Click here to read "The Cat House", this story's predecessor.
Graduation was quickly approaching. Most of my time was spent studying for my final exams and filling out scholarships for college. Despite recent calamitous events with my aunt, I could not be happier. Soon, I would be attending Hampden Falls University—my dream school.
The best part about my acceptance letter was that Mom was being particularly nice to me as of late. She was letting me go out with my friends, she increased my allowance, and she even bought me a new pair of sneakers that I've been eyeing for awhile. It was almost as though I could do no wrong. I was basking in the glory.
“Mom?” I asked, knocking against the office door.
She was holding the phone against her ear with her shoulder as she tapped away on the keyboard. It was obvious that she was busy, but I was going to be quick. Besides, she was more likely to say yes if I asked when she was preoccupied with something.
“Y-yeah, Matthew? What is it?” she asked. She then murmured into the phone, “Hold on, Maddie. Matt needs something.”
I chewed on my lip and asked, “Do you care if I go to the movies with Sam and his cousin in a few hours? Dragonaxe just came out and I really wanna see it.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” she sputtered, waving me off. “Anyway, Maddie, like I was saying, she couldn't even pass the—wait! Matthew!”
I winced. When she called my name, I was nearly down the hall. Time for the backtrack.
“Yes?” I asked, peering my head in the crack of the door.
“Did you say you wanted to go out tonight?” she asked, cocking an eyebrow, still balancing the phone on her shoulder.
With a groan, I nodded and muttered, “Is that a problem?”
She gave me a sad look and sighed.
“Oh honey, I'm sorry. I forgot to tell you that Aunt Helen lost her house today. I've been so busy I didn't really get a chance to talk to you. Anyway, she's going to be coming to stay with us for a couple weeks and I need you to get the guestroom around for her—just until the insurance company gets her set up in temp house.”
My eyes widened. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. The woman that had threatened to kill me was going to be staying under our roof. There was no way that I could allow such a thing to happen—but how could I tell my mother? If Aunt Helen found out I said anything, she would surely have it out for me. After what I saw in her home, I'd put nothing past that woman.
“Aw, I'm sorry I disappointed you,” my mother cooed, frowning. “I was going to get us Luciano's tonight. That sound good to you, at least?”
She was trying to lighten the blow, but my mother didn't know the half of it. Being unable to go out with my friends was the least of my problems. Living with Aunt Helen was where my concerns truly began.
“Yeah, Mom. Sounds delicious.”
Replacing the stale bed sheets in the guestroom served as a reminder that my psychopathic aunt would soon be laying in that very bed. Nausea started to set in as I pulled my sister's old pink princess sheets over the edges of the mattress.
There was a knock on the door. It creaked open, but I did not turn around. My nerves told me it could have been Aunt Helen, and that was one face I did not see.
“Matt!” a gruff, masculine voice barked. “Matthew! You got that room set up for your psycho pack-rat aunt?”
“Mark!” Mom scolded. “Rude!”
“What? Am I supposed to just pretend she didn't just have the fuckin' city take a bulldozer to her house for being such a piece of shit?” Dad asked, chuckling. “What a nutjob! I still don't know why you told her she could stay here, Cheryl. We don't got time to clean up after that crackpot.”
“She will be clean!” Mom insisted, folding her arms over her chest. Concern was in her brow when she went on to add, “I have faith in her. She can do better.”
Sitting on the edge of the bed, I muttered, “You didn't see how bad her house was, Mom. The plumbing didn't even wor—”
“Matthew, I know. I know it was bad. That doesn't matter now, though. This is a new chapter in Aunt Helen's life. This is her second chance.”
Dad snickered.
“Too bad this is more like her fourth chance. Even Kristy got sick of her and that woman ain't right in the head either.”
Mom scolded.
“Do not mention that in front of her!”
The hairs on my neck stood on end. I had pulled two slats of my bedroom shades apart so I could peer out it without being noticed. Despite a numb forefinger and thumb, I had not taken my eyes off of the driveway for nearly twenty minutes.
It felt as though I'd been waiting hours by the time our silver minivan pulled into the driveway. I gulped. The figure in the passenger's side was shifty, clearly uncomfortable in their position. The vehicle came to a halt and my mother slid out of the driver's side. Only a moment later, the passenger's car door opened. My heart fell into my stomach as a hatted, frowning woman stepped out onto the gravel. She slammed the door behind her and started walking towards the front door. I winced. It was only seconds before I would see my worst nightmare once more.
“Your mother and the nutter are home!” I heard my father yell from downstairs. He then added, “Come on down and let's watch the shit-show!”
With a groan, I slowly walked down the stairs, my clammy hand burning as I drug it along the railway. The front door opened and my mother tiptoed in, making a face as she opened it wide for Aunt Helen to lug her things inside. The frog-faced woman did not even look up as she started pulling in her luggage.
“Why don't you help Aunt Helen?” Mom asked, giving me a dirty look.
“Yes, help your aunt,” Dad agreed.
“I don't need his help,” Aunt Helen grumbled, still not looking anyone in the eye. She dropped her things, pulled a pack of cigarettes from her purse, plucked one out, lit it inside of the house, and went on to add, “I need my damn house back. Stupid pigs.”
She turned on her heel and slowly made her way back to the minivan. Her cigarette smoke lingered in the air. Mom tried waving it out the door and gave my father and me a weak smile. She often stood up for Aunt Helen's antics, yet there was not much about her behavior during this visit that she could justify.
“She'll get used to things,” she whispered. “She's still just a little worked up from losing her house and all.”
My dad folded his arms and muttered, “Cheryl, you've gotta tell her she can't smoke in the house. If she's going to stay here, she's gotta respect our house.”
Mom opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, Aunt Helen had already brought another load of luggage to the door. Her cigarette was poking between her lips as she stared at all of us with her cold, dead eyes.
“Listen, Helen, if you want to put out your cigarette, I'll show you your room. I can't have you smoking in the house, though,” Mom said. “If you want to smoke, you'll have to do it outside.”
Aunt Helen scowled.
“Fine,” she grunted, taking a large step backwards, right out the front door. She pulled the cigarette from between her lips, blew some smoke from the corner of her mouth, and continued, “I'm outside. Ya happy?”
My mother gave her a small smile and nodded.
“Y-yes, that's perfect. Um, Matthew, could you take your aunt's things up to her room?”
I did not want to touch anything that had been in Aunt Helen's house, but Mom gave me another dirty look so I figured I had no choice. I pulled the luggage up the stairs, anxiety in the pit of my stomach.
So it begins.
My bedroom became my escape that evening. Going with my friends to see a movie seemed like a lot more fun, but part of me was glad that I would not have to come into contact with Aunt Helen for the rest of the night. After grabbing a couple of slices of pizza, I managed to avoid her while she was chain-smoking outside. I thought she would probably just sit in her room and trash it, but I was wrong. Apparently, her cigarettes were important enough to go outdoors, her least favorite place in the universe, from what I understood.
It was 8 P.M. when there was a sudden knock on my bedroom door. I jumped.
“Who is it?”
“It's Mom.”
The door cracked open and I looked up from the skate magazine I had been reading. She gave me a bittersweet smile. Something told me she knew Helen should not have been staying with us. Maybe I had not told her about what I witnessed back at her house, but it must have been her motherly sixth sense. She knew something was wrong.
“You haven't come out of your room since Helen got here,” she noted, folding her arms and sitting down beside me on the edge of the bed. “Just thought I'd check on you.”
I sighed and murmured, “Hard to want to come out when she's here.”
She rubbed her temples and whispered, “I know.”
“If you know then why is she here? She's just...” I trailed off, unsure how to word it.
“I know she isn't all there...” Mom said. “But she lost her house. We're doing a good thing. She's my sister, Matt. It's my duty to help.”
There was so much I wish I could tell her. The words refused to roll off my tongue. Instead, I just smiled and nodded.
“You're a good person, Mom.”
She gave me a strange look. It was apparently an unexpected response. There was that motherly sixth sense again. Nevertheless, she said nothing.
“I'm going to go outside and check on her. Let me know if you need anything, okay, honey?”
It was another opportunity to say something, yet again, I did not.
“I will, Mom,” I lied.
There were several occasions throughout the rest of the evening that I heard Aunt Helen's gruff voice. She had a few short altercations with my father, including one instance where she asked if she could borrow the van to go thrifting. Of course, he told her no, and this resulted in a long stand-off. Since I was only eavesdropping, I'm not sure exactly what the solution was, but it sounded like she ended up storming outside to have another cigarette.
By a little after11 P.M., my parents said goodnight to her. I heard another one of her grunts from outside in response to their sentiments. She was smoking on the porch again.
I heard the sound of approaching footsteps coming up the creaking staircase. There was a knock on my door and I heard my mother's soft voice.
“Goodnight, Matt. Get some sleep soon, okay?”
“Goodnight. I will.”
I was lying to her again.
As expected, I was still wide awake by midnight. I had heard the front door slam and after peering out of my window, I realized that Aunt Helen had finally come inside for the evening. Strangely enough, nearly forty minutes had passed since she came inside of the house and she still had not come up the stairs. I didn't think she could go that long without nicotine.
Aunt Helen's mental state did not only concern me for my own sake, but also for the sake of my family. My little sister was sound asleep in her bedroom, and while she understood that Aunt Helen was crude and a little strange, she did not know the full extent of it. To be fair, nobody did—nobody except myself, that is.
My lights were off. I was still lying in bed, scrolling through my social media newsfeed. A girl I liked by the name of Sarah had posted a few selfies, so naturally, I went out of my way to like them. I hoped she would notice me and I could chat with her to give myself something else to think about for awhile. Distracting myself was the best that I could do until my horrific relative was out of our house for good.
Then, just as I was about to work up the courage to send Sarah a message, I heard the creaking of the steps. Suddenly, I felt like I was going to vomit as I started to become overwhelmed by anxiety. My eyes quickly averted to the doorknob. It was locked, thank God.
Aunt Helen made it to the top of the stairs. She stopped in the hallway for a brief moment. That moment felt like eternity.
“Hmph,” she grunted, before taking a few more steps forward.
My ear was pressed against the door and droplets of sweat dripped down my face. Then, I heard the creaking of the guestroom door. It closed behind her and I took a deep breath. I had managed to avoid her for an entire night. I just hoped I could keep it up.
The next morning, I awoke to my mother's voice. This was pretty routine for a Sunday, but something in her voice told me that there was something wrong.
After a yawn, I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and groaned. More than likely, Aunt Helen was sitting at the breakfast table, just waiting to get a good look at me so she could figure out which limb she wanted to dismember first. Perhaps that is a little dramatic, but the woman did say she wants to kill me.
I unlocked the door and trudged down the stairs, still in my pajamas. The sound of my sister's animated voice echoed throughout the entire house, only interrupted by my father loudly shuffling through the pages of the newspaper. By the time I reached the bottom of the steps, it had become clear to me that Leah was talking either to or about Aunt Helen. It was hard to determine which. I braced myself before walking into the eat-in kitchen.
“...and then they showed us all the germs on our hands with this cool purple flashlight! I'm never going to have a messy house when I grow up. Germs are gross!”
“Leah, no more,” Mom asserted. “Eat your fruit.”
When I walked into the kitchen, I saw that there were, in fact, four people already seated at the table. Aunt Helen's face was buried in a book and my father was smirking. He swallowed his encouragement, but it was obvious that he was pretty proud of my sister for her comments.
“Hey! Look who got out of bed this morning!” Dad chirped, looking up at me. “Have a seat!”
He gestured the only seat that was left—the seat next to Aunt Helen. Eyeing the dining chair, I gulped and averted my gaze to the mousy-haired woman. Even as I stared at her, she did not look up. Instead, she licked her arthritic fingers and turned the page. Whatever she was reading had to be quite interesting.
I pulled the chair out, cringing as the legs dragged across the linoleum loudly. The noise didn't seem to bother Aunt Helen, though. Her wolfish eyes kept dancing along the page of her book. My mother gave her a quick look before turning back to me and smiling. I pulled myself close to the table and folded my arms.
“How'd you sleep?” Mom asked, smiling. She pushed the center fruit bowl towards me and added, “Here, eat something! The frittata will be ready soon. Just a few more minutes.”
Staring at Aunt Helen from the corner of my eye, I grabbed a banana and peeled it.
“How'd about you, Helen?” Mom continued. “How did you sleep?”
Aunt Helen looked up from her book with just her eyes. One could only assume she was hiding a frown behind the spine of the novel.
“Fine,” Helen muttered. “Bed was a bit stiff, though.”
Mom frowned and asked, “Oh? We've never had guests complain about it. Should we replace the mattress maybe?”
Helen did not respond. Instead, she just grunted and looked back down at her book. With a worried look on her face, Mom turned to my father.
“Mark, do you think we could replace that mattress?”
My father snickered. After earning a frown of disapproval, he furrowed his brow.
“What? Are you serious?” he asked. “She'll sleep in all that trash but she won't sleep on a mattress because it's a little stiff? Cheryl, I'm sorry, but this is where I draw the line.”
Of course, my mother glared at him. Though I desperately wanted to join in on the shaming, I was, admittedly, too scared of her to partake. If Leah and Dad saw what I saw in her refrigerator, maybe they wouldn't be making fun of her, either.
“Mark! That's enough!” she hissed. The kitchen timer went off and she let out a sigh of relief, adding, “I'll get it.”
As she got up to turn off the timer, Aunt Helen looked up from her book. Her gaze send a shiver down my spine.
“Hope you eat good, boy,” she grunted. “Your skinny ass needs it.”
My face drained of all color. Why did she care how much I ate? Was she trying to fatten me up? Apparently, no one else thought much of it, because Mom put the pan of frittata in the middle of the table and encouraged everyone to eat, a grin on her face.
“Here you go,” she said, smiling as she served Aunt Helen a large piece of the egg casserole. “I got you a big piece.”
Aunt Helen set her book face-down, still open to her page. She crinkled her nose as she started picking through the frittata with her fork. My mother frowned.
“Is something wrong?”
Aunt Helen gave her a sharp look.
“This got onions in it?” she asked, picking out a small piece of diced onion. “That an onion?”
My mom frowned and nodded, murmuring, “Well, y-yes. It's for flavor.”
Aunt Helen scowled and pushed the plate away, declaring, “I hate onions!”
With that, she got to her feet, seized her book, and marched out of the room and out the front door. My mother sighed and rubbed her temples. Dad took a forkful of the egg and put it in his mouth, giving her a thumbs up.
“Tastes good to me, honey!”
Mom scowled.
“I need a glass of wine.”
Dad looked at the clock and frowned. The sound of my sister and I scraping our forks.
“It's 10A.M.”
“I don't care what time it is,” she snapped as she got to her feet. She opened the refrigerator, pulled out a bottle of cheap wine, and added, “Sometimes, you just need a glass to take the edge off.”
She walked back to the table, bottle in hand, and sat down. Leah and Dad were staring at her. I could read the pain in her expression. She felt like she had to care for Aunt Helen out of guilt, yet it was killing her.
“Mom?” Leah asked.
My mother looked at her out of the corner of her eye, mouth wrapped around the top of the wine bottle.
“Yes, honey?”
Leah wrung her hands together, nervously.
“Can you tell Aunt Helen to stop looking at me like that?”
My mother furrowed her brow and looked behind her. What she saw shocked us all. Outside of the window, there stood Aunt Helen, rage in her brow and a cigarette hanging from her mouth. She was glaring.
My mother knocked on the window, carefully, and asked, “Helen? Helen, are you alright?”
Aunt Helen did not answer.
Avoiding Aunt Helen was proving to be fairly easy. She spent most of her time outside, silently smoking cigarette after cigarette. Dad made snarky little comments about her behind her back here and there, and while that did lighten the mood, it did not take my mind off of the situation at hand. I was starting to consider telling my mother about what I found in Aunt Helen's refrigerator. I decided it against it when I came to the conclusion she wouldn't believe me.
We all had to be awake early on Mondays, so everyone went to bed early—except Aunt Helen. When I cracked the window to feel the night air against my sleeping skin, a rush of cigarette smoke was swept into the room. My blood went cold.
The cigarette smoke was never-ending. Since my were eyes fixed on my digital clock, I had a good idea of how long she was chain-smoking on the porch. It was around three hours before the smell ceased. I sat up and craned my neck to see out the open window. She was gone.
Still awake, I lay there, waiting for her to come upstairs to her bedroom. However, she did not. After nearly an hour, I started to wonder what she was doing. The woman did very few things. In fact, she only did three things that I had observed so far: smoke, read, and go to the bathroom more often than any one person should.
Suddenly, I heard a loud, metallic clang! come from downstairs. Frowning, I checked my door to make sure that it was locked. I hoped that Leah and my parents had done the same.
“Damn it!”
The person responsible for the curse word was loud. Thankfully, it was no intruder. It was Aunt Helen. Now that I think about it, perhaps she's worse.
Pulling my blankets close, I melted into their comfort. There were no more sounds in the kitchen, but I did hear her still rummaging around downstairs. If my ears did not deceive me, she was going through drawers in the roll-top desk in the living room. I still was not sure what the clang! was though.
After almost forty more minutes, I finally heard her footsteps coming up the stairs. Goosebumps kissed the surface of my skin as I heard her scuffle her heavy feet down the second floor hallway. She stopped in front of my door, which, to be fair, was also in front of her door. Her presence caused me to shudder.
She stood in the hallway for an uncomfortably long period of time. I could hear her shifting her weight as the hardwood floor creaked beneath her. What was she standing out there for? What could she possibly have been doing for so long? My eyes were fixed on my doorknob and it felt like my heart was about to leap out of my chest. Part of me anticipated for her to start jiggling it. Alas, she did not. Instead, I heard the sound of the door across the hall squeak open.
I stayed awake for several more hours, waiting for the evil woman to wake up in the middle of the night with bad intentions.
She never did.
The sound of my alarm was deafening and came all too early. Groggily, I pawed at it until I found the snooze button and rolled over onto my side. It was not long before it went off again.
I groaned and turned it off before kicking off my covers and swinging my legs over the side of the bed. Yawning, I fished through my drawers for jeans and a tee shirt. I pulled them on and went downstairs. My hair was destined to remain unbrushed.
Dad had already left for work, but Leah and my mother were both in the kitchen. Leah had a bowl of cereal in front of her and Mom was packing her school lunch in a paper bag. Frowning, I looked out the window for Aunt Helen.
“Aunt Helen still in bed?” I asked, opening one of the cupboards to look for toaster pastries.
Mom nodded as she seized an orange from the fruit bowl and dropped it in the paper sack.
“I think so,” she replied. “I tried to check on her but her bedroom door was locked. Can't blame her. She has no reason to be up at six in the morning.”
I could hear the annoyance laced in her tone as I sat down at the dining room table with Leah. Aunt Helen's lack of responsibility was beginning to get to her.
“Yeah, and she was up pretty late,” I noted. “Hey, Leah, did you eat the last Toasty Pop?”
Leah shook her head and, with a full mouth, muttered, “Dad ate it last night.”
Mom set the paper bag in front of my sister and sat across from me, her hands laced and confusion in her expression.
“Matt, did you just say Aunt Helen was up late? I thought you went to bed when we did?”
I nodded and replied, “She was still outside smoking at one thirty. My window was open so I smelled it. She was up for awhile after that too—doing something in the kitchen, making a lot of noise.”
Mom frowned and whispered, “I wonder what she was doing. I guess she didn't eat all day... maybe she was making food.”
“Who knows,” I said. “I don't really care what she was doing. She just needs to stop being so loud.”
It was a lie. I did care about what she was up doing, but if I said that to Mom, she would want to know why. I was hardly prepared for that conversation.
“Well, I'll have a talk with her later,” Mom said with a sigh. “Leah, are you about done with your cereal?”
I cringed at the sound of Leah's spoon scraping the sides of her bowl. She slurped up the milk and slammed the bowl back down on the table.
“All done!” she declared, proudly.
“Good. Now go change out of your pajamas so we can get on the road. Mommy's going to use the bathroom and then we're heading out,” Mom replied. She turned to me, pointed an accusatory finger and added, “Matthew, make sure you eat something.”
“Fine.”
With that, Leah rushed out of the kitchen, sliding across the linoleum in her slippers. My mother circled around her and made a beeline for the bathroom.
I grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl in the center of the table and kicked the dining room chair back in. Whistling, I made my way to the butcher block on the counter in search of a fruit knife. Then, I noticed something. My blood went so cold I thought I was going to faint.
All of the knives were missing.
Submitted June 02, 2016 at 12:03PM by jsp1073 http://ift.tt/25C7XzG nosleep
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