The Elm House Page 19

  John turned off her bedroom light, closed the door.

  “Oh, you two little bitches are going to pay for this,” Archon growled at Tiffany and Eveline. “You just wait.”

  Brad took a forkful of scrambled eggs into his mouth, chewed, gulped down with some orange juice.

  “How’s school going, so far?” asked Brad’s father.

  “So far, good.”

  “See, not so bad. You were worried sick when you first started. Now, look at you. You’ve made some great friends.” Brad’s father folded up the morning’s newspaper and placed it on top of the breakfast table.

  Yes, Brad was doing great in school. And he did, certainly, meet new friends. Timmy and Colin deserved the titles: best friends.

  “Yeah,” he replied.

  Mother scooped the finished cooked bacon onto Jesse’s plate, Brad’s plate and headed over to John. But John shook his head. She dumped the remaining bacon onto her plate, placed the pan into the sink and came over to sit down at her end of the table but stopped. She furrowed her eyebrows, grabbed Jesse’s arm.

  “What happened to your arm, cupcake?” she asked.

  Jesse shrugged.

  “I don’t know.”

  Brad glanced over at her arm. It appeared to be some strange rash. She developed a bruise around the rash. It didn’t appear scorched, but it had a dark red appearance to it. As Mary examined Jesse’s arm, it was more apparent to Brad. He could tell the details of the marking on Jesse’s arm. It seemed to appear almost a hand grabbed her arm.

  Marked. The sign of the entity’s ownership over the person, Brad recalled from Vicky’s story.

  John stopped eating, and he—too—observed Jesse’s arm.

  “What in the world?” John asked, bewildered. He shook his head. “You didn’t have that last night, did you?”

  Brad could tell that John’s hamster wheel was turning as if he was trying to recall but failed to remember correctly. Brad’s father isn’t old by a long shot and was sharp as a tack. His memory was superior and fine-tuned. No way, his father had forgotten. But… maybe his father overlooked it, last night. Maybe, Brad’s father was too tired to even notice the mark.

  Jesse shook her head.

  “I don’t think so,” she said.

  John sighed, pinched inward his lips and shook his head.

  “Maybe, you’ve bumped it on something,” he said.

  Bumped into something, dad? Is that the best you’ve got? That looks like a damn hand print. How naïve are you? There’s a lot in this house, you’ll never understand. Open your eyes a bit more, father. You’ll see that Jesse and I aren’t crazy. If mother ever confesses up what happened, which she never would, you’ll start to believe.

  “I don’t know,” she said, softly.

  But Brad could tell that she knew what happened. It was in the look in her eyes that Brad could see a mile away. Jesse knew what happened, he realized. She’s just not spilling the beans because of father. She’s a tad bit smarter than most girls her age, that’s for sure.

  “It doesn’t look like she bumped into anything,” Mary said.

  She examined Jesse’s arm closer.

  “It looks like… like… a hand print of some kind.”

  Bingo! Oh, mother dearest, you’re on the right track. It is a hand print, but father won’t admit it. He’s too closed-minded.

  “It looks like a bruise to me,” John said. “Kids get bruises all the time.”

  Nice and quick dismissal to the fact that—it is a hand print, father. Nice.

  “It’s a handprint,” Mary said, almost seeming to become frustrated. Maybe even, frustrated that he’ll won’t open his damn eyes, Brad assumed.

  “It’s a bruise!” John said, sounding angry.

  Mary stood there, shook her head. She placed a fake smile to ease the tension with John, kissed Jesse on the forehead.

  “It’ll go away eventually,” she said.

  It’ll go away… eventually? I’m not entirely sure about that.

  The bruise won’t go away, it’ll stay there until ownership is removed, Brad thought. Something has a hold of my sister, and father is too blind to see it. What would it take? Flying chairs in the room? Mother or Jesse puking up pea soup everywhere? No, he’ll just say that their sick and need to see the doctor.

  No worries, Brad, father will soon open his eyes—eventually.

  CHAPTER 15

  Brad sat behind his desk, doing homework. A test was around the corner for Ms. White’s class. She came back two days ago. Some talked and thought she was fired, but—no—she had to take a few days off. When she came back, she looked—like, at least, to Brad—like she cried a lot. Ms. White looked blue and in the dumps. Her smile faded, grimly, and she’d moped to her desk. It would’ve appeared that she didn’t want to be there. Her vibrant energy seemed to diminish like the sun fading into nighttime. Brad, too, knew what sadness felt like. When his pet mouse, Furball, died, Brad felt blue for a bit. Brad’s birthday was around the corner, also. If his father’s promise held strong, he’ll possibly get a pet cat—perhaps. Perhaps, Brad will get something else.

  However, in the back of Brad’s mind, he worried about the mark on Jesse’s arm. Sure, his father may be in denial. But when will he eventually see that there’s more to the house? He can’t stay in denial much longer, Brad thought. No, his father can’t stay in denial.

  Brad was nearly done when he stood up, headed into the hallway. A terrified shriek echoed loudly upstairs in the attic. Brad swung open the attic door.

  “Mom?” he called out.

  Someone’s loud footsteps darted down the attic stairs. His mother looked pissed. There was a look in her eyes that Brad never seen before. The look, women give someone when they’re in a fit of rage. The woman’s look that will make men cower behind couches like scared dogs. It was in her eyes, Brad’s skin crawled as he bumped against into the wall.

  “What’s wrong?” Brad asked.

  “Jesse!” His mother called out, turning open her bedroom door wide open.

  “Get over here, now, young lady.”

  Jesse promptly stepped inside the hallway.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  Mary grabbed Jesse by the arm and lead her up in the attic.

  “Mommy, you’re hurting me!” Jesse cried, heading up the attic steps.

  Brad followed behind his mother and Jesse.

  “Mom, what’s going on?” he asked.

  “Are these your crayons?” Mary asked Jesse. “Are they?” she shouted at her.

  Jesse whimpered and nodded.

  “They are—"

  “Why did you do this to my painting?” Mary pointed at her painting. “Answer me!”

  Her new painting was completely sabotaged. Jesse’s crayons scribbled and drew all over mother’s painting. The waterfall in the painting looked like blood crashing onto large rocks. The somewhat bluish sky covered in black crayon. The young female reading a book on a blanket near the water fall had a nice punctured hole where her head were supposed to be.

  Why would Jesse do this? She loves mother’s paintings.

  “I didn’t do it!” Jesse cried. “I didn’t!”

  “Who did?” Mary shouted.

  Jesse shrugged her shoulders.

  “I don’t know. “

  “Oh? So, your crayons magically walked up here, then? Is that what happened?” Mother said. “You’re going to cost me what I’ve dreamt about doing for a career. That painting was supposed to be approved by next month. Do you understand that? Of course, you don’t. You wouldn’t understand the importance of it.”

  “I didn’t do it!” Jesse protested, appearing frightened by Mary’s anger. Brad never witnessed his mother this angry, before.

  “When father comes home, you’re in deep trouble, young lady.” She yanked Jesse’s arm as she led Jesse back into her bedroom. “Don’t come back out until your father comes back from work.” She slammed Jesse’s door. Brad’s mother slammed the do
or so hard; a picture frame became crooked in the hallway. It nearly came crashing down onto the hardwood floor, too.

  Brad wanted to say something, but he kept his mouth sealed shut. He, certainly, didn’t want to feel his mother’s wrath. Deep down inside, he knew Jesse didn’t do it. But Brad couldn’t convince his mother nor father that it wasn’t her. Jesse wouldn’t dare ruin mother’s painting, Brad thought.

  He peeked inside Jesse’s room as he couldn’t help but watch her sob into her pillow.

  “Go away,” she said, crying harder into the pillow.

  Brad obeyed her wishes and closed the door gently and stood there for a moment. He heard something that made him pause and listen at the doorway.

  “I won’t do it!” Jesse cried. “Go away, mean bully.”

  “Oh, we’ll see about that,” Archon said, growling at the end of his sentence. “You will do it.”

  Brad opened her bedroom door. Inside the door way, Brad began to shiver. It felt like cold icy fingers danced up and down Brad’s spine. He could see the light frosty air leave his lips.

  Was that… Archon?

  “Out, boy!” Archon said, appearing before Brad.

  Brad’s eyes widened as he backed up. Archon’s figure sent Brad’s skin crawling away from his body. He stumbled backwards, losing his footing. Brad’s body wheeled backwards and over the second-floor railing.

  Thud!

  Brad was slightly, a tad disorientated and dazed, out cold and sprawled out on the first-floor hallway before he succumbed to unconscious land.

  “Oh, my God!” Mother cried, rushing to him. “Honey! Are you okay? Oh my God. I’m calling the ambulance, sweetie.”

  That was the last thing he remembered as he became fully unconscious.

  Brad opened his eyes, and he—certainty—wasn’t surprised to see himself laying in a hospital bed. The pain inside Brad’s arm pulsated and traveled from his elbow to his wrist. His broken elbow was possibly snapped back into place. And boy, when a doctor snaps a bone back into place, it hurts like a son of a gun. Only thing on the forefront of a person’s mind is that the doctor makes it swift. Oh, the doctor does make it swift, alright. But only quick enough, the person can hear their dislocated bone popped out from its socket, being popped back in then throb and pulsate with pain. And here comes, the doctor administrating some pain pills to ease the throbbing and pulsating pain. The funny bone isn’t laughing now, now is it? Yup, Brad’s elbow was snapped back into place like two connecting puzzles, and his wrist was fractured. He’s very lucky though; it could’ve been ten times worse.

  The cast on Brad’s arm was a nice shade of blue, unmarked by any black marker—yet. But he’ll get some John Hancock signatures on that cast of his. After months later, perhaps, his cast will sit on top of his dresser in-half with everyone’s signature on it. The infamous cast that Brad wore after spotting Archon and flying over the second-floor railing.

  “How are you holding up, champ?” Brad’s father asked him.

  “Sore,” he responded.

  “What happened? Did you slip on something?”

  Don’t even say it was Archon… don’t. Don’t be dumb and look like you’re going crazy.

  “Um—”

  “He slipped,” Jesse said, nodding her head. But she knew that Brad saw Archon. “I saw him.”

  Mother still wasn’t happy with Jesse, and she wouldn’t even gaze at Jesse nor comb her fingers through Jesse’s hair. She kept a good distance away from her. Eventually, she’ll have to come to terms that it wasn’t Jesse that ruined her painting. She’s not blind like John is, and she already witnessed the attic door opening and slamming by itself. Although she somehow tried to rationalize it, saying there’s a slant inside the house’s foundation. Brad knew she was bullshitting, but eventually she won’t have room to bullshit herself anymore. The truth will hit her in the face like a semi-truck smashing into a pole. It will hurt and even shell shock her. But John’s reality may just completely be thrown into chaos. And he may even question his own faith, or at least of what he’s been told to believe.

  “Slipped on what? His own two feet? There’s nothing to slip on,” John said.

  “I lost my balance and fell over the railing,” Brad said. The words coming out of his own mouth, shocked him. He, too, knew how ridiculous it sounded. Brad’s not known to be clumsy.

  “I’m just glad you’re okay, champ.”

  Brad wore a fake smile, hiding the fact that he couldn’t really tell his father the truth. But inside him, screamed for Brad to tell the truth. Archon didn’t push him, but he scared the living mess out of Brad—alright. Brad couldn’t forget Archon’s appearance nor smell. The smell of decomposing body sprawled out on a hot summer day in a shitty dumping site. When the body becomes bloated from the gasses trying to escape, and seep through the body’s orifices. A healthy snack for any critter and bugs to feast on. The gray and pale skin complexion from the blood-pipelines not flowing the rivers of red anymore. The dull and lifeless eyes from the deceased person as their eyes shrivel up into raisins. Their dead eyes staring into nothingness, and their jaw unhinged. Their gums rotting away. And the maggots enjoying their healthy snack of the deceased person’s tongue and even gums. Good proteins, alright, those maggots will feast on. Yummy.

  Someone opened the door to Brad’s hospital room.

  “Well, good news.” Dr. Green entered the room, smiling. “Just a broken left arm. No concussion, at all.”

  “That’s good, really good!” Mary said, holding Brad’s right hand.

  “That’s fantastic news. A fall from that in the wrong position could’ve been worse. He could’ve woken up paralyzed, alright. But luckily, he only popped his elbow out of his socket and fractured his wrist.”

  “When will my arm heal?” Brad asked Dr. Green.

  “Six months—tops. Maybe even less. Sometimes people heal faster than others.”

  “How’s the soreness?”

  Brad shrugged.

  “I feel fine,” he said. Admittedly the pain medication kicked in, so he wouldn’t even know. It wasn’t the type of pain medication that sends someone soaring through the clouds. But it eased the throbbing and pulsing pain, certainly.

  “Well, I’ll have the nurse come in and get you guys ready to head back home.”

  “Thanks,” John said, shaking the doctor’s hand.

  Dr. Green nodded and headed out of the hospital room.

  Get out, boy, Brad remembered Archon saying before he flew over the second-floor railing.

  No, how about you get out. My house, and you don’t need to be there.

  Brad’s damn right—it’s his home. Time to wear that war paint and head into battle.

  Brad sat on Jesse’s bed as she laid peacefully in bed.

  “What did Archon want you to do?” he asked her.

  “Something horrible,” Jesse said. “I told him to go away.”

  “Horrible…like… how?”

  Jesse gulped. It appeared she didn’t want to speak the words. Perhaps, she was afraid of Archon watching her. Maybe, even, she was frightened what he’ll do to her.

  “Bad things,” she said, looking away from Brad. “Bad things.”

  There wasn’t anything else that Brad could use to tell his parents. At least, not for now, he couldn’t convince them to pack up and leave. But… if they left like the previous owners, the next people that moved in would suffer just the same. Moving out wasn’t the answer, Brad thought. Battle is the answer. How do I fight a spiritual being?

  Jesse’s eyes turned and fixated back at Brad. Her lips curled up into a smile, almost a laughing smile.

  “You can’t, boy!” Archon spoke through Jesse.

  “What do you want from my family?” Brad asked, angrily.

  Jesse laughed.

  “How’s your arm, boy?” she asked.

  “Shut up and answer me!”

  Jesse’s smile turned into a menacing snarl.

  “You, boy, should wise up and
respect me. You broke your arm, boy. But I can make sure you break something else.”

  “Why don’t you do it, tough guy?” Brad said. “I’m not afraid of you.”

  Jesse laughed with delight.

  “Or you’ll punch your little sister in the face?” she said, laughing hysterically. “Oh, please do, boy! I would love to see that.”

  Jesse’s lips moved into a shocked expression.

  “Can you imagine what your pathetic parents would think of you?” Jesse said.

  She loudly laughed.

  “Hit me baby, one last time.” Jesse laughed. She got into Brad’s face. Her eyes glowed bright red. The pupils seemed to illuminate like fire. “Do it, faggot,” she growled.

  Brad shook his head.

  “Leave my family alone,” he said.

  Jesse’s lips spread wide into a grin.

  “Make me, bitch.”

  Brad wasn’t getting nowhere with Archon. He could stand up to a bully. But Archon won the “Hall of Douchebag” award. He was more of a douche bag than Ted, for God’s sake.

  “Oh, Brad… Tiffany has a message for you. Wanna hear?” Jesse asked. Her lips cracked open with a smile of delight. Her eyes showed intense pleasure in tormenting Brad. Her eyes slowly closed then reopened.

  Brad shook his head.

  “You’re going to leave my family alone.”

  Jesse sighed, rolled her eyes.

  “You’re boring, boy.”

  It seemed like a gust of wind lifted Brad up and tossed him against the wall.

  Thud!

  He slid down the wall and quickly stood up. Sure, his back wasn’t happy with him. It pulsated and throbbed with pain, and maybe he’d need to take some more pain medication—soon.

  “Stay out of my way, boy!” Jesse sat upright. “You don’t want things to get worse.”

  Jesse laughed, kicking her head back. Moments later or so, she fell backwards.

  “Jesse?” Brad asked, slowly creeping towards her bed. She was fast asleep, snoring like an angel.

  “Jesse?” Brad asked, shaking her hand. She was indeed asleep, and she was fast asleep—alright. He covered her, kissed her on the forehead.