CHAPTER 5

The next morning it was apparent that none of us slept restfully. My back ached from sleeping on the floor, my body not used to doing without my plush mattress. Dad looked the worst for wear, like he hadn't seen an hour of sleep. I wonder if it was also because of the floor, or if his mind kept him awake, thinking of the growing list of things he needed to work on in the house. I assumed my mother didn't sleep well, no doubt she laid awake cursing the infernal moving men for not being here when they said they would. But she seemed to get by on little sleep.

Mom had stopped at a grocery store the previous night while waiting for the pizza. She bought a carton of milk, a few boxes of cereal, and some snacks. Enough to hold us through until she was able to properly resupply. We also had a few odds and ends in the fridge that had made the four hour drive in a picnic cooler, basically what was left in the fridge of our old home when we left. Not that I was planning on having a mostly empty jar of mustard for breakfast.

I joined Mom in the kitchen where she had opened one of the boxes of cereal and was pouring it into one of Gran's fine china soup bowls.

"Quisp Cereal?" I asked, quizzically looking at the faded blue box.

"I bought what they had, sorry hon, I didn't see any of the brands we usually buy," she set down the carton of milk beside me on the kitchen counter and slid over a spoon.

The cereal had an odd softness to it. Like it had gone stale. But the milk seemed fresh enough and it was enough to fill my stomach since supper, which felt like ages ago. "Think that truck will finally show today?"

"It had better," she responded, nonplussed. We both returned our empty bowls to the sink where they were rinsed and set to air dry for the next meal.

Mom brought Josh a bowl of the strange cereal to where he was barely sitting up in his sleeping bag. He wasn't too happy at the change from his usual breakfast routine of Cap'n Crunch and cartoons, but I headed back upstairs before I caught too many of his objections.

I dressed for the day. With no word on when the truck would arrive, I planned to spend the day with my nose in a book. Dad, of course, had already found things to busy himself with. When he ran out of things to work on in the house with the limited tools and supplies he had on hand, he went out to the old brick garage behind the house to see what he could find. Mom spent much of the morning trying to juggle between cleaning and entertaining Josh who seemed hopeless without his toys, television, or friends. Eventually she got tired and sent him out into the backyard to play with PD.

I grabbed a glass of milk, finishing up the carton, and headed back to my room. Settling into my window-seat I stared out into the neighborhood. It looked less stormy, good news if the moving truck was finally coming, but the sky was still filled with gray clouds. I really did start to wonder if the sun ever did shine in Dark Falls. A gentle breeze rocked the tree just outside my window, making the finger-like branches wave an unwelcoming hello and sending fallen leaves scattering down the street.

I opened The Thorn Birds, excited to dive back in, though somewhat nervous about the story getting as hot and heavy as it had the night before. As was my habit, I got lost in the book. Losing all sense of time. At some point, I had finished the glass of milk and pulled the blanket and pillow from the floor to make myself even more comfortable. Chapter after chapter went by. As Meggie aged and the story moved on to her growing children, I decided to take a break. Standing up and stretching before heading to the bathroom. I could have easily just kept reading and taken the book in there with me, but then I thought better of it, giving my eyes a moment to rest.

When I returned, I decided to take a few minutes to write in my diary. Part of me wanted to document the thoughts and feelings still whirling at the back of my mind. Notebook propped on my bent knees, I quickly began scribbling away at the page, when I suddenly heard what sounded like knocking at the door.

"Yes?" I called. There was no response.

I stood up, shrugging off the blanket and walking across the bare room to the door. I opened the door, only to find the hallway empty. I stepped out of the room, listening for anyone around. Maybe I was just hearing things. Or it was merely the house settling. The old building sure had an obnoxious way of making itself known. I returned to my perch, trying to regain my thoughts, when the knocking came again.

"Come in," I said, deciding not to get up this time.

No one entered.

Another knock. But this time I noticed the sound wasn't coming from the door to my room, but the closet. I waited, not moving. Not breathing. The knock came again, and I could see the closet door moving slightly on its hinges. I rushed to the door and swung it open, expecting to see Josh jumping out to say, "boo".

The closet was empty. No one was there. No clothes hung from the bars to obscure my view. It was an empty box with boring white walls and a bare lightbulb with a dangling chain to turn it on. What the hell, I thought. I was getting rather sick of this. Either I was completely going crazy, or this house had it in for me.

I left the closet door open and turned back to my seat at the window. As I reached for my diary, the cushions of the window-seat suddenly flung into the air, the entire window-seat opening up to reveal a billowing white figure.

"Whaaaaa!" the apparition howled.

"Fuck!" I screamed, tripping over my own feet and falling backwards onto my ass.

Josh pulled the white sheet from his head, laughing heartily as he crawled out of the storage space in the window-seat. "I got you so good! Told you you were afraid of ghosts!"

"God dammit, Josh! I am going to kill you, you little brat," I screamed at him, pulling myself to my feet, I chased him from the room. His feet skittered down the hall, thumping down the steps, managing to stay just a few feet ahead of my grasp.

"What in the world is going on?" my mother emerged as Josh flew by, leaving me to nearly collide with her in the front entryway.

"That little turd was hiding in my room and scared the hell out of me," I tried to explain.

Josh whined, "Mom, Mandy said the f-word and tried to hit me."

Ugh, that little punk.

"Mandy," my mother looked at me with that disappointment glare, "I told you to watch your language around your little brother." She turned back to Josh. "And I told you to stay out of your sister's room. Now, can both of you stay out of my hair for five minutes?"

She pinched her temples as she walked away. I stuck out my tongue at Josh. He returned the gesture. Childish, I know, but in the moment it seemed right. I went back upstairs to return to my book.

Replacing the lid of the storage compartment, and returning the cushions to their rightful places, I sat back down on the window-seat. I picked up the paperback, staring at its orange cover. My eyes losing focus on the big red 'O' in the center. A smile creased my lips as I set the book back onto the cushion. I had something much better to do with my afternoon.

I was going to get Josh back.

It didn't take me long to come up with a plan. It was going to be perfect, the trick was going to be getting Josh to come into the room. I had to wait for just the right opportunity. But first a little planning. I closed the door to the room as I readied everything. It took the better part of an hour before I heard Josh out in the hall. He was only starting to explore the house, finally checking out the room down the hall that would be his. And in case you are wondering, no, he didn't have his own bathroom. He had to use the one at the top of the stairs. It was just as he was coming out of the bathroom that I took my chance.

"No! Stay back," I cried, I'm no actress. I was a terrible munchkin in our school's production of Wizard of Oz, but the extra credits were worth the embarrassment. "Stay out of our house!"

Josh came barreling into the room, right on cue. I listened as he looked around, picturing the confusion on his face as he saw my few personal belongings strewn across the room, the wide bay windows flung open to the cool autumn wind. And I was nowhere to be found. I could hear him creeping hesitantly to look in the closet, the door wide open to reveal the empty space.

"Whaaaaa!" I screamed as I flung the door to the closet closed, revealing myself behind it.

Josh's eyes went wide and he yelled out in terror. He struggled to get his body to do what his brain was desperately telling him to do. Legs nearly slipping out from under him, he took off out of the room. Leaving poor PD there in the middle of my room, his spindly little legs shaking. I had no idea I was so terrifying until the dog whimpered, eyes wide with fright, shifting backwards onto his haunches. As he scittered after Josh, I saw that the mutt had left a wet spot on my carpet.

"Dammit PD!" I yelled, chasing after the dog.

I caught up with the dog just as he caught up with Josh. A sudden wave of guilt washing over me as Josh stood there crying into Mom's shoulder. Oh fuck, I thought. Of course, I had taken it a step too far, taken the low road as Dad would ultimately say. I moved up to Josh, setting my hand lightly on his sobbing shoulder.

"Damn, I'm sorry Josh," the guilt was plain of my face, "I didn't mean to scare you that bad. I just thought I would get you back."

Surprising no one more than me, Josh turned from Mom and wrapped his arms around my waist. He held me tight, burying his tear soaked face into my stomach. Geez, now I really did feel bad. The poor kid was worried about me. I scare my little brother by making him think something had happened to me. That really was low. Then I didn't just feel guilty, I felt like an absolute asshole.

As Josh's tears subsided and we easily called a truce, Mom took me aside. The talk was more than deserved, no arguments coming from me as I took in the lecture. No real parenting was necessary, I felt like an total jerk. Mom would have called it a discussion, just to be civil, but those talks were always rather one sided. I was thankful for the reprieve when my father walked in.

"The moving truck is finally here," his voice was filled with equal parts enthusiasm and frustration.

"Thank God," my mother replied.

My parents and Josh stepped out the front door, Dad propping it open as they got ready to start bringing things in. PD was secured out back, and I was left to clean up the mess in my room before I could help unload. The piss came out of the carpet well enough with some of Mom's good cleaners, I was relieved that there wouldn't be a smell, let alone a yellow stain on the floor of my new room.

Unloading the bulk of our stuff took the better part of the evening. Four professional moving men helped with the larger boxes and the major items like couches and beds. They worked as quickly as they could, taking very few smoke breaks. They seemed in a hurry, but I couldn't tell if it was because they really wanted to get out of town, or if they were worried about raising the ire of my mother. And I had just primed her up for them. My mother was scary when she was angry. She was a strict articulate kind of scary when she was angry. I assumed it helped her in the courtroom, recalling all those lawyer shows on TV where everyone yelled all the time. She said her real life was nothing like what they show on TV. Seems no one wants to watch a person do that much paperwork and reading.

It was well after dark when the emptied moving truck pulled away. Everything was in the house, but only a small fraction of it was where it was supposed to go. Guess that was as far as the money went with the moving men. My dad went out for the food this time, bringing back foil boxes of baked lasagna and garlic bread. We scarfed it down, no one talking for the entire meal, after we had worked up quite an appetite.

After dinner, the priority became getting things into Josh's and my rooms. The goal being that Josh and I could sleep in our own beds tonight. I looked forward to that mattress. My muscles ached and I was tired of hauling boxes. When we quit for the night, I scrapped the idea of a shower or even writing in my diary. My body was done and so I flicked off the lights and crashed. After the floor, the mattress felt like a cloud trying to swallow me whole. I relaxed, letting my body sink into it. Closing my eyes and giving in to sleep.

I awoke what felt like only a few minutes later. The house creaked and groaned, settling into place. My eyes wide open, I stared at the unmoving fan hanging from my ceiling. The room was dark, but enough light came in through the bay window that I could make out the piles of boxes and the child's dresser I had tried to convince my parents I wasn't going to need. My closet was an open black rectangle against the wall, partially filled with hung clothes, the light from the window couldn't quite make it beyond that threshold. I watched for a moving shadow behind the open closet door, but nothing stirred. The pangs of guilt crept over me once more and I sat up. Sighing loudly, I knew there wasn't much that would get me back to sleep any time soon. Leaving the room, I quietly moved down the old stairs, my eyes trying hard to discern the outline of each step. Making my way to the kitchen, I opened the fridge, letting the warm yellow light flood the room, aiding me in tracking down a glass and the open milk carton. I poured a glass, leaning against the kitchen counter as I drank. The untended fridge-door slowly closed, leeching the room of light and forcing my eyes to adjust again.

When I felt comfortable enough with the renewed darkness, I rejoined my bed upstairs. The bed felt comfortable. I was certainly tired from the very full day. So why couldn't I just go back to sleep. I shifted from side to side. Closing my eyes, wrapping my arms around a pillow. I felt a bead of sweat trickle down my back. That's odd. Why would I be sweating, it wasn't hot in there. I tried not to think about it. But the more I tried to ignore it, the more it felt like something was moving down my skin. Crawling over my flesh. Tiny legs inching their way across my skin. I sat up with a start, my outstretched fingers clawing at my skin through the long t-shirt I was wearing. I scratched at the itch scare that my entire body was now covering in the tiny crawling insects. But there was nothing there. No bugs, no itch, no sweat. Nothing. Of course there was nothing. This was my same old bed, with soft clean sheets, in a room I had no trouble sleeping in the night before.

I laid back, trying to picture the erotic images I had fallen asleep with on the floor. The scenes of Meggie from The Thorn Birds as she gave in to passion. I yawned loudly, my mind was tired and struggling to keep up with the images I wanted my imagination to paint, and yet I still couldn't drift off. I tried counting in my head, making it well past two-hundred when I gave up. I felt like I was going to be awake forever. But I must have drifted off at some point. A light sleep, perhaps only an hour or two, because I suddenly woke again, shivering. It felt as if the heat had been sucked out of the room, replaced with a dark, damp chill. I saw that I had kicked off my sheets and blanket in the night. Guess that hour wasn't very restful. I tried to reach for the blanket, but it was as if my arms wouldn't listen to my brain. They just stayed there, limp at my sides. I couldn't move! I panicked, wanting desperately to just sit up, but I couldn't budge. It felt as if an immense weight were placed on my chest, holding me down to the mattress. Was I even able to breathe? My mind was suddenly alert, my eyes wide, my brain in a panic trying to make sure I was still taking in oxygen.

That's when I heard the whispers.

Soft voices, almost imperceptible, but as I focused, I could hear them. Tiny, frightened voices.

Who's there, I wanted to say, but I couldn't get my lips to move, or my throat to speak.

The whispers continued. I couldn't make out what they were saying, it always seemed just beyond the reach of my hearing. The voices moved, suddenly coming from the other dark corner of my room. My head shot over in the other direction. I was surprised by the sudden use of my neck, my muscles relaxing, no longer feeling like they were straining against bonds. I sat up, my eyes scanning the darkness for the source of the voices. But all had gone silent. I looked at the bay window.

The window was open. I know I had shut it when I cleaned up the room. Closing each window pane and locking it in place. I hopped out of bed, looking down to not stumble over the mountain of boxes. As I deftly maneuvered around the cardboard obstacles, I found myself in front of the window-seat. But as I looked closer at the large bay window, I was shocked to see that the window was closed after all. Each pane sealed and locked. I seriously thought I was going out of my mind. How was I going to live a whole year in this house if two days here almost had me crawling up the walls. Were my eyes just playing tricks on me? A trick of the light? It was rather dim in there.

I rubbed my eyes in confusion and fatigue. Maybe my mind was still sleep deprived. I needed real sleep. Actual restful sleep. I crawled back into bed. Sleep came quicker this time, though I had honestly wish it hadn't.

Undoubtedly dreaming, I found myself surrounded by sickly green light. The air was thick and antiseptic. It felt like I was in a hospital, but looking around, I was clearing in the old house in Dark Falls. I moved through the house, but my body felt strange. My skin felt tight. I stretched my muscles as if trying to adjust my flesh like an ill-fitting shirt. Moving down the stairs, I was suddenly assailed by the fresh smell of cooking. The aroma of meat cooking in the oven wafted through the air. I hurried to the kitchen, my stomach rumbling with hunger. Mom and Dad were there, working away at the stove, while Josh sat at the table. They all looked at me, but there was something strange about them. The way their skin hung, pallid and grey, off their bones.

"You're just in time, dear," my father said. "Sit down, dinner is ready."

I plopped into one of the seats, my usual place since I was a kid. Josh held up his knife and fork, his tongue out cartoonishly drooling in anticipation. His tongue looked like a slug, slimy and writhing from between thin parched lips. Mom and Dad joined us, placing heaping plates onto the table.

My God. The food that smelled so good, that my body ached for, was no food at all. On a silver platter, like something from a Normal Rockwell Thanksgiving, was piled high with the dismembered flesh of God-knows-who. A heart, a lung, even the carefully skinned head of a human being, the meat of its cheeks carved into drooping slices like a rare roast beef. Flayed hands filled another plate with various cuts of meat, smoked and seasoned. Even what looked like the shriveled remains of male genitalia bobbed in a bowl of broth and mushrooms.

Mom passed me a bowl, looking into it, I felt myself drool with hunger. The skinned pink flesh of a roasted dog lay steaming in the shallow bowl. The intact head of PD, complete with collar hanging there like a roasted duck. I felt my fingers pushing into the meat, sparing the use of utensils and just diving in. My hands clawed at the flesh, ripping it apart as I brought it wetly to my lips, feeling my teeth sink into it, tearing it away. I greedily reached for the flesh of the unknown man as the rest of my family gave in to their hunger. Wildly grabbing and ripping into the meat with chaotic abandon. An unholy glow in their eyes, a glint of sharpened teeth as it met red meat.

I awoke with a jump. My shirt soaked in sweat, the collar of the pajamas stuck firmly in my mouth where my teeth were wetly tearing a hole into the hem. I felt like I was going to be sick.