by James Hunt
Chapter 7
The van headlights illuminated the front of the house, and Owen slowed as they approached, then parked, killing the engine and the lights. He paused a moment, his eyes transfixed on the house in the moonlight, and Claire reached over and touched his arm.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
Owen nodded quickly. “Fine.” He turned toward the back seat where both Chloe and Matt were asleep.
The doctors found nothing wrong with Matt after their slew of tests, and they said they’d have the blood work back in a few days. But while Matt could come home, Roger was still mumbling in that catatonic stare of his, lying stiff as a board on his cot.
Claire carried Chloe inside while Owen handled Matt. “We should probably just let them rest. We’ll get them upstairs and if they wake up, we’ll fix them something to eat.”
“All right.”
They put both kids to bed, tucked them in, and then lingered in the hallway, watching both doors and leaving them open. Owen followed Claire downstairs and they collapsed on the couch in the living room. Claire rested her head on Owen’s chest and sighed.
“You know I’m thankful for you getting this job,” Claire said, her words hesitant but deliberate. “But I’m wondering if we made the wrong move.”
“I know it’s been hard,” Owen said, taking her hand in his own. He rubbed her skin, which felt unusually soft against his own. He shifted on the couch so he could look her in the eye. “We just have to stay the course. If we’re smart, we’ll be out of debt in three years. And after that, the job market could be different and we could look into moving somewhere else, maybe back to Baltimore. Things will get better.”
Claire nodded and then rested her head back onto his chest. He wasn’t sure if his words were more for her or himself, but either way, they seemed to help.
“Oh,” Claire said, tapping him on the chest and lifting her head. “I forgot to tell you that there was something wrong with the plumbing this morning. It happened before Matt’s accident.”
“The plumbing?” Owen asked, recalling the sopping wet floor he found Roger lying on.
“Yeah, in the kitchen,” Claire answered. “Black water was spitting from the faucet. You might want to tell Chuck about it so he can have someone come take a look.”
Owen stroked Claire’s hair, nodding to himself, trying not to sound alarmed. “Yeah. I’ll tell him.” His stomach growled.
“Hungry?”
“Getting there,” Owen answered.
Claire pushed herself off of him and crossed her legs Indian-style on the couch. “I didn’t even get to eat lunch today. There isn’t much in the fridge, and the last thing I want to do is cook.”
“Pizza?” Owen asked.
“Sounds good to me,” Claire answered.
“All right, you order it and I’ll pick it up.”
Claire kissed him on the cheek and rolled off the couch to grab her phone from her purse. Claire’s voice drifted from the kitchen, and while she ordered, he got up and went back to the room where he’d found Roger lying unconscious, wanting answers to the questions circling his mind.
The door was still ajar from his violent entrance, and he stepped over some of the wooden shards from the broken door frame. He knelt, pressing his hand against the floorboards that were bone dry. He shook his head in disbelief, then squat-walked around the whole room, checking different spots, but everything was dry. Even after all day in this heat, it was impossible for it to dry out that quickly. Wasn’t it?
“Hey,” Claire said, standing in the doorway. “What are you doing?”
Owen spun around, quickly standing and wiping his palm onto his jeans. “Just wanted to double check Roger didn’t bring anything in here with him during his episode.” Claire glanced around the room, hugging herself. He walked toward her. “He’s going to come back from this. Remember that the doctor told us that the beginning stages of the disease could be managed with the right mix of medications and therapy.”
“It’s not just my dad,” Claire said, glancing to the room and inching closer to Owen. “Do you feel like there’s something wrong with the house?”
“It’s old, Claire,” Owen answered. “We’ll get the plumbing fixed and—”
“I’m not just talking about the plumbing,” Claire said. “I mean something else. Something more… I don’t know.” She lowered her head and massaged her temples. “I feel like I sound like a crazy person.”
“You sound like a hungry person.” Owen kissed the top of her head and walked them back into the dining room. “When’s the pizza going to be ready?”
“Twenty minutes,” Claire answered.
“I’ll leave now. It’ll take me thirty minutes to get there anyway.” Owen noticed that Claire wouldn’t stop looking back at the room. He gently pulled her face toward his. “There isn’t anything for you to be worried about, all right? The house is old. We live in the swamp. Bad plumbing and snake bites were inevitable.”
“Right,” Claire said.
Owen grabbed the van keys and walked outside. But before he started the engine, he sat there in the quiet dark for a moment, looking around the property. Night had turned the trees and moss and swamp into something more sinister. And the longer his eyes lingered on the darkness, the more tricks they played on him.
The rustle of leaves and branches was supernatural. The swoosh of water was some demon lurking underneath the surface. The darkness itself became a creature hunting him in the night. Owen shut his eyes and pushed the thoughts from his mind.
His son had been bitten by a snake. The pipes were old and corroded in the house. His father-in-law had Alzheimer’s. Those things weren’t the work of some demon, it was only the reality of life.
