That was another one. Whatever. Old house. Old news. There were always creaks. Usually Ma was in the bedroom down the hall and tonight I was by myself but that made no difference anyway because if there was an albino serial killer or a witch-ghost to fight then it would be up to me because I was the man of the house now.592Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡklW3TvasvQ
Ma said:
“You’re the man of the house now.”
Dad said:
"You’re the man of the house now, son. Look after your mother.”
Dad used to be the man of the house but now Dad was the man of a small room in a house he shared with two other men who were no longer men of their houses. Our school music teacher played us a song called “Sound of Silence” but when I went to Dad’s “share-house” I thought of the Smell of Sadness.
The Smell of Sadness is:
Instant Noodles and Coffee and Baked Beans and Dirty Laundry.
Also, since Dad moved out he smells a lot like mints and soap and cigarettes and him and my counsellor smelling the same makes me feel really grossed out.
Bang, creak.
Whatever. No drama. No nightlight. No worries.
But still, phew, Ma would be home soon.
Creak.
My belly ached with chocolate and popcorn and wine and something else that you might have thought was fear if you didn’t know what a badass rebel I was.
I fell asleep. Or started to fall asleep. Hard to know in a pitch-black room what’s room and what’s eyelids.
“Got blood?”
Now I was definitely awake and my eyes were definitely open, I knew because I reached up and touched them. “Got592Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡLpe0mxckS6
blood?” Had I heard that in my room or in my head?
“Got blood?” Yeah right, my brain said. An imaginary serial killer from a movie had picked tonight to come to life and had picked me to be his victim. Ha ha ha, nice try.
But maybe, my stomach said, a real crazy killer had been outside, looking through the windows, watching me watching the movie and had decided it would be fun to taunt me with that line before killing me so creak he got a window open and creak he stepped on the hallway floorboards and bang, creak he opened the door to the TV room to look for me and creak he started up the stairs.
Shut up stomach!
Or what if there had always been a ghost in the house, just waiting for the first night I was left alone to make its move? 592Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡAeObRfH3G9
What if it had watched the double-bill with me and decided it really liked the look of being a lady witch-ghost? 592Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡe7uc3thwvw
What if-
Stomach, seriously, shut the f-up!
I actually punched my stomach. Not too hard but it didn’t help my bellyache.
I listened for another creak but there was nothing and I fell asleep again or maybe just started to.
Creak. Scutter. Thump.
I sat up. I tried to make my heart and my breathing calm down. I squinted but still couldn’t see much of anything so I knew I was probably imagining that my door, which I’d closed on my way to bed, was now open a crack. I was being silly. I hadn’t heard a door-opening creak or a carpet-crawling scutter or a hiding-now thump.
I would have turned on my lamp straight away except it was over on my desk and I would have turned on the light but the switch was all the way across the room next to the door. Even worse, the phone I had finally been given this Christmas, after months of begging, was all the way downstairs.
Not long after Dad left, Ma said:
“You’re too young for a phone. You don’t need it. It’s a gateway to trouble.”
The first time I saw him after he left, Dad said:
“Don’t worry, I’ll talk to your mother.” Wink.
He had talked to her and she had listened and now I had a phone but it was all the way downstairs in the TV room and whenever Ma saw me using it she looked sad and they hadn’t really talked or listened to each other about my phone they had just argued the same way they did about payments and my counsellor and I wished I’d never begged for the stupid phone and these days when Dad winked it didn’t look cool or funny it just looked lame.
I needed to pee but the bathroom was three light switches away from me. It had to be at least eleven-thirty by now, Ma must be home or about to be. Maybe she had come home while I was dozing. But I hadn’t heard any Ma sounds or seen any Ma lights. Creak and scutter and thump weren’t Ma sounds. Ma sounds were high heels clicking or slippers shuffling or car keys jingling or592Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡVAYJQuOXtI
the kettle boiling at weird times.
Squeak. Squeak.
From beneath my bed. Just like a movie, I thought. Just like a milky white hand or a withered witch claw playing with one of my toys, playing with me.
OK. OK. This was stupid. Time to be brave. I would just say out loud, “Is there someone under the bed?” And when nobody or nothing answered it would be lamps and light switches and toilet and phone and happy days.
But what if someone did answer?
“Is there someone under the bed?”
“Yes.”
“Cool, thanks for answering.”
“No problem. Got souls?”
Had to be done. Had to be brave. Out loud this time:
“Is there someone under the bed?”
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