“That’s What It Is”

Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump

Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump

Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump

Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump

Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump

Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump

Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump

Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump

Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump

Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump

WHACK

The pencil is smacked out of my hand, rolling towards the door. Mr. Bottrell snaps his head towards me, my eyes wide. We make eye contact for a second, he continues with what he was saying as he picks up my pencil and easily places it on my desk. I turn my head to the girl next to me and receive what can only be described as a death stare. She doesn’t talk much, I must be special to receive a whack. I watch as she picks her pen back up and begins writing as fast as the teacher is talking. I would do something if I actually cared, maybe pick up my own pen or confront the girl, but I don’t. I go back to listening to my music and drawing in the margins of my notebook. The same thing I’ve been drawing for a while, the faceless figure coming out of the attic outside of my bedroom door. I finish another scratch-y sketch and flip up the screen of my computer, clicking on the mouse that brings me back to my search. There has to be something about the house. Too many coincidences, too many stories, too many sleepless nights.

Ever since Mom heard me screaming that night, we’ve been looking into the house, trying to figure out its history. Some sources say it used to be a Bed and Breakfast people would travel to after getting off the train. Others say there was a burial ground underneath, or that a train ran right through where the house was, before it was even built. I have a big family, four siblings and The ‘Rents, we all share limited space ‘cause Father “found his dream home.” Well, his dream home came with impossible renovations and an abundance of issues; and brought me to a new school. I had explored the house pre-renovation, right before the construction started. There were tons of jars full of old random things like nails and newspapers from the 19th century about fashion and sewing techniques. The renovations took forever and we couldn’t even live in the house for two years after buying it, fitting a dingy trailer on the property next to it and making do. Even the local libraries don’t have any records on the house besides who bought it and sold it over the years. The priest Mom asked to come check out the house actually denied our request. That leaves me on my own, per usual.

Now, I spend most of my time trying to find anything about the house or the dark energy that surrounds it. Most nights I spend in the house are restless, I watch the door for movement outside, I make sure the light in my room stays on, I know I need music or television to distract from the noises; I know it is coming. I remember the first and last time I let myself sleep without worry. I usually spend an unhealthy amount of time on my phone, especially at night. I was messing around, using face filters and making funny faces when BOOM. I felt the noise sink into my stomach and fill me with panic. After a moment when I didn’t hear anyone awake or see shifts in the darkness, I decided to ignore it. I looked back to my screen and saw it there. A dark figure stood behind me without a face, just a mouth that had been taken from a Great White, completely towering over me. I threw my phone across the room and screamed with terror until the breath left my body. Eventually, I had the whole house awake, hardly able to tell them what I saw, what I had felt with Shadow there.

Even now, it’s hard to describe. The only possible way to explain it is like when you’re a kid and you wake up from a nap, disoriented, and you can’t find anyone. You feel the panic start to creep in so you search frantically for your family. But no one is home. You search for a sign that things were just as you left them, that everything is okay. But, it’s not, because no one is around, no one is there for you, no one can save you. It is feeling completely and utterly helpless, that you are left at the feet of the world with nowhere to go. That’s what it is with Shadow.

Just as I begin to focus on a source claiming it has information about “spirited houses” in my area, a bell rings and I’ve forgotten I’m still at school. I pack up my things, but before I can leave, Mr. Bottrell tells me to stay back. I throw myself back into my seat, trying to anticipate what comments he has to make about “my character” now. The girl who whacked my pen eyes me as she leaves, giving a snarky look.

“Are you okay, Ash?” My face scrunches up, I’m confused and a little shocked. Something inside of me pulls and wants to tell the truth, I just can’t. I catch Mr. Bottrell staring at where my sleeve had ridden up on my forearm, his eyes wide this time. I pull it down and stare back at him “This is what you kept me for? I have other classes to get to.” Mr. Bottrell just looks at me, I can tell he doesn’t know what to do. He lets out a sigh, “Fine, you can go. But get some rest, you’ll need it for the test tomorrow.” I get out of my seat and walk out of the classroom, stuffing my headphones into my ears, glad to have dodged that bullet. I need to be more careful about hiding that stuff. I go through the rest of my day, a Home Ec. class, then English, and I head for the buses. The town is small but the roads are long. I usually am the second to last person to get off the bus. I don’t mind, my headphones ring sweet solace into my ears and let me imagine a life outside of this one, where I cannot fathom what awaits me at the house, what tonight has in store for me.

Finally, off the bus, I go inside and scrounge up whatever is left for a snack and go up to my room. I think my favorite place in the world is my bed. I do everything here as much as possible, but nothing beats reading fan fiction, listening to music, and making myself invisible. Mom is always nice and tries to get me to talk, but I don’t have the energy to pretend I care about myself enough to talk about my day. I spend hours on my phone, watching daylight dwindle down and settle into the sky. My siblings come home and create the noise I know and love… sometimes. They are my reason why I stay. Mom makes dinner and we sit in front of the TV in The ‘Rents’ room, everyone enjoying the rarity of an ordinary day. After everyone is done eating, our dirty plates pile up next to us and we sprawl out into our own respective places.

We all sit silently, watching. The lights are out, the only source of illumination coming from the television. I slouch on the bare bed in the corner of the room, only being held by a shaky wooden frame. To my left there is what is supposed to be a door frame, a door, a finished hallway, a polished house. We never really get around to the frame part. My feet rest on the bed frame in a squatting position, I never let them dangle off. I wonder if it’s coming, praying that it doesn’t, not anymore. I start sweating, feeling my shirt tighten with humidity and my clammy hands remembering the Great White smile. Focus. I bring my attention back to the screen, hoping to distract the fear. It almost works, too. All in one, the television shuts off and the floor shakes, BOOM. It sounds like it could be anything; a basket of clothes falling, an animal that got inside the house, boulders falling from the sky. But I know, it is here. Another, BOOM. I know where it’s coming from, where it does every night. I sit up straight, frozen. I start to panic, where’s the light switch? My hands are shaking and I start to yell, terror rising in my throat “Don’t you guys hear that!?”

Whatever response is drowned out by the weight of the sound, sharply moving up the narrow hallway towards the room. I notice the tears streaming down my face, each step getting louder, fear striking my heart it almost stops. “Please! Turn on the lights!” BOOM. It's all over. I’ve been waiting for this, replaying how and when it would happen so many times, but never the way it was now. BOOM. This fear I’ve kept at bay has learned to engulf me and wash me away. I stare into the darkness at the end of the hallway, eyes wide, stiffly petrified on the edge of the bed. BOOM. I look up and close my eyes, neck soaked in salty water. Please, I’ll be better, I promise. I pretend I’ve disappeared, that I’ve never lived this life and won’t have to anymore. Yet, in an instant, before the shadows can catch up to me, before I can prepare, the lights snap on. I realize I’m gripping the bed and I release the tension, letting my body relax, the noise has disappeared but my family stares at me bewildered, unable to console me. I can see it in their eyes that I have scared them, the same look I see everyday. I’ve gotten lucky tonight, but I know Shadow will not rest, and will wait for me to be alone so I may slip gently into the darkness.