The Elm House Read online

  After Brad had placed the clean dishes and silverware into the dish rack, he headed back upstairs to his room to finish his homework. Time flew by fast, Brad yawned, looked over at his clock on his nightstand and stood up. Homework is out of the way, he tiredly thought as he moseyed down the steps and into the living room. His parents were watching the night time news, like always, and planted a kiss on their cheeks, told them good night, and then started back upstairs to his room. He eyeballed the attic door with suspicious then shook his head. I’m probably working myself up—like always, Brad thought.

  He gave one good hard glance at the door then headed into his room to retire for the night. After Brad turned off the ceiling light off, he cozied himself in bed and shut his weary eyes close.

  CHAPTER 4

  Sometimes Brad’s active imagination could get the best of him or maybe not.

  His mind revved up slightly awake as he began to hear what sounded like footsteps steadily and creepily head towards his side of the bed.

  Thump-thump-thump-thump.

  Brad jarred himself awake, and his eyes still trying to adjust to the dim light around his room. The moon wasn’t doing its splendid job like normal. His eyes caught something small—childlike—figure peering back at him. The silhouette figure just stood there, stood there completely still. Is this the ghost that slammed the attic door? Brad questioned himself, remembering that moment when he and his friends witnessed the attic door slamming shut. He tried to open his mouth but couldn’t find himself to speak; he was scared all over. His heart pounded inside his chest like a marching drum. Yet, he didn’t feel cold nor see his icy breath escape from his mouth like the movies show. What does it want? He questioned himself inside his head. Why was it just standing there and staring at me? His whole entire spine tickled as he felt like he should bolt out of the room and into his parent’s room. But he just laid there with eyes wide opened like a deer caught in head lights.

  “Brad…”

  The voice sounded familiar. Then he realized—it was Jesse.

  “What?” he asked, turning on his lamp on his nightstand.

  Jesse’s face looked slightly paled as like she’d seen a ghost. Her pupils were enlarged as she shuddered.

  “Can I sleep with you?” she asked Brad.

  Brad shook his head.

  “No, go back to bed.”

  Jesse shook her head, defiantly and pouted.

  “I can’t!” She whined. Her eyes begged as she pouted. “A boy won’t let me sleep,” she said.

  A boy? Brad thought, what is she talking about?

  “There’s no boy in your room,” Brad said. He slowly got up from his bed, and his feet planted on the hardwood floor. He arose and took his sister’s hand and lead her back to her bedroom.

  He flicked on her bedroom light from the light switch that was fastened near her door frame.

  “See, no boy here.”

  “There was a boy, and he was just staring at me.” She whined.

  Brad shrugged his shoulders, looked around the room and even peeked inside her closet.

  “No boy,” he said. “Now will you just go to bed?” He pulled her blankets to the side. He patted her mattress and beckoned her to slid in the bed. “You’ll be fine,” he said, hoping it would convince her to get into her bed and go to sleep.

  “But there was a boy, I swear it!” she said, crawling into her bed and pulling the blankets over her. “I saw him. He looked scared.”

  Brad sighed, kissed her on the forehead and told her goodnight. He hoped that his reassurance aided to ease her mind, but she didn’t appear to completely reassured.

  “Brad, what if he comes back?” she asked.

  “I’ll tell him to leave you alone. How about that?” he told her. “Will that make you happy?”

  She nodded her head and slightly smiled, turning over and telling Brad “goodnight!” Then closed her eyes.

  He turned off her ceiling light and headed back to his bedroom. Before he reached his bedroom, he grunted angrily.

  Damn attic door, he thought. He closed the attic door and wished there was a key to lock that damn door. He remembered what Timmy spoken about the house being damned and tainted.

  Argh! It’s just a house that’s old—that’s all—and nothing more, he thought, attempting to reassure himself. It’s an old Victorian house… nothing more. He headed back into his bedroom, closed his door and slipped back inside his bed. He flicked off the switch off the lamp on his nightstand, turned over on his side—facing the wall—and closed his weary eyes. Just an old—yet, creepy and eerie--Victorian home… nothing more, he thought before he was seduced into a deep sleep.

  Almost seconds later, Brad’s ears perked up and was alert. Damn it, Jesse, go back to bed! His bedroom door creaked opened.

  Thump-thump-thump-thump.

  Brad turned on his lamp, angrily.

  “Jesse—”

  He looked around, but Jesse wasn’t there. His bedroom door was wide opened. He swallowed in fear. How would one explain hearing footsteps when there’s no one there? Brad remembered he had closed his bedroom door. I didn’t forget, right? He questioned himself. In fact, he did close his bedroom door. He knew it, too. But he also knew that he clearly heard footsteps approaching the side of his bed. Maybe, I’m tired? Maybe—just maybe—I’m hearing things. Yeah, that’s it! I’m tired, so I’m hearing things.

  Brad gave out a huff of air from his lungs and closed his bedroom door for the final time before heading back to his bed. He covered himself, turned off his lamp and turned on his side before entering sleep mode.

  Breakfast perked Brad’s nose wide awake in the morning. He stood upright, yawned, stretched out his arms to greet the morning day for morrow is the weekend. Brad jumped into the shower, changed into denim jeans and a casual long-sleeved shirt, hustled down stairs to eat breakfast. After he ate breakfast, he kissed his mom’s cheek before heading out with dad to be driven to school.

  A boy, he thought, remembering what Jesse had told him. Jessie probably thought she saw a boy. But why did I hear footsteps approach my bed? It’s probably my head… the house is old and creepy.

  “You seem to be deep in thought,” Brad’s father said. He glanced over as they were stopped at a red traffic light. “What’s bothering you?”

  Brad shook his head. “Nothing,” he said.

  Nothing? Nothing, yeah, nothing is bothering me… just the damn house is creepy.

  “Are you sure?” His father asked.

  Brad nodded, reassuringly.

  “Yeah… yeah.”

  His father cracked up a bit. “It’s the move, right?”

  “The house is weird,” Brad said, fessing up what was partially on his mind. He understood that his father didn’t believe in ghosts or what not. It was either Heaven or Hell after a person croaks.

  “It does have its issues,” His father said, nodding his head in agreement. “But it has old bones, son. Old bones of a house seem to be weird. A little fixer upper won’t hurt, right?”

  The house has old bones… hmmm—kinda makes sense. But still, the attic door shouldn’t have opened like that. And I shouldn’t have heard footsteps that weren’t there. So, how does one explain that? He understood his father’s logic, but he didn’t heartily agree with it. Inside his gut, he couldn’t chase away, he felt there was something more about the house. More about the house than anyone else knew about the house. Except for the town folk that possibly knew the house’s secrets. After all, Timmy had said the house was damned and tainted. No one says that without reason. No, absolutely not, there has to be a reason why it’s damned and tainted. All of this rambling inside Brad’s mind would eventually make him looney tunes. He chased away the thoughts by flicking on some tunes inside the car as they were close to his school’s parking lot. Jesse in back bobbed her head to the music.

  At least, Jesse has good taste in music, Brad thought. They arrived to his school’s parking lot. The vehicle stopped, Brad got out and
told his father that he’ll see him later and poked fun at Jesse. She returned with sticking out her tongue out in a bratty fashion. He chuckled at her and told her, “Have a good day at ‘Brat School’.”

  He laughed and started to head to the front doors of his school. Sisters are great for brothers; they learn how to deal with women when they grow up.

  Timmy gave Ms. White the same old dreamy eyed stare as she lectured the class. His cheeks rested on his hands, and his pupils wide and sung love at first sight. He had the hots for teacher, alright, and Colin would occasionally tease him about it.

  She did look amazingly beautiful, Brad thought. But he didn’t think that she’d be eager for a jail cell with Ms. Bubba (who would make Ms. White her bitch) and be slapped with a sexual predator title on her back for the world to know. There’d been occasions where teachers had crossed that red “do not cross” line with their pupils. They admitted that they were either going through a rough patch in their lives, but they should’ve used better self-control over their sexual impulses. Now, they’re fucked and can’t stand near schools nor children because of their “awarded” title. Talk about tossing their college education to become a teacher over some bad decision to hop in the sack with a student. Who seduces who? Brad thought. Does the student seduce the teacher, or the teacher seduce the student? He chuckled at the thought; he wouldn’t even know how to seduce a woman for the likes of him. Brad wasn’t shy by a mile, but he’d occasionally feel those butterflies in his stomach when a girl glanced at him in a certain way. A certain way that makes a man’s heart melt to the floor into a slushy mess. The look in the woman’s eyes that says “come over here, fool, and talk to me,” with their lips curled up, in a way, like they had eaten a canary.

  Unfortunately, Brad’s bladder wasn’t so pleased with him. A person shouldn’t hold their “urine dam”. He asked Ms. White if he could be excused, grabbed the hall pass, and headed to the men’s bathroom that was next to Principal’s office.

  He felt the relief as he tinkled, flushed and washed his hands. The bathroom doors opened harshly and a group of laughter erupted inside the bathroom.

  “Hey! It’s the new kid,” a somewhat familiar voice said, slapping Brad on the shoulder and pulling him closer. “How you doing, new kid?”

  Great, it’s Ted! Brad thought, aggravated.

  “What do you want?”

  Ted shrugged. “You hadn’t licked my dog’s shit from my shoe.”

  “That’s never going to happen.”

  Ted chuckled, and he appeared dumbstruck like “no one has ever talked back to me like that before”.

  “You come in here, and now you’re the boss?” Ted asked Brad, appearing to be angrier than a gorilla being teased with a banana. He went to slap Brad on the cheek, but Brad moved out of the way swiftly.

  “Ted, take a chill pill. Okay?” Brad said to Ted.

  Ted laughed amusingly at Brad. Almost like a cat amused by how fast a mouse runs and dodges its hunting claws. It could be a first time ever that anyone has ever spoke to Ted in such a manner, Brad thought. Ted’s friends seemed amused as well, as they too, appeared eager to pounce on their prey with Ted. Predatory—that’s all high school is. Who is the hunted and who is the hunter? A jungle, high school is, seeing who is the fittest to survive the hellish four years (some would lie and say the four years were peaches and cream, but they’re full of shit and stink of it).

  Brad could tell the hunger that stirred within Ted’s eyes, but he knew to never back down from a bully. Never back down from a bully. And he knew, once he gave Ted permission to control or have power over him, Ted will constantly be Brad’s boogey man for the year or more in school. He dried his hands from the disposable towel dispenser, faced Ted and stared into his eyes.

  “Have a good day, dude,” he said to Ted, starting to head pass Ted’s groupies.

  “Not so fast, new kid,” Ted said, putting his hand on Brad’s shoulder. Whether or not he knew it, but Ted just fucked up right there.

  With a swift motion and effortless, Brad placed his one hand on Ted’s forearm, and his other hand bending Ted’s hand backward. Boy, did Ted cry like a bitch.

  Ted went down one knee like he was proposing for marriage; his eyes squinted and bellowed. A tear drop glistened in the sunlight. His lips quivered like a scared and startled child.

  “We’re good?” Brad asked Ted.

  Ted whimpered, nodded his head faster than a bobble head.

  “Yeah…”

  “Good,” Brad said, releasing his Ted from the wrist lock. He glanced over at Ted’s groupies. “We’re good, guys?”

  They shrugged his shoulders as they watched Ted stand up.

  “Yeah… whatever… we’re just messing,” They said in unison.

  Ted rubbed his wrist, winching in pain, and lead his groupies out of the bathroom.

  I wonder if he’ll learn his lesson? Brad questioned. Nah, probably not, he’ll want more. He tossed the paper towel into the large garbage can and left the bathroom to enter Ms. White’s class.

  Timmy, Colin, Stephan, and Brad sat at the cafeteria table. All of them were chowing down on some cafeteria grub with delight.

  Brad could see the wheels turning inside Timmy’s fat head.

  “Ms. White again?” Colin teased.

  Timmy snapped out of his thought, shook his head. He, almost for a split second, looked like he got caught sticking his hand in the cookie jar, Brad thoughtfully chuckled.

  “No,” Timmy said. He was about to say something but stopped. His eyes wide open. He dropped his food onto his plate.

  “Captain Douchebag, one o’clock,” he softly said.

  As I expected, he wants more, Brad thought. He unhappily turned his head towards the direction Ted was coming from.

  “What’s up?” asked Brad. Never back down from a bully.

  Ted scratched his head, placed a Coke Cola in front of Brad.

  “Sorry, new kid,” Ted softly said like a gentle giant. A gentle giant who, possibly, knew not mess with Brad anymore. “It’s for you,” he said, returning back to his groupies.

  Brad eyeballed the can of Coke Cola, shrugged and was about to pop it open then eyed Timmy’s cautious face.

  Timmy shook his head.

  Brad’s eyebrows furrowed. Ted was being nice, he thought. Normally, a person who’s in the wrong; they’ll offer gifts—gifts of peace—to settle things over. Did Ted feel bad? Does he even have a heart to feel bad? He shrugged and popped open the can.

  A roar of laughter erupted throughout the cafeteria. Timmy tried hard to even hid his laughter. Colin and Stephen, also, tried to hide their laughing eyes. But it was too late, for Brad, he gotten the old shaken and stirred surprise. A surprise that left him in a sticky mess of Ted’s prank.

  Brad nodded, shrugged his shoulders, looked down at his caramel colored stained shirt, wiped the sticky juices from his face with a paper napkin. Either this was Ted’s attempt to make Brad feel small as a mouse, or it was some kinda weird sense of bonding that Ted only knew how to show. If Brad would return the favor and pour pop over Ted’s head, how would Ted respond? He chuckled.

  He glanced over at Ted, whom had his shoulder raised high with the “oops” face. Ted’s finger pointed at Brad as he laughed—almost seemed like he was crying a bit from laughing—and slapped his table hard. So hard, when Ted struck the table with his palm, their food trays lifted slightly off their table then back down.

  So long for that idea, Brad thought, seems like Ted will always be Captain Douchebag. So much hatred and misery festered up inside his cold-dark heart, Brad assumed. This wasn’t the respect, Brad, was after. In a sort of way, he felt like the laughing stock—a butt of a joke. And it didn’t rest well inside his core. He realized that it was one ditch attempt for Ted to regain power and control over him. Brad couldn’t let that happen, so eventually when the time comes. He’ll have to confront this Orc before everything gets out of hand.

  The school bell rang, and everyon
e rose up and threw away their finished food away before heading to their designated classrooms. It was like a herd of students spreading out into the hallway. Mindlessly, and almost programmatically, they headed into their classrooms.

  After school, Brad half jogged to Mr. Flinch in the hallway. Mr. Flinch, the school’s soccer coach proudly walked down the hallway with his chin high. He was a middle-aged handsome fellow. Certainly, Ms. White’s eyes fixated on Mr. Flinch as he passed her. But Mr. Flinch wore a nice gold wedding band on his left hand’s ring finger.

  “Hey,” he said to Ms. White.

  Her cheeks glowed bright red as she smiled widely, and her eyes twinkled with delight.

  “Coach,” Brad said, finally catching up to Mr. Flinch.

  “Yeah?” He turned his head.

  “I’m Brad Herrick. And I was wondering when soccer would start.”

  “Spring time.”

  “Oh, in my old school… soccer was in fall.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Mount Everson High School,” Brad said.

  Mr. Flinch chuckled, nodded his head. Almost like he had remembered when Old Willows Brooke High went toe-to-toe against Mount Everson High.

  “You scored the winning goal against our team last year, eh?” He politely smiled. “What brings you over to our school?”

  “Family moved… we moved to the 333 Elm Road house.”

  “Beautiful home, isn’t it?”

  Beautiful home? Brad questioned Mr. Flinch in his mind’s eye. More like haunted home.

  “I guess…”

  “Well, Brad, try outs are in Spring. One thing I’m certain of, you’ll bring our team to the championship.” He reached out to shake Brad’s hand.

  After Brad shook Mr. Flinch’s hand, they departed their separate ways.