even in the dark, the memory stored in his muscles of where to place each foot was true and he made it to the top in complete silence. The same could not be said of the creature, however.

  At the sound of the crreik, it charged down the hallway with thundering feet and turned up the stairs, it barely slowed, until it reached the halfway point. There, it inexplicably stopped, perhaps confused to find the upper hallway deserted.

  Curt of course hadn't stopped at the top of the stairs, but had zipped into his room, slowing just enough to close his door the proper distance. However, when he did, he saw the ghost white face of Paul staring out at him from the crack of his own door. In the dim light and with his haste, Curt had no time to read the boy's expression.

  Crreik

  The creature's pause had been short and it began to move in its sneaky manner again. It came up the remaining stairs slowly and as every night, it paused in front of Curt's door. As always, he was under his covers, but now he steeled himself for what was coming. He would run, if he could and fight if he couldn't. When Paul had been attacked, it sounded as if had just laid there doing nothing as the creature bit into him. That wouldn't be Curt.

  Though the creature's pause in front of his door was probably no longer than on any other night, it felt to take an eternity to the frightened thief and it seemed as if the creature enjoyed this moment and dragged it out purposely. Perhaps it was hoping Curt wouldn't be able to take the pressure, knowing that he was only moments away from pain like he had never experienced before.

  But Curt was made of tougher stuff than even he understood and he didn't break, but he did shake and he did cry, but in silence. The creature came into his room then and slowly drifted around his bed and Curt kept his body tense, ready to spring up at the slightest touch, with every second the thing was in his room his fear grew and he began to sweat freely beneath his blankets. The creature was different that night. Perhaps it was all the excitement of running around, but it seemed especially hungry and a great anticipation hung in the air about it, Curt could feel it even beneath his covers. He was sure that it would attack at any second, but after a few moments the thing left.

  Curt didn't relax even then. It had done something similar to Paul three nights before, teasing him, drawing out the expectation of misery. It seemed to love the fear as much as the pain that it caused and Curt knew the thing would be back, his stomach went suddenly very queasy.

  'Run, while there is still time!' Curt's fear stricken mind screamed at him. But he didn't run, inside him was still the childish hope that the creature would just go away like it had on so many other nights.

  The creature went next to Amber's room, entered, stayed for a very short time and then moved on to Paul's. When it opened Paul's door, the boy unexpectedly shrieked in excitement.

  "I saw him, it was Curt! He was out of bed! Get him."

  The sound of Paul's voice, shrill and loud, paralyzed Curt. There seemed to be cement flooding through his body and even his lungs ceased to expand and contract. He was so sure the creature had turned on the spot and was even then heading right for his door that it came as a huge surprise that Paul screamed again.

  "No! No! It wasn't me, it was Curt...get Curt, not me. Nooooooo!"

  If Paul had just remained quiet it would have been Curt that would have been punished. Instead it was the older boy's cries that went on and on, and it was far worse than the other night, at least to Curt it was. Paul wouldn't stop blaming him, nor would he stop begging that Curt be punished next. It made it that much harder to endure.

  After what felt like an hour, when the creature finally finished with its torture of Paul, Curt had a long moment of painful nervousness as the thing left the older boy's room. There was a pause in the sly sound of its footsteps outside his door, but it only went back to its hideout in the basement.

  Chapter 16

  The Thief as Savior

  1

  Perhaps the saddest thing of all for Paul was that the rains came the next day.

  Breakfast was a somber affair, more so than Curt had expected. Normally first days were peppy and what with the rain, he expected the others to be practically throwing a party, though he was certainly in no mood for such things.

  The way Paul had gone on begging for Curt to be punished had made it into his dreams. All the rest of that night he had dream after dream of hiding from the creature, only to have Paul show up and point him out to the thing. By daybreak he was exhausted, but was surely better off than Paul, who didn't come down for breakfast.

  They were forced to divvy up his oatmeal between them and this soured Curt's mood even more. Only the mouse appeared truly content. Matt, who was normally at his finest on first days, disliked the rain and seemed as angry as usual, while Amber ate her oatmeal as if in a race with someone Curt couldn't see, and when he chewed the dull paste slowly, she crinkled her forehead at him and gestured upwards with her eyes. She wanted to talk and this was fine with Curt, since he missed the sound of her voice.

  "What happened last night?" she asked, sitting on his bed. He made to speak, but she didn't give him a chance to answer. "Were you, like out of bed, or was it Paul? Someone was up; I heard them on the stairs."

  "We both were," he said tiredly and told her what had happened.

  "Are you crazy, or what? You could..." she stopped talking abruptly and wet her pink lips."Kiss me,
ok?" Curt happily obliged, however, there was an odd desperation to Amber's kiss that made the moment feel strained.

  Breaking away, he eyed her closely and she smiled but it tilted unhappily. "Amber, what's wrong?" His question alarmed her.

  "I'm sorry...I'll do it better." She bent in to kiss him again and he held her back.

  "Really, what's wrong?" he asked her gently. "You don't seem your normal self." This question caused tears to instantly well in her eyes and she gripped his arms fiercely.

  "Please..."

  This was all she had time to say, before Paul came into his room uninvited. He was the saddest thing Curt had ever seen. As always, he wore his blue jeans and his grey turtleneck, but now bruises and bite marks could be seen all along the edges of his shirt and one stood out along his jaw line as well. The teeth marks looked impossibly big. Darker stains of what had to be blood, soaked his shirt along his arms and even at his neck, near his right collarbone.

  "Pleeeese...pleeese," Paul begged coming down on his hands and knees in front of Curt. He was crying through very red eyes, both of which were still twitching, despite the rain and the first day. The tears tracked a well-laid course, he had been crying for a while, perhaps all night.

  "Please, Curt...it's your turn. You have to break," Paul said in a frantic blubbering rush.

  Alarmed, Curt tried to back away, but Paul grabbed his legs, hugging them to his chest. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it ok? The cat and...and the shirt, those were accidents."

  Curt wiggled out of the scarecrow-sized arms of Paul, "Those weren't accidents. You did them on purpose."

  "I know I did...uh, what?" Paul paused for a second, tears dripping from his chin. "No, I already said that. I did. I just did. Fine. Please Curt, it's your turn, ok? Will that be all right?"