author's note: I was interested in imitating the american gothic style so why not make this about curly anyways i am currently dying because the kids I babysat were sick. this was like very minimal editing hope it doesn't suck ass
"HUh-" Curly woke up with a start. He wrestled with the tangled sheets before he finally broke free. The summer breeze blew through the windows raising the goosebumps on his arms and back. Curly quickly slipped on the first shirt he spotted on the floor. He sat at the edge of his bed and paused for a second. Something felt off. He strained to hear any other sign of life in their home.
Then it hit him. It was completely quiet.
The sun was setting already so Angela should be home. Tim hates when she doesn't come back after dark especially since this side of town wasn't exactly known for the upstanding gentlemen roaming the streets after dusk.
The sky was a dark blue as the faint streaks of red slowly began to fade away the breeze was chillier now that the sun was gone. Curly spaced out as the blood red streaks across the sky looked like it was painted on and he thought Pony would probably like the colors. The rattling from the broken mosquito screen broke his trance and prompted Curly to get up.
"ANGELA!" Curly called out struggling to find socks in the dark before his eyes slowly adjusted to the soft light from the moon. No answer. Curly took a deep breath. "ANGELA!" he called out one more time. This time louder than the first. Still no answer.
Giving up Curly found his way to the bathroom, still sleepy, to wash his face. His hand flew up to turn the light switch on, a motion he had done many times it has become reflexive. Every time the light has faithfully lit up as one would expect a lightbulb to do. But the bathroom remained dark, the only light source coming from the moon herself. Confused Curly turned the switch off and back on. Nothing.
What the hell is happening today he thought to himself.
He flicked the switch up and down a couple times. The idea was for the light to turn on if Curly continued to mess with the switch. The light flickered to life, and Curly sighed with relief. The bulb shed a dim yellow glow as it flickered back and forth, tethering on the edge of burning out and burning out.
He reached out and turned the faucet on, the familiar rattle of the pipes before the first drops of water found their way through. Tim insisted on being the handyman. Curly winced. He quickly pulled his hand back the sensitive pain receptors in his hands alerting him of the fact that the water was too hot for his face. Adjusting the temperature, Curly cupped his hands beneath the stream of water and washed his face. The water alternated between too hot or cold and the feeling of water rushing through his hands became a weird sensation, alerting every nerve in his hands. Feeling newly awakened but unsettled, he looked up at his own reflection.
The mirror itself was slightly blackened with aged. It showed the battle scars of belonging to a teenage boy.
The scar on his forehead was glaring and prominent in the dim lighting. His own image distorted by the blackened edges of the mirror and the shadows drew attention to Curly's prominent cheekbones.
The hairs on his neck stood up and a shiver snaked down his spine when he heard the rattling of the broken window screen once again. Curly cursed under his breath. Of course, there was no such thing as ghosts, but right now he was skeptical. He closed the window tugged the latched to ensure this time it was secure.
Softly he walked down the hall to the stairs. His eyes slowly adjusted to the dark after the sun had fully set. Still, the stairs seemed to disappear into a dark abyss.
The worn staircase creaked under Curly's weight as he carefully stepped down trying to avoid the loudest parts of the aged wood. He let out a sigh of relief he didn't realize he was holding in until he reached the end of the stars.
Too dark to see, Curly felt around the wall for a light switch. That's when a soft and light touch that brushed against his calf sent Curly sprinting down the hall to the living room. He panted from the rush of fear awakening every nerve n his body. His heart beat erratically. The sound of blood rushing to his head left him dizzy.
The sound of the door slamming shut startled Curly. He jumped behind Tim's favorite armchair. Crouched and ready for anything.
"Hey dumbass what are you doing behind the chair?" the familiar sound of Angela's voice filled the room. Curly peeked over. In her arms, the stray tabby cat that roamed their neighborhood. Its yellow eyes glanced at him with a knowing smirk. It purred contentedly in Angela's arms. God, I fucking hate cats he thought.
"Uhh nothing I dropped something?" he tried to pretend to look around for anything.
"Don't tell me you were scared to be alone" Angela smirked her voice full of incredulity and let the cat go. "Just wait till I tell Tim"