It was pretty shitty, though, what was going on. Toby wasn’t sure if the realtor would have any idea what exactly was taking place there, about the smell. But he had to know about the grass and the tree. Someone had to be in charge of getting it painted. But the smell in the basement may have been something different altogether.
It didn’t simply smell like something had crawled into there and died, which was his father’s theory. No. It smelled much worse, like a squirrel had crawled into there and died, but then one of his squirrel friends saw his corpse in there and decided to try and help but also ended up stuck and dead, and then another noticed those two and wanted to go check it out for themselves and died as well, and so on for a hundred years, until that room in the basement was filled to the brim with the decayed bodies of a thousand dead, rotting squirrels.
He shuddered at the thought as he turned away from the window. His stomach shifted, like someone was stirring its contents clumsily. He felt a moment of dizziness but regained his composure and stood. Maybe it would be best if he just went to bed for the night. God knew he was eager to get this day over with.
He turned back toward the window and froze. He knew right away that he should look away. If he had any dignity at all, any decency, he would turn and leave the room. But he didn’t. He stood there, his feet plastered to the floor, frozen to his core as he stared out the window at the house across the street.
With unreal clarity, he watched as Addy undressed in front of the window, in a room directly across from his own. She reached behind her back and unclipped her bra, allowing it to fall from her breasts, which remained firm and upright. They were large and beautiful, jiggling just a little as she leaned forward to pull down her underwear. When she did, and she turned toward the window, he caught a glimpse of what looked like a patch of shade, a tuft of elegant pubic hair concealing her lower parts from view.
But she was facing the window now, so he dove to the side, lurching for cover. His heart pounded in his chest. Had she seen him spying? Was it spying if he was simply looking out his own bedroom window? He wondered if he could get arrested for looking out his own window if what he was looking at was something he wasn’t supposed to see.
He told himself he had done nothing wrong even as he felt his hard bulge pressing against the inside of his pajama pants as it fought to stand erect. He took in a deep breath, and then another, before peeking quickly out his bedroom window once again. The window across the street had gone dark. He looked on for a moment and noticed a sign of motion in the blackness of the house, unsure of whether it was someone moving within or a curtain settling in place. In the dark, he just couldn’t tell.
He stepped away from the window and went to find his place in bed. He finally closed his eyes, hoping to force himself to sleep, to dream away the day’s events, especially the one that had just happened. Tomorrow, he would act like he had hadn’t seen a thing out his bedroom window, nothing at all.
Trevor laid there, staring at the wall, holding his stomach. Everyone had gone to bed, which he was thankful for. His stomach had been hurting, but his head was pounding as well. The sounds of activity throughout the house made him want to scream.
He knew it wasn’t their fault. He had no idea why he was feeling so crappy. The first theory was the pizza they had eaten, which was partially reinforced by Toby not feeling good, but why then was Toby pretty much fine now and everybody else was all right? Why just him? What did he do to deserve this pain?
He couldn’t even describe how it felt. It wasn’t the pangs of hunger or even that of being sick. It felt like something else, something unexplainable to him. But maybe that was only because his mind was cloudy. He felt disoriented. The room shifted like it was going to start spinning but then would stop and start shifting in the opposite direction like the world was on an axis, a spinning globe being played around with by some maniac.
A tear trickled down his cheek. He just wanted it to stop. He could still smell that crap from the basement like it was a living organism clinging to the inside of his nostrils. He even tried to pick it out once, only coming away with dry, crumbling boogers.
As he lay there, weeping softly and wishing his mother would come in and hold him, the room began to get darker. Or at least that’s what it looked like to Trevor. The light coming from the window dimmed and started closing like the end of a Looney Tunes episode.
He waited to hear, “That’s all folks!” Everything continued to get darker. He wanted to call out for help, but he knew what he was seeing, what he was experiencing, was just a side effect of him being sick. And so he did the only thing his little thirteen-year-old mind could come up with to make it stop, and that was to close his eyes, shutting out the light before the darkness could do it for him.
Paisley sat there in her bed, staring out into the night, at the streetlamps raining their light down into the silent street. It must have been the middle of the night by then. She wished now that she had eaten, if only to prove to herself that the growing, twisting pain in her gut was being caused by hunger and not something she caught from her twin brother.
But deep down, she didn’t think it was hunger. There was just something within her, a tingling feeling in the back of her head, that told her it was something worse. Her arms and legs felt weak as well, as if she had gone for a jog and lifted some weights just before heading to bed, but she hadn’t. She hadn’t done either of those things or anything else.
In fact, she had done very little since arriving at their new house. Even when they were moving things in, she strategically avoided the duty, disappearing right when she thought someone was going to need help moving something larger. Maybe it was girly of her, but she didn’t want to carry stuff around.
At least with all the chaos that had taken place throughout the day, with the yard, and that basement stuff, she had pretty much forgotten about Brent. That was, until she was alone in her room with nobody to distract her. Now, Brent was pretty much all she was thinking about, even over the day’s strange happenings and her stomach pains. She had not received even one single text from him all day.
She hadn’t checked much throughout the day. But now she was staring at his last message, one from the day before, and she felt herself nearing tears. Her nose was suddenly runny, but that may have been because of the sickness she was coming down with. With her forearm, she wiped away the glisten from her eyes.
She had to be stronger than this. It was nothing she hadn’t expected, him not talking to her much anymore. But obviously, that knowledge didn’t make much of a difference or she wouldn’t have been sitting there moping the way she was.
She straightened herself with a firmness that was fake but she hoped could become real. There was a pang of pain in her side, somewhere deep within her. She tried to remember what organs were there; maybe her kidney, or pancreas, or something, she couldn’t remember.
If she didn’t fall asleep soon, though, the lack of sleep would start to add up. She could already feel that annoying headache coming on, the one that preyed on fools who stayed up late too often. She lifted her blanket and crawled under. With her eyes closed, she tried to think about nothing, which was incredibly difficult to accomplish when trying to do it on purpose.
“I want to go home.”
Paisley jerked up from what was almost sleep. She scanned the room. It was silent, empty. Dark. She took in a deep breath, which seemed louder than it should have been, and laid back down. Was she seriously going to have nightmares now? She was more annoyed with herself than she was afraid. The little girl’s voice had sounded real, almost as if the words had been whispered into her ear, but she didn’t have the time to worry about that. She pushed the thought to the back of her mind and pressed her eyes tightly shut.
“It took my mommy.”
She lurched upward, one hundred percent certain she had not fallen back to sleep yet, that the voice was not a dream. Now she was afraid. She started feeling around under the blanket for her phone. She n
eeded a second source of light aside from the streetlamps out front of the house, and there was no way she was getting up yet to hit the light switch. She felt the phone and snatched it, pulling out from underneath the blanket and opening the flashlight app on the home screen in one swift motion.
She scoured her surroundings with the light, bringing the beacon across the walls from one end of the room to the other like a lighthouse scanning the sea until she stopped at the door. For the first time, the room’s emptiness brought a chill down her spine. She longed for the numerous, pointless possessions that filled her old room, giving it life. This one was skeletal, like she had snuck in with her friends on a dare and was just there to spend the night, sleeping on a mattress someone had found abandoned in one of the rooms.
She heard a shuffle and jerked toward the closet, the big one that had made her want this room to begin with. She blared the light at the door, which was cracked open a little more than a foot, just the way she had left it when she was filling it with clothes earlier in the day. She unknowingly held her breath, her palms sweating against the plastic of the phone.
She released the wave of air from her lungs as she stood from the bed. Was she really about to investigate the closet? She imagined something reaching out from its depths, its long, haggard, wrinkled fingers grabbing hold of her top and yanking her into the closet. She shuddered as she stood next to her bed, staring at the gap, at the darkness beyond.
She had to investigate; otherwise she was just going to freak out the entire night, wondering if something was going to grab her in her sleep. She tried to think logically. The first time she heard a voice, that very likely could have been a dream, that bit that carried over when you’re waking, torn between reality and your dream. But the second time she heard it; she just wasn’t sure. She was pretty sure that she was awake, but now that she was standing there like a psych ward patient in front of her closet, she was no longer as sure about there being an intruder as she had been a minute before.
The truth was, she was probably a lot more tired than she realized. The moment her head had fallen back onto the pillow, she had probably fallen asleep. It had happened so quickly that not even her own mind realized she had passed out. That wasn’t so insane, not as insane as thinking there was a little girl hiding in her closet. She had fallen asleep lots of times so fast that she couldn’t recall having fallen asleep at all. She was practically an expert at it when it came to napping at school.
She walked toward the closet, grabbed the door, and pulled it open before she could talk herself out of it. The few clothes that were hung waved with the sudden motion. But that was the only movement within. It was empty, just as it should have been. But that didn’t stop a wave of relief from flooding over her at the empty sight.
To think she had thought there was a little girl in her closet. She chuckled aloud and smiled. And the little girl wanted to go home. And her mother was gone or something. Now that she was fully awake, the exact words she had thought she heard the little girl say were beginning to fade from memory like a dream, which is exactly what it had been: a dream.
She carried her smile triumphantly back to her bed. Just as she sat, she heard another sound, this one nearly causing her heart to lunge right out of her chest. It was a door opening. But not her bedroom door or the closet door, but one outside her bedroom, just across the hall, she thought. It was the attic.
11
Toby’s eyes snapped open. He stared ahead at the wall where a window-shaped silhouette had formed on the wall from what came in through the window. He was suddenly wide awake. Without rolling over, he scoured the bed for his barely used cell phone. He had been staring into its blinding light earlier in the night as he tried to get tired, reading some political article he had come across while scrolling through his even-less-used social media account.
He found it under the blanket, near the edge of the bed, yawning slightly as he lifted it to his face. He had to squint against the light, but when the black on the screen finally morphed into clarity, he saw that it was nearly two in the morning. He cursed to himself, frustrated that he had woken so early because now he was going to be wide awake.
He felt his gaze being drawn subconsciously to the window. Suddenly, the event just prior to his lying in bed came rushing back. He felt his face warm and his pores threaten sweat. He swallowed hard, thinking about the girl’s beautifully curved body. He tried to blink the thoughts away, but they had already latched on like a parasite hooked to his brainstem, intent on controlling his mind.
There was a groan, like wood bending. He looked upward, toward the ceiling. He waited at least a minute, but the sound didn’t return. It was probably just the breeze, a small gust of wind working its way through the cracks in the attic. The house was old and bound to be noisy. That was if the sound had even existed.
He sat up, stretching his arms, and then slid his legs off the bed. He had never been much into gaming, but right then, he wished he had a system, anything to give him something to do. Anything to take his mind off that girl.
He stood and walked toward the center of his bedroom. There was no sense in even denying why he had gotten up from his bed. While he did have to use the bathroom, he knew that wasn’t the main reason. He allowed his head to turn, allowed himself to look out the window in the direction of the girl’s bedroom. It was black inside her window, light from the streetlamps projecting onto the house’s sides, bringing its already yellow tint further to life.
What he did was not a crime, he reasoned. All he had done was look out his window. It wasn’t his fault she was standing there naked in front of her own window. Where else was he supposed to look?
Then why did he feel this strange, guilt-like fear in the back of his skull, like a small horde of ants crawling around, whispering the truth to each other, that he had invaded this girl’s privacy?
He turned from the window and went to the door. He had to relocate his thoughts, and the annoying pressure in his abdomen seemed like a good place to start. He started down the hall, feeling the cold of the wooden floor against the bottoms of his feet. There was a chill in the air, and he wondered how cold it must have been outside despite how far they still were from winter.
The switch clicked, bathing the bathroom in bright white light. He released a deep breath, leaned back his head, and listened to the water trickle into the toilet, relief washing over him with each drop. It was cold in there as well, even though the only window into that room was small and closed. Perhaps it was the insulation. The house was old, and he wasn’t sure when the heating was last updated. But heat shouldn’t have been a problem quite yet anyway, given the time of the year.
He flipped the switch as he walked back out, bringing the hall to darkness. He passed closed doors on his way back to his bedroom. Back in bed, he stared up at the ceiling. Maybe if he counted imaginary sheep he would fall back to sleep. Or going downstairs and watching television was always a valid option.
Directly above Toby, the floor groaned. The sound was soft, but he happened to be staring straight at where the sound seemed to stem from. An epiphany came. Maybe that was where the cold air was getting in, the attic. There was probably little to no insulation between the ceiling of his bedroom and the floor of the attic. He wasn’t sure if there was anything for that matter, with what little knowledge he had about house construction. And this wasn’t the first time he heard sounds coming from the attic.
The wooden groan came again, only this time louder, with a different weight behind it, not like wind at all. The first thing his mind imagined was a person standing there, right over his head, staring out the window that he somehow remembered was there. He didn’t have to wait long before another groan came, this one in nearly the same location but not quiet this time, as if whatever was moving had shifted a foot or so to the side.
He considered the possibilities. Perhaps his uncle Robbie was up there. Before going to bed, his father had briefly mentioned how he and Robbie had talked an
d Robbie would be staying with them for a little while. But Robbie had chosen the small room next to Trevor’s bedroom, or that’s what he had thought. Toby hadn’t really stuck around to discuss it, eager to get to bed and get a new day rolling. Maybe Robbie had seen how big the attic was and chose that room instead.
He recalled then that just above him was also where the little room was, the attic being split nearly in half, into two separate areas. The idea of Robbie taking the attic seemed more realistic the longer he let the thought float around in his head. The room above him could be Robbie’s bedroom while the rest of the attic could function as a sort of entertainment area. It could be like having your own little apartment up there.
The idea was appealing to him. If only the attic didn’t creep him out for some strange reason. The groan came again, only this time, it continued for a few seconds before tapering awake.
There was a loud thud. Toby jerked up, leaping from the bed straight for his feet. His heart was pounding, his breaths heavy and loud. What the hell was that?
He thought he could hear a whimper, like someone crying, but it was too far off to tell if it was real or just some trick of the breeze. He was a little scared but also curious and a little annoyed if it was Robbie being loud up there in the middle of the night, watching videos on his phone or something. Toby hadn’t been sleeping, but it was the principal of the matter.
He decided he would go check out the room that was supposed to have been Robbie’s. He cracked his door quietly, a small part of him concerned that what was upstairs was actually an intruder and he didn’t want to tip it off that someone in the house was awake.
He inched his way down the hall much slower than he had on his way to the bathroom. As he passed by his parents’ room on the left, he considered waking his dad but changed his mind when he remembered how exhausted his dad had seemed the day before. And if this attic thing turned out to be nothing, his dad would be pissed. He would have to brave this one out himself.
A Place So Wicked Page 7