The Damned of Lost Creek

by Danae Ayusso

  Off to the right of the door is a large empty closet, and across from that is a private bathroom—I have my own bathroom!—in soft violet with white marble everything and white crown molding, pearly iridescent white mosaic tiled glass shower, a small black crystal chandelier that hangs over the claw foot tub, and under the vanity are black baskets lined with a vintage black and white damask pattern fabric.

  If Price is the one that decorated, I now know why he’s single—GAY!

  Silently I looked around the room when Price waved me inside. I wasn’t sure what to do, and it sure in the hell wasn’t what I was expecting. For some reason, in my mind I kept picturing the overflow detainment area at the Youth Study Center, otherwise known as the juvenile detention center: bunk beds stacked three high filling the room, dirty bedding and prison issued orange and brown plastic sandals at the end of each bed, stained concrete floors, and people screaming and yelling, rival gang members trying to kill each other…

  Maybe I should take Price up on that therapy offer after all.

  Once the door closed behind me, I squealed and screamed like an excited kid and threw myself back on the bed, rolled around in the bedding, explored everything I could behind the tall white door keeping the world out. I’ll admit it, I cried when I flipped the switch to the bathroom. No more communal bathrooms for me!

  The empty closet was depressing and it was even more so when I hung up my five secondhand shirts and two pairs of jeans, including the ones that now have a big hole in the knee and are stained with blood from my trip in the pond. That’s something I don’t even want to think about right now. I still can’t believe I lost my goddamn book!

  “Think of something else,” I scolded myself.

  Maybe they’ll let me work around the ranch, even though I’ve never been on a farm or ranch or seen a horse in person before, so I can get some money for clothes before school.

  That’s another thing.

  Why was I so damn accepting of going to school? That isn’t right, and it sure in the hell isn’t normal. I should have gone off, screamed and yelled, punched the wall and threw stuff across the room. Instead, I just nodded and blurted out okay like it was nothing! I don’t even remember actually saying it, but after it left my lips, it made sense and felt like an agreeable suggestion. It isn’t as if I didn’t like school. I just couldn’t concentrate on anything because I was afraid of being the next victim of a random act of violence on whitey, or the funny looking girl with the white blonde hair and green eyes. You’d be amazed how someone can hate you just because you have green eyes when they have to buy theirs. It’s ridiculous.

  Since I can’t sleep, and I still haven’t had a tour of the house yet, I’ll give myself a nickel tour Mikhail style, meaning I wander around until someone catches me or I’m ready to fall asleep.

  I opened my door and checked up and down the long second floor door littered hallway to see if anyone was up. It’s two in the morning. Even country folk don’t get up that early. Each door was closed, and the house was unnaturally quiet for having six people in it. Besides Shep, Ellie, Price and me, there are two others around my age, maybe slightly younger than me; cousins that didn’t say anything to me at dinner or during me and Price’s battle of the geniuses afterward. Bleu and his brother, Kieran, just looked at me, stared would be a better description, but at least they weren’t pointing and laughing while doing it. I don’t know what their story is, but I have a feeling it’s a bad one.

  As I carefully tip-toed down the mahogany stairs, I couldn’t help but think of what it would have been like to sneak down them as a child to get a peek at Santa putting dozens of brightly wrapped presents under a two-story, beautifully decorated, Christmas tree. To see the plate of cookies I left by the fireplace empty and a candy cane ‘thank you’ left behind. It would have been nice, and a small part of me hates Mom because I never got to do that or even had the chance. I shouldn’t hate her, and it’s wrong of me to do so, but I can’t not hate her...it makes sense in an ass backwards sort of way. There will always be resentment, and I don’t think it’s going to go away anytime soon... Or ever for that matter.

  The stairs open up to the large foyer that leads to the dining room, formal living room, den, library and a sunken solarium. At the back of the dining room is a ridiculously large and open kitchen that is filled with enough food to feed an orphanage for a month. A hidden hallway, the gallery, leads to the family-game room. Another set of stairs lead to the basement and butler access to the second story.

  I’m too chicken shit to go down to the basement.

  Wandering around is already kind of freaking me out and going into the bowels of Hell would just add to that right now.

  The contemporary colors and décor doesn’t match the non-contemporary layout of the house. It’s a maze of hallways that seemingly appear out of nowhere, emptying you into a room, and then they seemingly disappear just as fast, almost as if they’re moving around. But unlike the woods, I’m not scared of them.

  The moving house I trust helluva more than the possessed woods and douchy Frenchman.

  I have issues.

  Each painting or picture I pass appears to be watching me. Their eyes never move, but they give me that feeling. It’s hard to explain, but it doesn’t freak me out enough to go running back to my room, or Philly for that matter.

  Everything I saw, touched and looked at for more than a passing moment made me curious as to the story behind it: an oil painting of an apple, an ancient nautical compass, a cobalt and polished brass telescope, the weird shapes carved into each wood step that lead up to the second story of the library, the scenes playing out in the stained glass windows that encompass each room on the main level and the library. There were black and white, and some sepia tone, pictures of family members from the past. Strong genetics must go from generation to generation because a few of the old photos looked like Price was in them, others had Simian, Nick, and Cinder Dick even, but they’re all way too young to have been in the Civil War, Korean War, WWW2, or Vietnam for that matter. A couple were the family with Native Americans dressed in traditional garb, and some of them on horses with their indigenous friends.

  “Huh, that’s strange,” I mumbled, looking at a stone faced man in an old photo wearing a Union uniform with rifle resting against his shoulder. “He could be Price’s doppelgänger.”

  I wanted to know the story behind everything because it was unique and story worthy. The house and its occupants are like a giant puzzle that I have a strange longing to figure out for some reason.

  “Huh, that reminds me of what that annoyingly smug Frenchman in the woods said…even though he wasn’t actually there and was only in my head,” I mumbled, looking at the stained glass in the library. “He thought I looked familiar, but he doesn’t know from where or why and that he wanted to figure it out to pass the time. I don’t know if I should be irritated that my delusions are messing with me or that they’re bored and need to figure out new ways to mess with me...” my words trailed off and I shook my head.

  I started to venture back to the kitchen to grab something to eat, but I needed to make a call first. Price told me to make myself at home, and that this was now mine, so I don’t think he’d mind if I made a phone call.

  After looking around to make sure no one heard me sneaking around, I slipped into the den. I hit the switch but no light came on. After flipping the switch a couple of times, I gave up on it; the soft light coming from the foyer illuminated the small den enough that I could clearly see the phone on the desk.

  When I entered the den, the door behind me slammed shut.

  “What the…” my words trailed off and I grabbed the doorknob and tried to turn it.

  It was unmoving.

  “Oh come on,” I complained, pounding on the door. “Don’t do this to me, not now,” I pleaded, desperately trying to get the door open.

  Throwing my hip into it proved ineffective.

  All it did was bruise my hip and hurt lik
e hell.

  “Justice, the house is trying to eat me,” I whined. “Will you please kick its ass or something?” I asked, trying to keep from freaking out by invoking the one thing I was terrified of most.

  My dark side.

  When the typical bitchy response didn’t come, I knew I was on my own.

  “Of all the times to tuck tail and run like a punk ass, you pick the woods and a haunted house. Awesome,” I stammered, struggling to keep from hyperventilating.

  You’re not alone, I just don’t know what to tell you. Breathe and stop freaking out. It’s a dark hole, cell, closet, or well in a basement where they’ll lower a basket with lotion in it for you to put the lotion on its skin or it’ll get the hose again…

  “Oh my God. Shut up! Silence of the Lambs while we’re… I hate you.”

  Stop asking me to bail you out of everything. You’re a big girl, you can handle it on your own.

  I really hate her.

  No you don’t.

  The soft glow from under the door was eclipsed by something.

  “Help?” I called out, stretching out on the floor so I could see the feet of the person on the other side from under it; that would tell me who it was.

  Soft growling came from the other side of the door and I scrambled away from it, backing myself up against the wall.

  “They aren’t real. They aren’t real. The monsters aren’t real,” I chanted, clenching my eyes shut. “They aren’t real. They didn’t follow me. They couldn’t have… Justice, what do I do?” I stammered.

  The growling got louder and it was followed by scratching.

  They are real. Don’t you hear them? They are yelling at her to stop. I hear them.

  “Shut up! Stop trying to scare me.”

  I’m not.

  “They aren’t real. They aren’t real. They aren’t real,” I continued to chant, louder and louder to drown out the growling.

  “Mikhail?”

  My eyes snapped open then I winced from the bright light coming from around Price’s form that was filling the doorway.

  “Mikhail, are you okay?” he asked.

  I looked from him to around the room, trying to get my bearings.

  “Where am I?” I asked, wiping my eyes on the back of my hand.

  Price looked around then back to me. “The pantry in the kitchen,” he said, as if it were obvious.

  It was.

  The den was replaced by a small pantry that was filled with cans, pasta, potatoes, boxes of food, and everything else you’d expect to see in a pantry.

  “What in the hell is going on?” I asked, but it was purely rhetorical in nature.

  Price ran his hand through his hair.

  “I’m not crazy, am I?” I asked, getting to my feet. “The house is moving, it’s messing with me, right?”

  The look on his face confirmed it.

  I choked on the burst of amusement that broke past my lips. “Alright then, I’m okay. It’s just the house,” I said, and Price moved for me so I could get out of the pantry without having to get too close to him. “Ooh, pretty puppy,” I said when I noticed the beautiful husky sitting on the floor in the kitchen. “Was she the one growling at me?”

  Price shook his head, closing the door.

  “Why are you… Are you okay?” I asked him.

  Now it was his turn to laugh.

  He nodded. “I am. When you’re ready-”

  “When you’re ready you mean,” I interrupted with a smirk.

  I’m good at reading people.

  Price smiled. “When I’m ready,” he agreed.

  If the house is haunted, cool. Whatever. As long as it doesn’t try to kill me, I’m good. There’s something more there, I can tell, but Price isn’t ready yet. He just found out only recently that he has a nearly legal adult daughter, so baby steps are needed and time, for both of us. I’m not ready to reveal my whole crazy to him just yet…

  All in due time, because I can only hide it for so long before it comes out.

  “That is Nakeva,” Price said when I started scratching behind her ear.

  “She’s beautiful,” I said and the copper colored fluffy dog closed her light green eyes in contentment and purred. “You aren’t the mean one that was growling at me, huh?” I cooed.

  She shook her head.

  Yeah, that isn’t normal.

  Price chuckled. “Nakeva is a big puppy, but the leader of the pups out back.”

  I nodded. “I’ve never seen a dog with eyes that shade of green,” I commented and the dog looked at me, her head tilting to the side.

  A small, sad smile pulled at the corners of Price’s lips. “They are the same shade as yours… You have my mother’s eyes from the Swedish side. The brown comes from the French side, my father’s side,” he explained, motioning towards himself.

  Nakeva whimpered and got up then went over to Price and rubbed against his thigh.

  He scratched behind her ear, but she continued to look up at him.

  “Were you hungry or just couldn’t sleep?” he asked.

  I shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep and will never turn down food. Apparently, I got turned around, or the house turned me around and wanted to screw with me.”

  That doesn’t sound crazy in the least.

  Price nodded his understanding.

  “What about you?” I asked, turning and accidentally knocked over the fruit bowl on the counter. “Shit, sorry,” I said, tensing, and scrambled to pick up the rolling fruit.

  He sighed and kicked his foot out.

  The nectarine I missed bounced off the top of his foot, and he flicked it back up, his hand snapping out, snagging it from the air.

  “Please know that no one will ever hurt you again,” he said, well aware of why I physically reacted the way I did.

  When you’re accustomed to being hit for every little mistake you make, and hit for the accomplishments you achieve, it’s hard not to tense for the hit and ready to fight to back.

  I nodded. “How did you do that?” I asked, changing the subject. “With the nectarine.”

  To my surprise, he sat on the kitchen floor and leaned against the cabinets and Nakeva stretched out alongside him and rested her head on his knee. “I’ve played soccer for many years. Was captain of the team in both high school and college, and I coach the boys’ team in the spring at the high school.”

  Oh, that makes sense.

  “I envy you,” I said, washing the fruit off in the sink. “As you have noticed, I have the grace of a one legged man in an ass kicking contest, as Ellie put it.”

  Price chuckled. “I wasn’t going to say anything, but yes, you have your mother’s coordination, or lack thereof. You can catch a ball though.”

  “I can run and knock a ball around, can even bust a move when needed,” I said and started doing the robot, causing Price to laugh. “But when it comes to staying on my feet, or off my ass, that’s a whole higher level of special needs that I can’t get away from.” I sat on the floor across from him and pulled my knees up before taking a bite of the juicy fruit in my hand. “Why aren’t you married?” I blurted out.

  Price licked his lips, choosing his words carefully. “There was only one woman that I ever loved, and when she was… I never got over that. It’s ridiculous on some level to keep a woman in your heart that’s gone...” He paused and shook his head. “Or that kept the fact you had a child and that...” He hissed a long sigh out. “It doesn’t matter, Mikhail. There’s only room in my heart for one woman and that’s you. Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m a closed off man that doesn’t open up to others easily.”

  Another thing we have in common.

  “And as Ellie will attest,” he said, “I don’t trust others, thus I don’t open my heart to anyone.”

  Shit, is he reading my mind? Totally like father like daughter.

  “Ellie blames Noeline,” he said softly, “which I can understand, and it might have been her, but I can’t be certain. However, I
do know that you are my only concern now, and no matter what you choose to do or the life you want to lead, I will support you and do everything I can to be there for you and to make up for the time that we missed together.”

  If you cry, I’ll kick your ass and jump on the first train east.

  There’s the cynical bitch. Where the hell have you been?!

  I nodded. “You’ve been rehearsing that all day, haven’t you?” I tried to tease, but it came out as a timid whisper.

  Price shrugged and nodded at the same time, his attention on the furry head he was scratching. “For the past couple of hours,” he admitted.

  That’s what I thought.

  “Do you mean it?” I asked.

  “Yes,” he answered quickly, his eyes meeting mine. “I never say anything I don’t mean, ever.”

  Good to know. He’s a straight shooter and a no nonsense type of man. Both I can respect.

  “What’s Cinder Dick’s major malfunction?” I asked.

  Price chuckled under his breath. “I don’t think he’ll ever live down that nickname.”

  Good, serves the prick right.

  “When Mr. Smith called and said that a child was in need of placement with their family and asked if the family of Noeline Powell was still in the area...” He shook his head, running his free hand through his hair, pushing it back from his face. “The Sheriff, your Uncle Simian,” oh crap, another pig in the family, “asked the age. Mr. Smith said seventeen and right away Simian knew that it was a possibility. When Mr. Smith said Mikhail Ryan Justice, we knew right away that you were mine. I never doubted it. I was prepared to fly out and get you as soon as possible, but when Mr. Smith explained what transpired, the train ride was to...” He paused and looked down at Nakeva and she whimpered. “It was to calm me down, to give me some time to get my head straight. In case you hadn’t noticed, I have a bit of a temper when it pertains to certain things, and without even knowing you, or seeing you, just the thought of you was already in my heart, and I knew that you were mine because of that. Noeline and the memory of her, the ghost of my past, no longer took residence in my heart, only Mikhail did.