by Hunter Shea
It looked like his crazy old man was reviving that tradition.
“Not with my son,” he rumbled, going out the back door. West wasn’t here to be his step and fetch. Yes, he’d help out, but Matt would be damned if he’d let that note nonsense start up again.
His hand shook as he ripped the slip of paper from under the pinched clothespin. His rage was always boiling just under the surface lately. It didn’t take much for it to spill over.
In a way, he was glad his father wasn’t around. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to control himself right about now.
Matt opened the note.
The shock set him on his ass. His cane rolled out of his grasp.
His eyes twitched; a vertigo precursor. He had to wait for them to settle down before he could read the note again.
WE WILL ALWAYS BE HERE. WE HAVE ALWAYS BEEN HERE. WE SEE THE BLOOD THAT RUNS THROUGH THE VEINS OF THIS HOUSE. KNOW THIS – WE HAVE NEVER STOPPED WATCHING. WE ARE STILL THE GUARDIANS.
“No.”
Matt crumpled up the paper, stuffing it in the waistband of his pajama shorts. He crawled on his hands and knees for his cane. It was a supreme struggle getting to his feet. His head was full, as if someone had jammed a pneumatic air pump in his ears and gave it all it had. His legs quivered, knees threatening to give way at any moment. The cane became an oar. He planted it in the ground, pulling himself forward, the muscles in his arms and back straining. With a grunt he pulled it free, jamming it into the soil several feet forward. Once he was inside the house, he locked the door and leaned against it, panting.
WE ARE STILL THE GUARDIANS.
He balled his fists and punched the door. A splinter pierced his knuckle, his blood staining the wood.
What had he done?
***
West had spent the night tossing and turning, which was no easy feat in the slumping mattress. He was uncomfortable, but it was his mind that kept him up. He just couldn’t seem to shut it down.
He almost wished summer vacation were over. Going to a new school, starting high school no less out here in Bumb Fuck, PA, had worried him at first. Now, he’d welcome the chance to get out of the house for seven hours a day.
Until then, he was trapped.
Putting on a sleeveless T-shirt emblazoned with the movie poster for The Descent and cargo shorts, he crept down the stairs, listening out for his grandfather. The house was quiet. He’d heard someone puttering around earlier and smelled breakfast. West thought it was best to wait them out, no matter how much his stomach rumbled.
Eyes darting to the kitchen, he saw the coast was clear.
Thump!
The sudden noise sounded as if it came from within the hallway wall. West froze, his heart pausing its steady rhythmic beat, every sense reaching out for the source of the sound.
There’s something behind me, West thought. The flesh on the back of his neck chilled. It was the same feeling he used to get when he was little and had to go to the basement to get something for his mother or father. It was that dire sense that he wasn’t alone, that something hungry and sinister was just a hand swipe away, waiting for the perfect moment.
Ungh.
What the hell was that?
It happened so fast, the quick release of a pent up breath somewhere near, but nowhere he could zero in on, that he wasn’t sure he actually heard it.
It could have been a spasm of his own lungs, itching to exhale, which he now did.
Just turn around. There won’t be anything there, just like there was never a monster in the basement. It’s all in your head.
Except there had never been muffled sounds in the basement. It was all just his childhood imagination run wild.
He couldn’t deny what he’d heard just now.
Wait. Where’s Grandpa Abraham? It’s probably just him poking around the basement again.
That first hard thwack hadn’t come from below. He was certain of it.
Turn… around… now!
West steeled himself and spun, his hands balled into fists.
To his great relief, the hallway was empty. A square of sunlight peering through the glass pane in the front door was at his feet. The only thing trailing him was dust motes caught in the shaft of light.
Idiot.
For all his talk about wanting to be a paranormal investigator one day, he sure was jumpy. He was supposed to run to weird sounds, not from them.
Now all he wanted to do was grab something to eat and a bottle of water and get the hell out. He had a Jack Ketchum paperback in his back pocket and his iPod clipped to the collar of his shirt. That would be enough to keep him busy for most of the day. If he could somehow stay out of the house until his mother came home, he’d be happy.
Jamming the blueberry Pop Tarts under his arm, he yanked the refrigerator door open, plucking a bottle of store brand water from the top shelf. When he closed the door, his grandfather was standing beside him.
“Where the hell are you going in such a rush?”
The basement door was shut tight. He hadn’t been down there.
But the pantry door was open. Grandpa Abraham held a can of coffee in both hands.
West jumped, dropping the water and Pop Tart. Bending down to pick them up, the book popped out of his pocket.
“I… I’m just going outside.”
Grandpa Abraham wore a beige dress shirt that might have been white at one time. All of the buttons were undone, revealing pale flesh covered in coarse, white hair. He scratched at the coils between his saggy man boobs.
“You look like a jackrabbit in a fox den.”
“A what?”
“Something scare you, short stuff?”
West’s compulsion for flight veered toward the need to fight.
“I’m not scared,” he said.
Grandpa Abraham huffed. “Well, you sure look it. That how you always look in the morning?” He started to laugh, then cocked his head and said, “I told you this house is never empty. I thought you said you liked the idea. Funny how thinking about something and actually experiencing it can change a man’s perspective, isn’t it?”
“I’m not afraid. I’m just hungry and want to get outside. I think my blood sugar is low.”
West didn’t care if his grandfather believed him or not. He just wanted out.
Grandpa Abraham’s features softened, to the point where his eyes shined with a sort of paternal pity laced with sympathy.
“Nothing’s gonna hurt you, unless you give yourself a heart attack.”
“Thanks. I’ll remember that.”
Before West could head out the back door, he added, “I wouldn’t go too far if I were you. You don’t want to go wandering onto someone else’s property. It’s not the suburbs. You can’t just walk on your neighbor’s lawn. Out here, people get very particular about who steps over their boundaries. You know what I mean?”
Fuck no, West had no idea. Would they call the cops? Scream and holler like a madman? Take a shot at him with a rifle that had been passed down for generations? Or worse?
He shuddered thinking what worse could be.
“I’ll just find a spot to read my book,” he said, inwardly recoiling at the tremor in his voice.
The house suddenly felt like a living entity, closing in on him like a massive hand. And the only thing keeping him here, in danger, was his pain in the ass grandfather.
As he grabbed the door handle, Grandpa Abraham barked, “Hey! Remember what I said. You don’t want to go losing your head or something. Outsiders have to be extra careful around here.”
His mouth turned up in a cruel smile, but there was no mirth in his eyes. West shivered. He turned his back and left, not wanting to spend another moment in the decaying farmhouse.
West ran, hoping he remembered how to find the old barn. He was out of breath by the time it popped into view.
What had they gotten themselves into?
West thought they’d hit rock bottom before.
He was wrong.
/>
There was another level to the shit pile their lives had sunken into.
Grandpa Abraham was weird. As weird as the house. Maybe visiting a haunted house seemed cool, but it was a far cry from actually living in one.
He fought back the urge to cry.
He thought about screaming.
Instead, he brooded.
They should never have come here.
Chapter Six
Hunger and thirst and a need to get out of the increasingly oppressive heat drove West back to the farmhouse hours earlier than he’d hoped. Plus, there was just so much nature he could take. He’d discovered that he wasn’t a fan of the constant, grating cries of hawks. The damn things circled overhead ceaselessly. He waited outside the back door, listening for his grandfather.
It was just past four and already the crickets were out in force. Last night, they’d kept him company while he lay in bed, a lullaby that didn’t quite work. Taking a quick peek to make sure the coast was clear, he opened the screen door, flinching as it creaked.
He stopped, one foot inside, ear cocked.
Nothing.
He had to slip in sideways to make it through the sliver of an opening without inviting more protestations from the ungreased hinges.
The TV was on, a commercial for catheters booming. His father never turned the sound up that loud. Good. At least he knew Grandpa Abraham’s location.
Slowly opening the refrigerator, he pocketed two bottles of water. His mother said she wouldn’t be home until seven. He felt as dehydrated as jerky. They would hold him over for the next couple of hours.
This time when he closed the fridge, there was no one waiting on the other side of the door to scare the life out of him.
He wished he could recharge his iPod, but there was no way he was hanging around that long.
West took a sleeve of crackers, an apple, and a granola bar.
The squealing door bothered him less on the way out now that he was sure it couldn’t be heard over the TV. He cracked open a bottle, tossing the cap away and chugging it all down. Crushing the plastic bottle and stuffing it in his pocket, he made his way to the front of the house. There were a lot of trees bunched up along the driveway. Maybe it would be cooler there.
West pulled up short when he came upon his father standing outside, staring at the house. Both hands gripped the cane propped in front of him. He looked like he was searching for something.
“Hey Dad.”
His father blinked several times, then slowly looked his way. West saw his legs wobble a bit, but he was able to steady himself.
“Oh, hey, I was wondering where you’ve been all day.”
West shrugged his shoulders. “I was just out back reading.”
“Since this morning?”
“I was listening to music, too.”
“Did you see anyone?”
That was a weird question to ask. As far as he was concerned, they were living on another planet, as far from civilization as a polar bear to the Amazon.
“No, why?”
His father’s face darkened. “A simple no will do.”
Uh oh, he was in one of his moods. They came as regularly as the traffic and weather reports on the news radio station.
Changing the subject, he asked, “You talk to Mom today?”
“No. She must be busy.”
“I wonder how she liked the bus.”
His father took a half-step toward him. “No one likes the bus, West. It’s why the country is crowded with cars.”
“But she said it had cushioned seats and folding tray tables and stuff. I thought it sounded cool.”
“Yeah, well, when I was your age, I thought a lot of stupid shit was cool, too.”
West knew where this was going. If love could be measured by restraint, his father would never question how he felt about him.
Waving his book, West said, “I have a few more chapters I want to get to. Do you need any help getting back inside?”
His father exploded, spittle dappling his lips. “Did I say I wanted to go inside? Did I ask for help? I’m not a goddamn cripple! I’m perfectly capable of being on my own!”
His initial shock at the severity of the outburst gave way to a trembling surge of tears that West fought to keep down. No way was he going to let him see him bawl like a baby. Tightening his fingers around the book until his knuckles hurt, he spun away, sprinting for the access road.
Fuck him! He was a goddamn cripple. How many times had he asked West to help him out of bed, onto the couch, to the bathroom, into the car? Not a day had gone by when he didn’t need his help. Some people, when life kicked them in the balls, fought through the pain and got back on their feet. Watching his dad fold like a shirt, bit by bit of the man he knew drowning in self-pity, anger, and misery, was like standing vigil over a terminal patient. At what point was it morally okay to just pray for it all to end?
“Wait! West! Come back. I’m sorry.”
West kept running. He wanted nothing to do with either of the men in that house. It was clear now that the apple didn’t fall far from the rotten tree. Maybe this was why his father had stayed away all those years.
He couldn’t stand to see his own reflection in Grandpa Abraham’s face.
***
Debi was exhausted by the time she turned on to the long access road. She shouldn’t have been, because she’d slept most of the ride back to PA. Just imagine how it would become in the fall and winter when the moon and stars were out at quitting time. She’d bet her right and left arms that the late nap would make it very hard to go to sleep later on.
Another adjustment to make.
Add it to the list. Or you can find some way to keep awake. Just think about what you’ll do when you win the lottery. Make it Power Ball.
Turning into one of the many bends in the road, she smiled when she saw West leaning against a tree, waving to her. She stopped and rolled her window down.
“Boy, someone couldn’t wait to see me,” she said. He hopped inside and gave her a quick hug. Her heart stopped for the briefest of moments. She couldn’t remember the last time West had willfully hugged her.
“I didn’t want to be cooped up in the house all day,” he said.
Something was off, but he looked so happy, and truth be told, she was basking in the show of affection. She didn’t want to ruin the moment by asking him to spill the beans. She guessed at what could be eating him. It wasn’t hard to fill the list of possibilities.
“How was work?”
“Same ol’, same ol’. It feels strange getting home this late. Did your father or grandfather start anything for dinner?”
“I don’t know.”
She sighed. “Well, if they didn’t, it’s leftovers or PB&J sandwiches.”
He turned to her and said, “I wish we never came here. I don’t like Grandpa Abraham and I hate the house. Dad doesn’t like it, either.”
She tried her best to put a positive spin on things. “I know it’s not the Ritz and your grandfather isn’t exactly Santa Claus but we’re together and safe and…”
She’d almost said healthy. That would have been a lie.
Oh God, did we only make things worse coming here?
When he didn’t reply, all she could say was, “I’m sorry, honey.”
Debi stopped the car, leaned over, and pulled him close.
He let her hold him for far longer than the teen two-second rule. It was hard to hate herself for putting him through all of this when having him so close felt so complete. Fathers could never understand what it was like to lose that easy affection, the years chipping away at the hugs and kisses until there were only head nods and the occasional high five.
She held his face in her hands. His scarlet cheeks were burning. She rested the back of her hand on his forehead to make sure he didn’t have a fever.
“Do you think Grandpa Abraham’s crazy?” he asked.
“Crazy? Why would you say that?”
He shrug
ged. “I don’t know. He just seems… off. When was the last time you saw him? Maybe he lost it after Grandma died.”
Oh, if he only knew.
Debi said, “The man in that house is the same man I met twenty years ago. He’s a little dirtier, but underneath all that crust is the curmudgeonly center that’s been there his entire adult life.”
West’s face lightened. “Curmudgeonly. Nice SAT word.”
They both smiled. She dropped the car keys in her pocketbook. “I honestly thought I’d stump you on that one. I guess all those scary books are good for something.”
She didn’t add that she worried they were responsible for his imagination taking him to dark places like it did today. They had enough real life bad juju to deal with lately.
They walked to the house with her arm over his shoulder.
It was impossible to miss the blaring TV when they walked in the door. She shouted, “I survived my first day!”
She didn’t get a reply.
She dropped her briefcase and took a moment to inspect West’s face and neck. He’d gotten a nice little sunburn.
“Promise me you’ll wear sunscreen tomorrow.”
“Yeah, whatever.”
“I’ll see how you feel about that later when that burn settles in. I think I have some aloe vera gel somewhere. Hope it’s not in a box in the storage unit.”
Abraham was asleep in his chair. Where was Matt?
“I guess you haven’t seen your father.”
“Not for a while. He was out front last time I saw him.”
Again, there was something he wasn’t saying. Her mother’s intuition was in overdrive tonight. Maybe the nap on the bus was a good thing. Sleep hadn’t been easy for her, not as long as it had been an issue for Matt. They were both bleary-eyed most days.
“Well, I’m sure he’ll turn up when he smells food.”
Debi quietly worried that he had fallen somewhere outside. If she didn’t see or hear him in a few minutes, she’d go outside to check.
She was just about to walk in the kitchen when something in the living room caught her eye. The early summer evening sun was making its last stab through the dusty blinds, illuminating the back wall. There was a large, rectangular mirror mounted on it. A hodgepodge of end tables, mismatched dining set chairs, and metal file cabinets kept the mirror out of reach, which would explain the ashy layer of dust.
