"You mean… they were down there? The whole time?" I croaked out. I just could not wrap my head around the fact that a family had been living under my house. "So, we don't have ghosts?" I asked, my eyes darting from my mother's disgusted face to my father's.
My father swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded slowly. "The police said it looked like they had been living there for years," I rocked back and forth on my heels as he spoke. Years? That's just crazy!
After a few moments of silence I summoned up the courage to say something bold. "I wanna see it. I want to see where they lived," I planted my hands firmly on my hips to show that I meant business, that I was not taking no for an answer.
"Jessie, no! It's dirty down there," My mother's hands flitted through the air. She can be such a germ phobic.
I shot her a look then turned to dad for help. I knew he was thinking over things when his eyebrows bunched together. It looked like a caterpillar was taking a nap on his face. "I think she'll be fine, dear. Jessie always did like dirty." My parents had a telepathic battle for a few moments until my mother broke.
"Fine, fine! But tonight you are taking double showers," She muttered as she flitted off to her room. I did a quick happy dance just before my father led me to the basement.
The place was huge! Bigger than the actual house above it. But, it was dark and dusty, I nearly coughed out a lung. "Clean much?" I mumbled to no one. I wandered around the enormous room, picking up random objects.
Minutes later I could tell dad was getting antsy, he was shifting around looking nervous. "Just go. I'll be fine," I said in an irritated tone. He looked at me pointedly just before booking it upstairs.
Next I shuffled in to what looked like a bedroom. It held a small bed, table, and bookcase; all of which looked like they were made out of sticks. The blankets looked like they were made of different patches of fabric sewn together. My fingers lazily caressed the blanket, it felt smooth.
While caressing the blanket I heard what sounded like foot steps. I practically jumped out of my skin. "W-who's there?" I asked, praying that I got no reply. No one did, which didn't put my jumbled nerves to ease. I stepped out into the hallway and repeated my question. This time I was not so lucky, not only did I heard foot steps but I heard voices.
"If there is someone down here, please come out. You are scaring me." This time there was a bang down the hall. My feet began walking toward it on their own accord.
You know what you are? You are that person in the scary movie who hears a noise and thinks "Oh? What is that? I know there is a killer running around but I just gotta know what that noise was! I have the common sense of a squirrel!" My internal monologue droned.
I hugged the wall once I entered the room. "Hello," I squeaked to a small boy leaning against the opposite wall. The boy waved and took a step towards me. I giggled nervously while he came closer. The boy gently took my hand and smiled. This was really freaking me out. He could kill me.
"Come." He stated, tugging on my arm. Reluctantly I followed him as he lead me over to the wall he was previously perched on. "Here," The boy handed me an apple. "Eat," He raised his hand to his mouth and bit the air.
"No, thank you." I pushed the apple at him but he refused. "I don't want it."
"Eat!"
"Fine!" I mutter angrily and bit the stupid apple. Suddenly I felt tired. "Whoa. What's in this thing?" The little boy patted my arm and smiled. Why is he smiling so much? The next thing I knew I was out like a light.
I groaned as I was forced into consciousness by constant poking. "Stop touching me!" I screeched, sitting up in bed. Why was my dad being so annoying? Poking me! I rubbed my eyes until they opened and I screamed. This was not my room, and I was not being poked by my dad.