She shakes her head. “We might have to move,” she answers.
“I don’t know if he ever truly leaves one of his totems.”
“But you said that there was a tree like it in Poland.”
“There is, or at least there was. That doesn’t mean he only has one feeding ground. He can probably go anywhere he pleases, but once he establishes a totem in an area, he has a permanent gateway there so he’s probably going to drain that place dry and then keep watch.”
I bow my head, thinking of another song to play. The thought that this- my home, now belongs to some fiend sickens me. Is there no way to defeat him? He’s not of this world, that’s for sure, but there’s got to be something that will at least drive him away. I feel the static pulse. It’s as if he can hear my thoughts, and is laughing at them. I play the first guitar chord that comes into mind and drown it out. Now I’m playing Denise’s favorite song ‘Complicated.’
“I always hated this song,” says Bubbe.
I stop playing it and look at her with surprise. “I love Avril Lavigne!” I object.
“Oh, I just think this generation has better music is all.” She looks up and around my various posters.
“Jimmy Eat World. That’s a nice name. It’s odd but nice,” she says. I laugh at her a bit, and then I realize what she’s doing. She’s cheering me up, much like my parents are trying to do with the Hawthorns. Is Bubbe worried that I’m suicidal, or is she worried that I will do something stupid?
I play music all afternoon, ignoring the ominous presence of the entity. Sometimes I end up crying- or at least feel tears threatening to spill over, but as I do, I feel like I’m getting stronger. I feel like the pain is leaving. The thought that Shana is at peace instead of being tortured both hurts and helps me. I think maybe I accepted that I wasn’t getting Shana back when she first disappeared, and that helped to dull the lingering pain of when she died. I’d already mourned her once. It didn’t help with the shock of seeing her die though. That feeling of near triumph, only to fail, it’s like I really did get dragged back to defeat at the edge of freedom, only not in the way I expected.
Our parents return, but even when they do, the house is quiet except for my music. I can’t believe how long I’ve been able to keep this up. By the time I smell dinner, the joints of my fingers feel as if they’re about to crack and my fingertips burn with wear. I still feel stronger though. It’s as if every hour I play music the fiend’s grip weakens.
Will I be able to keep this up tomorrow? No, tomorrow I should be even stronger. I should paint my nails, bleach my hair, and try to be normal. I’ll look like a normal happy teenager ready to conquer the universe when I arrive in Michigan. Shana would want me to.
A smile crosses my lips as I head downstairs for dinner, which is very quiet today. There’s a lot to talk about, but no one is really up to it. Bubbe and I have already said what we need to say, and I can sense mixed feelings about my actions coming from my parents. For one, they are horrified that I would venture off into the woods when there’s a kidnapper on the loose, and yet I found Shana. I did something that all of the policemen and volunteers couldn’t. I feel like I’ve downed at least three pounds of the spaghetti Mom has made before finally, she speaks up.
“The next flight isn’t until nine P.M tomorrow so you’ll be arriving in Michigan pretty late.”
I’ve got more than twenty-four hours to wait before we get to safety? That blows. I guess maybe I’ll try to sleep in. I wonder if Prozac will make me sleepy.
“Not planning on running off tonight are you?” she asks, half-jokingly.
I shake my head.
“Of course not,” but I’m dead serious. The monster is probably waiting until I fall asleep so he can suck me back into his world. He’ll probably try to lure me out with Shana or Lionel or something, but I won’t let him. No, from now until nine tomorrow night I don’t plan on setting foot out of this house. I don’t care if he sits on the bed next to me.
After dinner I help clean up, bathe, and then get into some pajamas. It’s been a restless day and I’m ready to turn in early, but I decide I will hold off another hour by cleaning my room a bit. I put all of the clothes strewn about the floor in the laundry bag. Mom will be horrified, but hopefully I won’t be here to hear her when she sees it.
I throw CD’s, books, and all of my scattered objects in places where they belong, just with no particular order. Oh well, I don’t think I’ll need to dig around for any of these CD’s anytime soon since every one of these songs are already on my computer and mp3 player. Cleaning up is really helping to keep my mind off of Shana’s death. It’s going to be sad though, because unless they find some miraculous reason for me to return in time, I’m going to miss Shana’s funeral. Me! Her best friend!
It’s only when I’m finally done distracting myself that I fully take in the thought that even though I’ve saved her, I still miss her, and I’m always going to. Would it be worth it for me to come back for her funeral? Surely the Hawthorns will invite me? I shake off the thought. Now is not the time. Just before I climb in bed I am greeted by a loud static wave that almost knocks me over. “What was that?” I ask aloud.
I can hear a steady flow of static erupting around the room. What’s he planning? My heart sinks. No, no he’s just trying to scare me. I carry on as if nothing happens, except I don’t turn off my light. He seems stronger, I think to myself. He probably is going to try and lure me out tonight, and if that wave is any indication of his persistence, it probably means I’ll have to deal with terrifying images that will be hard to ignore. I won’t let him lure me, no matter what.
I pop two Prozac tablets into my mouth before lying down. I’m not sure what the proper dosage is for these pills. I think I remember seeing both one and two on the bottle. Maybe it’s one during the day, two at night, or was it one tablet, twice a day, not to exceed two tablets in twelve hours? I’ll live either way. I pull the blanket over my head to block out the light and slowly, but surely, I drift off.
I dream for a little while before waking up. I listen for the static, but it’s not present. Huh, I think. Maybe I should get up and check? No, I try and go back to sleep, but that seems to be out of the question. As if waiting for me, I feel the static slowly creep on me and impulsively try to jump up before realizing that I can’t move. The paralysis again, it’s going to try and pull me into the realm. I don’t feel the energy to fight it, but if I don’t resist, then I will be sucked in and have to run out of his domain.
I hear a scream in the distance. It sounds like- it’s Adam. I hear Adam screaming. It’s not the same painful, ear-stabbing scream the Shana gave me when the fiend had her in the first nightmare; it’s the sound of horrified surprise, like something is jumping out at him. He continues yelling and then I hear him.
“Help! Mom, Dad! Alyssa!” he screams. I feel the static grip tighten. No! I should have gotten up. He’s going to get Adam. Wait a second, this is his trick. He’s trying to weaken me by impersonating Adam. It’s what he did to Shana, Jason, and probably the others. This won’t work on me. I try and laugh, and although my voice is blocked by his grip, I can still exhale in rhythm. ‘This won’t work on me. I know what you’re trying to do,’ I mouth while thinking it, hoping he understands what I’m saying.
“Help! Please!” Adam drags on, but I just laugh. I’m not falling for it. I prepared for this. I even took my medicine to help. Adam’s screams are so real, but as I laugh at them, they get farther and farther away, and the fiend’s grip weakens. I’ve beaten you! I think triumphantly.
No, I can say it now. Its grip is weak!
“I’ve beaten you. Na na-na na-na-na, you lose,” I mumble childishly. When his presence fully disperses, I fall asleep with a smile on my face. A few hours later, I wake up. I feel like the medicine has worn off and feel a sour taste in my mouth.
“Forgot to brush,” I mumble.
I climb out of bed and head to the bathroom to brush my teeth. It’s pre
tty early, but I figure I will go back to sleep for another six hours or so. As I brush my teeth I remember my little run-in with the entity earlier. I don’t feel amused this time. Maybe I’m too groggy for it, but I decide I’ll check in on Adam before I go back to bed. I rinse and then head over to Adam’s room.
His window is open and so it’s freezing in here, but it’s almost always open so that’s not what catches my attention. On the floor is the sling for Adam’s cast. I don’t see him dropping it by himself, and then not picking it back up. His bed is empty. Did it really get him?
“Adam!” I shout. There’s no way. “Adam!” I scream.
“Adam!”
18: The Message
No matter what I do, that monster- he’s always one step ahead of me. I finally thought I had him figured out. We just had to get through one more night and day, and I was ready to handle it, but he saw right through me. He has his own stage set up, and I have no say in what happens. In the middle of the night, when I thought he was trying to lure me out, he wasn’t. He just wanted me to listen while he hurt and kidnapped my brother. He wanted me to try and get up and come to his aid, only to be held back. He got Adam, and he made me listen to it. Maybe I would have figured that out if I wasn’t on the medication.
No, if not for the medication I’d only have been more emotionally tortured by Adam’s cries. Now I sit, half of my body against the wall, as the police- whom I must have seen a hundred times this week already- get their answers. Of course we have none for them. Adam is just another missing child to add to their list. He’s just another one of the children they need to find, but never will. I’m not crying, and there are no tears. I’m just sitting here listening to the footsteps, cries, and words of those around me. The sheriff isn’t here yet, but Deputy Yew is.
Why couldn’t he- the monster, just let us go? There are other kids for him to take still, but he had to come after Adam and me. What makes us so special? Is it that we’ve already fed him so much pain that he wants to milk us for everything we have? I don’t know. Maybe he was irritated that I was recovering so quickly instead of giving in to hopelessness in the face of loss.
There’s got to be something I can do about Adam. Shana is one person I thought I couldn’t live without, but Adam... Adam is helpless. He’s seven, weakened, and traumatized by watching the death of his friends. I recall how much pain and how scared I felt when I was in that realm. How is someone in Adam’s condition handling it? I can’t let him suffer like that. I have to do something about it. Can I go back in and get him out? That axe is probably still on the ground somewhere, but he was watching and waiting for me before. He’ll probably intercept me more quickly from the start. Even if I do make it to the tree, there’s no way I can repeat the process I did with Shana. I was barely able to escape with her assistance that time.
I feel the sounds of those around me drown out, covered by a new sound. It’s him. I turn around and look. Out of my peripheral vision, I catch him standing in the hallway. I can’t look any closer without having my eyes sting. Has he come for me now? No, he’s just here to rub it in and enjoy the fruits of his evil. The adults are downstairs, and even if they were up here with me, they’d be oblivious to him. I look in my hand at Adam’s sling. I’ve been holding it for a while now. This won’t be my last memory of him. I toss the sling in the fiend’s direction not even looking to see if it passes right through him, or if he blocks its course.
“I want him back,” I mutter aloud. I close my eyes, expecting him to laugh, but he just waits there. I do my best to hide my emotions, both inside and out, but I’m not sure it’s working. Maybe I should take another Prozac? No, that would mean walking right by him to get it, and I can only imagine what will happen if I risk that. I sit here, quietly, almost catatonic for a long time. It could be hours, or maybe it’s only been thirty minutes. All I know is I felt a few pats on my shoulder, hugs, and the police are gone.
I can hear my parents having hysterical conversations on their phones. They must be notifying our relatives of Adam’s disappearance. Maybe they’re looking to receive condolences for Adam to help comfort themselves, but in my opinion that only makes more people feel bad. It’s justifiable though. The way I feel about Adam... I need a friend to convey my feelings as well; I need Shana, but he’s taken her as well.
He’s taken too much from me. He’s taken my family, friends, health, and social life. He may not have me in his shadowy prison, but he’s feeding off me nonetheless. I feel an arm around my shoulder and see that Bubbe has assumed a sitting position next to me. She doesn’t say anything, but I can tell she feels the same way about Adam as I do, and knows exactly what I do about his disappearance. Our feelings are mutual, and there’s hardly anything to say.
“He’s here, waiting for me,” I say.
“I know.”
“He wants me next.”
“I know,” she answers.
“What do I do? I can’t leave for Michigan without him. I won’t.”
“I don’t know.”
That’s all we can bother to say. There’s no use wasting words, but from what I have said, I know one thing is true. I can’t leave without Adam. I won’t let myself, and if it means I have to try and pull off the same rescue attempt I did for Shana- at the cost of my life, then I’ll try. Even if he dies in my arms like she did, I won’t let the fiend keep him.
“We can’t sit here like this. It only encourages him,” she says.
“So what do we do? Ignore him like nothing happened?” I ask, horrified at the thought of- not thinking.
She shakes her head. “We’ll think of something, but he’s only feeding off of us when we’re like this,” she says.
More tears come from my eyes. I slowly stand up, unsure of what I am going to do. I sense the static, but the monster isn’t in the hallway right now. He’s stalking from somewhere else. Despite it being her own advice, Bubbe doesn’t appear ready to get up quite yet. I walk over into my room, wondering if I’ll see him waiting, but I can only sense him. Maybe he really is in here, but is standing just on the other side of the veil that separates our worlds-and is just not visible at the moment. He could be right in front of me at this very moment and I wouldn’t know it.
I look around the room for something to do. Maybe I should play my guitar, and take some medication. Medication could help keep my emotions in check. I walk over to my nightstand and pick up the bottle of Prozac. I screw open the top, but when I feel the lid open, I stop. Is this what I’ve resorted to, drugs to keep me sane while the fiend watches me? I feel a sudden surge inside my chest.
I’m not sure where it’s coming from, but it feels like I’m imploding. I’m squeezing the medicine bottle so hard that my nails are digging into my palm. I feel a surge of rage, fear, and anguish all hit me at once.
“Why!?” I scream at the top of my lungs. I turn and throw the bottle as hard as I can. It hits my vanity mirror and scatters pills across my room, leaving a crack in the glass, but I don’t care. I don’t care for vanity. I don’t care for health. I don’t care for the police. I don’t care for myself. I want Adam back.
I kick my suitcase, causing its contents to spill out over the floor. I pick up bottles of nail polish and throw them, on the floor; at the walls; everywhere. I scream again, this time it’s mostly anger coming from my throat. My vision blurs. I throw something else. I’m not sure what it is, maybe a shoe, and I hear more glass breaking in response. I throw everything I can get my hands on, not paying any attention whatsoever to where they land.
Every time I throw something, I scream.
“It’s not fair!” Slam.
“I didn’t do anything to deserve this!” Bang.
“Just leave us alone!” I rip autographed posters from my wall. I rip my blankets from my bed. I tear out the contents of my closet, trying to find more objects to throw. “Show your face!” I scream.
“Alyssa!” I feel arms wrap around me. I squirm and push, but I can’t get out.
“Calm down!” I hear Dad shout. It takes me a second to realize that he’s the one that has me.
“Oh my god,” Mom exclaims. I don’t understand exactly what’s happening. I have my head in my hands, and I’m sitting against something. I hear the static again, and this time it’s doing that rhythmic pulsing. He’s laughing at me. It takes all I can to keep from clawing my nails down my face. I hear Mom on the phone, and from the conversation she’s having I can assert that she’s speaking with Doctor Filbert. I guess I’m bound from the nearest psychiatric ward soon, a perfect place to go crazy in.
“You should take a bath. We’re going to see your Doctor,” I hear Dad.
“I don’t need a shrink,” I say.
“Have you seen your room? Have you seen yourself!?” he shouts.
“Honey,” Mom interjects. “Listen, we want to find Adam just as much as you do. You forget that we love him too, but we love you as well. We need to be together in this, and we can’t have you being destructive.”
“It’s not that big a deal. Just a tantrum,” I say.
“Just a tantrum? You’ve smashed hundreds of dollars’ worth of your stuff in your ‘just a tantrum’,” argues Dad.
“Lyss, some of that stuff in there you cherished. You would scream at us if we leaned against your signed posters or when we touched one of your pictures. You’ve destroyed all of that now. We’re worried.”
“And your vanity. Practically brand new,” Dad mutters under his breath, although he’s way off in that case. I hear what they’re saying, but all of that seems petty compared to Adam.
“Just take a bath, and get the nail polish out of your hair,” Mom says.
“We’ll never get the nail polish out of these clothes. All trash,” grunts Dad.
I get up and head over to the bathroom, grabbing a towel on the way. I turn the hot water on and flip the switch to keep it from draining. While the bath is running I look at myself in the mirror. I’m surprised at myself. Although I don’t feel it, I can see why my parents are worried. There is what seems like a gallon of nail polish splashed across my body. Some of it is clotting my hair together and my clothes... at least they’re night clothes. There’s no way I’ll get all of this cleaned up in a single bath, and right now I really don’t care to.
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