Mary was slick as she covered Jesse’s hood over her eyes, so she wouldn’t see the crime-scene tape stretched out across the kitchen doorframe. As they exited out of the house, she uncovered Jesse’s hood.
“Peek-a-boo!” she said, giving a fake laugher. But not too fake, Mary seemed (slightly) genuine. Jesse giggled.
“Mommy, what are you doing?” she asked.
“Being silly, like you!” Mary said, kissing her on the nose.
After the family got inside their family vehicle, they drove off to Premo’s Ice Cream store. The family picked a local motel near Oak Lawn. When they entered their motel room, Jesse seemed to piece the puzzle together.
“Why are we in a motel?” Jesse asked, curiously.
“Dad found cockroaches, and they need to get rid of them,” Brad said, tickling his sister. “All those bugs crawling all over you.”
Jesse giggled.
“I didn’t see any bug,” she said.
“Are you sure?” Brad asked, looking inside her ear. “No bug here.” He checked the other ear. “Oh, my! There’s a bug in your ear.”
Jesse shook her head, smiling from ear to ear.
“No, there’s not!”
“I thought it was. But… it turned out to be a giant ball of earwax.”
“When are the bugs going to go away?” asked Jesse.
Brad shrugged.
“I don’t know.” He smiled, brushing her hair. “But when we’d get back… it’ll be bug free!”
Nice, Brad, very slick. But of course, Jesse already knew the truth in the back of her mind. Tiffany killed herself with the kitchen knife. The parents and Brad tried to pull the wool over Jesse’s eyes. But she’s too damn smart for her age. Brad could tell in the look of her eyes that she’d been played. But it was all for her own good, Brad and his parents had to make up a story. They had to move out, momentarily, until the crime scene cleaners cleaned the kitchen. So, they can move back home like nothing ever happened.
Images of Tiffany stabbing herself in her eye replayed inside Brad’s mind. The way her head slightly jerked as in a protest, kind of way. The way it seemed that Tiffany didn’t want to do it, but she was somehow forced to stab herself. How she couldn’t scream but grunt in agony each time the knife was slammed inside her eye socket. How many times had she stabbed her own self? It had to be nearly about fifty times or more. Brad stood there, in the doorframe of the kitchen, frozen stiff as a board as he watched his babysitter repeatedly stab herself. She didn’t scream, oh no, but Brad could tell she was in extreme agony. When she fell face-first on the kitchen tile floor, it sounded like a pumpkin smashed onto concrete. Now with that vivid memory, Brad wanted to vomit.
She wanted me to warn you all… the house is evil, Brad recalled Jesse saying inside her bedroom.
The house is evil.
CHAPTER 11
After a couple days passed by, the Herrick family returned to their home and back to their normal schedules. Brad was back in school.
He closed his locker in the school’s corridor. He appeared exhausted and drained. Drained from the horrid sight of Tiffany’s death, Brad appeared. It worn his mind thin as he constantly replayed the haunting images of her suicide. It was morning and not even Brad’s first period class when he could sense eyes staring at him. Eyes from the students that possibly heard what happened. It wasn’t paranoia, Brad thought. They know—the house has history.
“Hey,” Colin said, leaning against one locker. His facial expression seemed sympathetic. Timmy stood next to Colin and patted Brad’s back.
“Sorry about what happened, bro,” Timmy said.
“You guys know, huh?” Brad asked them.
Colin and Timmy nodded their heads.
Shit, this town really does know how to spread the word. Brad’s house—murder house—took another life, Brad sadly thought. Let’s hope that I don’t get the constant reminder.
“Old Willows Brooke is kinda a small town,” Colin said. “Not country like, but people talk.”
“That’s good to know,” Brad sarcastically said, heading to Ms. White’s class. Colin and Timmy followed by his side.
“Do you think she went mad?” asked Timmy.
“Mad?” Brad asked.
“Yeah, crazy… like one moment, she’s fine then… BOOM! She went AWOL.”
Brad shrugged.
“I don’t know,” he said. She seemed fine to him, and (almost suddenly) she went AWOL. Perhaps, she was crazy—a crazy hot babysitter. I shouldn’t speak of her like that. She had a good heart.
“Maybe,” Brad said, approaching Ms. White’s classroom. “She seemed normal.”
“It’s always the ones that seem normal that are a bit crazy in the inside,” Colin said. “I had a child friend back in grammar school. He seemed normal to me. But inside, he was a wreck. After hearing the sad news from another friend, I only viewed him as a happy-go-lucky kid. The story that I’ve been told was that his mother woke up one morning and found him, hanging in the basement. Apparently, his mother said that he was hanging up a punching bag and fell off an office chair. I don’t think it was accidental, though. I mean… com’on now… those chain loops are kinda hard to just… slip your neck into.”
He shrugged his shoulders.
“It sounded fishy… but… maybe he did kill himself. Maybe his mother didn’t kill him after all. For what? Who knows? Sometimes parents go a little AWOL sometimes and end their children’s life. I recently watched this one online video where a mother went AWOL and drowned her child in the bathroom’s tub. When she was questioned why, she told the police that God made her do it.”
God forced Eveline to kill her children and husband, Brad remembered Tiffany’s scary story.
God instructed her to kill her children, He remembered Casandra telling him before she was shoved into the patrol car.
“That’s fucked up,” Brad said, shaking his head. The woman that drowned her child in the bathtub didn’t live at my house, did she? No, I very much doubt that. She was just a crazy mother.
“What was her name?” he asked.
Colin shrugged.
“Beats the shit out of me,” he said. “It wasn’t in Old Willows Brooke. It was somewhere else. I forgot… I think in… Elwood, Illinois. Don’t quote me on it, though. Wait… Elwood… that’s about a six-hour drive from here. Old Willows Brooke is a good two-hour drive to Chicago. Oak Lawn is about three-and-a-half-hour drive from us. Now, I know why that name sounded familiar.”
They entered Ms. White’s classroom and took their favorite spot to sit in her classroom. They sat in the far back of the room. Timmy sat in the corner of the far back. Brad sat next to Timmy, and Colin sat on the right side of Brad.
The classroom was eerily quiet. Some students would occasionally turn their heads towards Brad and gave a respectful nod. It was apparent that the students were sympatric towards him. Perhaps that fight with Ted, Brad had won some respect.
Ms. White walked in and preened her shirt. Her hair tied up in a bun. She looked like shit. She normally looks fantastically elegant. But, today, she looked shit-faced. The type of shit-faced, a person appears when they’re completely having a bad hang over from the partying over the weekend. Ms. White was young and sexy, so Brad wasn’t surprised to imagine her as a party girl. A party girl that drank straight from a Tequila bottle, handling her liquor and drinking men under the table. A woman that can outlast any man in a drinking contest.
“Alright… how was everyone’s weekend?” she asked.
Really? Well… jeez, Ms. White… my babysitter stabbed herself in the eye about a good dozen times. There was a pool of blood on our kitchen floor. Oh! Yeah, I can’t forget to mention that when she fell on her face… the knife jammed deeper into her brain. So, there’s that! How was your weekend, Ms. White? Get drunk much? Do any good drugs at those parties? How was your weekend? Brad thought.
The rest of the students in unison said softly, “Fine.”
Ms. White glan
ced at Brad.
Don’t even dare to ask, Ms. White. Don’t even dare to ask.
But Ms. White returned her focus on the textbook on her desk.
Thank you for fuck sake, Brad thought.
Ted’s old groupies approached Brad’s cafeteria table. Colin and Timmy eyeballed his old groupies as they approached closer to the table.
Great… what are they going to do now? The whole shaken and stirred pop trick again? Give me dead flowers from their pockets and tell me to give them to Tiffany? Laugh and pretend to jab a knife in their eyes to mock Tiffany’s suicide? What the fuck do they want?
“Hey… ummm… sorry about what happened,” they said.
You have to be shitting me. They’re actually behaving like civilized human beings for once. They’re not interested in bullying anyone? Hell, this is the perfect moment to bully someone. Rip that damn scab off that person’s psyche and remind them what had happened. But… no! They’re sorry, and they’re showing actual sympathy? It’s a miracle. There is a God—after all.
“Thanks,” Brad said, shaking their hands and nodding.
He could tell they seemed uneasy being nice to someone. They appeared it wasn’t in their true nature and that they were out of their natural environment. Out of their natural environment (outside of the Bully Jungle), they appeared to fidget about trying their damndest to act like good humans.
They nodded respectfully, gave a soft polite smile then headed back to their tables.
“Damn,” Colin said, sounding pretty impressed. “Didn’t see that one coming.”
That was a shocker, Brad thought. Here I am—worrying that I’ll hear it until end of the school year.
Mary had completed vacuuming the living room carpet and was nearly complete with cleaning the house. The last thing that Mary needed to do was laundry. The kitchen still had that eerie sense, of course, when Tiffany killed herself. The sensation sent chills up and down Mary’s back when she was around the vicinity or even in the kitchen. It seemed to her that eyes stared at her. Almost like, the sensation, someone was watching her. At times, Mary would shutter from a cold draft that would brush against her skin. Only from time to time, she would shiver in some sections of the house. Mary never experienced this before. But given the circumstances, she (too) had a hard time washing away the thought of a young attractive lady taking her own life. Tiffany’s smile would pop inside her mind from time to time. When she tried to shake the image of Tiffany’s radiant smile from her mind, the image of her became stronger and resilient of fading away.
Why am I thinking of this poor soul? Mary questioned herself as she headed up the stairs to collect laundry from Brad’s room then Jesse’s room. She decided to first head into Jesse’s room then Brad’s room afterward. Each bedroom had their own laundry bin like they were supposed to use. Mary would collect the baskets then bring them down into the basement to the washer.
She spotted some of Jesse’s colorful drawings on her small wooden desk and admired her daughter’s artistic capabilities. Certainly, with enough practice, Jesse would become fantastic like her mom. She gazed at the pile of drawings in her hand. She smiled at a couple, but her face became concerned on some of them. Some of Jesse’s drawings became terrifying. Mary shuttered as she stared at one particular drawing that Jesse drew.
Where does she get these ideas from? Mary questioned.
The drawing wasn’t your typical butterflies and rainbows. It portrayed more darkness—the dark side of life. It showed a beast like creature with glowing red eyes, razor sharp teeth, long and thick fingers with sharp claws. It appeared to be extremely tall and muscular. There was a speech dialog next to the beast.
“Forever—we will be best friends.”
The drawing showed mommy, daddy, Brad on their knees. They were on their knees, praying to the beast. Jesse drew herself, hugging the beast in the drawing.
Mary shifted through the other drawing and shuttered as her eyes widened.
The next drawing showed Tiffany without her eye and blood oozing out. It showed her reaching out and shouting something. Inside the speech dialog it read, “Save us, please! Save us all.”
Mary jerked her attention away for a second, placing the drawings back onto Jesse’s desk. She could’ve sworn that she’d heard something. She creeped into the hallway.
They’re not back from school, Mary thought.
The sound of something creaking open, slowly, sent chills through Mary’s body. It sounded like a door. She entered the hallway and stared down the hall.
I’m getting myself worked up over here, Mary thought, heading towards the attic door and closing it shut. She was about to head down the stairs when she stopped abruptly. She entered back into the second-floor hallway and gulped. Her eyes witnessed the attic door slowly creaking open again.
I know I closed the door. I know it. I did close the door.
Mary went over to the attic door and closed it shut. She tugged the door handle and confirmed it was closed.
Where’s a damn key to this attic door?
She was about to head back to the stairs when chills rushed up her spine. She turned quickly around and nearly fainted. The sight of the attic door’s knob twisting and making a click sound as it slowly and steadily opened; Mary became unnerved and terrified.
I’m making this up… this is in my head. I’m not seeing this. This isn’t real… I didn’t see this… I’m making this up. Yeah… that’s it! I’m making this entire thing up. I didn’t see the attic door open by itself. Silly me, things don’t open by themselves.
Her skin jumped from her body when the attic door slammed shut by itself. She screamed, almost tripped down the stairs as she ran briskly down the stairs into the kitchen. She dialed John as fast as she could from the phone on the wall. She hung up the phone, seconds later.
He’ll think I’m bat shit crazy! Batty, I tell you! Batty! Okay… let’s think of something rational. Maybe, I’m stressed out from last night. Maybe… I thought, I saw the attic door open then slam itself shut. Maybe, just maybe, I didn’t fully close the door shut as I thought I did. Yes, maybe, I didn’t shut the door—really tight. Okay, so what explains the door slamming by itself? Huh—what can possibly explain that? Draft from the hallway…something… I don’t know. Oh, God! I’m losing it, aren’t I? Am I going crazy? No, I’m not. I thought I saw it open then slam itself shut. I’m sticking with that. At least, I can hold onto that and not feel so batty. I need a cigarette. I need to calm the fuck down.
Mary grabbed her car keys to her Nissan Sentra then headed out the front door. John will understand. He’ll understand—alright. I’m not going to smoke all the time, now. Once in a while… yeah, once in a while.
She started her car and backed it up out of the drive way and headed to the nearest gas station.
The front door opened, and Brad stepped into the house.
“I’m home,” he called out, thinking that his mother was home, too. Brad didn’t hear anything. His mother is normally busy preparing dinner in the kitchen. There was no aroma from the kitchen, Brad could tell. So, he moseyed down the hall and into the kitchen. Right behind his mother’s chair is a sliding glass door that communicates between the breakfast area and the back porch. He slid open the back-porch glass door and stepped outside.
For the first time ever, he saw his mother smoking a cigarette. She hasn’t smoked in years. Only time she had smoked was the time the gallery rejected her painting few years back. Her hands trembled as if something unraveled her, a bit. Brad didn’t know what unnerved her. She turned her head slightly and exhaled a cloud of smoke out of her mouth. She waved the smoke away from her.
“Hey, dear,” she said. “How was school?” She turned her attention back to the backyard. Her eyes seemed fixated on a shed in the backyard. Almost as if she was quietly meditating, Brad assumed.
“Good… are you okay?” Brad asked, standing next to her.
She nodded. It looked like she had cried a bit. Her eyes were p
uffy and almost blood shot. She sniffled then sucked on the cigarette. Seconds later, she blew out smoke.
“Your father isn’t here, right?” she asked Brad.
He shook his head.
“No… are you alright? For real… are you alright?”
“For Christ sakes, Brad. I smoke, once in a while. So, what? I’m having one cigarette.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing! Nothing at all. Do I look like something went wrong? No. Absolutely not. Nothing is wrong.” She began to shake uncontrollable. His mother sighed, placed her hand on her brow and shook her head. A tear strolled down her eye a bit.
“Mom?”
“What?!” she shouted. “Go to your room. Now!” Her eyes looked frightened, Brad thought. It was like something hit home with her, and she was trying to deny it. Something bothered her to the core, and Brad could possibly take a wild guess what it was.
“You saw something… something in this house… didn’t you?” he asked.
She gripped her elbow hard, breathed in then breathed out. She took another puff of her cigarette then slowly nodded.
“This house has history alright,” she muttered herself, but Brad heard what she had said.
“What did you see?” he asked, placing his arm around her shoulder. “The attic door or something else?”
Mary shuttered then nodded. She quickly inhaled the smoke and blew out.
“Yes,” she said. “The attic door opened and slammed by itself.” She nodded. “I can’t explain it. I thought it was a cold draft—”
“But it wasn’t,” Brad said. “There’s more to this house then dad’s willing to admit. Jesse and I know there’s something—possibly evil—living inside this house.”
She turned her head towards Brad.
“Keep this between us.”
Brad nodded.
“I will, mom.”
“Darling, I’m home!” Brad’s father called out from the kitchen.
“Shit!” mother said to herself, tossing the cigarette on the wooden patio then snuffing it out with her shoe.
The Elm House Page 13
