by Ed
"Downstairs." She went in the kitchen and found him loading the refrigerator with the groceries he'd gone to get.
"What's the matter with Stephen and Jason? I found them sitting on the front steps looking...I don't know, like they got into trouble, or something."
"Oh really? Well, they came running up the stairs earlier saying they'd seen a ghost. Another ghost, I should say."
"Oh shit." Al opened a bottle, closed the refrigerator and took a couple gulps. When he looked at Carmen, his face was dark; he was wearing his half-angry-half-fed-up expression. "Well, that's it," he said, leaving the kitchen. "That's the last of it." He went out the front door and said firmly, "Okay, Jason, I think it's time for you to go home for tonight."
The boys' heads snapped up to look at him.
Stephen said, "But his parents are—"
"I'm sorry, but Jason's gonna have to go home."
"Can I get my stuff out of Stephen's room?"
"Sure."
Carmen stood at the top of the stairs while Al went down with the boys and waited as Jason got his things together, said goodbye and left. Then Al pointed a finger at Stephen and said, "No more ghosts. You understand me? We've had enough. No more voices, no more people in your room, that's it, it's finished. One more word about any of that stuff and you're gonna be sorry. And we'll start with you staying down here for the rest of the night. No TV, no music—and no more of that crap I heard playing down here a little while ago, you got it? I don't want that trash in this house. You can go from here to the bathroom and back. That's it. I don't wanna hear another word out of you till tomorrow. And turn off some of these damned lights! Every light in the room is on! You start running up the bill and you can pay for it."
Al started up the stairs and Carmen expected Stephen to say something, to protest, to call up to him. The room downstairs was silent, though. Al took another swallow of beer as he walked by her.
"Don't you think that was a little too much, Al?"
"Why too much? You mean you're not getting sick of it? What else're we gonna do, encourage him? Next time, he gets something worse. He gets grounded, or he can't watch the television or use the phone or...or something. I've had all I can take of this Twilight Zone shit."
Then Al went into the living room and turned on the television.
Stephanie was in the back yard with Peter and Michael was down the street playing with a friend; it was time to call them in. But first, she wanted to have a word with Stephen. She felt somewhat responsible for the tongue-lashing he'd gotten because she'd told Al about what he and Jason had "seen."
Of course, she hadn't—and wouldn't—tell Al about her little experiment afterward, about how she sat in the room waiting to see what she could see.
Downstairs, she found Stephen lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling with his hands locked behind his head. She sat on the edge of his bed and said, "Sorry about the outburst, but I think—"
"I don't give a shit what you think!" Stephen said through clenched teeth without looking at her.
Carmen gasped and stood up. "Don't you ever talk to me that way again or I'll slap your mouth halfway around your head, young man!"
Very quietly, jaw still locked, he said. "You don't care what I think; I don't care what you think. You don't wanna hear what I have to say, I don't wanna hear what you have to say."
Carmen's voice trembled when she spoke again. "Whatever's wrong with you had better be gone by morning, Stephen. I mean it, that kind of behavior just doesn't cut it around here, so you'd better get over feeling sorry for yourself, or whatever the hell your doing, right now. You might be a teenager, but you're still not too old to get your ass whipped!"
She spun around and stomped upstairs to bring the other kids inside.
When she was gone, Stephen undressed for bed. He still hadn't turned the lights off in his room. The darkness outside the window was now complete; no sunlight remained. Turning those lights off would let some of that darkness inside, and Stephen did not want to do that.
Instead, he got into bed with the room fully lit; even the bedside lamps were on.
He turned onto his side and tried to relax, although he knew he would be unable to sleep for a while. He was too upset, so upset, in fact, that he was experiencing feelings he'd never known before. He wanted to...break something, to pick something up and just smash it against the wall with all his might. His frustration was a viscous congestion in his chest that seemed to seep between his ribs and press against muscle and flesh.
He closed his eyes tightly, blocking out the light, and pressed his head into the pillow.
"Stephen?"
His eyes snapped open.
He was alone in the room.
"Stephen? Are you ready?" the voice asked, ever so quietly.
He didn't move for a long while, just waited for it to continue. When it didn't, he opened his mouth, took a moment to ask himself if he was sure he wanted to do this, then said, "Yes."
"That's my boy."
"If...only if you'll leave me alone. I'll, um..." He sat up a little. "...I'll do whatever you want if you'll just leave me alone. Deal?"
That familiar chuckle, like ice cubes clattering over glass. "Very good. Very good. It's a deal, my boy."
"It's a deal? So...you'll leave me alone?"
"You will have to hold up your end of the bargain first. You will have to do whatever I want, just as you said. Then...we'll see."
Stephen realized someone was coming down the stairs and quickly dropped back onto the mattress.
"You talkin' to somebody?" Michael asked.
"Uh-uh." Stephen covered half his face with the sheet, afraid the lie would show.
"I thought I heard you talkin' down here."
"I said no."
"Okay, okay. Mom and Dad say I'm supposed to make sure the lights are off down here. Most of 'em, anyway."
Stephen thought about that a moment, pictured the room dimmer, even completely dark. For the first time since the move, the idea of darkness was not as frightening, even a little comforting.
"Yeah," he said. "Go ahead. Leave one of 'em on, though."
"You okay, Stephen?"
He suddenly found Michael annoying. He wanted to think, to go over what had just happened, but his brother wouldn't shut up. As he turned over on his belly and pulled the sheet up further, he growled, "Yes, I'm okay, dammit, what's the matter with you?"
When Michael spoke again, he sounded hurt. "N-nothing. Just asked." His footsteps started up the stairs. "I'll be back in a little while."
But Stephen did not respond. He lay in bed, wide awake, thinking about what he had done, wondering what kind of deal he had just made...and with whom.
11
Changes
The changes that took place in the Snedeker family over the following months were very subtle, but not so subtle as to go unnoticed by Al and Carmen; they were—with the exception of the changes in Stephen's behavior—simply not discussed.
Their lives went on as they always had, with the usual problems and the usual highlights. They went to church every Sunday, attended church functions and school functions on weeknights, occasionally rented a video to watch. If there appeared to be anything different about them on the outside, it was only that they seemed to settle into their new home and were finally feeling comfortable.
The changes were not, however, exterior. They could not be seen by unfamiliar eyes; they were hardly visible to familiar ones. They were taking place under the skin, growing slowly, spreading like the cancer that had afflicted Stephen, but doing so without attention, without treatment of any kind.
Without knowing the other was doing the same, Al and Carmen individually fought to cling to that stable exterior while trying to ignore little things that continued to happen all around them, silly things that, taken one at a time, would be insignificant at best. But together...together, these incidents formed a pattern that Al and Carmen did not want to know about or even be aware of; so they fo
ught to ignore it, and held even tighter to that normal, clean exterior they had built for themselves.
And all the while, Stephen's behavior and personality changed. Later, Al and Carmen would say it had been instantaneous, but that was only because the initial changes were so gradual, so subtle, that when the transformation was complete, it caught them completely off guard.
There were many things that, during the next several months, would catch them off guard.
"Things seem to be going well for you guys," Tanya said to Carmen one day while changing a messy diaper. Carmen was on the sofa drinking a diet cola and enjoying the sound of the baby's coos and burbles.
"What do you mean?"
"Oh, well, you said Stephen's better and—"
"No, no. I said his cancer seems to have gone into remission. That doesn't mean it won't come back, it just means he's okay for now. We're thankful for that, though, and we've put it in God's hands."
"Yeah, but that's better than before, right? So, Stephen's better for now, you seem...oh, I don't know, you seem more at ease, I guess. Like you're not so tense and anxious as you were before. 'Course, I suppose you had a lot to be anxious about, what with the move and Stephen's cancer. You just seem...happier, I guess. That make sense?"
"Yeah, I suppose so," Carmen said, although she was frowning. That was, of course, the effect she'd been trying for, she just hadn't realized she'd succeeded.
"Be right back," Tanya said, taking the baby in her arms. "I'm gonna go put her down for a while."
Carmen nodded absently, then returned to her thoughts.
She certainly hadn't felt happy or at ease. In fact, there were days when, if she allowed herself, she questioned her sanity, wondered if maybe the stress of Stephen's illness and the sudden move had caused some sort of delayed reaction, a nervous breakdown, perhaps.
Sometimes, when she was alone in the house, walking from one room to another, she spotted movement in the corner of her eye, a flash of gray that darted from one piece of furniture to another. At first, she thought it was Willy; they usually kept him locked downstairs, but occasionally he weaseled his way up to the living room and wiggled around, playing hide-and-seek with them. But he was always locked up when she saw this blurred movement to her right or left; when she investigated it, there was never anything there.
Twice, she'd stood in the kitchen with her back to the refrigerator—washing dishes one time, chopping vegetables another—when she'd felt a wave of ice-cold air hit her back, as if the refrigerator door had swung open. But when she turned around, it was closed. The cold faded quickly, until it seemed as if the drop in temperature had never occurred—if, indeed, it had.
Also, twice she'd awakened to find the bed vibrating, almost as if it were one of those tacky motel beds and someone had dropped a quarter in the slot...but without a sound. Beside her, Al had slept soundly. She'd gotten up both times, had a cigarette, gone to the bathroom, and when she'd returned, the vibrating had stopped.
Each time something happened—movements, vibrations, the kitchen floor bleeding, or a voice or two she'd thought she'd heard when she knew no one else was in the house—she thought of Stephen. She thought, of course, of the things he'd said about the house, the things he'd supposedly seen, but she also thought of what had become of him since they'd moved into the house.
First, there had been his fear of going downstairs; that had been very unlike Stephen, who, in spite of the treatment he'd received from his peers at school, had managed to remain an outgoing, even aggressive boy who had shown fear only when fear was sensible, not when there was nothing of which to be afraid.
But lately, something else seemed to be happening. It was nothing physical, not like the result of his cobalt treatments; instead, this was a change in his personality. Her first exposure to it was when he'd snapped at her while lying in his bed that night.
I don't give a shit what you think, he'd said, and his words had cut into her like rusty blades. He'd never said such a thing to her before and it had hurt. The hurt had come out as anger, although she'd wanted to hunker down beside his bed in tears and ask, Why would you talk like that to me, honey? Why?
But that had only been the beginning. He'd become very quiet after that. He seemed anxious to separate himself from the family altogether. He spoke only when words were dragged out of him, and even then he sounded as if he were talking to people he held in the utmost contempt. There had been three occasions on which he'd said rude, horrible things to Carmen that made her hurt just recalling them. And when he said them, he even looked different; his face tightened, became almost reptilian.
She'd often wondered if perhaps this change in Stephen would have taken place had they not ignored what he'd said about the house—or if they had not moved into the house in the first place.
"—dinner tonight, Carmen?"
She jerked upright, eyes wide, and turned to see Tanya standing before her, hands on her hips.
"What?" Carmen said. "I mean, um, I'm sorry?"
"I said, what're you planning for dinner tonight?"
"Um, well, um...I'm not sure, really." She was nervous, fidgety, as if Tanya had been watching her thoughts unnoticed. "How about you?"
"Oh, probably a frozen dinner. Benjamin won't be home from work until late tonight."
Carmen suggested that, instead of eating alone, Tanya and the baby should come over for dinner, providing they didn't mind something simple. Tanya agreed happily.
"You know," she said, "in all this time, I think I've only been in your house once, and then for just a few minutes."
Carmen thought about it; she was right. She wondered how she'd gone so long without having Tanya over. After all, she spent a lot of time in Tanya's house.
Ashamed of your house, maybe? her inner voice asked. Afraid of what she might see or hear? Carmen looked away from Tanya, blinked her eyes rapidly and quickly dismissed the thought.
Carmen had already started dinner when the doorbell rang. Tanya held the baby in her arms as she entered, smiling.
But her smile faltered a bit and she frowned as she looked around her.
"Something smells good," she said, her smile quickly recovering.
Carmen noticed it, though she chose not to ask for an explanation. "Pot roast, potatoes, and vegetables. Like I said, something simple. You want something to drink?"
Tanya had a beer, Carmen a diet soda, and the two of them sat at the dining-room table, Tanya holding the baby—who was cooing contentedly, looking around with wide eyes—in her lap.
"Where're the kids?" Tanya asked.
"Outside. Except for Stephen. He's downstairs."
"I thought he didn't like it downstairs."
"Not anymore. He's been spending a lot of time down there. He even mentioned something about moving back into his own room. I don't know, he seems..." She shrugged, but didn't go on.
Tanya was frowning again, looking off to her left, as if she'd seen someone or something.
"What's wrong?"
Tanya blinked at her. "Um...nothing. I just thought I, uh...I don't know."
"Maybe Al drove up. He should be here any time now."
Looking to the left again, Tanya murmured, "No, I don't think...oh, well." She grinned at Carmen and said with forced cheerfulness, "Can I help with dinner?"
"No, just relax."
They talked. As the conversation progressed, Tanya appeared more and more ill at ease, as if the chair she sat in were uncomfortable. Nervous tics came alive in her face and her eyes darted around warily as she held the baby closer to her.
"Is something wrong, Tanya?" Carmen asked quietly.
"What? Um, no. I mean, um ..." Her eyes darted around again, then she smiled nervously. "I'm sorry." She looked down, sipped her beer, and kissed the baby's head.
"Sorry for what?"
Tanya didn't look up for a long moment, then: "Would you mind terribly if we didn't stay for dinner, Carmen?"
Carmen flinched. "Well, I thought—"
/> "I'm really not that hungry, and I usually put her down pretty early and, um..." She stood. "Could I have a raincheck? Or how about if you and Al come over next weekend for a barbecue?"
Carmen stood, too. "Wait a minute, Tanya, hold it." She followed Tanya into the hall. The skin at the back of her neck felt prickly and she sensed that something was very wrong here. "There's something wrong. What is it?"
Tanya would not meet Carmen's eyes as she reached for the doorknob. "Um, Carmen, I'm, uh..." She laughed again, a breathy, staccato sound that rattled up from her throat. She opened the door a few inches, turned to Carmen timidly and asked, "Promise you won't laugh at me?"
"Well, of course not, Tanya. What's the matter?"
"It's just that I'm—I'm uncomfortable here."
"What? What do you mean, you're un—"
"It's this house. It's...there's something, um..." She shook her head and started out the door again. Carmen clutched her elbow, a little harder than she intended, and held on tight. Her heart was in a frenzy in her chest, even throbbing in her throat, and she was afraid to ask the question she needed to ask. "What about this house, Tanya?"
Tanya replied after a long pause, whispering half her words. "I'm not sure. But there's something, um, something wrong here. It's not just the house, it's...the air. I feel it no matter what I do. It's like I'm trapped in a tiny room that just keeps getting smaller and smaller, you know? A claustrophobic feeling."
"But you've been here before and you never noticed any—"
"Only for a few minutes, never this long. I don't think I had time to see anything. And I didn't—"
"See anything? What did you see?" Carmen's mouth was dry and chalky and her palms were sweaty. She released Tanya's elbow and rubbed her hands over her hips to dry them. "You didn't say anything about seeing anything."
Another edgy laugh. "It's nothing, Carmen, just—"
"What did you see?”
"I'm not sure. I kept seeing...well, it looked like something was moving around in the hall. Moving fast. Something small. I'm sure it was just me. It is, really, it's just me"—another laugh—"and I'm not gonna be very good company, is all. Tell you what, I'll see you later, okay?" She opened the door. "Call me tonight, we'll make plans for this weekend, okay?" She stepped out onto the porch. "A barbecue. Our place. See you later."
