xxx
1.
xxx
It's become something of a ritual since they've both moved out so far away from home. With Matthew attending the local University, and Alfred working what he can to pay for rent and his own lifestyle, the Jones twins make it a point to enjoy breakfast together at a favorite diner for the both of them every Friday morning. Even if they had seen or spoken to each other the day before, without fail, Matthew will pick Alfred up from his apartment and away they would go.
This week, after their meal and on their way back to Alfred's place, they had both spotted a large sign on the corner of an intersection announcing an estate sale. With Matthew's classes and Alfred's next shift not starting for another couple of hours, they both agreed to check it out and see if there would be anything worth buying.
It's been entertaining, at least.
"What d'you think? Can I pull it off?"
Matthew turns away from the stack of books piled high on the shelves above the bookcase with a paper reading 'SOLD' taped to the front. What he sees is his brother in front of the opened closet wearing a jacket that is clearly too small for him if the way he struggles to move his arms about is anything to go by.
"David Banner," Matthew deadpans, "I just slashed your tires."
All at once, Alfred drops his arms and rolls his eyes.
"You're a fucking idiot," he says and struggles out of the jacket.
"Says the Strong Man wrestling with two yards of denim."
"I need a new jacket."
"And that's fine and all, but how 'bout lookin' somewhere where the size options are something other than a kid's small?"
"It says it's a large."
Matthew only laughs. His attention goes back to the books and starts picking the ones he wants.
"Anyway, isn't it kinda weird or something?" he asks.
"Why would it be weird?"
"'Cause, y'know, wearing a dead kid's clothes and all that."
"Not dead," Alfred corrects and hangs the jacket back up. He starts to go through the clothes once more, the small clinking of wire hangers accompany his words. "Just missing."
"Missing since '95, that kid's dead."
"Jesus fucking Christ, Matt, what did the Internet do to you?"
Matthew rolls his eyes this time. "Ditch your friends once to spend a Saturday on-line and everyone thinks you're an Internet junkie."
"I don't know, man, I mean, every time I try to call I get a busy signal. Something's tying up your phone."
"Maybe I got a girlfriend."
Alfred laughs.
"Oh, fuck off."
Alfred only laughs harder, right up until he gives up his search through the leftovers still hanging inside the closet. "All of this stuff reminds me of what we used to wear in middle school."
"Again, kid went missing in '95. At least that's what the chick managing the cash box said."
"And here you are pillaging through his stuff."
"You're the one that wanted to wear his clo- oh, hey. Come check this out."
Alfred comes to his brother's side in only a few short steps. What Matthew holds in his hand is a single photo that shows the simple image of an older man, an older woman, and a young boy somewhere between the age of thirteen or fourteen with a mess of dark blond hair and large blue eyes. The entire family is wearing matching red sweaters with a large green Christmas tree on the front of each one. They all show the same shy smile and at the bottom in white scripted font reads: Merry Christmas from The Galante Family, 1994.
"Where'd you find this?" Alfred asks.
"It was in one of the books. I was just flipping through the pages and it fell out."
"Hmm..."
Neither twin is able to word what goes through their mind at the moment. Even so, they both think the same thing. 1994, one year before the disappearance of the young teen in front of them when they themselves must have been no older than twelve. How odd, to think that they were living so carelessly and happily in the days of their own youth when this boy had either run away or had been taken, kidnapped, maybe even murdered. While they sat down to family dinners and celebrated birthdays and holidays, how often did his parents stay up on sleepless nights and wonder about their missing son?
"What d'you think happened to him?" Alfred asks.
"I don't know," says Matthew. He carefully places the photo back on the shelf near some figurines and small knick-knacks. "I don't wanna take that with me. Doesn't feel right."
"But you'll take his books."
"Hey, these aren't personal," Matthew says as he loads up his arms with his choices. "This is just like going to a used bookstore."
"Whatever you say, bro."
Alfred is just about ready to leave the room. They had already gone through the rest of the house, had already fought with the crows fathered picking through the remains of a familial home that has some six years after a tragedy. They way he figures, they're just about done here, they should just go back to the front of the house and buy the books Matthew wants.
He chances a look back at the photo, morbid curiosity he supposes. When he does, something else catches his eye. It's a little big, which is probably the reason he noticed it. A plump and curvaceous wooden knick-knack painted to look like a person with very pale hair, some lovely shaped eyes colored purple, and a small smile. A scarf is painted around its neck, it falls down the length of a tan coat and is only separated by a line cut through the middle.
Alfred picks it up and immediately pulls it apart. What he finds is another doll, a girl this time with long pale hair, wearing a ribbon, and a fierce looking scowl.
"How cool!" he says. "A little creepy, but still pretty cool."
He elbows his brother as they both leave the room.
"What does mom call these things?" he asks. "Babushkas or something?"
"I think they're just called nesting dolls, but yeah. Yeah, she would call them that."
"I'm gonna get it for her. Easy Christmas shopping."
Matthew shakes his head. "Can't believe you're the favorite."
"I know, right? I'm just naturally awesome or something."
"That's the part where you're supposed to deny it."
"Why deny the truth?"
"Dear Lord, give me strength. You ready to go?"
"Yeah, let's get out of here."
They navigate their way back to the front door easily. Most of the people coming to the sale are in the backyard or dining room, looking through the left over pickings. The master bedroom and office having already been cleared, the only room left untouched had been the boy's room. And for understandable reasons, not many had gone there. They both pay without much trouble and are sitting Matthew's car in no time at all.
"Where am I dropping you off?" he asks.
"My place, I guess," says Alfred. He takes a quick glance at his watch and notices that it's close to his shift. "I gotta get my bike soon, unless you feel like picking me up from work after class?"
"My last class gets out at nine today."
"Wanna hang around the place for an extra hour after closing?"
"Can't say I want to."
"You're such a dick."
After Matthew leaves him in front of his apartment complex, Alfred makes his way to his own tiny home. It takes him all of ten minutes, and even less time to set down the stack of dolls he's bough on the nearest surface and take up his bike. There's no time to further inspect the rest of the dolls that must be inside, having to get himself to work will take a little longer and he really should leave now.
He's back out the door, and goes on with his day.
By the time he comes back home, it's late into the night. He's exhausted and ready to sleep, but doesn't have the strength to make it to his bed. Instead, he falls onto the sofa near the front door, barely able to toe off his shoes. He falls asleep in seconds.
Though it's more of a cat nap, because only some two hours later, Alfred stirs back awake. The VCR above his television blinks 12:00 and is no use to him as far as figuring out how late it is. He's never been able to figure out how to program the damn thing and frankly doesn't care enough to ever. If anything, it at least gives off a little light that shows the safe way to his bedroom, which is where he figures he should actually be if he wants any real rest. So with that in mind, he sits up and rubs at his eyes from beneath his glasses.
Even with the small glow of light the room is still too dark, and he is still too groggy, so he isn't able to notice how each of the nesting dolls has been removed from the inside of the largest one, and each one stands separate from one another in a neat circle on the coffee table in front of him.
He gets up from the sofa, stumbles around the living room with heavy footsteps and finally makes it to his bedroom door. He doesn't hear the soft sobs at first. It isn't until he swings the door open, they crying grows louder, and he blinks through blurred vision and smudged glasses to see the slight figure of a young teen with messy dark blond hair sitting on the edge of his bed.
He's huddled into himself, his arms covered in a loose jacket and wrapped around his torso as if he was comforting himself as his back stutters in a rise and fall with each small cry. Eventually, the figure looks up at Alfred, large watery blue eyes stare at him as fat teardrops roll down his cheeks.
"I want to go home," he cries. "I want to see my mom and dad. I wanna go home!"
The whole time, Alfred is rooted to the spot. He doesn't even start until a piercing wail follows his words. He ends up slamming the door shut, breathing heavily to the beat of his pounding heart, and can honestly say that he has never been more terrified in all of his life.
Because that was a ghost, right? That was definitely a ghost, how could it have been anything other, he's seen the movies, read everything about them when he went through his Blair Witch phase, that was definitely a ghost!
He slowly backs away from the door, walks backwards until there's some small space in between it and him. It feels like it takes forever and an age for him to calm down, and at least another few for him to realize that there is no longer any crying. Everything is quiet.
Despite his instinct to keep away, Alfred approaches the door again. His hand is paused on the door knob and he holds his breath as he swings it open once more.
The room is dim, the bed a mess. Clothes are everywhere and there's a waste basket overflowing with trash. But it is empty, there is no one else there.
The breath he's held comes out in one big relieved sigh and he sags against the door frame. There is nothing here. There is nothing here. There is nothing... here.
So what was that? Was he still half-dreaming? It was a busy day and he'd been exhausted so... like, sleep walking? He'll have to ask Matthew about it later then. It probably had a lot to do with all that talk about the kid missing at the estate sale. Yeah, it even looked a little like him from the picture, it must have just come out of nowhere from his imagination or something. Yeah, that must be it...
He tells himself all of this over and over again. He has to in order to believe it. When he feels he's finally calmed and okay, Alfred closes the door.
He decides to fall back asleep on the couch.
xxx
Disclaimer: It's true, there's room for you.
-i love halloween.
-three part deal, next chapter comes out the 13th.
-stay shiny, stay lovely, thanks for reading. xoxo