2018 - Two days after the earthquake (cont.)

Michael stepped up onto the porch of the old Victorian and rang the doorbell. He wasn't supposed to be over there by himself but Mama Constance and Father Jeremiah were busy with the strange lady and Michael wanted to play. So he had sneaked out and gone next door.

The door opened and Tate - Ethan to Michael - was there. He looked surprised to see Michael. "Hi. Where's Mama Constance?"

Michael shrugged. "She's busy. Wanna play?"

Ethan peeked out the door in the direction of the neighboring house and then stepped back to let the other boy in. Michael went inside. The other boy shut the door.

"Wow!" Michael said. "What happened?"

He went over to the fallen beam in the center of the foyer and nudged it with the toe of his sandal. It didn't move. Ethan came over too and looked down at it. "The earthquake made it fall. Come here."

Ethan led the way into the formal sitting room. "Look." He pointed to a big crack in the plaster that went from the ceiling to midway down the wall. "It did that too."

Michael looked at the crack but it wasn't as interesting as the fallen beam. Then he saw the dolls. "What are those?"

Ethan looked over and made a face. "They're ugly. That's what they are."

And they were. They lined a black shelf above the sideboard: A row of five antique dolls in fancy, age-yellowed dresses. Their vacant blue eyes and wide dark eyebrows made them look like they were judging whoever passed before them. One's eyes had succumbed to gravity and were rolled so far down that the blue irises hardly showed. Three had slightly open mouths that had teeth in them. The fact that they weren't smiling made them look even creepier.

Michael tipped his head. "Why do they have teeth?"

"So they can bite you," Ethan said. Then he giggled.

Michael didn't think that was funny. "Dolls can't bite people."

"Those ones can," said Ethan with utmost sincerity. "At night they come down off the shelf, looking for somebody to bite. It's why I can't have sleepovers."

Michael looked at his friend, unsure. He didn't believe the story. Not really. "Nuh-uh."

"Yuh-huh," Ethan said. The he lit up, all excited. "Hey! You want to see something cool?"

"Okay."

"Wait here," said Ethan. "I'll go get it."

He ran from the room, leaving the other little boy in the sitting room by himself. Alone with the dolls.

Michael eyed them. They stood there, staring blankly into space. He inched a little closer, thinking he might give one a poke to see if it would move. He couldn't quite reach them; he was too short. He put a hand on the sideboard and stretched up on his tiptoes. His fingers touched the old lace that lined the hem of the red dress that the middle doll wore.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me!" Patrick said somewhere behind him.

He turned and saw the man in the doorway, coming his way. He looked angrier than anyone Michael had seen. The fear he'd felt the first time he'd heard the man's voice through the fence came stampeding back. He scooted away from the dolls.

"Get out of here, Michael! Now!"

Michael didn't need to be told twice. He ran, right past Patrick and out of the sitting room.

Patrick didn't watch to see where he went. His target had never been Michael. He had his furious gaze locked on Rubber Man, who'd been creeping up on the boy. Pat crossed the room with his fists clenched.

"What the fuck is your problem, Ben?!" he demanded.

He yanked the hood off.

There was no one inside. The bondage suit was standing on its own.

There was a crash from the doorway. Tate had brought his box of treasures down from the attic to share with Michael. Seeing the black rubber suit standing there on its own had shocked him as much as it had Patrick. The box had slipped through his hands and hit the floor. Filched silverware, photos and trinkets scattered over the floor.

Quick as a blink Rubber Man grabbed the fireplace poker from the hearth. Patrick fell back a step and for the first time in years felt fear. He didn't remember dying. He definitely didn't want an instant replay that he could. But he had no idea how to fight something that simply didn't exist. He tensed up, ready to defend himself. Rubber Man advanced on him.

Anger surged up in Tate suddenly, thawing his frozen limbs. Without conscious thought he assumed his older form. He balled up his fists and with a look of deep, resentful concentration he stared at the bondage suit monster that was menacing Patrick. His form flickered and he disappeared briefly.

He reappeared and concentrated even harder, brows crunched down in a deadly scowl. Rubber Man hesitated. It lowered the poker a little. Tate trembled with the force of his concentration. He disappeared again. When he reappeared next, he was inside the suit.

It took effort to let go of the poker. When he did, he threw it down with such force that it dug a gouge into the hardwood floor. He could feel the suit pulsing against his skin. It felt disgusting. Alive. He really hated the way it felt against his private parts. It had never felt like this before. He wanted to take it off but he was afraid to just release it.

"We need to lock this thing up," Tate said.

Patrick nodded slowly. "Yeah. Yeah, we do. Right now."

...

Michael ran. He didn't know Ethan's daddy liked the dolls so much or he wouldn't have tried to touch one. He stopped running when he found himself at the top of a stairwell. He didn't stop moving though. He went on down, as quickly as he could without falling. When he got to the bottom he looked around at all the junk in the basement. There wasn't a way out he could see except the stairs back up. And that was in the direction of Patrick.

He moved further into the basement thinking there might be a door somewhere on the other side. There was so much stuff, he couldn't see over or past it all. Then he heard something move somewhere off to his right. The boy thought about calling out but it could be Patrick. If he got mad over dolls he'd really be mad if he found Michael in the basement with all his other stuff.

He ducked under a nearby table and sat down. He pulled his knees up to his chin and wondered what to do. Then he heard another noise. Something was definitely moving out there. He saw a sharp scrap of metal on the floor within reach and picked it up. When he looked back to the basement he found himself face to face with the ugliest baby in the world. It made the dolls upstairs look pretty by comparison.

It was Thaddeus and he'd found Michael.

...

Constance, Jeremiah and Billie Dean sat at the table having their third round of tea. Between Billie Dean and the priest they were able to get Constance to understand she was in fact dead. Jeremiah had tried for two days on his own; he was glad to have some assistance that the woman would listen to.

"The only thing I can figure," Billie Dean said. "Is that whatever makes your old home a magnet... has spread to this lot as well. From the way it's pushing at the fabric of reality, it's trying to grow more."

"Where's Michael?" Constance asked. She realized when she got to the bottom of her cup that she hadn't heard him in a while.

"Upstairs playing," Father Jeremiah said. He got up. "I'll go check on him."

He left the kitchen. Billie Dean lit a cigarette and Constance followed suit.

"I always thought if I died it would be over there," said Constance with a bitter smile. "I just assumed I'd be trapped there too."

Billie Dean tapped the tip of her cigarette against the side of the ashtray. "Have you left the house since your death?"

Constance shook her head. "I haven't had a reason. Jeremiah runs all the errands for me. He's such a saint."

"Some spirits can roam free but most are attached to a place," her clairvoyant friend said. "Or a person. Sometimes both. You should see if you can leave."

"Are you going to stay for the funeral?"

Billie Dean smiled and put her hand over Constance's nearest one. "Of course."

Constance smiled and brushed the woman's fingers with her thumb in silent thanks. Then she sucked on her cigarette and exhaled smoke in a sigh. "If I can leave the house, I think I'll go along. There's somethin' tragically romantic about attendin' your own burial."

"Michael's not upstairs," Father Jeremiah said on his return to the kitchen. "He's not in the house. Did he go out back?"

Constance breezed over to the back door and opened it. "Michael?" she called. She waited a moment and when there was no response, she raised her voice to a shout. "Miiiiichaaaael!"

There was still no response. Constance swept back over to the table and snuffed her cigarette in the ashtray. Then she headed for the front of the house. The other two followed her.

"Where do you think he is?" Billie Dean asked. She could tell her friend was moving with a purpose.

"I know where he is," said Constance. She didn't sound happy. She paused to look at Billie Dean. "You wanted to know if I can leave this place? Well. We're about to find out."

Author's Note:

My beta kind of freaked out when she got to the part about Rubber Man. This made me glad. Rubber Man freaks me out. But not as much as Constance on the warpath. She still scares me more than anything in the whole series.

This chapter's title Little Monsters is also the name of a really bad horror-comedy film from the 80's starring Fred Savage and Howie Mandel. Monsters Inc. did the idea much better.

There are 2 more chapters in this episode. Episode 4 is finished, edited and ready to go.