Watch Your Step

T̸w̸i̸t̸c̸h̸ [ep. 2]

"We're almost there," Celia remarks, her hands are still on the wheel. Outside the window of the car, houses bolt past like a fast-forwarded film along the street. The neighborhood is crowded together and shares identical features. One common feature is that most of the houses have for sale signs—some, for rent—on their front lawns. All their walls are painted white, wood maybe rather than concrete, with smears of gray, and the flat roofs were made of burned brick.

On the left window, the trees look like fat bars of a cage. Rod thinks whoever planted it was trying to achieve some kind of installation art. For they are perfectly close to each other and aligned in one straight row. Beyond the barrier of trees is a clearing of yellow grass where countless dragonflies dart in the air. Then further is a thicker forest of bar-looking trees.

But something strikes the nerves on Rod's face again when he looks to his right. At the end of the lane of houses, he could already see there was one that's deviating from the rest. As they approach it, he notices a dead cedar tree standing on its lawn. Under its branches is a small wooden house, with a low roof and walled yards that must have once been blue like the rest of the previous houses. He grimaces when their car parks in its front yard and nearly says something in protest. However, greatly to his relief, his mother parallels their car to the house before it.

It took them early evening to finish unloading all their packages on the terrace of their new house. Roderick goes inside the house and dutifully organizes some picture frames and other furniture. There are only two bedrooms, one for him and one for his mother. Inside his bedroom, there's a window directly to the creepy old house. He saw movement inside so he thought there must be someone living in there.

There is already a closet where he organizes his clothes in an orderly fashion. It didn't fill the whole closet and that makes his face work with irritation again. His nose would wrinkle and the corner of his lips would voluntarily twitch. Sometimes even the wrinkle on his clothes would make his mouth twitch.

After he opens another box, he goes to the kitchen. He organizes their canned goods from reds to greens and he makes sure that all of them are facing the same way. He glides around the kitchen table and sees his mother's phone with its screen facing down. He stops for a second and dispels the desire to flip it.

The most striking object that Rod tried to avoid at first was the wide mirror on the wall next to the cabinet where he arranged the bottles in ascending height. It made the house look wider than it is because of the reflected dimension of the dining area. Rod knows it would calm his nerves, so he presses his cheek against the mirror and his face feels the biting cold of its surface. From that view, he can see that it projects the perfect symmetry of things and he felt relieved that everything is in order from both sides.

Rod's cheek left a blurry spot of moisture when he parted from the mirror. He wipes it clean and sees himself. But his brow puckers when he magnifies his eyes, right in the middle of his forehead is a tiny black circle dripping with red paint—ketchup? he asks himself. He steps back to see better and the black circle appears to have depth and the red paint—

He wishes it was only a smudge of charcoal but the bright red liquid looks undeniably real against his pale skin. Blood. First, he took deep breaths and placed his hand on his forehead—covering it. He blinks his eyes and tightly clenches his teeth, hoping he won't feel a thing.

"It's not real," he mutters under his breath, wishing it would be gone once he removes his hand. "It's not real!"

He opens his eyes and all the air in his lungs must have evaporated when he sees the hole was still there! A deep black hole spurting crimson blood.

"AAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!" He lets out a horrible scream as he pounds his head on the mirror. Tug-Tug-tug-tug. Whether it was the mirror or his skull cracked first—he didn't stop.