Sick House

by Jeff Strand

  That did not mean that she was willing to reach underneath Naomi's bed searching for the tarantula.

  They'd been using a broom handle to carefully slide things out from under the bed (while continuing the "maybe you should be less of a slob" lecture). Adeline had a mild sense of dread with each new item, thinking that this could be the one with a crushed spider stuck to it.

  "What if he got out of the house?" Naomi asked.

  "I don't see how he could," said Adeline. "Even with eight legs he couldn't open a door."

  Naomi was not amused by her joke.

  "There's nowhere for him to go," Adeline continued. "He's too big to squeeze under a door or get through the air conditioning vent. Unless there's a hole in the floor that nobody noticed, he's still in the house."

  "Okay."

  Adeline used the broom to move a shoebox. Something was behind it that might have been tarantula-shaped, but it was too dark to tell for sure. She picked up the flashlight.

  "Aw, shit."

  * * *

  Boyd sat on a chair in the examination room while the doctor shined a penlight into Paige's eye.

  His cell phone vibrated. A text from Adeline.

  Gordon dead. Naomi inconsolable. How's YOUR night going?

  Oh shit, Boyd texted back.

  Yep.

  Where was he?

  Under the bed.

  Squashed?

  You'll need to see it.

  ??????

  You'll see when you get home. How's Paige?

  "I don't see any sign of a foreign object lodged in there," said the doctor, sounding almost disappointed.

  "You don't think we'd need an X-Ray or something?" asked Boyd.

  "Oh, no. A contact lens wouldn't show up in an X-Ray. An MRI, maybe, but there's absolutely no reason that we'd take that step. There's honestly not much room in your eye for something to hide. Even if it were in there, I'd tell you not to worry; it would come out on its own. But it's not in there."

  "Good to hear," said Boyd. "We were just worried because we didn't see it fall out and we couldn't find it on the floor."

  "It's a tiny lens that's meant to look invisible."

  "Still, it was a tile floor."

  The doctor shrugged. "I don't know what to tell you. It's not in her eye now."

  "Thank you. I appreciate it."

  * * *

  Boyd felt squirmy as they drove home. He knew he should be relieved, and he was, but he really hoped that the lens turned up. It was unnerving having its location be unresolved. Not that he genuinely believed it might be working its way into his daughter's brain; he simply wasn't convinced that it wasn't still lodged in there, near the very top. Perhaps it was just paranoia, but if you put something in your eye, you should have physical evidence that it was no longer in your eye.

  "So," he said. "Your mom texted me while the doctor was looking at you. I've got bad news. Gordon's dead."

  "Oh no. Did she accidentally step on him?"

  "No."

  "What happened?"

  "I don't know. He was under the bed."

  "Are you happy?"

  "Of course not. Naomi loved him."

  "But you didn't."

  "No, I sure didn't. I hated that thing. Doesn't mean I want your sister to be upset. Just try to be extra nice to her when we get home, okay?"

  "What did you think I would do?" asked Paige. "Get in her face and go 'Ha ha, your bug is dead!'?"

  "You know what I meant, smartass."

  "I'm sure Mom's telling her the same thing about my traumatic experience. We'll be so nice to each other that it'll make you both sick."

  * * *

  When they got home, Naomi had fallen asleep snuggled against Adeline on the living room couch. Adeline slowly extricated herself from the cuddles without waking her up, then got up and gave Paige a hug.

  "Glad everything's okay," she said.

  "Yeah, my eyeball didn't get slashed apart, so that's good," said Paige. "The doctor took it out of the socket and everything. Did he put it back in straight?" Paige looked at her, cross-eyed.

  "It would appear that you're feeling better," said Adeline.

  "When my eyeball was out the doctor poked my brain to make me forget my fear."

  "Time for you to go to bed."

  "What happened to Gordon?"

  Adeline looked over at Naomi, who was still asleep. "We found him dead," she whispered. "We'll talk about it tomorrow. Bedtime."

  "Okay, let me put my contacts in and then I'll go to sleep."

  "Ha ha. Go away."

  Paige left the living room. Adeline's smile disappeared.

  "So what exactly happened?" Boyd asked.

  "C'mon."

  She led Boyd into the kitchen. There was a closed Tupperware container next to the sink.

  "I didn't want to leave him under the bed, so I scooped him up with a spatula," said Adeline, removing the lid. Boyd glanced inside.

  The dead tarantula lay on its back, all eight legs folded in. Its body was covered with green and white mold.

  Boyd stared at it for a moment, then stepped back, unable to shake the childish concern that the spider might spring back to life. "What the hell?"

  "Doesn't it look like he rotted?"

  "Yeah."

  "It would be different if there'd maybe been a line of ants leading to the body. But this isn't how an insect decomposes. Why is it moldy?"

  That was, Boyd had to admit, an excellent question. The quickly rotting fruit was bizarre, but this was crossing the line into flat-out disturbing. Boyd didn't know a lot about entomology (he did know that spiders weren't insects, though now was not the time to be pedantic) but what happened to that tarantula was not the natural order of things.

  "I'll call Jack Ponter tomorrow and tell him exactly what's going on. He needs to send somebody over to investigate."

  "Who would he send?"

  "I don't know. That's his problem. There's something wrong with the air quality in this house and they need to take care of it. If they have to scrub down the entire place, attic to basement, they can put us up in a hotel."

  "Maybe we should go to a hotel tonight," said Adeline. "What if we're getting poisoned?"

  Boyd wanted nothing more than to just go to bed—he was only going to get about five hours of sleep as it was—and he didn't think they'd get reimbursed for the hotel room after the fact. But there was clearly something wrong with this house, and he didn't want to risk something that might have long-lasting effects on his daughters.

  Adeline seemed to notice his hesitation. "I'm probably overreacting."

  Boyd shook his head. "Better to play it safe. We don't want something toxic getting into our lungs. We'll find a hotel and then get Jack over here tomorrow. If you want to pack a change of clothes for Naomi, I'll pack our stuff."

  "Maybe we don't need to go tonight. We'll sleep here and then I'll take the girls someplace during the day."

  "Gordon is covered with mold. We should not be sleeping here tonight."

  Adeline walked toward Naomi's room. Boyd went over to Paige's room and stood in her doorway. She was sitting on her bed, holding a pair of fingernail clippers.

  "Pick out some clothes for tomorrow," said Boyd. "We're staying at a hotel tonight."

  "Why?"

  "There's mold in the house. We shouldn't be breathing it."

  "Okay. Let me finish this."

  "Are you clipping your fingernails in bed?"

  "I'm clipping them while I'm sitting on my bed."

  "Do you really want fingernail clippings on your blankets? That's gross."

  "I'm watching where they go."

  "Hey, it's your bed. If you want it to be covered with fingernails, that's your call. Civilized people do it in the bathroom over a waste basket."

  "I guess I'm a cavewoman."

  "I guess so. If you decide to make fire, promise me you'll—" Boyd frowned. "Let me see your hand."

  Paige held up her left hand. Thin tr
ickles of blood had run down three of her fingers. She seemed to notice this at the same time Boyd did.

  Boyd rushed over and knelt down next to her. He took her hand in his own so he could get a better look. She'd cut her fingernails so close to the quick that they were bleeding.

  "Jesus, Paige!"

  Paige looked flustered. "I—I must not have been paying attention."

  "Doesn't it hurt?"

  "It does now."

  What the hell was happening? Sure, he'd trimmed his own nail too far back before, but that was something you did on accident once, not to every finger.

  "What made you do this?" Boyd demanded.

  "I told you. I wasn't paying attention."

  "You're thirteen years old. You know how to clip your fingernails. Did you do this on purpose?"

  "No!" Paige seemed genuinely horrified by the idea. "It was a mistake!"

  "Every finger has blood on it."

  "Not that much."

  "What's wrong?" Adeline asked, stepping into Paige's bedroom.

  Boyd held up Paige's hand to show her.

  "Oh my God. What happened?"

  "I messed up, okay?" said Paige. "I was thinking about what happened to my eye and I wasn't paying attention to what I was doing. I wasn't trying to hurt myself, I promise." She began to cry.

  Boyd looked at her hand once more. The skin that wasn't bleeding was raw and red. She was going to be in pain for quite a while, not counting the upcoming moment of agony when they poured on the antiseptic.

  He could see one of the fingernails on her bed with a piece of flesh stuck to it.

  He put his arms around his daughter and gave her a tight hug as she sobbed into his chest.

  To hell with this house.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The closest motel was a few miles away. It sucked.

  There were rust stains in the shower and discolored water in the toilet. The towels were so threadbare that if an auto mechanic used them to wipe up oil spills, he'd secretly think, "I can do better." The room reeked of marijuana, forcing Boyd and Adeline to come up with a cover story about the untimely demise of a skunk on the premises. Boyd was pretty sure that the housekeeper hadn't changed the sheets after the previous occupant, since there were still potato chip crumbs on them.

  They definitely would not be staying in this place for more than one night. For now, though, Boyd just wanted to lay safely on top of the covers and go to sleep.

  * * *

  The next morning, Adeline was so psyched up to do battle with the landlord that it was almost a letdown when Jack Ponter apologized profusely and promised to send a cleaning crew to the house that day.

  "I swear we had a crew out there before you moved in," he told her over the phone. "I must not have done a good enough inspection after they were finished. We'll vacuum out the air ducts again and I'll get somebody in there to check for mold. We'll make sure it's a safe environment for your kids."

  Adeline checked out of the motel and took the girls out for a nice breakfast of strawberry covered waffles for her and Paige and chocolate-chip pancakes for Naomi. They made a quick stop at the grocery and then returned to the house to meet Jack at ten.

  "Sorry again about this," he said. "I really can't explain it."

  "It's okay," Adeline assured him as she let him inside. "The house looks totally clean. Boyd and I certainly didn't notice anything wrong while we were moving in."

  "Let me make sure I understand. Boyd said that food keeps spoiling?"

  "Right. Wait here for a moment." Adeline left the house and walked to the car. She opened the passenger-side door, picked up the banana that was resting on the seat, and returned to the house. "We're going to do a weird banana experiment."

  "Okay," said Jack, sounding uncertain.

  She led him to the kitchen and then handed him the banana. "Not ripe yet, correct?"

  "Correct."

  "Still completely green?"

  "Yep, green all over. Is this a magic trick?"

  "I wish." Adeline took the banana from him and set it on the counter. "It's going to turn black."

  "Before my very eyes?"

  Adeline smiled. "Not quite that fast. But you'll be amazed. Just check on it every once in a while."

  "I will," said Jack. "I'm not going to be here the whole day, but I'll make sure that nobody touches or eats it."

  "If I had an extra phone, I'd set it up and record the whole thing," said Adeline. "Maybe the scientific community would be interested."

  "I have to admit, I've never heard of this kind of thing happening. But we'll figure out the problem and make it stop. The cleaners should get here around ten-thirty, and I'll poke around myself until then. You're welcome to stick around here or find a more interesting way to spend your day."

  "I think the girls and I are going to catch a double-feature."

  "Great idea."

  "Hi," said Paige, stepping into the kitchen.

  "Hello, young lady," said Jack. "I'm Jack. Nice to meet you."

  "Nice to meet you, too. I'm Paige." She was capable of being extremely polite when she was so inclined. Adeline was ninety-nine percent sure that it wasn't sarcasm.

  Jack glanced at the bandages covering each finger on her left hand. "Did you burn yourself?" he asked.

  Paige shook her head. "It was a stupid accident. I feel like a total jerk."

  Adeline hoped that Jack didn't press for more details. Though she wanted him to know that there was something seriously wrong with this house, Paige's "accident" was none of his business. It wasn't as if she could really blame the house anyway. Mold didn't cause teenaged girls to—well, Adeline wouldn't go so far as to call it self-mutilation. She wasn't sure what she'd call it. Extreme carelessness brought about by an unhealthy environment. It didn't matter what she called it or what caused it; Paige hurting herself was none of Jack's concern.

  "Well, remind me to tell you about how I broke my foot in college," said Jack. "Now that was stupid."

  "Did you get drunk and jump out of a second floor window?"

  "No, I dropped a bowling ball on it."

  "That sounds more clumsy than stupid," said Paige.

  "I did it on purpose."

  "Why?"

  "It was a bet."

  "Did you win?"

  "I sure did."

  "How much?"

  "Two dollars."

  "You broke your foot on purpose for two dollars?"

  "Remember when I said it was stupid?"

  "I'd say you were right, but you're an adult and that would be inappropriate."

  Jack laughed. "My older daughter would disagree with you, but I appreciate that. Anyway, if you guys don't mind, I'm going to look around to see if I can find any problem areas before the experts get here."

  "Sounds good," said Adeline, mildly relieved that he didn't ask any more questions about Paige's fingers.

  "I'll call you if we find anything that cracks the case, or if I've got any important updates on the banana."

  * * *

  The first movie didn't start for another hour, so they stopped at a park. Naomi ran straight for the swing set. Paige, far too old for such childish nonsense, sat on a bench with Adeline.

  Adeline tapped Paige's bandaged hand. "Can we talk about this?"

  "I guess."

  "What happened?"

  "I told you. I wasn't paying attention."

  "You walk into a tree if you're not paying attention. You don't keep doing something that hurts."

  "It didn't really hurt."

  "Jamming things under somebody's fingernail is one of the best ways to torture information out of them. Of course it hurt."

  Paige didn't respond.

  "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," said Adeline. "We can save it for another time, if you're not comfortable."

  "I was just a little foggy. I didn't feel very good."

  "You felt sick?"

  Paige shrugged. "A little."

  "Why didn't
you say that before?"

  "It's not a good excuse. I should've clipped them later. They weren't that bad."

  "Your dad felt sick, too. I hope they're able to find the problem today."

  "Will we have to move if they don't?"

  "I think so. We can't live in a house where everything is rotting, right?"

  "I thought we had a lease."

  "Legally, we can get out of it if we can prove that the house is unsafe. I think we can do that pretty easily." Adeline wasn't entirely sure that was true; she doubted there was precedent for tenants getting out of a lease because their food kept going bad. But they'd worry about that after today's house cleaning.

  "Will Naomi and I still have our own rooms?"

  "Yes. We wouldn't give you two your own rooms and then take it away. That would be child abuse."

  "Mommy! Look at me!" shouted Naomi, who was swinging so high that it almost looked like she could do a loop-de-loop with a few more leg pumps.

  "Not so high, sweetie!" Adeline called out. The last thing she needed was for Naomi to have a horrific swing set accident.

  "I don't think you can go all the way around," said Paige.

  "Well, we're not going to test that."

  Naomi stopped actively swinging.

  "For now we're going to pretend that everything is going to be completely fine," Adeline told Paige. "Jack was very nice about it, and I can't imagine there's a problem with the house that's so bad it can't be fixed."

  "What if it was built on an ancient Indian burial ground?"

  "You're not supposed to say 'Indian' unless you're talking about people from India."

  "What if it was built on an ancient Indian burial ground where people from India were horribly murdered?"

  "Then we should probably move."

  * * *

  Packing, moving, and unpacking had consumed so much of Adeline's recent life that it felt weird to relax in a movie theater seat. She felt guilty taking the day off when Boyd had to go to his stressful job, but he'd insisted and there wasn't much productive work she could do outside the house until the girls started school. So, the movies it was!