Day 1
There had always been only one red house on Pine Street for as long as Arthur could remember. It sat directly across the street from his address and stared back at him through the window.
Every other house on Pine Street was painted either an eggshell white or custard yellow, all houses two stories tall and in perfect Victorian architecture. It was like the houses on Pine Street were cloned, but then again, who really cared? Pine Street only housed particularly wealthy individuals. They all had wonderful, clean-cut lawns with paid gardeners, shiny and expensive cars, and perfectly straight and sturdy fences for the pickier neighbors. That was probably what made the red house on Pine Street stand out.
It was the red blemish in a sea of eggshell and custard. Its lawn was not kempt by gardeners, but by every owner who lived in the house. Therefore, the lawn always looked different every time a new owner purchased the slightly cheaper house than the others on Pine Street. It had no fence or fancy cars, and it was a small looking house of only one floor and old American architecture. Perhaps that was why the people who bought the red house were always watched skeptically by fellow Pine Streeters. Yes, that must've been what stood out about the red house…
Oh wait, no, that wasn't it. The red house was infamous for all of the above, but its main imperfection was that whoever owned the house died of mysterious causes or killed themselves.
Arthur Kirkland had been living across the red house on Pine Street since his parents had moved there from England when he was four. In the span of twelve years, he had seen eleven deaths in that house.
The first owner, a single man, got asbestos poisoning and died. The problem had been fixed immediately after, nobody thinking anything more of the unfortunate tragedy.
The old lady drowned in the bathtub.
Father of two went crazy from a brain tumor and shot his family before taking his own life.
Lonely woman hung herself in the back bedroom.
Four children discovered symptoms of cancer within the year of living there.
In the span of twelve years, eleven people had been given a death sentence from that house. It was no wonder why the red house was a realtor's worst nightmare. The house had been vacant for nearly a year before a new family decided to purchase it.
Arthur stared out his living room window as a family was unloading a moving truck with all their worldly belongings. He watched blandly with the same sense of anticipation in his chest.
The red house on Pine Street had a new owner.
He watched the toe head family unload box after box, the father mainly handing their son the boxes to move inside. Arthur heard about the Jones family when they'd bought the house. Mainly because his mother told him that Alfred was most likely going to go to his school. A shiver ran up his spine as the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. No way did he want to be anywhere near someone who lived ther–
"Oh, are those the new neighbors?" Arthur's mom cut through his thoughts as she leaned over him and pulled back her lace curtains to observe the move-in. "Look at those tablecloths," she mulled lightly to herself as Mrs. Jones handed a stack of tablecloths to her son. Mrs. Kirkland bit at her nail with a small bout of envy. "Arthur, honey, why don't you go down there and lend them a hand?"
Arthur jumped, eyes wild as they sought out sanity in his mother's eyes. She frowned lightly. "Don't look at me like that, Arthur. Be a helpful neighbor. Do you want them to feel unwelcomed?"
"Why don't you help them?" he asked, trying to keep his voice still and tremor free. He didn't need his mother to know he never wanted to go farther than the sidewalk to that house. She paused, looking away slightly, feeling the same as he did most likely.
"I'm already baking them cookies."
"I'll do that–"
"You know that's impossible." She patted caringly at her son's hair, not even bothered by the angry glare Arthur was giving her at a crack about his cooking. "Go on. Wouldn't you wish to be assisted when arriving to a new residence? Hurry now, I won't listen to another word."
Arthur pursed his lips and nodded at his mother, letting her shoo him out of the house. He kept a smooth stride, wanting to at least make a good impression with new neighbors, as he strolled down their large porch and down the small stairway. It was about halfway across the street when Mr. Jones looked up and noticed the refined looking boy dressed in black khakis and a sweater vest.
He grinned and Arthur almost went blind from such a bright smile. "It's a neighbor– Margret, a neighbor!" he waved enthusiastically for his wife to join him. She let go of the end of the table she was holding much to Alfred's chagrin as he grunted and dropped the thing altogether. Margret Jones smoothed down her dress and made sure all of her hair was in place before she walked over to her husband who was shaking Arthur's hand.
"Glad to finally meet someone. For a moment I thought we'd moved into a ghost town," he joked, releasing Arthur's hand and fixing his collar. Arthur put on a smile he was accustomed to when greeting adults and nodded.
"Sorry for the delay. My mother is trying her hardest to finish up the baked goods she has prepared for a house warming gift, but baking can only go so fast," he said, motioning back towards his house where his mother jumped out of view from her spot at the window.
"Frank Jones," Mr. Jones announced before allowing his wife to shake Arthur's hand. "This is my wife Margret."
"Arthur. It's a pleasure," he said politely. "Do you need any help getting accustomed to the neighborhood? Or perhaps…" he drifted off when hearing the clatter behind Mr. and Mrs. Jones. Both blondes turned to see Alfred with his fingers in his mouth, whining about the stupid table nearly breaking them. The cheerful looks slid off the Jones' faces.
"Alfred!" Mr. Jones warned lowly, so not to make a commotion with the new neighbors. Alfred looked up with a frown, glancing behind his parents at the stuffy looking boy beside them. Mr. Jones made a motion with his hand to order Alfred over. The teen sighed overdramatically and moved across their small lawn to stand before Arthur.
"Who's the short, nerdy kid?" he asked.
Arthur fumed while Mrs. Jones looked about ready to faint. Mr. Jones pulled his lips into a tight line before placing a bruising grip on Alfred's shoulder, guiding him to get a better look at Arthur. "Alfred, son, this is one of our neighbors, Arthur. He was just being so kind as to ask if we needed any help moving in. Why don't you say hello?"
Despite the smile on his dad's face, Alfred's father didn't look pleased in the slightest. Alfred raised his eyebrows, looking down his nose at the shorter boy. He grabbed onto Arthur's hand quickly before letting it go. Was that even a handshake? "Nice to meet you. Hey mom, where do you want that table?" he asked, looking up at his mom who was fanning her face with her hand, a nervous smile resting on her lips.
"Why, in the kitchen, Alfred dear," she said, never losing eye contact with Arthur. He was a bit uneasy about the look she was giving him.
"I'll assist as well," he volunteered, no longer wishing to be in the presence of Alfred's parents. Mr. Jones smiled at him and watched Arthur follow after Alfred, looking somewhat nervous and distrusting of his son to make a good impression.
Arthur walked over the walking stones in the grass to get to the other end of the table, glancing wearily up at the red house looming above him. He really wished he could cook. Arthur didn't want to be anywhere near this house, let alone inside it. Alfred whistled, loud and quick, gaining Arthur's attention.
"Don't drop it. You can hold half a table, right?"
Arthur scowled, tossing his chin up in the air. "Of course I can."
Alfred grinned and gripped his side. "Good, because it's a long walk to the kitchen."
Arthur stumbled a moment as Alfred began a fast pace up the two steps onto his dinky porch and in through the doorway. "W-wait, wait a moment! You're moving too fast!" Arthur complained, fingers getting pinched against the flimsy wood. His feet stuttered as he dropped his end, Alfred being taken by surprise and yelping, dropping his end a second later.
"Dude!" he complained, holding up very red hands. "Don't just drop it out of the blue like that!"
"Well what would you have me do?" Arthur breathed, pulling up his sleeve. "You certainly weren't going to listen to me and slow down. Just give me a moment," he said, flexing his fingers. He winced at the splinters digging under the pads of his fingers, wondering how old this table was if it would splinter so easily.
Alfred watched with a sense of impatience as Arthur shook his hands, ridding the stinging in them as quick as possible. Green eyes glanced up at the sound of Alfred tapping his foot impatiently against the hardwood floor. "Are you ready now?"
Trying not to lose his temper to the boy he knew he would avoid at any cost after this experience, Arthur gripped the underside of his end of the table and nodded. "Don't be so rash this time," he muttered. Alfred either didn't hear him or didn't care, because in the blink of an eye they were both barreling down the hallway and into the kitchen, Arthur straining to keep his end up off the ground.
"Don't run!" he protested, the table releasing from his grip and scuffing the tiles.
Alfred propped his end down quickly and blew a breath from his lips, wiping his forehead of any beads of sweat. He sent a cheeky smile towards Arthur before using his hands to hop up onto the green countertop. "You surprised me there. You're pretty fast for a small guy."
"I am not that small!" Arthur barked. So much for good, long-lasting impressions. He ran a hand through his hair and bit the inside of his cheek, his surroundings finally kicking in. He was in the house. The house scarred with so many terrible blemishes that took hold of its owners without mercy. He felt suffocated, the need for air clogging his tightening throat.
He didn't mind Alfred's curious gaze as he strolled across the empty kitchen and opened the window above the sink. "Much better," he sighed, feeling a little more at ease.
Alfred blinked with a cheeky smile. "Just that walk got you pooped enough to need a breeze?" He shook his head and took a swig from his water bottle that was rested on the bare countertop. "Don't people on this street exercise? You gotta get out more."
With a seething look that could boil water, Arthur regarded Alfred's carefree demeanor with a sense of disdain. Never in his life had he seen someone who wore jeans faded from too many games of sports and a t-shirt live on this side of town. He was actually surprised to even see a boy like Alfred on this side of town. How the devil could he afford an estate on Pine Street?
Arthur tapped his finger against the counter, question heavy on his tongue. Alfred beat him to the punch with a laugh.
"You're wondering how we bought this house, huh?"
Arthur felt his face heat up in a bout of mortification before he shook his head with a frown. Alfred grinned, dimples poking dents in his tanned cheeks. "Yuh-huh. I see it on your face. I've seen it on a dozen people's faces when we bought this place."
"… I simply am just curious," Arthur reluctantly admitted. "You just look so…"
"Middle class?"
Arthur sighed. "I was going to say exuberant and outdoorsy."
"I don't know what that word means."
Arthur wanted to leave at the honest look shining in Alfred's eyes. Perhaps he should have said simpleton instead. Alfred kicked his feet over the side of the counter and gulped more of his water down. "To be honest, my folks don't have the money to pay for a place up here. We are actually paying this place off in increments. Ha! Even the crappiest house on the block is too expensive for my folks." Alfred hummed into the top of the bottle, playful eyes watching an uncomfortable looking Arthur hold his gaze.
"But they want to mingle with rich people and be all frumpy and act high and mighty to everyone on the poor side of town. Gotta make a good impression on you rich people or something. It's pretty stupid if you ask me. I don't care about this stuff, and by the look on your face, I probably shot their dreams clear out of the water!" he laughed, pointing at Arthur's sour expression.
"Aren't there other furniture pieces your parents wish to bring inside?" Arthur asked, changing the subject. He didn't wish nor care to hear about Alfred's personal life, and he also didn't want to be in this intimidating house any longer than he'd have to.
Alfred hopped down from the counter and took a last drink from his water. "Yeah, yeah. Some doilies and couches with plastic on the cushions." He rolled his eyes. Before he capped his water, he held it out to Arthur who looked at it like it was an alien from outer space. "Oh, my bad. You want some? We don't exactly have beverages yet, what with no fridge and stuff."
Arthur pushed it back, declining as politely as he could with a grimace. "No thank you. I had something earlier before coming over." You probably backwash, he thought with disgust.
Alfred shrugged, placing the bottle on the table. "Suit yourself. Come on. We gotta move the couch next. Don't worry, though. I'll carry most of the weight. Wouldn't want your stick arms to break off," he teased, patting Arthur rather hard on the back making the Briton nearly fall over.
Arthur scowled deeply at Alfred's retreating back, not taking a liking to this boy. Not one bit.
As the afternoon progressed, Arthur found himself wanting the house to run its course and just murder him while he was inside. He had only been in contact with the Jones family for two hours, and yet he abhorred them with a passion. When he wasn't nagged at by Mr. and Mrs. Jones trying to impress him with how well-off and refined they were, he was stuck moving furniture with Alfred the human chatter box.
Nothing that came out of Alfred's mouth was intelligent. He could swear that the boy had tourettes or something. And when Alfred wouldn't shut up, he made insulting comments to Arthur without even realizing they were insulting. He teased his eyebrows, his haircut, the way he dressed, how he walked when carrying something–
For God's sake, he was doing him a favor by helping his family move in! Did he have to be so daft and rude about it?
By the end of the second hour, Arthur wasn't sure who he'd rather fare with: Alfred's parents obsessed with trying to appear wealthy, but at the same time clingy, or Alfred, the boy whose voice was nearly making his ears bleed. Arthur had been silent the whole time, hoping that if he grit his teeth hard enough, he wouldn't say anything he'd regret.
Ten minutes later and that was impossible.
"And she had the nerve to spit on me. Me. I know," Alfred tapped at his head with a furrowed brow, sitting on the edge of his newly placed mattress. Arthur tried to make himself have a hemorrhage and black out as he hung a very cheesy and fake looking family picture of Alfred and his parents by the closet. "You call a girl chubby once and they freak out on you. She called me fat a million times before so I didn't see the big deal."
"And what did you do next?" Arthur asked flatly, no interest whatsoever in this conversation. He was too busy finding out the many different ways he was going to get back at his mother for making him do this. The silent treatment sounded lovely. Hell, any silence sounded lovely–
Alfred shrugged. "I gave her her birthday present and left. She keyed my car later and broke up with me. What a jerk."
"Hmm. Charming story." After hanging the last picture, Arthur turned with bored eyes and regarded Alfred with apathy. "That's the last of them. If you don't mind, I think I'll be heading home now. Father should be home any minute. Have a lovely…" he glanced around the room, not really sure what he was going to say about a death house. "Yes, well, good luck with the move."
As Arthur shifted to leave, Alfred sat up with a beaming smile. "Yeah, I'll see ya later, Arthur. It's cool to finally have a neighbor to hang with."
Arthur's foot froze in midair. "Pardon?" he asked, joints rigid as he turned to look at Alfred skeptically.
"You know, since we got along so well today. I have a feeling we'll be seeing a lot more of each other," Alfred said, shaping his hands like guns and pretending to shoot at Arthur with a wink. The Briton felt the lid loosening from his bottled up anger all afternoon. An afternoon was all he could take with Alfred.
"I don't think that's going to work out. You must have misunderstood this get-together. We're only neighbors, not chums," Arthur explained. He made to leave again. "Good day."
"Aw, quit joking," Alfred laughed, waving his hand in dismissal. Arthur frowned, glancing up nervously above him as he stood under the door's arch. His mind flashed to the woman who hung herself in this room. He could even see the scratch marks of her nails against the wood. He gulped.
"I'm perfectly serious." As Alfred's smile never wavered, Arthur clenched his fists. "I don't like you," he blurted stiffly making Alfred blink curiously. "I don't like your voice. I don't like your stupid little stories you tell. I don't even like your sense of style. I don't like you, Alfred Jones. And quite frankly, I don't feel the need to keep this humoring façade up like I care about your opinion since you won't be here for very long."
Alfred tilted his head in confusion, standing up, confused. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Arthur gave on last curt look over his shoulder before he was overwhelmed to the brink of Alfred's presence and his ghastly house. "You're going to die."
With that, Arthur briskly made his way out of the house, across the street, and back into the safety of his own house. He didn't even care if his mother kept asking about what the house across the street looked like. He was just happy to get away from Alfred and that crimson colored death sentence of his.
Day 4
When Arthur's doorbell rang three nights later, he thought nothing of it as he peered around the corner of his living room to where his mother was going to answer the large slab of wood. He did not, however, expect to see the Jones family standing there in overly formal clothing and holding a bowl of salad. His jaw nearly hit the floor.
"Hello, hello! It's nice to finally meet you in person. I hope the move wasn't too rough on you. Come in," Mrs. Kirkland greeted politely as she gestured the family inside. Mrs. Jones gave Alfred's back a quick shove when the disinterested teenager refused to budge. He stumbled forward before grumbling something under his breath, pulling at his bowtie with annoyance.
Mr. and Mrs. Jones looked around the house, amazed, as if never seeing something so large. Mrs. Jones's smile pulled up her face as her eyes twinkled at the woman across from her. "Frank, isn't that wonderful? She has an accent– I love your accent, by the way. It's so exotic and tasteful," she praised.
Mrs. Kirkland offered a somewhat awkward but genuine smile. "Thank you. I'm Elise," she greeted. "My husband Thomas should be home any minute now and then we can have dinner. I realize you already know my son Arthur. Arthur," Mrs. Kirkland called, glancing back into the living room too quickly before Arthur could hide. She motioned for him to come.
He sighed and set his book down, straightening as he entered the entranceway. Arthur refused to make eye contact with Alfred as the boy looked up, a small spark of interest seeping into his bored eyes.
"He's a very helpful boy. We can't thank you enough for helping with our boxes and such," Mrs. Jones smiled. Arthur returned the smile.
"It was no trouble at all."
Arthur heard Alfred snort and looked up immediately with a frown. "Do you find something funny?" he asked calmly, watching as Alfred tried to keep his lips down and shook his head. Behind him his father tightened his jaw and his mother wore a nervous smile, eyes looking everywhere but at her son.
"I'm sorry. We haven't met." Mrs. Kirkland offered her hand to Alfred with a refreshing smile. He hesitated before shaking it with a cheerful lull in his voice.
"The name's Alfred, ma'am. Nice to meet ya. Arthur told me a lot about you."
Arthur looked equally as surprised as his mother who glanced down at her son before blushing slightly. "Is that so?" she muttered, letting a genuine smile rest against her lipstick painted lips. She clasped Alfred's hand in her own and patted it gently. "Well then I hope that means he only had wonderful things to say," she joked.
Alfred grinned. "Of course. Who could say something bad about a lady as pretty as you?"
To say that Arthur was annoyed with the way Alfred managed to captivate his mother would've been an understatement. But he continued to look polite, not seeming displeased in the slightest as he kept up his charade. Kiss ass, just like your parents there.
"What a charming son you have," Mrs. Kirkland said, letting go of Alfred's hand to look at Margret and Frank who seemed relieved with their son's reaction. "Come with me and we can put that in the kitchen. We'd be happy to hear about the move while we wait for my husband," she instructed, taking the salad from Mrs. Jones and led the two blondes into the kitchen, chatting animatedly.
Arthur watched until his mother and the Jones left his sight, nothing but the distant words being spoken in the other room reaching his ears.
Sit and listen to the neighbors? Yes, that was exactly how he wanted to spend his night.
Arthur sighed and rubbed the back of his neck before movement beside him caught his attention. He looked over to see Alfred pulling at his bowtie with annoyance, smile fallen from his face.
"They sure seem excited."
Arthur turned away and shut his eyes. "My mother is just happy to greet the new families that move in on the block."
Alfred snorted again, Arthur turning to look at the grinning boy with an unamused frown. "Not like she has a choice. I saw this comin' from a mile away. My folks just sunk their claws into the first family that acknowledged them here. If you hadn't come over then it would probably be some other poor fool havin' us over tonight."
"I wish you told me that sooner," Arthur grumbled under his breath.
"What?"
"Ah- I said, we should really get in there. It's rude to make them wait," Arthur said blandly, pushing away from the wall and moving to enter the kitchen.
"Hey, I got a question for you."
Arthur stopped in his tracks, shoulders tensing as the tone shifted in Alfred's voice. That, and his horrid use of the English language. With pursed lips the Briton shifted to look at the taller boy regarding him with not necessarily a sense of irritation, but that of someone curious with an undertone of amusement.
He already knew what Alfred was most likely going to talk about.
"I'm sorry for the way I reacted earlier," Arthur said, beating Alfred to the point. "It was uncalled for and by no means acceptable. I wish for us to be…" he paused, furrowing his brow as he struggled for the right words. "good neighbors?" Eh. Close enough.
Alfred blinked before running a hand through his hair and messing it up from its gelled prison. Arthur raised his eyebrow at the lone cowlick standing persistently tall. The American laughed. "Don't sweat it, dude. I totally forgot about that. I just figured you were on your man period or something."
Arthur frowned. "There's no such thing as–"
"What I was gonna ask you was something else," admitted Alfred, unbuttoning his cuffs and rolling his sleeves up in a messy manner that no doubt his parents wouldn't be thrilled with. Arthur waited as Alfred's eyes twinkled strangely behind his glasses. "What was up with all the dying talk?"
Ah. That.
Arthur felt his stomach squirming in discomfort as he glanced away, ashamed. He had forgotten about that part. Though it would soon be the truth, Arthur felt a little guilty about saying it. And with the way Alfred was looking at him like that – who looked like that? No one ever looked at Arthur like that before – Arthur couldn't help but feel uncomfortable.
He averted his gaze with another frown, pivoting his feet and walking into the kitchen. "Your parents will be angry if you take too long."
Arthur didn't even bother to catch Alfred's expression as he left him alone in his entranceway.
Throughout dinner the Jones family wouldn't shut their mouths. Alfred's parents talked incessantly about the hard move into the neighborhood, always managing to slip in little bits about their "positively elegant lifestyle" and how fantastic it was to "dine with sophisticated people." When Alfred's parents weren't talking, Alfred was, but it was much worse, for he directed all of his conversation at his mother.
The boy ate like a starved hyena, but managed to tell Arthur's mother how excited he was to attend school with her son and get to know him better because he "didn't know anyone in town."
Arthur grit his teeth and poked around the food on his plate, hoping to God above that nobody saw the annoyance bubbling beneath the surface. No doubt after this his mother was going to make him show Alfred around and 'make friends.' As if he wanted to have dinner with him let alone be his friend.
Well, it wasn't like he would be around Alfred for very long. The boy did live in the red house on Pine Street…
"Thank you for the wonderful evening. I hope we can do it again some time soon!" Mrs. Jones giggled, looking absolutely enthralled with the idea. Mrs. Kirkland smiled politely as she held open the door for the Jones family.
"Of course. We would love it."
Arthur cringed beside his mother and father. No, he would not. He had to do this again with these people? He didn't know how he'd manage.
"Perhaps we could have tea at our house next time," Mr. Jones stated, trying to be inviting. Arthur glanced quickly up to his mom who faltered for a brief moment before smiling wider.
"Perhaps. You have a good night now."
"You too. Take care."
The Jones turned away and started walking down the porch back to their house when Alfred turned and waved. "See you in school, Arthur!"
Arthur couldn't hide his blatant horror at the statement before his mother managed to shut the front door all of the way. His dad pulled back the curtain a little to see the three people walk up to their own door and begin to head inside of their house. He blew a small breath through his nose before turning away and heading for his study.
"A shame is what it is," he muttered.
Arthur's mother locked the door and gave her husband's back a lingering stare. "They seem very nice," she said, steering the topic away from the depressing thoughts in the air. Arthur looked up at her and sighed deeply, rubbing at his face before he left to find his book.
"Wonderful people."
Arthur's mother followed after him and started to straighten the room. "And that Alfred boy seems like a charming lad."
The Briton huffed and plopped into his seat, rolling his eyes as he found his page. "Yes, it's like we were separated from birth," he mocked. She stared at Arthur a long while before puckering her lips.
"You know you're going to have to help him make friends."
The book went down. "Mum, Alfred's perfectly capable of doing that on his–"
"Say what you will, Arthur, but I won't be taking no for an answer. It's a shame what that boy has to go through. The least we could do is offer them some support," she reasoned with a frown. Arthur struggled to find the words to placate his mother but stopped himself with an annoyed groan.
If he didn't live across the street in that house then there would be no way his mother would make him spend time with Alfred. Stupid cursed house.
"He's very… loud," Arthur sulked.
"He's enthusiastic," Mrs. Kirkland quipped with a smile.
Arthur shook his head and buried his face in his book with a scowl. "No, he's moved way beyond that. I just don't see why I must show him around. Everybody knows that he won't live on this street for very long."
The room became silent as Mrs. Kirkland gazed at a blank spot on the sofa for a long moment where a pillow was placed. She seemed to be in thought before her eyebrows knitted together ever so slightly with a depressing air around her. Arthur couldn't manage to feel angry when she looked at him like that. Like she had lived across from that house and seen too many people depart this world. She never liked when new neighbors moved in there.
"Please, just be nice, won't you, Arthur?"
And it was with that request that Arthur couldn't argue.
He would be Alfred's temporary friend. His temporary friend until he suffered the same fate as the rest before him.
It was just a waiting game now, and Arthur had all the time in the world.