[[This took much longer to get out than it should have because, seriously, it took me forever to figure out what Matt and Mello should do. I had the tree house idea, but than decided I wanted to use it for something else. Than, weeks later, when I figured out I wasn't going to get another idea for their little "adventure" I decided to use the treehouse idea anyway. Be planning on seeing a oneshot about it in the near future.
Oh, and I want to give a big thanks to AngelsColdFire. I am dedicating this chapter to her, because it took me this long to respond to her nice feedback. She favorites and reviews on, like, everything I write. It makes me feel really honored. So thank you for helping me fend off hopelessness in my own writing. This one's to you, hope you like it. (;
Don't-own-eet. If I did, Matt would be celebrating his twentieth birthday today. Happy birthday Matt! K thx, bai!]]
Night; chilling, lonely nighttime. It always came, of course, luring you into a false sense of peace with the sunset. The "majestic colors" and "exquisite beauty". I, myself, began to think that dark night by myself wouldn't be so bad. I told myself that the noises from the night before were obviously my warped nightmares or my wild imagination. As far as I'd ever been told, children were rarely accurate with their assumptions. I brushed away my own childish fears as best I could. As bedtime rolled around and I got under the dark blue comforter, curling up and trying to fall asleep before I heard anymore noises. Because surely hearing things two nights in a row wasn't a coincidence. A shiver rolled through me regardless of the cold.
I had to get to sleep before I went crazy.
Blackness, a numb state of mind. I hated the feeling of an incomplete sleep. I glanced at my alarm clock and the digits read neatly 2:14. Groaning in annoyance and discomfort I rolled clumsily onto my stomach, pulling the comforter up around my small shoulders. What had woken me up? It wasn't like me to have restless sleep without reason. After waiting a few seconds I attempted to fall back into the slumber I had fallen out of. Sniffles emitted their way in from outside. My whole being froze. Don't tell me that I had woken up to the ghost child's cries! This was defiantly not a nightmare, nor a figment of my imagination. I wanted to call out to somebody, any of the caretakers who could hear me and save me from the undead! The sniffles turned to crying and the crying to, once again, wails of pain and sadness. The ghost child continued down the hall; further and further away. My frozen being started to shake. This had to stop, but-- how?
I awoke to a groggy body and heavy eyelids. In a haze, of morning sunlight in my eyes and cold air, my thoughts returned to last night.
Not again.
How would this ever stop? I'd be sleepless for the rest of my life. (I didn't realize that I wouldn't even be at Wammy's for the remainder of my life.) Maybe I could do some investigating on the awful noises that I had heard last night. Figure out what this was coming from and stop it. That seemed like an enjoyable idea, it was sort of like my own mini-investigation. I could be just like Sherlock Holmes or L. Smiling at the thought of doing something besides studying or wandering the pews of Wammy's vast church like I did nearly everyday after classes were over, I wiped my sleepy eyes and headed for the showers.
In a hurry, I ran to class, late again. This was not like me. Not at all. I hurried down the empty hall, not watching where I was going. Suddenly, my foot caught on a human-sized blur sitting on the speckled carpet, and I tumbled to the floor at an awful speed. So much inertia ended badly.
"God! Ow!" I screeched and tried to feel where I hurt before I moved. My face and elbows had planted into the scratchy flooring, scratching me up and giving me a bloody nose.
"Ah, shoot." I heard a voice from behind me, "I'm sorry. I- I." Slowly and carefully I sat up, criss-crossing my legs and inspecting my cut up arms. It was the gamer kid from my class who had been so brilliantly sitting near the sharp turn of the halls, playing his stupid Gameboy. I cringed at the pain and pinched my nose, bright blood dribbling onto the fabric of my shirt.
"What'd you do that for?" I glowered, nasal-sounding considering my conk* was plugged. I held back the tears that threatened to spill over the rims of my eyes and put on my deadliest glare. The auburn-haired "Matt" put the console in his jeans pocket and crawled over to me.
"I didn't mean to. Oh," he said inspecting me, "Looks like a doozy. You shouldn't pinch it like that, I think."
Anger boiled inside of me at this petering little bugger. "You have no right to tell me what to do! You're the one who tripped me in the first place!" He avoided my eyes, at all times. Like he was afraid that looking into my glare would light him with the Devil's fire. I waited for him to say something but he just fumbled with a loose string on the hem of the emerald shirt he wore. After a few moments, lasers from my eyes piercing his head, he looked up with a small, teasing smile playing across his face.
"You can give me a bloody nose. If you really want to."
With that, my right arm that had been holding my injured nose flew from my own face and whacked him, right on the honker. A few drips of my own blood were splattered across his pale cheek and now, his face matched mine. Bloody. Tears filled his ocean blue eyes and he stood up, lickity-split.
"Wanker! Nobody actually does that!" he spat at me. I shook my hand a few times; he had a hard face. With a shrug, I said, "You did ask for it." For an awkward moment he just gaped at me, and than sat back on the floor where he had last been. He opened his mouth to say something, shut it again, opened it again, shut it again. The action was very fish-like. I stared at him like he was insane. Finally, looking me in the eye gave up his silence and he busted out into uncontrollable laughter.
"I like you!" he roared, slapping me on the back. He must have had a screw loose. Poor kid, I scooted further from him, eyeing him wearily. "Who would've done that? Only you." he shakes his auburn locks in a humorous way as if he couldn't believe I would do such a thing. "Who are you anyway?" his large grin melted into a more normal expression.
Scoffing, I claimed boldly, "Mello." like it was a title that deserved to be earned. A mischievous, yet awe-struck smile returned and he told me his alias, although I already knew it. His tone was lazy and uncaring. I guess a first introduction says a lot about a person. "So, Meellllooo." he tried the name out by giving it a drawl. Mentally, I cringed. "This hurts like a mother fu--"
"Hey." I warned, before he could say anything.
He rolled his eyes. Surely he would think me being offended by a cuss word was strange, but he didn't say it anyway. That was a plus. I liked when people did what I wanted. "Anyway, this hurts." tilting his head up and cringing, he continued, "Think we should go to the nurse? What if it's broken?"
"If it was broken," I replied, "You would know. Trust me. You'll be fine, you weenie." We both pinched our bleeding noses and looked at each other and even I almost started laughing. We must look ridiculous. What a sight for someone to take in, two genius kids, pinching their noses and bleeding all over the carpet while grinning like drunken fools. What a pair we were. At least my image of Matt, the guy-that showed-me-where-the-dining-room, was gone. Now when I thought of him it would be this. He was weird, but not as bad as I had originally expected.
"So," he started, "Wanna ditch with me?" The kid was in the age of an average kindergartener and he was already ditching class. I'd never done anything of the sort before. Sensing my nervous disposition (that, or reading the expression on my face) Matt jumped up and taped my shin with his sneakered foot.
"It'll be fun, I swear. We'll be back before lunch." There was no way I could trust this kid but… what harm would it do, really? Confident that he'd ditched before and knew all the loopholes, I assured myself that we wouldn't be caught. Unless he was really stupid.
"Fine." I heard myself agreeing, "But we're going to the bathroom first. I kind of want to wash this blood off of my face."
Matt had a "sanctuary". Hoofing it to the backyard, hopping over Wammy's tall fence, through yards and yards of trees, we finally came to a small opening. Matt was huffing and puffing from all the physical strain. I was almost positive he didn't get out much.
"Feel special." he pants, "I hardly even come here. Too much work. I just found it one day and was saving it for something cool, like my first special place or something like that, but I'm sure you'd be better at figuring something out for it. You just seem like that kind of person." I didn't understand what he was talking about. All that it appeared to be was a few yards of field. Yellowing grass here, a few blossoming flowers there. Nothing out of the ordinary. Matt, after regaining his breath, started again.
"You're looking in all the wrong places, Mello." he waltzed to the end of the field, furthest from where we came, and motioned for me to come over. Wearily I walked over to where he stood and as soon as the large tree trunk that blocked most of the view was behind me I could see what Matt was talking about. He motioned to a wide-branched pine tree a few yards from where we stood. Placed preciously in the strong branches was a sturdy-looking tree house. Although not big, I wouldn't have the nerve to call it small either. I had to admit, I was impressed.
Matt put a thin arm around my shoulder. "See, I told you that you were looking in the wrong places." I nodded and agreed for once. Matt continued, "I haven't been inside of it yet; I never really had a knack to just clamber up trees like a monkey." I brushed off his arm and marching toward the sanctuary. If he hadn't seen it than who knew what kind of secret things could be in there? I put my hands on the bark as I stood next to the pine, enjoying the simple roughness on my hands. I used to love climbing around when I was with my mom. Sighing at the memory, I realized that the ladder to this place was nonexistent. No wonder Matt couldn't get into it.
I looped around the base and found myself a low enough branch. Matt was now standing a way away from me, watching in mute curiosity. "Follow my lead," I told him, "I know you want to see inside too." He grinned ear to ear and clambered after me, for I was already making my way onto the next branch. It was tricky, I'll tell you, but soon enough both of us hauled ourselves, stomach first, into the tree house. Being the first one to steady myself and stand, I helped Matt get the rest of his body in. Since his lower half was still dangling helplessly as he grunted and puffed in strain and annoyance, I figured it was a nice thing to do. Once we both stood, we inspected the place carefully. Whoever had built this had put a lot of work into it. Neither I nor Matt could touch the ceiling and we could both walk around without trouble. This place was bigger than it looked on the outside. The tree trunk was a big part of the foundation to the architecture. Without it the whole structure would come tumbling to the ground. It was literally part of the walls. There were inked-pen drawings of shapes and objects hung on the walls with a rusty nail or two. The picture's actual contents couldn't be made out because the paper had gotten wet and the ink had run. Either way, it was eerie. A worn circle-shaped rug with dull bands of orange and green was placed in the center of the tree house and one small reading chair was placed atop of it. It all had a musty smell, I guessed from the years of Winchester's rain and humidity that was so common during the summer. A rusty tin can was filled with pens and pencils and pieces of wet paper were stuck under it, a book with a red cover to the right of that. Besides all of that stuff, the place was pretty empty considering it was so much larger than we had intended.
Matt let out a low, impressed whistle. A skill I had yet to master. "It's pretty cool, you know? I wonder who's it is." I wrinkled up my nose a bit and did a three-sixty of the site. The only opening was the doorway where we had climbed in, which faced the west. Hardly any sun was coming through. It made everything more unearthly. "If we're going to make this our place," I started, "than we have to find a way to let in more light. I swear this place is like Davy Jones locker. I can practically feel the spider webs that are here."
He beamed at my words, kid was easily impressed. "Sure thing. How are we going to do that?" I shrugged, "We'll figure something out."
"Yea…" he ran our conversation into the depths of silence. With a quick turn of the heel, he spun around and plunked his bum onto the edge of the doorframe, high-tops dangling dangerously over the side. The fall was a long way, looking down at the forest floor now. I sat next to him, getting a thrill in the way it was all positioned. It felt like you were just floating in midair. The floor of the sanctuary was jutting out far enough from the tree that you couldn't see the trunk and high up enough that you could see the trees in the distance. It was breathtaking. We didn't speak. There was no need to, it's not like it was awkward. The both of us just enjoyed each other's presence and the view and feel of morning.
Lunch was always a bore; although the ditch day with Matt was fun, it was back to the ordinary. I nibbled at the chocolate pudding the cooks provided mutely, resisting the urge to put my bruised nose against the cool plastic of the pudding cup. Sighing as the bell rang and I continued the day with a new appreciation for the sneaky little redhead.
The rest of the day passed slowly, but eventually ended, with only a few pages of work to complete for the next day. We couldn't exactly call it "homework" seeing as the teaching areas and living areas were in the same building. Never the procrastinator, I rushed to my room and slammed the door, ready to get my work out of the way. I padded across the wooden floor, rolled back the chair to my own personal desk, and began with English. Spelling, a few pointers and questions on grammar; easy as pie. Simple. Almost too easy; although, much more of a challenge the average schooling I used to receive. I flew through the work with ease, checked it, double checked it, and once I was sure it was finished to my liking I swiveled in the wheeled chair, head filled with different thoughts. Where did a detective start? I reflected back to the investigations class Wammy's House required for all ages. Shifting my mind back to the beginning of the year. It all started… at the scene of the crime, of course! I leapt from the seat and went into the vast hallway that was just outside of my room. Redwood floors and light colored paint to match, it didn't seem like a place where a ghost would wander… maybe I could stay outside of my bedroom door until nighttime, when the ghost child actually arrived.
[[*conk- a European/UK slang term for nose. Look it up sometime. (;
I know that this was a really lame ending but I really wanted to post it on Matt's birthday. Soo, yea. I need to start on the next one. Annnddd, at least this one is longer than the last right? Hope you enjoyed? Any advice? Review!
PS. Who wants to count how many times I put the word "nose" in there? =~=]]