seeing anyone.
I wait.
My heart is racing.
“I get it!” I say firmly, just in case someone is pranking me. “Very funny. You don't need to keep doing the same thing all night, though, so knock it off!”
Trudging around to the back yard, I cup my hands around my eyes and take another look into the kitchen. There's still no-one in there, and all the lights are off, so I guess I might be lucky. Mom might have fallen asleep already, which means I just have to be quiet once I get inside and -
“You're next!”
Spinning around, I swallow hard as I wait for some hint of whoever the hell keeps doing that.
“Why am I next?” I ask, although I immediately realize that it's a dumb question. “Next for what? Your stupid joke doesn't even make sense!”
Silence, apart from a police siren in the distance.
I take a step forward into the darkness. My nerves are frayed, but I keep telling myself that someone is just trying to get a rise out of me.
“Adam?” I say out loud, trying desperately to make sure that I don't sound scared. “Are you guys really so idiotic that you think you can -”
“You're next.”
I turn again, but there's still no sign of anyone nearby. In fact, I can see all the way to the fence and there's definitely not another soul in the yard. I reach up and check around my ear, just in case some asshole managed to tape a speaker to me, but of course that's a ridiculous idea. Sighing, I fumble in my pocket for my keys as I head back around to the front of the house. I just need to get inside, so that this freak can't keep bugging me.
“You're next,” another voice whispers, but I ignore it as I struggle to get the key into the lock. For some stupid reason, I can't get it all the way in, not at first, but finally I manage to unlock the door and slip inside, before slamming the door shut again and taking a deep breath.
Silence.
The house stinks of booze and vomit.
“Good one, Mom,” I mutter, turning and hurrying across the hallway. When I get to the corridor, I see that the door to Malcolm's room is still open. Refusing to let myself get scared, I hurry toward my room, but I can't help glancing into my brother's old room, and I stop when I see that Mom is passed out on the floor in there, having apparently torn the desk apart and moved the bed. Looks like she went on a drunken rampage, and after a moment I spot a fresh hole in the plasterboard, which I guess means she took another punch at the wall.
I feel sorry for her, but she's snoring so I guess she's not in any danger.
“Night, Mom,” I whisper, before reaching out and gently pulling the door shut.
Once I get to my room, I close the door and lean back for a moment, trying to calm my nerves. The more I think about tonight, the more I think that it was just one long, crazy freak-out that I took way too seriously. I refuse to be the kind of person who believes in ghosts or any of that weak-minded garbage, but at least I can see now how easy it is to get seduced into that way of thinking. Spotting the shoebox by the window, I head over and take a look at the lid. Last time I peered inside, Rudolph was alive. Pulling the lid aside now, however, I see his little corpse curled up in the straw I provided for him.
I pick him up and examine him, but there's absolutely no doubt.
He's dead.
Setting him back in the shoebox, I put the lid on and wait for a few seconds. When I take it away, however, he's alive again.
“No way,” I whisper. “This is insane. I must be losing my mind.”
Putting the lid back in place, I listen for a moment, but there's no sound coming from inside the shoebox. I need to figure this out, but I'm too tired right now and I feel as if I might finally be able to get some decent sleep. As I slip out of my shirt, I make my way across the room. I'm hungry, but I don't dare go back through to the kitchen, not when there's the faintest chance that Mom might rise from her drunken heap on the floor. I just need to sleep.
I wait.
My heart is racing.
“I get it!” I say firmly, just in case someone is pranking me. “Very funny. You don't need to keep doing the same thing all night, though, so knock it off!”
Trudging around to the back yard, I cup my hands around my eyes and take another look into the kitchen. There's still no-one in there, and all the lights are off, so I guess I might be lucky. Mom might have fallen asleep already, which means I just have to be quiet once I get inside and -
“You're next!”
Spinning around, I swallow hard as I wait for some hint of whoever the hell keeps doing that.
“Why am I next?” I ask, although I immediately realize that it's a dumb question. “Next for what? Your stupid joke doesn't even make sense!”
Silence, apart from a police siren in the distance.
I take a step forward into the darkness. My nerves are frayed, but I keep telling myself that someone is just trying to get a rise out of me.
“Adam?” I say out loud, trying desperately to make sure that I don't sound scared. “Are you guys really so idiotic that you think you can -”
“You're next.”
I turn again, but there's still no sign of anyone nearby. In fact, I can see all the way to the fence and there's definitely not another soul in the yard. I reach up and check around my ear, just in case some asshole managed to tape a speaker to me, but of course that's a ridiculous idea. Sighing, I fumble in my pocket for my keys as I head back around to the front of the house. I just need to get inside, so that this freak can't keep bugging me.
“You're next,” another voice whispers, but I ignore it as I struggle to get the key into the lock. For some stupid reason, I can't get it all the way in, not at first, but finally I manage to unlock the door and slip inside, before slamming the door shut again and taking a deep breath.
Silence.
The house stinks of booze and vomit.
“Good one, Mom,” I mutter, turning and hurrying across the hallway. When I get to the corridor, I see that the door to Malcolm's room is still open. Refusing to let myself get scared, I hurry toward my room, but I can't help glancing into my brother's old room, and I stop when I see that Mom is passed out on the floor in there, having apparently torn the desk apart and moved the bed. Looks like she went on a drunken rampage, and after a moment I spot a fresh hole in the plasterboard, which I guess means she took another punch at the wall.
I feel sorry for her, but she's snoring so I guess she's not in any danger.
“Night, Mom,” I whisper, before reaching out and gently pulling the door shut.
Once I get to my room, I close the door and lean back for a moment, trying to calm my nerves. The more I think about tonight, the more I think that it was just one long, crazy freak-out that I took way too seriously. I refuse to be the kind of person who believes in ghosts or any of that weak-minded garbage, but at least I can see now how easy it is to get seduced into that way of thinking. Spotting the shoebox by the window, I head over and take a look at the lid. Last time I peered inside, Rudolph was alive. Pulling the lid aside now, however, I see his little corpse curled up in the straw I provided for him.
I pick him up and examine him, but there's absolutely no doubt.
He's dead.
Setting him back in the shoebox, I put the lid on and wait for a few seconds. When I take it away, however, he's alive again.
“No way,” I whisper. “This is insane. I must be losing my mind.”
Putting the lid back in place, I listen for a moment, but there's no sound coming from inside the shoebox. I need to figure this out, but I'm too tired right now and I feel as if I might finally be able to get some decent sleep. As I slip out of my shirt, I make my way across the room. I'm hungry, but I don't dare go back through to the kitchen, not when there's the faintest chance that Mom might rise from her drunken heap on the floor. I just need to sleep.
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