The sad little house looks haunted. I'm guessing at one point it was once the pristine matching yellow of all the other houses, but nobody has touched up the paint in years. Alex wasn't kidding about no one being allowed inside since the 70's.
The front porch is covered in dust and leaves and old books. I take one step up the stairs, and the wood creaks like an angry bullfrog. I turn around and find Ben standing about ten feet away. "Are you coming in with me?"
He squints up at the house. "I'd really rather not."
I'm suddenly terrified about what I'm about to see. "I'm not going to find my corpse in here, right? Because I don't think I can handle that right now."
"No," he answers quietly. "You died . . . elsewhere."
How reassuring. I gather my courage and push open the front door.
The first thing that hits me is the smell. It smells like an ancient musty basement if it had been inhabited by wet dogs. Dust and animal fur swirls up and around like a snowstorm. I cough it out of my lungs.
I try to turn on the lights, but the switch does nothing. The layout of the house looks identical to Ben's, although it's hard to tell in the darkness.
The sofa in the living room has been slashed by what looks like claws, and the stuffing is pouring out like fluffy white blood. My bookshelves have been knocked over, books strewn all over the floor. I reach down to pick one up. Its entitled Watership Down.
The kitchen is an absolute mess. All of the cupboards are open and the contents inside have been flung about everywhere. Piles of flour and cereal litter the walkway and crunch under my foot.
The hallway is covered in shards of broken glass from picture frames that were knocked off the wall. The only surviving picture still hanging up is of me and a group of young children posing under a tree. I squint in the darkness and can just barely make out that I'm wearing one of those ridiculously ugly Dharma uniforms. But even under the uniform I can tell that I have, in fact, lost weight, and I look happy. I squint harder and see a little apple symbol stitched onto the upper front pocket. Apple. Apple? Teacher.
I was a teacher.
I'm going to be a teacher.
The spare bedroom is covered in bunched blankets, like little makeshift burrows. I'm guessing this is where my animals slept. In fact, I'm willing to bet my life on it, considering there's a skeleton of a small animal laying on one of the piles. I pull the door shut.
My bedroom is the cleanest in the house. Nothing has been trashed or knocked over. The only troubling thing in the entire room is a message that looks like it was written in blood.
Painted across the wall over my bed in a crusty dark rust color, are the words: DO NOT TRUST YOURSELF
What does that mean? Did I write that? And if I didn't, who did? Does it mean I shouldn't trust myself now, or that I shouldn't trust my future self?
I make my way around the bedroom, looking through the closet, under the bed, and in each and every drawer. In the closet I find an array of interesting clothing—long black evening gowns, short colorful jumpers, and an eccentric pair of printed pants. Under the bed I find a shoebox filled with odd little trinkets. There's a small wooden figurine of a polar bear, like the one Jacob was carving, a bunny made of felt, a stick of charcoal, and a red tube of what looks like dried up face paint. In the drawer I find random photographs of the island and snippets of paper with half-thoughts on them like: EVERYTHING CHANGES and GIVE BOSCO HIS TREATS
In the bottom drawer, hidden under a piece of paper that reads: YOU DON'T HAVE A NAME is a fluffy white cape. I pull out the furry cloak but immediately drop it when it unfurls. The cloak is made of animal fur. I went insane, skinned something, and wore its body as a cape.
This is seriously creepy, and I want to go home.
As I'm leaving my room, something catches my eye. Carved into the wall over the doorway, in perfectly elegant script, are the elvish words: Befriend the Birds
Elvish. Of course it's in elvish. A little known fact that I've kept from my friends is that I had nothing better to do growing up than learn Sindarin. My summers were full of loneliness and Tolkien. What can I say?
But if I took the time to carve this over my door, it must mean this is something I wanted myself to see in the here and now. Something important enough to look at every night when I go to sleep and every morning when I wake up.
Looks like I have a lot of befriending to do.
Ben is sitting on the bottom of the porch steps when I stumble out of the house. For a second I think he's talking to himself, but then I notice Todd sitting at attention in front of him. The two both turn their attention to me and fall silent.
"No, please," I say, motioning towards them, "don't let me interrupt. Continue."
"Did you find anything of interest?" Ben asks.
Did I find anything of interest? He's kidding, right? "I'm going to sleep. It's been a long day, and I've reached my max capacity for weirdness." I stomp down the stairs and head back towards Ben's house on autopilot. I'm so tired my eyes can barely stay open. Todd is at my side. "What were you two talking about just now?" I ask him.
"We were just—" Ben tries to answer.
"I didn't ask you," I interrupt.
Todd sounds amused. "My, my. Someone is in a foul mood today."
"Todd, I just looked into my future and saw blood, dead animals, and mental instability, so forgive me if I seem testy. Now, are you going to answer my question, or should I bid you goodnight?"
"Gracious me, my sweet little Cora has turned sour."
"What is he saying?" Ben asks.
"Humans," Todd sighs. "Always so paranoid. Cora, you can tell your sweetling that I'm not going to renege on my duties."
I just want to sleep. I'm so tired and cranky that I can't even enjoy Todd's playful banter. "Are you two best friends for life, or something? I'm so sick of secrets I could vomit. Would somebody please just be honest for once? I might actually be of use if you'd tell me what's going on."
"I know I joke a lot about Benjamin's intentions, but on a serious note I can say with absolute certainty that you can trust him. He might possibly be the only human on this island you can truly trust. And, of course, there's me." Todd trots in front of me and spins around, stopping abruptly. "Remember, Cora, we're on your side. Of that much, at least, I do not jest." And with that he scampers off into the night.
I start to feel bad halfway home. "I'm sorry I slapped you," I apologize.
"I suppose I deserved it. I'm not doing a very good job of carrying out your orders."
I can't help but smile. "If you were trying to get me to lose weight, why were you offering me cookies?"
"Like I said, I'm not doing a very good job of carrying out your orders."
"Can you promise me something?" I ask seriously. "I obviously made you swear an oath of silence, so I'm going to go ahead and trust my future self. I won't bug you anymore about my future, but only if you promise me one thing."
"Alright."
"Do not lie to me," I say. "You can lie and manipulate and do whatever it is you do to everyone on this stupid island, but you will not lie to me. Understand?"
Ben stares me down with an inquisitive look in his eyes, then he gives the slightest of nods.
I don't even know if I believe him, but I guess it was worth a shot.
I finish changing the sheets on the couch and call, "Ben?"
"Yes?"
"Could you please take that painting of me down? It makes me uncomfortable, and it's difficult to fall asleep with my face staring back at me in the dark."
Ben unhooks the painting from the wall and tucks it away behind a bookshelf out of sight. I can still see the faint handprint I left on his cheek, and I fill with so much more than shame. He has been nothing but kind to me, and in return I've been violent and rude, judging his actions before knowing why he made them. I let my emotions take control of my better judgment, and I hurt him in the process.
I don't enjoy hurting people. In fact, I can't really think of anything I enjoy less. It makes me feel like scum to know I've inflicted pain—be it physical or emotional—upon another human being. That was how my father operated, and I want nothing to do with that man.
What affects me the most was the way Ben responded to my outburst. We both come from abusive households, and now that my fury has subsided, I realize that when I slapped him, he reacted the way I would have if I had been slapped. He immediately shrunk away from me, wanting so badly to voice an angry opinion but not being able to for one reason or another. Everything about his demeanor regressed into that of a chastised child, and it was my fault.
Thinking about my recent behavior brings a lump to my throat. I realize in horror that I am seconds away from crying.
"Is there anything else you need?"
I startle at his sudden question and blink rapidly in a losing fight to stop my overemotional response. "No," I say, my voice cracking. I pray he doesn't notice, but it's a worthless prayer. Ben notices everything.
Ben takes a seat beside me on the couch. "Why are you upset?"
I could tell him the truth. I could explain how we're the same. I could let him know all about my upbringing and why I am the way that I am, and why it's useless to ask me questions like "why are you upset?" because it's never one thing. It's a million things.
"I'm sorry I slapped you," I whisper, because I no longer trust myself to speak.
"You already apologized, and I've already forgiven you." To his credit, he doesn't try to comfort me by touching me, and for that I am thankful. "Although, I must admit, I was unprepared for such a powerful backhand."
I snort, and the painful lump in my throat finally dissolves into laughter.
"Do you need anything else?" he asks, and the kindness in his voice throws me off. I'm not used to people being nice to me even when they don't have a reason to hate me. People usually brush me off or use me as an easy bully target, so when people are nice to me, I can't help but be suspicious, which usually ends in me being perceived as a bitch.
"I'm fine, thank you."
Ben nods and pushes up from the couch. "Then I'll see you in the morning."
"Goodnight."
"Goodnight, Cora."
Pumba sleeps soundly at my side. He ate his dinner without hassle, but he still hasn't spoken a word. He sleeps peacefully while I obsess over the shadows.
The feeling of dread has returned. Darkness seeps into the house and consumes everything in its wake. My skin absorbs it. My lungs breathe it in. It is everywhere and I cannot escape it. It's crushing me, and I can't handle it. I can't handle it. I can't handle it! I squeeze my eyes shut tight and imagine myself back home, in my own room.
I open my eyes and the figure standing over me slowly comes into focus.
It's my father.
"There you are," he says, grinning.