The Elm House Page 15

  He glanced back at his mother as she, too, watched the news with her husband. She shook her head in dismay, frowning.

  “You know… it has to be hard to lose your only son,” she said to her husband.

  “I’m here,” Brad said, trying not to distract them.

  Mother turned her head away from the television to look at Brad.

  “Did you figure out what you’re dressing up for Halloween?” she asked.

  “No, I will… soon,” he said. I’m a bit old to go trick and treating, Brad thought.

  “You’re bringing your sister with, too.”

  She turned her attention back to the news.

  “Do I have to?” he asked.

  “Yes, you certainly do.” She nodded.

  Brad gave out a low grunt and headed up to his bedroom for the night.

  Keep a watchful eye on your loved ones, Brad remembered Vicky telling him. I don’t even know what to look for. A mark? Sign of a upside down cross? A pentagram? An inverted pentagram? What?!

  He peeked inside Jesse’s room and saw her drawing at her tiny desk. She was humming as she drew. Whatever she was drawing, she was tunnel focused. She didn’t even hear her bedroom door squeak open, Brad noticed.

  “Hey, ladybug. Whatchya doing?” he asked her.

  She continued drawing and shrugged.

  “Drawing,” she said.

  “Drawing what?” Brad asked, taking a peek at her drawing.

  “I don’t know,” she replied. “Whatever comes to mind.”

  From what Brad could tell, she drew what looked like a scary monster. She drew in black crayon for the monster’s body, and she switched to red for the monster’s eyes.

  “Why does he have red eyes?” Brad asked.

  She stopped for a second as if she thought about what Brad asked then shrugged.

  “I don’t know,” she said.

  A mark forms on the person showing the entity’s ownership.

  Brad moved her hair to reveal the back of her neck.

  Matt Elm Sr. had a mark on his neck.

  He took a closer examination of the back of her neck.

  No mark here, Brad thought.

  Jesse shook her head and giggled.

  “Stop that! It tickles.”

  “You’re ticklish?” Brad joked as he reached towards the sides of her ribcage and tickled her.

  She squirmed, giggled and swung her legs violently.

  “Stop it,” she said, giggling away with that contagious laugh of hers.

  “I said, ‘stop it’!”

  Her voice changed to a deep harsh tone. It sounded like rocks were inside her throat. Almost like… an ancient beast spoke through her vocal cords.

  Brad backed away with eyebrows raised. Clearly, Jesse didn’t want to be tickled. Or whoever was inside her, they didn’t want to be tickled.

  Jesse went back to her drawing and began to hum. She slowly tilted her head side to side as she drew, swinging her legs up and down underneath the desk.

  Brad left her bedroom, shaking his head.

  That wasn’t my sister, just now. It was someone else. Someone else spoke through my sister’s voice. I know that wasn’t her.

  The Devil’s portal. A gateway to Hell, some people would say.

  The attic…the attic may have a portal, Brad thought. He stared at the attic door. He closed his eyes for a moment to check to see if anything pulled him towards the attic door. For a moment, he stood there in the hallway. Admittedly, he was beginning to feel pretty foolish. Foolish, if his dad caught him in the hallway with his eyes closed. Well, he could be falling sleep standing upright. He knew a couple people that had fallen dead asleep standing up. One poor bastard fell asleep leaning against the wall back at his old high school. But Brad didn’t feel a pull, nope—not one bit—at all. He sighed, shook his head and entered his bedroom.

  He got inside his bedroom, plopped down on his bed and without realizing it. Brad was knocked out cold.

  CHAPTER 12

  Without another Bully in sight, Brad navigated throughout the corridors freely with less confrontations. Students seemed to respect Brad, at least—they seemed like they did, and Ted’s old groupies were friendly with him.

  Brad closed his locker. Of course, Timmy leaned against a locker, waiting until Brad was done fetching whatever he needed for first period.

  Colin gave Brad a good hard slap on the back as the three musketeers ventured into their first class of the day.

  “Looks like Old Willows Brooke is going to get new mayor,” Colin said.

  “Why?” asked Brad.

  “You didn’t hear?” Timmy asked.

  “No,” replied Brad, confused.

  “It was on the news,” Colin said.

  “What was?”

  Timmy sighed.

  “Ted’s father died, last night,” he said.

  “Bullet through his skull just like Ted,” Colin said, shaking his head. “Not the best way to go, I’ll tell you that.”

  “Damn,” Brad softly said. “I didn’t know that. I saw a news reporter woman standing outside a house, last night.”

  “Yup,” Colin said. “I saw him four or five days ago. Boy, did he look like absolute shit faced. The type of shit faced that screams—alcoholism.”

  “Talking about shit faced… anyone seen how Ms. White comes into the class room on Mondays?” Timmy asked. “She’s all pretty and all—even through her shit-faced appearance.”

  “Only you would pay attention to that, Timmy,” Colin said, teasing him slightly, giving him a slight push.

  “I’m just saying,” he said.

  “She probably knows—how you feel, Tim,” Brad said. “Before Tiffany stabbed herself in the eye, she probably knew that I had the hots for her the second I laid my eyes on her.”

  Interestingly, a woman has an intuitive sense when a guy’s heart throbs for them. They say within five seconds of seeing a man; they know whether or not he’s date-able. So, they say. But that whole “theory” could just be nonsense from those silly pick-up-artist forums. Forums designed to lure virgin “beta” males to their scheme in hopes of getting with women through trickery.

  “Did you two… ever do anything?” asked Colin.

  “I don’t kiss and tell,” Brad said, smirking a mile long. Smooth, Brad. Really smooth, but you know they know.

  “You did?” Timmy asked, raising his eye brows. His corners of his lips curled upward. Similar to that “Say Cheese” face when someone takes a photo. “Teach me the Casanova ways! How do I pick up Ms. White?”

  “Dude! It’s cool to have a crush on your teacher. But damn, Timster. You’d wreck her whole life.” Colin playfully shoved Tim.

  “Colin’s right,” Brad chimed in.

  “But… seriously… did you two do something?” asked Timmy, seeming a bit prying into Brad’s personal business. “Was it good?”

  “If it’ll help… then yeah,” Brad responded, hoping to not sound conceited.

  “Hot damn!” Timmy said.

  “I made out with your sister,” Colin joked with Timmy.

  “The hell you didn’t!”

  Colin smirked, nodding his head.

  Timmy shook his head.

  “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

  “I’m just fucking with you, Timmy. T-t-t-t-timmy,” Colin jokingly said, giving Timmy a slight shove.

  “So… you think Ms. White knows I have the hots for her?” Timmy asked. Seconds later, yelping with his eyebrows raised high.

  “What was that, Timmy?” Ms. White asked.

  He shook his head as his cheeks glowed red.

  “Nothing, Ms. White.”

  Ms. White chuckled as she entered her classroom before the boys.

  “Smooth Timmy, over here,” Colin said.

  “Shut up!” Timmy said, frowning a bit.

  They entered Ms. White’s classroom and took their seats.

  “How was everyone’s night?” asked Ms. White, picking up her large text
book from her desk. “I hope everyone has read: Hamlet.”

  Every student in the classroom said they did in unison. It almost sounded like a depressed choir group. Their voices were weary and lethargic. Drink some coffee, kids. It’ll be good for you.

  Admittedly, Ms. White didn’t look so shit-faced… well, maybe, because the day is Friday. She looked pretty, not the typical hair “my hair’s a mess” appearance and the v-cut long sleeved shirt, revealing slightly of her bust. Normally, she had seductive red lipstick. But, today, it seemed that she only had pink gloss that gave a glossy look to her lips.

  Someone knocked at Ms. White’s classroom door. The door opened and the principle appeared in the class room.

  “Sorry to interrupt, everyone. This will just take a second,” he spoke to the classroom. He beckoned Ms. White to step out of the hallway for a second. As soon as Ms. White stepped out of her classroom, students began to chat quietly amongst each other. Seconds later, they stopped as the principle entered back into the classroom.

  “You’re having Mr. Hicks step in Ms. White’s place for a bit,” he said.

  What happened? Ms. White isn’t in trouble, right? Brad questioned. She didn’t… no, she couldn’t have… she doesn’t appear to be the kind of person that would sleep with another student. No, she’s didn’t sleep with another student. How dumb does she look?

  “Ms. White had a family emergency,” Principle said, clearing his throat and looking down. He glanced back up towards the class. “It’s just temporary.” He nodded and headed out of the classroom.

  “Oh, damn it! Mr. Hicks?” Timmy said, softy.

  “Who’s that?” asked Brad.

  “You don’t wanna know,” Timmy said, sharply and disgusted. “He’s a total asshole.”

  “Sounds charming, already.”

  Mr. Hicks stomped into the classroom. He was a well-rounded guy, pulling his pants over his stomach bump. His hair wild and pointed out in all different directions. He wore thick-brimmed glasses, and he had a double chin. How many burgers can this guy eat?

  “Alright class, stop your damn yapping and let’s get some learning done,” he said. His voice gruff like a German Shepard’s bark. He seemed quite the loud talker, alright, Brad thought.

  Mr. Hicks surveyed the room with his eyes, nodding his head.

  “Well… don’t just sit there and look pretty. How about ya’ll tell me where Ms. White left off?” he asked the class.

  “Hamlet,” a student replied.

  “Hamlet, you say? Oh, hot dog! I loved reading, Hamlet.”

  “Like burgers, much?” another student said softly.

  “And… I heard that. You know what son? You keep that attitude up, and you’re going to be living in a van by the god damn river. Okay, son?”

  Timmy leaned over towards Brad.

  “I told you,” he said.

  Brad smiled.

  “I like him, already,” he said, sarcastically. Mr. Hicks should meditate or least try to pacify his blood pressure, or the poor bastard would have a heart attack in front of everyone. Hopefully, Mr. Hicks would be temporary, Brad thought. Although Brad found him amusing, he would miss Ms. White.

  After Brad came back home after school, he headed up to his room. He stopped inches away from his door when he heard something. It sounded like footsteps, coming down a set of stairs. He turned his attention towards the attic door. The attic door creaked open.

  Not again!

  Brad was about to shut the attic door close. Until he saw a slender hand on the door knob. His mother entered the hallway from the attic.

  “Hey, darling,” she said, smiling before closing the attic door. “What’s going on?”

  “You were in the attic?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  “Yeah, anything wrong?” she asked.

  “I thought… never mind.”

  “I’m thinking,” she said, wrapping her arm around Brad’s shoulder. “You could help me in the attic.”

  No! I’m not stepping one damn foot in that attic. No way, never in a million of years, am I stepping foot in that attic. So, why? I can be having a full-blown conversation with myself like Jesse did? Oh, hell no!

  “I think… I’ll pass,” Brad said, trying to give a polite smile. But his eyes, obviously, betrayed him. He knew his mother would pick up on the fib. It was clearly obvious. A person can’t hold a straight lie unless they’re a sociopath. Brad wasn’t a sociopath, alright.

  “There’s nothing to be afraid of the attic. I actually found out why the attic door opened and slammed shut.”

  “Oh?” Brad asked. A ghost did it?

  She chuckled.

  “Well… the other day, I was curious. Guess what I found out?”

  It’s haunted?

  “What?” Brad asked.

  “There’s a slight slant in the house. So, perhaps, the attic door wasn’t closed tightly, and the draft in the attic pulled the door shut with the help of that slight slant.”

  Okay… now my mother is an architect or something. A house with a slant, explains everything.

  “Oh,” he said.

  “There’s a lot of old stuff up there, too. I found a pitcher’s glove and a baseball. Maybe father and you could play catch, sometime.”

  “I like soccer… not really into baseball.”

  “Oh, I know,” she said, waving him off. “It’s a thought. In case, you change your mind to toss the ball around with your father. So, you’re going to help me with lugging that stuff from the attic to outside, right?”

  “Do I have to?”

  “Yes, you have to. My back isn’t getting any better. You know that! So, com’on and let’s drag some junk out of the attic. So, I can at least have a decent workspace.”

  “You’re going to paint up there?”

  “Of course,” she said, shaking her head. “Silly goose. It’s perfect!”

  “It smells like a moldy attic,” Brad said.

  She shrugged.

  “It’ll be fine. There’ll be a dehumidifier up there.”

  Brad sighed. I don’t want to be up there. Apparently, I don’t have any other choice.

  After Brad had helped his mother lugging the stuff from the attic to the first floor then out to the side of the street, he couldn’t help notice himself feeling a tad sad. We just got rid of all those previous owners’ stuff. It’s not like they’re going to care, but I kinda do. Where ever the previous owners went to, they won’t mind… I guess. Well, they should’ve at least discarded their junk away before moving. If they did die in the house, their relatives should’ve tossed out their old junk. Or… what if they just completely vanished without a trace… now, that’ll explain why they left their junk there.

  He headed back to his bedroom to do homework. There was an important test coming up in a few days, Brad needed to continue to get a passing grade.

  Night fell quickly after Brad ate dinner. He yawned, told his parents good night then headed up to his bedroom. He got in bed, closed his eyes and turned over on his side, facing his bedroom wall.

  John headed in the kitchen from the garage side door. He washed his grimy hands, from changing his truck’s oil, vigorously under hot water from the kitchen sink’s tap. After he turned off the kitchen sink’s tap, he plopped down in the living room sofa to watch some football. It was the Chicago Bears against the Dallas Cowboys.

  A good beer, will do, John thought, getting up and heading over to the kitchen’s fridge. Peeking his head in, John spotted a Miller Lite and grabbed one. He popped off the cap, took a swig then headed back into the living room. He stopped midway in the hallway and listened carefully then laughed at himself.

  Silly, silly, John, there’s no one home. Wife’s out shopping and children are at school.

  He was inches away from the living room archway when he stopped again. This time, he listened very carefully. Very carefully, not to make a pin drop, John listened.

  “Hello?” he called out.

  Thum
p! Thump! Thump!

  Footsteps seemed to run along the second-floor hallway’s hardwood floor.

  Thump! Thump! Thump!

  Footsteps seemed to quicken their pace up and down the second-floor hallway.

  Bang!

  John jumped out of his skin as he could’ve sworn that he heard a door slam shut.

  “Who’s there?” he called out.

  He cautiously walked up the stairs leading to the second-floor hallway.

  “I’m coming up there! You’ve broken into the wrong home.”

  His heart loudly thumped behind his ribcage. Each step John took upward the stairs, his heart pounded faster and faster.

  “You better show your face! I’m not messing around.”

  Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud!

  His heart raced in his chest. He was ready. He was ready to fight. John was going to fight for his home’s safety.

  “Better get out of here! I’m not messing around.”

  John jumped around the corner, looked around, and stood there. Dumbstruck, John was.

  “Alright… I’m not going to play hide and go seek. I’m calling the cops.”

  He headed down the stairs to the kitchen and picked up the phone mounted on the wall near the kitchen’s doorframe. After he dialed the Old Willows Brooke police station and asked to send someone over to check his house, he hung up and waited.

  No one breaks into a home around here, well—maybe not as much as they had in the old neighborhood. Our old neighborhood had grimy and filthy people that needed their quick fix. What they’ll do is steal then pawn it off to obtain their happy-drugs. Problem with those happy-drugs, people become addicted way too fast and do bad things to get more of those happy-drugs. They seriously can’t be happy when using happy-drugs.

  Just to be sure, though, I need to get a gun. I’m not buying “protection” and certainly my gun won’t run off somewhere and become trigger-happy, so the Lib-Nation could get offended. Those snow-princesses get their undies in a bunch way too much.

  Someone knocked at the front door, three times.