Chapter Eleven

When Michael woke up the next morning it took him a moment to get oriented. Miss Elizabeth was in bed with him, still sleeping next to him. That had never happened before. Even if she was there when he went to sleep, she was never there when he woke up. She would leave after he fell asleep.

Usually she was up and making breakfast before he even woke up. The smell of her cooking was usually what woke him up in the first place. The fact that she was still deeply asleep just proved that what had happened the day before had worn her out. It was mostly his fault. She wouldn't have had to wake up in the middle of the night if he hadn't walked right out of the house and into the night.

Michael didn't get up right away. He thought about everything that had happened – his gramma, the fire, sleepwalking, his dad – and fought against the sadness in his chest. His gramma was gone forever as was the home he'd grown up in – or whatever it was he'd done, considering he'd grown up overnight. Gramma hadn't been like Elizabeth, and it confused him to think that he maybe preferred Elizabeth, but he hadn't wished her dead either. Whatever it was that had caused him to choke her in the middle of the night – the same thing that had caused the fire - had wished her harm, but he – Michael – had never wanted to hurt her.

They were two separate entities – himself and the thing inside him. He knew that now. Just from listening to what Elizabeth said, to how she explained it, Michael knew that what he wanted and what it wanted were two very different things.

He was lucky that whatever it was hadn't hurt Miss Elizabeth the night before because he hadn't been in control of anything. He hadn't been lying when he'd said that he'd fallen asleep in his room only to wake up in the living room of the Murder House. He didn't remember getting up or leaving the house or walking to the other one. Once he had become aware of where he was, he just started looking around. He'd been born there and Gramma had lived there at some point, and his parents had as well, so he had been curious.

He hadn't known the room he'd picked to go through had once belonged to his dad. Should he even call him that anymore? Tate obviously wanted nothing to do with him. He didn't know why his dad hated him so much. Michael had never done anything to him. He was glad Elizabeth had gotten to him when she had – she was always there.

He hadn't known her for very long, he knew that, but he felt better with her than he ever had with Gramma. He felt almost disloyal thinking that, but he didn't know what else to think because it was true. Besides, it was nice knowing she actually wanted him there, that he wasn't some problem she had to deal with. She even went out of her way to make sure he was okay and comfortable and happy. She made it clear that he could come to her with things, be open with her without fear of rejection or judgment. She accepted him.

Michael took a deep breath. A small but genuine smile pulled at his lips. Not everything was good at the moment, but he had someone who cared about him, truly cared about him, maybe for the first time in his life, and it made him realize that he didn't have to let the sadness take over. He'd been learning how to make the voices in his head take a backseat to Miss Elizabeth's voice. It wasn't hard to do because he knew she cared about him, and he cared about her too. He wanted her safe and happy as much as she seemed to want him safe and happy

Michael continued to lie there until his bladder decided it was time for him to get up. Elizabeth was stirring by that time, but her eyes remained closed. She would soon be awake, though, so Michael decided he would make breakfast that morning. He couldn't do much more than toast, cereal, and fruit, but it was still breakfast.

When Elizabeth walked into the kitchen to find that Michael was in the middle of cutting up some fruit for a fruit salad she stopped in the doorway and just watched for a few seconds. He was still in his pajamas – so was she, actually – and he was so focused on his job that he didn't look up as she came in.

He seemed able to use the knife efficiently and hadn't hurt himself at all, so she let him continue.

"Good morning, or afternoon . . . whatever."

She continued over to the counter, where Michael was cutting up the fruit – strawberries, bananas, kiwi; grapes and blueberries were to the side since they didn't have to be cut – and leaned against it.

"Look at you, becoming a master chef," she teased.

Michael's movements faltered for just a few seconds as he ducked his head. His mouth scrunched up as if he were trying to hide a smile and his cheeks reddened as blood rushed to his face.

"I woke up before you did," he said. "You always make breakfast." He looked up then, eyes seeking approval. "It's okay, right?"

He was doing something nice for her, so of course it was okay. The fact that he had to ask, though, was just further proof that he hadn't had any normal type of upbringing.

"I think it's great, Michael. It's going to be delicious."

He didn't try to hide his smile this time. That was good. His smile was bright when he meant it – it was a reminder that he wasn't the same person as the man she'd met the night before, because she definitely hadn't forgotten Langdon at all.

She touched his back, rubbed back and forth a few times, and then went to the fridge to get the milk carton. She poured both of them a glass each and put the milk back.

"Thank you for doing this," she said. "I don't usually sleep so late, but . . . last night was a weird night."

Michael agreed. "We have a lot of those."

"Yeah. We do. But it's okay."

After breakfast, Elizabeth left Michael on the couch to play a video game while she went for her jog. The fruit salad had been great, something light, so she hadn't had to wait long for it to settle. She had to work again that day, another four-hour shift, and she knew Michael would want to go with her. It wasn't just because he didn't want to leave her side for long, though that was the main thing, but he also enjoyed getting out of the house. Though to be fair, she didn't know if he'd want to go anywhere if she wasn't with him.

She spent most of her jog thinking about ways she could slowly get Michael used to socialization – if not him actually participating in it, him being out in it. He'd enjoyed going to the batting cage the day before, so maybe sports related things would help. She'd also never really taken him out to eat at an actual restaurant, so that was something she could try as well.

There were other things she needed to do, too, like start teaching him things. Michael had mentioned that Constance had always been on him about his grammar, so she'd obviously tried teaching him some things. Elizabeth just wasn't sure how far he was in his education. She'd never really thought about it until just then.

As she was returning from her jog, the same way she always had, she noticed a car parked in front of the Murder House, two women standing outside of it. It made her pause for a second, because she didn't know who they were. She didn't want to be that nosy neighbor person, but she also wanted to make sure they didn't go in the house.

"Hey, you guys aren't thinking of moving in there, are you?" she called out, and they turned to her.

Both of them had dark hair. Their faces were open even though what Elizabeth had done could've been considered rude by some.

"We're waiting for a realtor, actually, so we can go in."

"Oh. Did the realtor tell you the history of the house?"

"You mean that everyone who buys the house dies? We've heard the stories. But that's all they are, right?"

"Not so much. I don't know the whole history of the house, but I know at least three of the stories are true. You should really do some research before you say yes."

The women didn't look much older than Elizabeth was, but this couldn't be a starter house for them – who would buy such a big house for just two people? Maybe they had other people coming? They'd just been sent to check the house out. Whatever. They couldn't buy the house. Even if Langdon hadn't been using it as a place to stay, there were other dangers inside.

She knew there was nothing else she could do about the situation so she continued on with her jog, praying to whoever or whatever was listening that they would listen to her.

That night, Michael agreed to watch the first Harry Potter movie since they had finished the book. They had picked up burgers and fries on the way home from Miss Elizabeth's work, so she didn't have to cook. They went straight to watching the movie.

Michael enjoyed it even though they took out one of his favorite characters – Peeves the poltergeist, he was always causing trouble – and some of his favorite parts.

They were done eating long before the movie was over, but once it was Michael was able to convince Miss Elizabeth to play a round of Mario Kart with him. He'd never seen her become so frustrated with anything before. She'd told him before that she wasn't great at video games. She hadn't been lying. She was actually terrible at them. It made him laugh harder than he remembered ever laughing.

"That's okay, Miss Elizabeth. You can't be good at everything."

"I would be okay, if I could just stay on the track," she said. "And maybe learn how to drift properly."

After the round was over, Michael taught her how to put the safety on her car so that she wouldn't fall off the track. It helped only a little. She still didn't know how to drift, but she was able to come in fifth now instead of close to last place.

"Okay, that wasn't too bad," she admitted. "Thank goodness I'm a better driver in real life."

That night, around eight, Elizabeth got a call from her mom – her mom was pretty much the only one that called her. Her dad wasn't the best at communicating with her or her sister, and her sister was angry that she'd moved away, so they weren't speaking at the moment.

To be honest, her mother had never communicated much with her before she'd moved, so to have her calling once in a while was new, even if it was to just check in with her for three minutes.

After the normal "I hate that you moved an hour away and that you're alone," stuff her mom always gave her, her mom said, "Do you at least like it there?"

"Uh . . . I guess. It's definitely interesting. I never have a chance to be bored, at least."

Her mother, the doctor, said, "I hope you're not doing too much, running around doing whatever it is you do."

"I deliver groceries to people, Mom. It's not hard. I promise. It's mostly for people who can't do it themselves or are rich enough not to have to."

"Still, you always have taken on more than you should."

Her mom was probably referring to the fact that she'd practically helped raise Tara, her sister, from the moment she was actually able to help take care of her. Once Elizabeth had been at a responsible enough age, both her mom and her dad had thought that meant they could leave her and Tara alone for longer periods of time.

She did not, however, say any of this.

"So . . . Thanksgiving is next week," her mother said.

"Okay . . ."

Her family had never really celebrated anything. Not Thanksgiving, not Christmas, not Easter. They'd always treated it like any other day. No big dinners, no family get togethers. Elizabeth didn't understand why her mother was bringing it up.

"Do you have plans?"

"Not especially. I'll probably just stay home."

"Or you could come visit."

"Why would I do that? It's an hour away, and you and dad are probably not going to be home anyway."

"Tara misses you."

"Tara won't even talk to me."

"Maybe she could come stay with you over her break – or for Christmas."

"I can't. I . . . I have a roommate now, and I don't have any place for her."

She felt terrible for saying that because the guest room had actually originally been intended for her sister's use if she were to visit, but now that the room belonged to Michael, she couldn't just let her sister come and take it from him, no matter how short a period a time it would be for.

Plus, all the weird things that had been happening to her and to Michael – she didn't want her sister around that.

"The thing is –"

"Here we go," she muttered.

"The thing is," her mother said firmly, "that your father and I would like to take a vacation around Christmas time."

"And you don't want to take her with you," Elizabeth seethed. "You do realize that you're her mother, not me. You should be responsible for her."

She had never had a problem with taking care of her sister – she'd even enjoyed it sometimes – but the fact was that she had moved because her sister was old enough to take care of herself now, and Elizabeth wanted to go to a school near where she was now living. Even if she hadn't actually moved into a house, the school was far enough away from her parents' house that she wouldn't have been able to stay there anyway.

Her mother went on about how Tara would love to visit her, and couldn't Elizabeth just share a bed with her sister, or even let Tara sleep on the couch. They did not end on a happy note with each other.

Elizabeth was pretty sure she wouldn't be hearing from her mom for a while.

Michael didn't know if he liked Elizabeth's mother. Every time her mother called, Miss Elizabeth became sad and serious, and it took her a while to smile again. That night she'd even looked a little angry – but it was a righteous type of anger. All he knew was that it involved Tara, Miss Elizabeth's sister. He didn't know much about Tara, just that she was a few years younger than Elizabeth. Well, he knew what she looked like because of the pictures Miss Elizabeth had on the walls, but they'd never really talked about her.

So, of course that was what they did that night, because that was when they always seemed to have discussions. He was the one to bring up Tara, mostly because of what he'd heard about there not being room for her because he was there. He was glad that Miss Elizabeth seemed intent on keeping him there even though her sister wanted to come visit, but . . . Tara was her sister. She was family. He would understand if she needed the room back for a while.

When he explained that, Miss Elizabeth told him about the trip her parents wanted to take and they just wanted to drop Tara off on her like they'd always done.

"Besides . . . I don't know if it's safe here, what with everything that's been going on."

That much was true, and Michael wasn't only thinking about himself. They still didn't know whether that thing – whatever it had been – was gone for good.

"Mom mentioned Thanksgiving next week. Did you and Constance ever do anything to celebrate?"

"She would cook a lot of food. Enough to have leftovers for days." He'd always gotten the feeling that she only did it because she thought it was expected of her, not because she was actually commemorating anything. He'd still enjoyed all the food.

"My family never celebrated it, but I can maybe make us a little something that day."

"Okay."

Miss Elizabeth didn't stay with him that night. Neither of them was upset. Michael just hoped that he wouldn't sleepwalk again.

Because Elizabeth had gotten up late that day, she didn't go to bed right away. She actually did a little bit of cleaning, mostly dusting. She couldn't believe that she'd gone so long without giving her house a good cleaning, but she understood why. She'd been busy with other things.

After about an hour of cleaning, she relaxed on the couch and began aimlessly flipping through the channels. She settled on an old movie she'd loved growing up called The Goonies. Cleaning must have tired her out, though, because it didn't take her long to doze off right there.

When she woke up, she didn't know how long she'd been asleep, but she did know what woke her up. A shuffling noise was coming from the kitchen. It lasted for a moment or two and then it stopped. It started a short time later. There was a pattern to it that was familiar. It was just like the knocking on her door that one night. It happened three times, stopped, and then three more. Over and over. Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle. Stop. Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle. Stop.

She was almost scared to get up. If it was the same thing, it had tried to hurt her last time.

The shuffling changed quickly to banging, though there was no pattern to that, and she knew what it was instantly. The cabinets were being opened and slammed shut. It was almost like whatever this was was calling her out, challenging her specifically – like it had done last time. She really had no choice, not if she wanted it gone. She had to face it.

She got up and went to the kitchen, and sure enough the cabinets were being opened and closed. She could feel the evil – only in the kitchen, though, because it hadn't been in the living room with her.

"This is still my house," she said. That was her main thought, much like it had been the last time. "You're still not welcome here if you're going to do stuff like this."

A plate launched itself out of one of the cabinets and shattered on the floor. Another one came out right after, only this one came straight at her head. If she hadn't ducked, it would have hit her. It hit the wall instead, exploding behind her.

This thing was angry at her for having won last time, and it didn't seem to be willing to give up as easily now.

The lights began flickering like they had the first time she'd faced this thing. That didn't even faze her. It was just the lights. The fact that this thing had actually thrown something at her head was what bothered her the most. It only did it once, but it was still making things come out of the cabinets.

In the biggest show of power yet, every plate and bowl she had seemed to come out of their respective place only to fall to the floor and shatter. She knew that whatever it was wanted to scare her, but it was just making her angry. This was her stuff, her belongings, and it was destroying them.

"What's happening?" That was Michael, of course. He'd obviously been woken up because of the noise and was now coming down the hallway.

And just like that everything stopped. It was as if nothing had ever happened – if not for the damage done, Elizabeth would've thought maybe she'd imagined it. It was completely quiet. She could tell they were not alone, though, because she could still feel the presence of whatever it had been. The lights were staying on, all the cabinets were closed, but the air was still oppressive.

Michael stopped at the doorway of the kitchen and his eyes widened when he took in the mess. His eyes snapped to her and she realized he was checking her over, making sure she hadn't been hurt. It almost made her want to cry because she knew that she was a priority to him.

It was at that particular moment a growling noise filled the room. If ever asked, Elizabeth would swear up and down that whatever this was didn't like that Michael cared about her at all, and it was realizing just how much he'd come to depend on her. A shadow even began to appear on the wall opposite them. All Elizabeth could see were horns and wings – they were almost bat-like.

That was when she began to feel real fear. This thing . . . there was nothing human about it . . . and she could tell that she had been wrong. It had never been about her, had never really been after her. It was after Michael. It had only been tormenting her because she was standing in the way. Michael had never had anybody to help him keep the darkness at bay before, but she was doing that for him, and so she was a threat to whatever this was that wanted him.

Was it a demon? Was it the devil? She didn't know, but there was definitely something spiritual and supernatural going on. It didn't change anything, though, because Michael was still Michael, and she was still going to help him.

The shadow moved – Elizabeth noticed that Michael wasn't looking at it, so she assumed he couldn't see it – and took flight. It came right at her and hit her as a mass of hot, fetid air. It was so strong that it knocked her back into the wall – she was grateful it was there, because if it hadn't been, she would've fallen to the ground.

"What's that smell?" Michael asked.

He hadn't come to her, but he looked like he wanted to – all the broken glass was keeping him from her. Michael was right, though. That thing had left behind a terrible smell – rotten eggs, or sulfur - and she was drenched in it because it had gone through her. She was surprised she didn't have any lingering effects from that – though she did have a headache now, but that could just be from being knocked into the wall.

"Michael, I need you to just stay right there, okay? I don't want you to get hurt."

He was still barefoot from getting up from bed, but she still had her shoes on from earlier. She didn't want him cutting himself. She ended up sweeping the entranceway clean so he could at least get in and to the table. But that was as far as she got because everything hit her then – what had happened and how she felt about it, mostly anger but a little bit of fear as well – and she basically collapsed onto her behind on the floor. She had angry tears filling her eyes.

"Miss Elizabeth?" He was kneeling beside her.

"I just cleaned!" she exclaimed. "It's like it waited to do this. I just cleaned, and everything is a mess again! And all my dishes are smashed!"

She hadn't meant to yell. She really hadn't. And she regretted it instantly because it made Michael flinch as if she'd scared him. Tears filled his eyes as well, and she knew he was probably thinking that she was angry at him because he was who she'd directed the words at.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"It's not – it's not your fault," she said. She took a deep breath to calm down before speaking again. "I shouldn't have yelled at you. I'm sorry. I just . . . I did just clean. That's what I was doing before I fell asleep on the couch."

Cautiously, almost timidly even, he said, "Y-you never raise your voice."

"I try not to. Yelling doesn't help anything, not really. Some people say it's a release, but I just feel bad for scaring you."

"I don't like loud noises, especially if I'm not expecting it."

She rubbed her face with her hands and allowed Michael to help her up. She took in the mess underneath the cabinets and shook her head.

"I don't even feel like doing this right now. It can wait."

She was just about to put the broom to rest against the wall when she felt Michael's hand on her back. She looked at him and she saw a small grin on his face.

"Let me help."

"We should just go to bed. The mess will be there in the morning."

He shook his head and then gestured to the floor. She humored him and looked. Within seconds, all the shattered pieces were floating in the air, stacked as they had been on the floor. She understood what was happening almost right away. He was using his powers. All he had to do was get the pieces to the trashcan, which he did. The lid opened on its own and then that was that. The mess was cleaned up off the floor, ready to be taken out when the trash truck next ran.

A smile broke out on her face. She would still have to sweep across the floor to make sure there weren't any slivers of plate left over, but the mess was gone!

"Okay, that was so much better than having to pick all that up on my own!" She hugged him quickly, noticing that he seemed to be happy too. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

A big weight seemed to have lifted and she knew it had everything to do with her mood change. The air, the atmosphere itself had lightened.

She ran the broom over the floor just to be safe, but then she put the broom back and again relaxed in front of the TV for a bit, only this time Michael watched it with her. They only stayed up long enough for the adrenaline from the encounter in the kitchen to fade and then they both went to bed, each in their own room.

There were no more disturbances that night.