Chapter 33: A Stitch Replacement
My stomach lurched upward at the sight of what's on my hand. Training my eyes forward, I found out where I actually smacked my head. On the edge of the table, the red crimson dripping onto the floor. Dizziness came to at an eruption, while I felt the incredible pain from the ripped off stitches.
I sucked in a breath, shutting my eyes, waiting for it to end. I had hit my head twice - one on a mirror, now on the table edge.
"Jeezus, are you okay?" Leo! I almost forgot about him.
"Do I look okay?" I responded, clearing showing him I am in great, severe pain. "It's easy to tell that I'm not okay," I said, giving him a bit of an attitude.
Leo leaned his head back, eyes squinting. "I was asking…" By the tone of his voice, he did not appreciate the way I spoke out my answer. "Here," he offered, holding out a few napkins. "Take these."
Despite the argument we had seconds ago, I accepted them. I placed them carefully where the gash is at, wincing when I pressed it on the spot. "Dammit," I cursed with a seething breath. I saw his mouth open, but I cut him off. "I said a bad word, yes. It isn't your business." I know I am all snappy, except I couldn't help it. I mean, would you be happy when you smashed the same spot on your head where the stitches are at for them to tear off? I sure wouldn't.
However, he definitely seemed to take to the unlike.
"I was about to ask you where you got your first stitches…" he said, swirling the spoon within the soup.
"I got them here. Before you ask, yes the doctor gave me something so I won't feel it."
"Numbing gel?"
"No, he used a frickin needle, you bitch," I insulted.
His eyes turned from squinting ones to wide ones, his bottom jaw dropping down like a wooden puppet. "Did I hear you correctly? Did you call me a...a bitch?"
My face filled with color, burning. In my life I never said the B word until now. The regret filled on me, facing away from him. Getting up from my seat, my feet shuffled out of the cafe, abandoning my half eaten lunch.
"Wait - Come back!" Ignoring him, I sped up. "Stop!" he hollered, the sound of his shoes behind me.
"Go away!" I turned and yelled, the napkins in my hand pressed on my sore forehead. "You're not making go back to get this restitched."
"It'll get infected," Leo told me, catching up. "Why don't you ask the person - who ever sewed up your forehead up - to use gel. Numbing gel. It doesn't hurt, believe me."
I merely scoffed. "Right…" I made an eye roll with my hazel colored eyes. "I'm going to ask this doctor to put frickin numbing gel which will NEVER HAPPEN!" I shouted out loud. "He doesn't use numbing gel, he uses a needle. It hurt like hell when he gave it to me - from the needle." I shuddered at the memory when it was a couple of days ago when I got my first stitches. "I never wanted to happen all over again…"
Noticing how my mood shifted from anger to worry, he walked past me, using his hand to wave forward, presumably for me to follow him.
I, however, planted my feet on the ground. "Nope."
"Come on, you have to trust me," he replied.
"I just met you. I cannot trust newbies," I told him, the erg to cross my arms. I couldn't all thanks to me for being a fool to slam my head on the table edge on the original cut.
Sighing, Leo came up to me, going to a halt when he was about five inches away from me. We both stared into each other. Then, slowly, he raised his hand. At first, I thought he was going to lay his hand on me, preparing myself to get away with my right foot back.
Turned out I was dead wrong, for he grasped the part from his shirt from upper, lefter side, pulling it aside, and spoke.
"Look."
Confused, I inched my way to him. My eyes grew big at what I saw.
A scar. On his shoulder. How did he…?
"I had an accident when I was ten during summer break," he said as if he knew what I was thinking. "I banged it when I hit a broken fence. I was in agony, crying like a baby," he somewhat admitted. I can tell he was a shame from the way he was speaking. "My parents took me to E.R.," he continued, releasing his shirt, putting it back in place. "I was like you - afraid to get poked with a needle. I should've told you I have a fear of needles growing up next to the fear of talking to people." Afraid of needles…? Do his parents…? "My parents know about my phobia of needles…" With a relieved sigh, I relaxed. "...so they asked the nurse for something else instead of stabbing me. At first I thought the nurse will say no, going with the injection move. God, was I incorrect when she placed some clear, cold cream on my shoulder. It felt like ice trickling my bare skin. It got colder and colder, until I couldn't feel my shoulder anymore. It was like I don't have one. Before I know it, it was sewed together - five threads holding the gash closed." Smiling, he ran his fingers through his hair. "I know you won't believe me. I know. Though, you have to. All you have to do is ask the doctor, the one who fixed you up, to give you numbing gel. In case he doesn't, he might have a numbing gauze to put on you."
Biting my tongue, I played his story multiple times in my head. It wasn't long before I sighed. "Alright, I'll do it," I said, due to the nervousness inside my whole body. "I'll ask him to use something else than a painful, stinging needle."
"Actually, it's the stuff the doctors use within the syringe," he simply corrected.
"Whatever," I returned. "It hurt like a demon down at the hell on earth made out of fricken damn stinger at the end of their ass."
"Can you stop cursing?" he asked uncomfortably, shifting his feet. "Those words make me...uneasy…"
"Dude, are you telling me you never said a swear word in your whole life?" I replied, throwing another question to replace the first one when he told me stop with my trash talking.
Leo gave me a solemn glance. "Yes, I am. I never cursed in my entire life. Actually, I did at one point when I was eight." I raised my brows when he mentioned his age. "I shouldn't let out an F bomb in front of my dad," he regretted, rubbing his arms. "Man, did I get a talking to."
"Wait, wait, wait, hold on," I halted him in case he was about to say more. "Are you saying you let out an F bomb in front of your own father!?" I exclaimed in pure surprise. "Why would you-? How can you-? Did you- I can't words," I gave up.
"I don't know why it came out," he sighed.
"Was it the word 'frick'?" I asked, wanting to know.
He sent me a strange look. "...Huh?" he questioned. "Oh! No, it was a different F word. Similar to the other one you said early."
I couldn't grasp at what he mentioned, guessing it was difficult for him to run his mouth with things that aren't appropriate for those who never want to hear those kind of words.
Admittedly, I started having a potty mouth around when I was at this age when nobody is around until Zach let out a naughty word - hell - when we were sneaking inside his neighbor's house, starting off in the basement when Champ was with us.
Speaking about the basement, why are there bear traps down there? Taking Zach's phrase, who puts bear traps in their basement?
During our escape from the lawn gnomes, I called over my shoulder at the author about the traps. He answered that he was preparing for something. What, exactly, is he preparing for? Is he worried about his daughter enough to by purchasing those things for a bad guy - a robber - to break into his home? Because if he did, then I'm unsurprised unless I ask him about the traps again to have clearer answer due to getting away from those freaky, little, breakable, put back together themselves, figures.
I mean, I'll give him credit for him to use those as a security alarm system. All the burglar needs to do is to step on one of them to get it to snap close, breaking the peaceful night with full screams of agony.
Scratching at the back of my neck, I rethought about asking the person who fixed my injury, hesitating in doing so.
My hesitation turned into assertiveness, preparing myself for something different from him. Though Leo said the doctor will have something else, such as numbing gauze because I do have numbing gel in the sleeping room, knowing I'll have to give it to the nurse on the day I'll be going home, but I had met him, and when meeting new people, it's difficult to legimity trust them. Especially for those who have been going through a rough time in life, refusing to create friendship like I had way before meeting the people who are now my friends. They'll would never betray me, use me, or anything in the book like others did.
"Are you going to go?" My attention shifted to the new boy when he interrupted my thoughts. "I can go with you," he offered generously. I waved my head side to side. "No?" Again, my head went from side to side, repeating it. "Fine by me," he shrugged off. "I'm going to ask the lady at the front desk who's my music therapist; see you later." Waving, Leo trotted to the front of the building, heading his way to where the front desk is at.
Sighing, I started making my way to the room where I got healed when I let out a groan. "Oh no…" Trevor… I can see him walking down the same hall I'm walking on. "Leave me be," I pleaded in a praying way. There's nowhere to hide from this garbage guy who dilerberty bothers me for no apparent reason. I had no choice. I had to wait to see what he does.
And to my surprise, he brushed past me, the sleeve of his arm going across my arm, jerking it away. He glanced at the back, stopping in his tracks.
A creepy grin smeared over his face, twisting his body around, marching to where I was at. "Look who I see…" he announced to nobody.
I clenched my free hand into a tight fist. "Back off…" I warned, my teeth pressing together.
"Why? You scared of me?" he legitimately teased, laughing. "You know, I'm glad Jackson left this place where he won't have to defend you when I'm here." Trevor stepped closer, taking advantage, forcing me to back up at the wall. "I hated how he talked to me. He needed to be gone…" He stopped for a quick second. "What's this?" he wondered, grabbing for the napkins I have with me. I swatted his hand away hard enough to snach it back.
"Don't touch me!" I tried to sound bold, trying to sound like I'm in business. I refuse to show signs of weakness. I pictured him as one of the Goosebumps villains, imagining him as one of the Sadler ghosts from Ghost Beach.
"Aww, did you hurt yourself again?" He burst out laughing, clearly indicating he wasn't feeling bad for the injury I made to myself. "Wait, it's the same spot, is it?" he chortled.
I huffed. "Correct."
"Hahahaha!"
"...it's not funny…"
"Hahahaha!" His laughter went on. "How can you hurt yourself at the same spot? D-Did you hit it against the table at the cafe?" He leaned back, looking like he was about to fall back from the fits of giggles.
Another huff. "You got it…" More laughter. "Trevor, it isn't funny!" I rippled in statement.
He flicked a tear from the corner of his eye. "You right, it isn't funny…" I let out a sigh of relief. "It's hilarious!" My jaw dropped when he proclaimed his own statement. "You're stupid for doing such a stupid thing! What a-"
"Grrr!" A growl ran up my throat, lifting my free hand turned into fist, punching him hard at the pit of his stomach.
"Ohh…!" Groaning, he clutched at where I hit him, clenching his eyes shut. Then they snapped open. "You little piece of…" He grabbed me by the shoulders when all of the sudden, he stepped away from me. "What the…?"
Confused, I examined myself.
I couldn't believe it. I saw a white aura around me, around my entire body. What was going on? Before I can figure it out, an electric shock came at Trevor, hitting him.
"Ow!" he screamed, jumping back, shaking his arm. He glared at me, charging, when another beam smacked him in the chest. "Ow! Stop it, you… Ow!" More beams went at him, forcing him back. "Ugh," he gave up. "Fine, be a jerk." He walked off, rubbing at the areas where the beams had made contact.
The glowing white vanished. Gone. Just like that. Like it never happened at all.
"What happened…?" I murmured, checking myself to make sure it's completely gone. "Why did I…?" I was still confused at what I saw.
Why was I glowing in white when the jerk got a hold of me? It was...strange. People don't glow like a lightbulb. Well, minu Zach's girlfriend when I saw her skin giving off that glowing blue color when he and her dad shoved the Venus fly traps out of the school, shutting them out.
Like how I'm wondering how I sensed the evil dummy in Stine's room, I have to wait and find out later in my life.
Or sooner, I have to add in.
Walking down the hall, I saw something at the corner of my eye. Going to a halt, I whipped my head to the right.
I was startled at first when I saw a girl about my age wearing a blue dress with matching shoes. She has the same color hair as me, except it was long with a butterfly clip holding one side in place. The clip is purple. Her skin looked pale - white. Is she sick? It was hard to tell from the nice smile she was giving off.
But it wasn't her appearance that made me stop, it was her eyes. The right one is hazel like my eye color, while the other one is...sapphire.
From looking at her, I stepped up. "Are you lost?" The girl kept on smiling her nice smile. "Do you need help?" I approach closer. "If you're looking for the cafe, it's down there," I directed with a pointed finger at the opposite way.
Her smile turned into an unknown excitement, clapping her hands together with purple fingernails with a flower design on them.
Raising an eyebrow, I was at a lost as to why she was all bubbly. It's like she knows me… Also, she wasn't talking from how...happy she is.
The girl hopped up and down in place, gleaming with joy. She waved like she was saying bye, skipping away with her hands and arms swinging.
I ran after her. "Wait!" I called out. "Who are you?" I exhaled some air into my lungs, pushing my legs to go faster. "Yo, who are you!?" I called out again. "Stop!" Puffing like a blowfish, I had to stop for myself for how my legs are starting to get tired.
I took breath after breath of air, leaning against one of the walls with my free hand on it. I waited for my legs to stop feeling tired when the girl approached me.
Once my legs aren't tired anymore, I stood straight up, eyeing at her, doing my best to avoid staring at her different colored eyes, wanting to know why she skipped away.
"Let's try this again," I said. "Who are you? Actually, the term would be what's your name?" I waited for her to answer me. "Well? Are you going to tell me your name? Tell me what your name is," I urged.
She came closer to me and, to my puzzling state, she wrapped her arms around me. I may have reacted badly, but this was...different. Usually, I would shove someone off when they have themselves wrapped around my midsection. "Uhh…" I uttered.
Releasing her grip, her interesting eyes shifted to mine. "...It's nice to see you again," she whispered.
"Huh?!"
"It's nice to see you again."
"Again? What do you-" I never got to finish my question. The girl looked over my shoulder, vanishing from who knows where. She didn't run to vanish away, she literally vanished - poof - gone. "What happened…?" I pondered in wonder.
It was then that I felt a tap, jumping out of my skin. "Yah!" A startled cry broke out as I spun around to see Leo who had a worried expression on him. "How come you're staring at me like that?" I asked, recovering from my jump scare.
Instead of him giving me the answer I want to hear, he gave me a question. "Why were you running?"
Should I tell him about the girl I saw? No, I can't. He won't believe me anyway, rejecting what I'll say. "Aren't you supposed to be at music therapy?" I folded the napkins, placing it back on my deep cut.
"Rosy said music therapy starts after lunch," he said, gesturing his head where the cafe is at. "I'm going to go back to finish my food. What about you?"
"I rather have my forehead be fixed first rather than to have red stuff all over my lunch. Besides…" I moved some hair out of my vision. "...it'll be over soon," I stated, flinching at the pain. "I need to get to the room. Please step aside."
He chuckled. "You said it politely; go ahead." Stepping to the side, he let me pass. "I'll be finishing up my food; I don't like to waste it. Is it okay for me to have yours in case you don't make it back in time after you get your new stitches?"
"Sure…" I blinked. "Go on ahead. They might be cold, but...whatever," I shrugged in allowance.
"Thanks." He scurried off with me standing there.
I played with my shirt when the silence fell in the hallway. "He's...strange," was all I can come up with to summon him. Turning, I marched to the room I've been trying to get to, hoping - and praying - for the person to give me something else for my old injury.
Reaching the room finally, I saw the door closed tight. I grasp the doorknob, twisting it, pushing the door opened. I was expecting the doctor to be at lunch when I saw him at his desk, signing some paperwork.
I slowly stepped into the room, adjusting my eyes for how white it is. My nose caught the scent of rubbing alcohol people use for their scraps to clean them out when it has dirt on them, burning my nostrils.
Walking up to him, he glanced from his papers. "Hazel," he smiled, placing his pen down. "What brings you here?" he asked.
Here goes… I removed the napkins slowly off my skin.
It didn't take long for him to leap up from his chair, hurrying over to me. "What happened?" He examined my cut. "It looks like you hurt yourself on the same spot," the doctor noted.
"I did…" My eyes lowered in shame.
"Why?" His voice doesn't sound angry, more calm than any other doctor who would be annoyed when their previous patient comes back with the same injury.
I sighed heavily, putting the napkins back in place. "I...was having an argument about something with my new roommate. I was telling him about the cops who are dumb," I explained. "He doesn't believe me at all, ending me giving up, and well, you know the rest." I glanced at him, hesitating to what I need to say next. "I would like for you to use something else instead of a syringe to numb my cut." Flinching, I prepared myself for his response, my head swaying to the left with closed eyes, squeezing them tighty.
"You want me to use something else to numb up your gash?" He doesn't have anything else, I knew it. "Sure, I can give you something else." My head snapped in its original place, my jaw hanging open.
I stammered. "Y-You will? I was expecting you to say…"
"No?" The doctor chuckled. "I never like using the syringes on my patients bloody injury, it makes me all guilty," he said grinning, straightening up white coat with his name tag pinned at the front on the right side. "Also, I don't want you to punch me again," he added jokingly.
"I almost punched you," I corrected, thinking it wasn't funny, "if Jackson wasn't here to pin my wrists down."
"I know." A frown creased over him. "You didn't seem to like it, though," he said, notifying the last time I came here.
I bit the inside of my mouth, gnawing at my left cheek softly. "Nobody likes to be held down… My god father sometimes holds me down when he hits me; the reason why I hate restraint," I believed, knowing for a fact it was the case of it. "Anyway...I would like you to use numbing gauze," I requested the decision. "Unless you have any, of course," I quickly added.
Smiling, he stepped to one of the cabinets, opening it, the door resting against the other one next to it. Rummaging in there, he pulled out two boxes as he walked back to his previous spot. In those boxes are labeled Numbing Gauze on top and on the side, two different colors. "Would you like to use a pink one…" He held the first one up. "...or the blue ones?" he finished, offering me to options of what color I can use.
To bad he doesn't have any purple. However, I cannot be sure. "Do you have purple?" I shyly asked, the bashfulness lingering around, being slow, preparing myself again for him to say…
"I do have purple." Placing the other boxes on his desk, he went back to the same cabinet. "I hardly ever use purple because it's my favorite color." Pulling out a third box, he grabbed the top, tearing it open. "Heh," he nervously laughed. "I tend to not open these up right." He took one out as he opened up one of the draws in front of him. "Lay down on the table," he instructed, taking out a thing of scotch tape.
Obeying, I climbed onto the table, resting the back of my head on the white pillow. I took the napkins away from me. "So much blood…" I commented.
"Does seeing blood make you feel queasy?" It looks like was ready to grab the small garbage can by the way he's looking at me. "I had a patient - a girl who's two years younger than you - who got sick, vomiting on the floor." He scrunched up his nose. "Even on my shoes… I can't blame her, seeing something like blood makes her nauseous. What about you?" He grabbed the garbage can, holding it out to me.
"Blood doesn't make me feel sick." I threw the rawed napkins away. "Though I did got dizzy from hitting my forehead on the mirror, causing it to break, creating lots of cracks," I admitted, surely enough to confess unlike last time for him to not worry about it.
God, I hate it when people do such a thing - concerned about how I am. It drives me up a wall like a spider with more than eight legs. I always dislike it when people noticed about my...blank expression I always held.
I may seem like a boring person in the whole world…
Keeping still, I heard rips from the scotch tape, moving my hands up and down, squinting at the light on the lamp attached to the cool table. Smart.
Carefully, he set the gauze over my deep cut after cleaning it with some paper towels in a gentle way, fast enough before it had a chance to bleed all over for the fourth time.
"I thought it'll sting," I expected by the time the soft item made contact with my skin, being held in place by the clear tape. "Instead, it feels cold - like ice."
"The colder it gets, the more you won't feel a thing," he stated chuckling. "I'll leave it on ya for an hour. You can lay here and relax for awhile."
"I'll miss music therapy."
"That's okay. You can explain to him why you were late today."
"Okay."
Watching him go back to his desk to some more paperwork, I folded my hands over my stomach, eyeing at the ceiling to avoid the bright light, the gauze taking effect on my injuring, getting colder by each minute.
Then I started thinking about the different eye colored girl I saw at the hallway, the way she gave off the nice smile until she started jumping up and down with joy, leaving me baffled. Baffled enough to wonder why she seemed that way. It was a strange thing to witness, but what baffled me the most is when she hugged me.
Factly, I should've shoved her off me like I usually do. Hell, I could've smacked her somewhere in order to get her to stop.
Except, it felt different. I felt calm; relaxed when she squeezed me. And before you go, "Oh my god, are you-" No, I'm completely straight - heterolsexual. I'm not bi or anything else. It explains why Jackson is my crush, though we hadn't made it official yet to become boyfriend and girlfriend.
Probably once I get out of this building, we can. Anyway, she looked like me, minus the two eye color - hazel and sapphire, her skin a pale white like she was sick.
She doesn't look sick when she was beaming in happiness.
What struck me most is when she said, "It's nice to see you again."
Nice to see you again? What the hell does that even mean? I was asking her what she meant when she literally disappeared.
Could she be a ghost?
The more I think about it, the more I believe she was. If I see her again, I can ask who she is, along with asking if she's a ghost.
Unless she is, though.
Footsteps came over to the table, and the doctor's face appeared. "The hour's up," he announced. Grabbing the end of the scotch tape, he carefully pulled it off my bare skin. By the time the gauze is off, he threw the item away. "You won't feel a thing," he promised, bringing out a small sewing needle, also along with some black string - the stitches.
At first, the thread won't go through the tiny hole. Licking the end of the string, he tried again. He succeeded. He brought the one end to meet the other. When the ends matched up in length, he pressed them together, forming them into a knot.
Brushing my hair out of the way, he smiled. "You won't feel a thing," he repeated his promise.
Normally, I never did this, never had until now. I gave him a thumbs up in return.
Keeping still like a statue in New York City, I let him do his job. And being completely numb, I didn't feel the small needle go through my skin. Though, I know I'll be burning like hell like last time.
At least I got the numbing gel I need to give back when I leave, I thought.
"So how are you liking it here?" the doctor asked, striking up a conversation.
"Do you believe in ghosts?" I blurted out of nowhere, not near answering on answering the question he had given me.
"Ghosts?" he questioned, intrigued. "Yes, as a matter of fact I do. To be honest, I used to be a skeptic until my ten year old daughter asked me to watch one of her favorite shows on the Travel Channel."
"Huh," I responded. "What was one of her favorite shows, Dr…" I glanced at his name tag. "...Harper? Nice name by the way."
He chuckled. "Thanks for the compliment," Dr. Harper thanked. "One of the shows she loves is Ghost Adventures."
"Ghost Adventures?" Unaware of the name, I made my eyes go squinting, showing how much I don't know what he's talking about.
He explained while sewing up my nasty gash. "It's a show about these men who hunt for ghosts -good ones and bad ones - with special devices in order to speak to them. They go to different states to go to the oldest buildings, proving nonbelievers that spirits - another word for ghosts - exist on earth, catching lots of evidence. My daughter's favorite person is none other than Zak Bagans."
"He has the same name as one of my friends back home," I mused.
"How is his name spelled? Because they're different ways to spell the name."
"Z-A-C-H," I specifically spelled out with no hesitation.
"Heh, well the one my ten year old likes is spelled Z-A-K," he told me. "He wrote books. However, she's too young to read them of how adultery they are. They do have - for what I call - potty mouths. Luckily, the curse words are bleeped out so the younger ones won't copy what they say." He adjusted the lamp and continued on with the stitching.
"Does she read Goosebumps books?"
"Actually, she does," Dr. Harper replied in full concentration mode while at the same time doing his duty. "When she was really little, she didn't want to read any book me and my wife will give her. Her response will always be, 'I don't want to read it,' or, 'This book is dumb'," he mimicked his own child's high voice. "Then one day, we went to Barnes And Nobles, walking her around the store to the younger readers section. In the beginning, she refused every book within the aisle until she saw the books you've mentioned. Jenny, my wife, and I watched our little one go up to the shelf, pulling one of them out. I believe it was titled Goosebumps Two Thousand: Cry Of The Cat," he remembered, twisting his lips to the side to see if he was right. "Yeah, Cry Of The Cat. When the book was in her tiny hands, she decided to have the book. Her first book out from all the other ones we try to throw at her. We paid for the book, went home, and she ran onto the couch, flipping the book open, reading the story within the pages."
"How many of them does she have?" I asked. "I have all of them from the old ones to the newer ones."
"She started off with one, until she told her step sister who's a couple years older than her loan her own Goosebumps series collection. They were past down by her parents, so she gave them to my daughter." He beamed at the memory. "She wasn't tired of reading them, they're great books for all ages. Though, my step daughter does indeed read other book series such as Twilight Sagas, Stephen King, Puppy Place, Vet Volunteers, Misty Of Chincoteague, Horse Diaries, The Hunger Games, Harry Potter. In other words, she has lots of different books. I sometimes call 'Bookie', for how many books she has. She has, like, over one hundred different types of books from horror to fantasy."
I whistled. "That's a lot of fictional books."
"You can say that, but Misty Of Chincoteague is a non-fictional book. At least for the first one," he answered.
I frowned. "Aren't books suppose to be fake? For the Goosebumps books, they're considered not real stories."
"Not all books are fictional, Hazel. Misty was a real, wild pony who once lived in Chincoteague, Virginia. I don't know anything about the story, other than the fact that's based in real from a long, long, long time ago - before we even existed. Keep in mind that there are books that are non-fictional. I had read the Exorcist before it was made into a movie, and it's based on a true story. And the book after I was done reading it." He chuckled embarrassingly, like he doesn't want to finish. "Gave me bad dreams - nightmares. The book was too terrifying. I won't tell you the story to avoid spoiling it."
For some odd reason, I gave him a serious response. "Did you threw the book on the wall? My god brother, Travis, will rip a book out of my hands to throw at the wall when I'm in my room," I frowned.
"Heavens, no!" he chortled, shaking his head. "I hid the book in the closet," he chuckled admittedly. "I would never throw a book against the wall; it'll end up being damage." I nodded, his point making sense. I wouldn't throw my book - or any book - against the wall. "I may be a man, but I do get freak out from time to time."
I thought about the last thing he said, about him being scared from time to time. A lot of men believe they should be the brave ones, to show no weakness. They'll affectingly hide their fears, avoiding to show nothing but bravery.
It's plain crap is what I'll say. Women can have courage, too. Guys don't need to be brave all the time. And even though I barely watched TV, I've seen a lot of movies where the girls are always dandrel in distress, where they need saving.
I hate those kind of movies. I don't mind when a guy saves his lady, but they - the boys - need to learn that they don't need to be that way. Champ is a coward - until I was told by Hannah that he saved Taylor from a werewolf, all thanks to her ex who left her.
It's a good thing he became her new boyfriend for the deed he had done. I agree with Hannah, for what her ex did, like abandoning his now ex girlfriend, I'll consider him a coward who ever he is.
I miss Hannah, her friends, my home town. Even Stine, who acted like a father around me. I may not be his daughter, but maybe...maybe he can...adopt me. He's unlike Jeff. He'll never hit me, never do anything to me from what I experienced in the past.
I have the urge to go up the front desk where him and I first arrived here. I've been dying to ask the lady to call him, wanting him to pick me up.
Though, I'll have to scratch that off. I have to wait until I'm better. It'll be hard, it'll take time. I know I can wait. When the medication starts taking effect, I'll become a new person. The label did say it'll take a couple of weeks to kick on. It might be a week, and I'm only on day three because a couple of days went by.
I thought about the patients who are in here with multiple reasons. During my first group therapy on my first day here, some of them have been abused, so I know their pain. Others have depression, like I do. However, I can't say the same with suicidal watch, such as cutting themselves.
I hadn't thought about cutting myself in the last two days. I simply ignored my opposite self that I saw in the mirror, the one who's part of my hulluations, knowing I'll get rid of her by the time my combo takes over.
However, the girl who I saw earlier doesn't explain anything. I was basically seeing things and hearing things; she wasn't actually there.
But… she was there… in front of me… It - I mean, she - cannot be real. The girl with two different colored eyes, the same hair color as me, her skin looking white. It makes me wonder who she is, wondering why she said something, 'It's nice to see you again,' without any explanation before she vanished away right in front of my own eyes.
I'm going to ask Rosy about this female… Because I bet she's a…
"All done." Dr Harper's announcement snapped me back into reality.
I blinked. "Huh?"
"I'm all done. You may leave. Remember, keep the stitches in for…"
"Five weeks," I remembered, sitting up, trying to ignore the burning of the black threads. "And if I'm not here for that long, I'll have someone take them off." Though, I can do it myself. I just have to look for small scissors, sewing scissors, and be gentle with cutting off the stitches whenever my forehead is heal. On top of that, maybe I can wait for two more weeks just to be sure. "Thanks," I added, unwilling to be rude. "For fixing me up again."
"You're welcome, miss," he obliged, putting his equipment away. "Be sure to be careful this time. We don't want you to come here for a third time."
"You won't." Getting off the table, I thanked him again, leaving the area, my forehead going back to feeling like fire, hurrying to the sleeping to put on some numbing gel so I won't have to deal with the new pain. "I hate stitches…" I muttered under my breath, keeping my hands away from them by moving them back and forth as I marched. "You just have to hit your head again, don't ya, Hazel," I scolded myself, angry for what I did at the cafe. "You should've been a lot more easy instead of doing something stupid." I sighed. "Hey, at least he used something else for me not to feel any pain while he sewed it up for the second time." I continued walking where I decided to see Rosy.
Making a turn, I headed for her office, to ask her about the girl. Surely, she'll know about her.
Or so I thought.
Her office door was open, but I wanted to knock on the doorframe first. Doing so, I gave it three, firm knocks to let her know I'm here.
Looking up from her computer, she saw me. "Come in, please." She waved her hand in a gesturing way. "What brings you here?" Rosy asked when I came up to the desk.
I fiddled around on my feet, rocking back and forth from toes to heels, with the hands behind my back. I have to admit, I'm nervous about telling her about this strange - well not strange - girl that I saw.
Finally, I opened my mouth. "Do you know a girl with two different colored eyes - one sapphire, one hazel - same hair color as mine with a purple butterfly clip, wearing a blue dress with matching shoes?" I described detailing everything about this mysterious teenager. "She's around my age, her skin all white. Is she one of the patients here?" I had to ask.
"I don't think so," she answered in reply. "I've known every patient, what they look like and everything. I've never seen a girl on what you've described." Then, she said something that set me off the ball. "You probably were seeing things. I bet you were imagining this 'girl'-" she quoted. "-that you saw. I know one of your illnesses is schizophrenia, and part of it is seeing things that aren't naturally there."
I shrugged. "She looked real…I...felt her…" Not wanting to argue, I decided to change the topic. "My new roommate seems...nice."
"You mean, Leo?" She nodded, seemingly agreeing with me. "Yes, he's a nice fella. You won't be lonely ever since Jackson left."
Both cheeks on my face burned. "Y-Yeah…" I stuttered, hearing his name. "I can't believe he got better already."
"Well, he was here awhile before you came along to this place." She gave me a reassuring smile. "Don't fret, Hazel, you'll be well enough to go home soon." Her statement hadn't worked, my face saddening up in absence of my crush. "Maybe he'll write to you," she said, lighting up the mood.
The dark cloud kept hanging over my head. "I don't think he'll write me a letter," I doubted, unsure it'll happen. "I don't think he knows the address for this mental hospital." God, can't this place have a different name? It sounds cruel.
"You might be surprised. Doubting isn't always good to say. Never be unsure."
She was right, I shouldn't doubt anything. I've been doubting things ever since my early childhood.
Hmm, Jackson's a great boy. He can write to me whenever he wants. Unless he knows the address. I surely will be surprised if I see a letter from him. Looking at Rosy, I sighed. "If he does write me a letter, be sure to hand the letter to me or leave it on the dresser."
She smiled. "I will," she promised. "Now you better get going to your music therapy. Leo is probably done with his appointment," she ushered, like she was shooing me out of her office room.
Walking out of the room, I made my way to mine and Leo's room to retrieve my violin. Except I was still disappointed that she doesn't believe me about the girl whom I saw today.
I know she isn't part of my illness… She was there. In front of me.
All I can do is keep this to myself.
But… who was she? Who? It was all a mystery. A mystery I'll have to figure out on my own.
I saw Leo on Jackson's bed when I arrived, going up to the dresser, grabbing the tube of numbing gel to smear on my fiery stitches.
He saw me, raising his eyebrows. "Why are you putting on numbing gel?"
"Why else?" I squirt some on my pointer finger. After, I rubbed it carefully on the spot where it's burning. Putting the cap back on the tube, I faced him. "Did you go to music therapy?"
"I sure did," Leo grinned. "Look." He held out his instrument.
"You got a violin!?" I cried out in shock.
Taken aback, he set his own violin and bow next to him. "Sheesh, you don't have to be green with envy." I can tell he was offended by the way he crossed his arms. Damn, does he get offended easily. "Next time you feel that way, I'll ask Rosy for a different room."
Insulted, I started to yell. "I wasn't being green with envy! I thought I'll be the only one, but when I reacted the way I react, you completely took at as offensive!" The expression changed from him while I continued to rant. "I hate - no, I despise where you think - think - that I'm jealous! I'M NOT A JEALOUS PERSON!" Inhaling a deep breath, I released it with a whoosh, regaining my control. I saw him sitting there, his mouth dropping open, looking like it was going to fall off at any minute. "I'm not the type of person who's jealous," I repeated. I grabbed my violin case along with the book containing the note pieces. "I'll be back…" Leaving the room, I headed to Dr. Williams therapy room.
On my way there, I immediately stopped in my tracks. It was the girl, the same pale white girl in a blue dress, her different opposite eyes twinkling. She lifted her hand, waving at me, the sounds of the charms on her bracelet, which I haven't noticed before, jingled with a nice charming sound.
Oddly enough, I did the same manner. She hasn't say anything. Though, I'm nagging to ask her what her name is. She could be shy, an understandable thing on why she hasn't introduced herself.
The trouble is, she isn't showing any kind of signs shyness, such as nibbling on the nails nor glancing at the floor. Younger children will hide behind their parents. I consider myself being timid from time to time, shutting myself out in the world.
When I was done waving, the friendly girl disappeared out of the blue like it did the first time around.
Strange. Trudging towards the music room, I slammed into Linda, falling onto my side, landing on my elbow. "Ow!" I sat up, messaging the area when I saw a brush burn. I did not dare to look up at her. "Go ahead, yell at me," I readied myself, ignoring the brush burn.
There was no answer. Glancing behind me, I saw her walk away. My face scrunched up in pure anger.
Quickly getting back to my feet, leaving my violin case and book on the floor, I speed walked up to her, blocking her path.
Her facial features told me she wasn't in the mood. "Move," she unpleasantly said. I stood there, grinding my teeth together, speaking through them.
"You left me on the floor. You shouldn't leave someone like that." All she did was frown boringly. "I know you dislike me, but it's no excuse - none - to walk away. Yes, I bumped into you, but it wasn't on purpose." Her frown turned angry. "Stop it!" I shouted, ready to pound her with my fists. "I bet you slammed into me on purpose," I accused, pointing a finger at you. "Quit being a prissy ass."
"Why should I? You stole my ex away from me. Now he's your boyfriend," Linda steamed, mocking my stance.
"He's not my boyfriend!" I was getting aggravated, the flames growing throughout my body. "We went on a date-"
"You went on a date with my ex!?" she screeched.
"And what's wrong with that?" I fired.
"What's wrong? What's wrong?!" she yelled, completely blown up. "He's my ex!"
I crossed my arms over my chest. "Yeah, your ex. As in, not yours anymore." I uncrossed my arms when I saw her eyes straining close together.
Shooting them open, she raised her hand, and I knew what's going to happen next. Before it can happen, the same while glow appeared, all around me like the first time. The same electricity came at Linda.
Yelping, she jumped back, avoiding them. "Quit it!" she growled, hopping from one area to another. "This isn't funny, Hazel." She yelped out, jumping over one of the electric beams.
I was about to tell her I have no idea what I was doing when another voice beat me to it.
"Leave her alone." It was the girl again. She appeared in thin air, startling Linda. "What?" the girl asked. "Never seen a teenager with different colored eyes?" she laughed scornfully, her hair bouncing on her shoulders.
Wanting a better view, I walked to where I'm centered in the hallway.
"Hahaha!" Continuing to laugh, the girl shook her head. "Man, the look on your face is priceless!" I saw tears - good tears - running down her face, gasping for breath with each laugh she let out. Then she stopped, opening her eyes, now glowing. Why are they…? "The next time you go near her, you'll be sorry," the girl threatened, her voice changing, going deeper. "Jackson will be her new boyfriend; I can feel it. She's been too lonely for too long. So…" The glow grew brighter. "...stop bothering her, and get out of my view!"
"DEMON!" Screaming, Linda took off down the hall, running as fast as she could. She stopped again, whirring her head to the side where I can see one of her eyes. "I'm never speaking to you again," she promised nastily, spitting the words out like glass.
Trying again to speak, she hurried off, saying things under her breath which I cannot make out. Directing my head to the other direction, it took me a moment that the blue dressed girl is out of sight.
I scratched the back of my neck, along on the back of my right shoulder. Where did she go? I wondered.
Shrugging it off, I went over to where I dropped my stuff and walked to see my music therapist.
Slappy
I was bored, extremely bored. I went onto my side, laying on the bed, pasting my brown eyes on the window, the sunlight smacking the floor in the afternoon. It was a nice day, but sadly, I can't be outside. Papa didn't forbid me to go out there, I chose to, in fear someone will recognize me when I attacked the school with my unloyal friends.
However, my mind was stuck on the time where I had released the monsters, including my older brother, Wally, to get revenge on my father who had me stored away for many years.
Remembering the time I released my big brother, he wasn't all too happy to see me. He glared at me like I was crap.
Telling him about my plan, he agreed to help me. When we got to the mall to the bookstore, I did something...horrible… To my own freaking brother.
Papa has told me Wally never liked me, jealous that I was released from the Night Of The Living Dummy book. When I was in my book, he didn't want to tell me what my brother tried to do to me. I can tell by his voice, keeping myself from asking, though I'll question about this subject some other time.
During Chicago, I freed my friends, going to different areas, unlocking each manuscript, laughing like a lunatic during the night after stealing the moving van, crashing into a tree.
When I was done releasing them, I would carelessly toss the books away, hoping they won't be found. I hid them in a secret area, so I won't actually say where I put them because, well, it's a secret hiding place.
I should've known they'll end up being found. Papa's too smart, which is why we're both similar. Same eye color, same hair style, though he has real hair, while I'm stuck with painted hair. We're both eerie, except he wasn't creepy as before...changing big time by the smile he wore everyday in every room he'll do in.
I actually saw him humming when he was walking out the door with his daughter to his car to drive up to work.
I think he has lost it, to be painfully honest. He has definitely lost his mind. I would prefer the old papa - sinister, antisocial with no interaction with any people of any kind, eerie, ect. I wouldn't get the old one back of how much he'd changed within a year.
I can't believe he has a special someone. I wanted to know who this 'special someone' is, only Hannah doesn't want to say this person's name.
I swear, if it's someone I know, I might scream. Big time. I had never screamed before… Wait, I did, when papa trapped me...in that thing. Sometimes I still get pissed off for what happened in the past. It's hard to get go…
The past is in the past, Slappy, I told myself, my wooden fingers curling on the thick blankets, tightening them with my great, empowering strength I've been known for. Another one of my powers like my teleportation magic. I do have a third type of power - levitation. I hadn't used it, mainly because I was busy scaring off those...scrandalls out of my dad's yard right before I went too far…
Relaxing my fingers, I used my hands to push myself off the pillow, surveying the room. It is a nice bedroom, fancy like. When I think about it, this house is the biggest house on Monroe, Fifty-Five Main street, the other ones, the ones I've drove by with the Haunted Car, being an average or small size. I've always been used to being in huge homes, all thanks to the books he'll write to sell out to lots of people - mainly the ones who picked on him for something that shouldn't be made as a joke.
I have no idea how he made duplicates of each book of all the Goosebumps series, unless he has another typewriter, non magical like his old one he'd always use in order to create stories, scary stories to terrorize the folks within this world, the ones who shouldn't exist. The dumbasses who made fun of my creator had lots of payback.
Ah man, did they have a lot of payback. I would laugh hysterically, watching the unmannered people run in full speed down the road, screaming their heads off. On rare occasions, a lad would be crying for his mother after witnessing a walking, talking… Easy, don't think of the D word… A walking, talking...monster. I'll go with monster, for it doesn't start with a D.
Papa's right. I should get over the D word. The problem is, I don't know how. How to get over a stupid word I always hated. It has been a trademark over the years. A lot of the times when I frightened away those bastards, they'll let out the most horrible word - Dummy.
Even my own papa said the word - twice. In the study room and in the forest.
Although, one person hadn't dared to say the awful chunk of a word. The young female at the mall. Oh, wait, she said the false language when I quizzed her on what's her favorite book while the both of us are having a nice...chat...I should say.
My wooden mind bounced over to the time when I first saw her. She looked pretty the way I looked at her, possibly friendly due to the conversation the both of us had a few years back. Unfortunately, the talking led into a trap. A terrible trap. I fell for her trap, leading me to get trapped between the pages of a…
The memory shook me to the core, sending chills down my back. I hadn't hates the girl for doing something like that; she's too pretty to be mad at.
The trouble is...I'm a puppet made out of wood and cloth. No girl ever wanted someone...like… me… Zach even said so when we tried to play Clue. Like he was wanted to degrade me to bring me down.
If I wasn't a puppet, and more human, he wouldn't be this cruel. He'll be caring towards his girlfriend, but when he lays his eyes on me, his whole demeanor will change from nice to hatred. I can't help it when I'm like this. It was how I was made by papa, wanting an evil, talking figure.
I bet he'll make sure I don't go anywhere near Hannah, thinking I'll put harm on her like I did last time when I tried to murder with a bombfire, explaining the reason why.
I wanted to break the kid's bones, I really do. I can't, however, knowing I'll get in trouble.
Getting out of bed, I landed on the floor, trudging up to the window to where it points to another yard.
On the other side of the yard is a house, not as big as the one I'm in, half its size. The neighborhood here, from what I've discovered, is more likely quiet. Rarely, I'll watch a few people walk past, talking about different things.
The house was dark, indicating that nobody is living there. Or the people could be living in that house because they're either at school or at work, turning off all the lights to save electricity.
An idea sparked up. A good idea. I can help papa save the electricity in our home. We won't have to worry about it going off for a few weeks.
However, it's daylight out, so all the lights are off. The only time we ever switched them on is at night.
Scratching that idea, which would be a good deed, I sat down under the windowsill to think of something else.
A minute went by when I was able to come up with another good deed. I can whip up something nice for papa and Hannah to eat. Though, I never learned how to cook before. That, and it's in the afternoon, so I'll have to wait around the evening.
Looking around the room, I spotted dust particles on the wooden furniture. Papa has allergies, one of them being dust. During his younger years, I'll see him cleaning the house from top to bottom, getting into the smallest crevices. He'll do it everyday, to avoid a thousand sneezes despite the medication he takes, afraid they'll stop working.
After he was done, him and I will sit down, playing a board game, watch scary movies while he's eating something, and help him come up with plots for his stories. Great times…
Heading over to one of the wooden furniture, I placed a wooden finger on the top, searing across to the end. Gazing, the dust stuck to my finger, all greyish-white.
I don't want to wipe this off with my tux for how much I like wearing the attire. I always wore the same outfit everyday. It's strange how I don't have a smell unlike humans do after they clean themselves by taking showers and baths.
With the dust on the same finger, I left the room, teleporting to the kitchen.
I saw some dishes piled in the sink, either early waiting to be put in the dishwasher, or wanting to be scrubbed clean.
"I'll do the dishes first," I murmured quietly, even though nobody's in the house right now. "Then I'll do the tables next." Since I'm three feet tall, I found a tall enough stool, passing over the cabinet doors underneath the sink, with metal bars attached to the legs. Using them as I ladder, I climbed onto the top where its flat and smooth.
Standing on the four-legged item, I carefully grabbed the dishes, picking them up to set down onto the counter without dropping them. "Papa is going to be happy once I tell him what I did," I said, the first time excitement building up into my wooden chest. Something I never felt in a long time when I startled his human enemies. "He's going to be proud of me," I bet, wrapping my fingers around the handles of the sink, With a quick turn, water rushed out of the faucet. Too fast that some of the water splashed onto my face, soaking the top sleeves of my shoulders.
With an annoyed feature, I reached out to where the paper towels are at, tearing one off. Using the piece of what I ripped, I vigorously dried my face. The water seeped into the texture of the rigged towel, unlike the big soft ones I see in the bathroom, all folded up on the shelves, ready to be used.
I was afraid that the new paint on my face will be smeared, the fact that'll need another new paint job. Slowly, carefully, I removed the towel away, both eyes closed. Lifting up one of the eyelids, my entire body went from stiffed fear to relief.
There was no paint on there. Not a single drop. "The man used some special paint for it not to come off me," I guessed, tossing the now wet towel into the trash can. It went in without falling onto the tiled floor. "I win!" I declared to nobody, seemingly to be talking to myself. What else can I do besides talking to myself? Papa and Hannah will come home around three thirty, leaving me plenty of time for the things I need to do.
I slowed down the rushing clear liquid by turning the handles backwards, watching the thick, pouring stream of water becoming more relaxed.
Letting go of the handles, I reached under the water. Being made out of wood, I was sure the water won't burn me.
But when I did, I jerked my arm away, releasing a hiss sound through my teeth. "Ow…" Adjusting the temperature, I placed my hand underneath the running liquid. With the same wooden smile etched onto my face since I can't make any other facial features, I grabbed the plug, placing it center onto the hole.
The sink began to fill up. I grabbed the dish soap off the counter where it was left from last night from my papa's daughter when she washed the pots and pans from last night's dinner, which are still in the drying rack on the other side of me on the left with the dirty dishes on the right.
I flipped the lid open from the top. The smell of blueberry invaded my nostrils as I let a few drops fall into the water. I can smell, feel, and hear, but I have no taste. I never ate anything in my life. I used to wonder what it was like to eat when I watch my creator eat his food where it'll be a lunch or simply an apple.
The running water mixed with soap, becoming all white and foamy. The water rose up halfway as I shut the sink off, thinking it was enough to clean the plates and everything.
Grabbing the sponge, I dipped it deep into the water. Pulling it out, the hard sponge got all soft and soppy, the soap hanging on.
Thinking it wasn't enough, I put a tad drop of dish soap onto the wet, soft sponge, squeezing it tight.
It foamed over my hand, dripping into the sink. I picked up the first dish, a plate, dunking it into the water. I had watched papa washed the dishes back in Ohio while I sit on the counter to where he had placed me on to keep him company.
I don't think he ever left any room without bringing me along, minus the bathroom where it's off limits.
He treated me as a real son like any father will do. I doubt he'll continue with it from the bad times we had together when I took everything too far from what I'm supposed to do.
This may sound like an excuse, but I couldn't help it to see him get beat up by those bullies. I wasn't thinking at the time when I grabbed a silver blade out of the drawer.
I had to admit, the way those men saw me step up, I wanted to laugh. I was too angry to have one, focused on getting rid of those pests.
When I was done with them, I expected him to be happy, to see a smile. I wasn't expecting him to be disappointed. I thought he'll be proud of me…
Forcing the awful memory out of my head, I reached in to retrieve the plate. Pulling it out, drops of water dripped from underneath the plate with my fingers holding on to the smooth item in a firm grasp, careful to not hold it too tight. Papa has always have nicer plates rather than those tacky ones others have.
With the foamy sponge, I scrubbed the the first dish, removing the grime of what looked like pancakes. Chocolate chip pancakes to be more precise. The way I can tell is that I saw brown stuff dotted at the center, some of it smeared like someone used a paint brush to sweep the melted chocolate like it was paint.
With one plate clean, I directed the faucet to the other part sink, putting it on to warm to avoid scorching my hands as I rinsed off the plate, setting in there in the drying rack in an up and down manner.
Doing the rest of the dishes, I did the same thing. Scrub, rinse, place them on the rack, repeat. There wasn't a lot of them, which meant it didn't take long to wash every single plate and fork.
By the time I finished, I put my hand in the murky water that was once clear, pulling the plug out.
The water lowered before turning into a small whirlpool, the drain swallowing up the pancake crumbs.
When the water was gone, I saw a switch on the wall. I've seen a switch like this back in Ohio. I was curious to see what it does, though I never turned it on. I thought it was a light switch until I managed to flip it up when papa accidently dropped the pill bottle into drain when we both heard crunching sounds down there.
It was when I learned it was the garbage disposal. The look on his face made me want to snicker, except I forced myself not to. He ended up going back to the pharmacy to get a new one, slightly cross that he has to do that. More like annoyed.
Flicking the switch on the wall, I heard grinding sounds from within the garbage disposal, the blades chopping them up.
The smell of pancakes, mixed with syrup and chocolate chips erupted from the drain pipe.
"They won't mind," I thought outloud, shrugging it off. "Now, what stuff do they use on the wooden tables…?" I wondered, climbing down the stool. I don't want to trip and fall, or else I'm going to have to get mended again. I rather be cautious than to be rational like I used to be.
Shoving the stool back in its place, I went back over to the cabinets underneath the sink, swinging them open.
There I saw different cleaning supplies. The first thing I spotted is a cylinder tin with the words Furniture Polish, showing a picture of table all shiney.
Taking it, I also grabbed a rag. It was rough to the touch, good enough for the tabletops.
Shutting the cabinet doors, I made my way over to the living room.
Like I mentioned before, I seen papa clean the house years ago back in his first home. I know what I'm doing, like polishing wooden tables.
I sprayed some of the polish on the first table, all foamy like the dish soap. Using the rag, I gently swift it over the tabletop, being extra careful with the strength I have. I would've broken it if I wasn't too careful, and I'll be in trouble.
I wanted to be a good...boy. Boy sounds a lot better than the D word I always hated. I do need to get over it, like my creator said.
With the first table - the coffee table - done, I glanced at the other wooden furniture in the living from the spot I am at.
This is going to take awhile...
Several hours wet by the time I did the last table - in papa's room. The reason it took a few hours is because of my damn height - three feet tall.
"I want to be taller - like that Zach kid," I wished, walking out of the bedroom. "Than I can reach the higher places without climbing." I moved my arms. "I never knew I can get sore...wood muscles," I said, trying to find the right words. "Papa sometimes get sore fingers after he'll finish a book from writing so much…" The image of me slamming the top of the typewriter case down on his hands came flooding back.
The way I sent him my eerie look when I finished one of the sentences of his new book… The way he cried out in pure agony when I stomped the top part of the case down on his fingers, hearing the bones breaking… The sound all satisfying…
I shook my head fast, forcing the lethal memory out of my 'brain'. I was dumb for doing such a thing to my own father. Now I know how it felt when those brutes attacked me.
Getting out of the room to put the stuff away, I glanced at the attic door, all shut tight. "Hmm. I wonder what kind of stuff is up in that very room." I had the urge to explore up there, but the dangly rope and the hook holding the door shut it too high to reach. I don't even bother getting the chair from the study.
The leather shoes on my feet made a clunk, clunk, clunk sound on the steps as I climbed down from the second floor to the previous one.
Once the stuff was put away, I went over to the couch, and sat down on one of the cushions, resting my head on my hand, my elbow on the arm of the furniture.
Trailing my eyes to the TV, the screen was all black, meaning it wasn't on. I felt like turning it on, so luckily the remote is left on the same couch I'm on, right on top of the second cushion.
Extending towards it, I wrapped my fingers around the remote, picking it up the cushion.
I would rather watch regular TV, I decided. Pressing the button on the top right corner in the color of red, the television turned on.
With the television on, I pressed on another button where there's a list of channels to scroll through. When I did that, I went downwards, reading each channel name.
One of them caught my attention. Stopping, I read the name of the channel and the show. "SYFY. Paranormal Witnesses: The Real Conjuring." One wooden brow went up. I have watched The Conjuring the one time, and there are a lot of horror movies based on true events - like this one.
Wanting to watch it, I gingerly picked it that channel to watch the show. Luckily, I was on time, right at the beginning.
Hastily dropping the remote, I relaxed on the back of the couch, my hands behind my head as I watched the show.
As I got started watching it, the front door opened. "Slappy, we're home!"
"You don't need to shout, papa," I told him. "I'm in the living, on the couch, watching Paranormal Witnesses."
Hannah set her bookbag down, taking a deep breath through her nose. "Why does it smell like lemon polish mixed with chocolate chips and maple syrup?" she asked, following papa into the same room where I'm at.
"Yes…" He, too, also took some breathers through his nose. "Slappy." When he said my name, I lifted my wooden eyes up to him.
I played with my bow tie. "Yes, papa?" I replied.
"Is there a reason on why the house is mixed with lemon polish, chocolate chips, and maple syrup?" he questioned, his one brow furrowing up, the other one down.
Feeling like a child to where they think they're in big trouble, I became a bit timid. "I thought it would be a good deed to...spark up the house. You know? Wash the dishes and dust up the tables. Heh." A chuckle escaped my lips, sounding slightly nervous. I slowly stopped when I saw him just...staring at me. "...what…?" I was at the brink of being nervous. The way he was...looking at me.
Blinking his eyes, he spoke. "You...cleaned up the house?" All I could do was nod, shifting my gaze away to the television. "Well...that was nice of you to do for us." He gave me an appreciating pat on the head.
I shoved his hand away. "I'm not a dog, papa…" I said, smoothing my hair as if it were real. "So how was school, Hannah?" I then asked after I was done 'fixing' my painted hair.
"It was okay," she replied, pulling off her hair tie to let her hair flow loosely, passing by her shoulders. Bending down, she unzipped her backpack. "Slappy, I'm going to be doing my history homework," she said, standing back up with a good size book, along with paper and a pencil. She jabbed her pencil towards my direction. "Don't come into my room while I'm doing so."
"I have a feeling you're going to poke my eye out." The black, pointing tip looked very sharp, surely enough to leave some kind of mark in one of my eyes. "I can't come into the room while you're doing your homework?" I clarified with her.
Pulling her pencil back, Hannah responded. "Correct. You can hang out with me after finish." Walking away, she clumped up the steps. "By the way." She stopped halfway. "You can put tangerines in the garbage disposal," she advised with a smile. "I've seen Hazel do it, causing the house to smell better."
My eyes went side to side. "I didn't know that." Hannah shook her head, laughing.
"You're funny." Once she gave out that compliment, she went to her room.
When she was gone, I processed at she had said. Funny? I never saw myself being funny in my entire life.
I felt papa sitting down on the couch. "Whatcha watching there, buddy?" He moved the remote, setting it down on the coffee table.
"Huh?" I snapped out of my thoughts. "Oh, Paranormal Witnesses," I repeated naturally, rather than being rude for saying it again. "It has something to do with The Conjuring."
"We watched The Conjuring," papa seemed to remember, removing his glasses off his face, squinting at them. He placed them back on after they've been inspected. "There are movies based on real stories. Though, the movie producers take most of the victims stories, changing it up a notch. But the rest is all true from what they've been told. Have you heard of Annabelle?"
Tilting my head to the side, I thought about it. "No… I never heard of her. Why?" The name doesn't ring a bell.
Placing his feet on the coffee table, he placed his hands behind his head. "Annabelle is an evil raggedy Anne possessed by an evil spirit. Or in this case…" He faced me. "...a demon." He finished off with an eerie tone to give it a good vibe, the one I hadn't heard in years. "Would you want to watch it?" Papa asked, scratching the side of his nose.
Thinking about it, I smiled. "Why not?"
Smiling back, papa got off the couch, heading to where the DVDs are at. Scanning at the two inched boxes full of DVD discs. "Let's see… Aha!" Proclaiming in pure delight, he pulled out one of the boxes. "Here it is, the Annabelle movie. Sequel to The Conjuring."
"Sequel?" I questioned. "It doesn't sound like a sequel considering the different title of the movie," I pointed out smartly.
Chuckling, he opened up the box. "Believe me, pal, it's the sequel to The Conjuring." Walking over to the couch, he snatched up the remote to change the channel. Once he did, he got the DVD remote, using it to open up the black box when we both heard the doorbell ring.
Both him and I glanced at the door when we heard the doorbell ring a second time. "Slappy." Getting my attentioned, I changed my attention towards him.
"Hide."
"Huh?" I didn't understand what he meant.
"Hide," he repeated instructionally, both teeth pressing together. He picked me up with me flinching at the feeling of being touched. "Go underneath the other couch." Groaning, I did as what my master told me.
Walking on over there, I got down on my stomach, arming crawling underneath the small sofa. Luckily, the bottom part is high enough to hide under. I turned to my side, bringing my knees up to my chest, keeping silent. Not moving. Not saying anything, hearing papa's footsteps walk over to the door in a cautious manner.
His footsteps stopped, presumably at the door. "Who is it?" he demanded with a hint of harshness.
"My, did someone have a bad day today?" I heard a voice, a female voice, from the other side. "I guess you're too grumpy to let your girlfriend inside," she presumed in fake sadness to her voice. Wait… Did she say...girlfriend? "I'll be going now…"
At that moment, his voice changed. "Hold on, Lorraine." Lorraine? The sound of the door went into my ears. "Sorry about that," he chucked apologetically. "I...thought you were someone else…"
This Lorraine let out a soft chuckle as well. "No need to be sorry," she said. "May I come in?"
"Of course." Despite me being underneath the couch, the new footsteps can be heard coming into the living room.
I kept quiet as I listened to them…
"How have you been?" the woman asked happily. I can tell by her attitude.
"Doing well, I suppose," he responded.
Peeking out from underneath the flap, I almost gasped to the lady whom my dad is talking to. It was the one from the police station. The one who called me the D word. Why is she-?
"I'm glad you're doing well," she spoke, caressing papa's right cheek. Is this his 'special someone'? Too bad I never had the chance to ask thanks to his daughter for saying the word no. "What about Hannah? Is she doing okay?"
"Yes, she's fine."
"And what about Hazel?"
His tone went from all happy to concern. "I don't know… I can't pick her up until she's well enough. It's all her god parents fault for what they did." A hint of anger washed over him. "Oh, and she had a god brother whom I forgot to mention to you from our last visit. She told me he'll get her in trouble for the things he did. He sounded like...like…"
"A cruel boy?"
He sighed. "You're absolutely right…" Then his attitude changed. "You want some tea?"
"Why, of course." I saw papa get off the couch after her reply when she stopped him. "Hold on, I have something for you. Now where is it…? Oh! Here ya go." She did some kind of movement, except she had her back turned to me from the start of their chat.
I moved back when I felt the wall, unwilling to see anymore. Thoughts pondered all over my mind.
The sound of this Lorraine's footsteps walked around the room, possibly looking around when I felt something sniff at me.
Looking down, I saw a small mouse in the color of grey. His nose twitched as he smelled my suit.
"Go away," I whispered as quietly as I could. The mouse refused to listen. "Shoo!" I ordered in a loud, but also, quiet tone.
The fuzzy thing ignored my command. Its nose twitched, continuing to sniff at me, deepening my nerves. "Get!" I hissed, using my hand to shove the thing away from my suit. "Go find some cheese or some kind of other thing to snoop at." The rodent stared at me with its coal black eyes. I stared back, lowering my brows and upper eyelids. The frightening look I did before to papa's enemies.
Blinking, it went towards the lower part of my suit. This time my eyes widen. "No-!" I softly cried in desperation so this Lorriane can't hear me. "Don't you dare-" The mouse ignored me, shoving its face underneath my tux.
It went deeper and deeper. I tried to ignore its nails scraping my stomach, except…
"AAAAHHHHHHH!" A scream released from my mouth as I rolled out from underneath the couch. I got up from the floor, reaching into my suit, pulling out the mouse, bringing it up close to my face. "You little twit!" I shouted. "You are so…" I stopped, realizing I was out in the open, dropping the mouse.
It ran off as I tilted my head up to see the woman, the one I saw at the police station staring back at me with fear.
"Crap…" was all I said.
Then she let out a scream of terror.