Maybe (Enorace)

He doesn't want you there

The basement was cruel: sharp nails of bitter air scraping like knives over my skin, enveloping me in an icy embrace, the draughts from the broken windows causing my arms to temporarily seize up. I revelled in the cold, distant cruelty of it: of the little world of death I had built myself, of the frozen jars of pickled hearts and organs stacked on the rickety shelves, of the tiny dead bodies piled precariously in the corner. It delighted me every time I saw it. For every human had the power to ensure death. Only I had the power to manipulate it. To ensure life, however short.

The day passed in its usual dreary fashion. I attempted to persuade Emma and Bronwyn to go and play Raid the Village with me, but Emma had been distraught ever since America due to her rather messy relationship with Jacob, and Bronwyn was busy talking to Horace, so I gave up. In the old days, I would've taken to freaking Jacob out with my zombie-soldiers, but he was too fascinated by spending time with Noor. So the day went by slowly, and boringly. Dinnertime soon rolled around. I nearly lost it laughing when she decided to address the clear problem arising around Jacob and Noor's growing intimacy.

"Now," Miss P announced, "Mr Portman. I do realise that you and Miss Pradesh have a growing, young relationship and wish to fulfil everything that relates to your situation. However, you have been disturbing some of the children, and have been a cause of serious complaint. I encourage you to...perhaps be more discreet."

That alone was enough to set me off. Never mind the confused, innocent look on Claire's face, the angrily righteous scowl on Olive's, and the pink embarrassment on Horace's. I was laughing so hard I thought I might be sick. I caught the raised eyebrows of Bronwyn, and the look Emma dedicated to her plate: she looked as if she was about to burst into tears. Well, if she hadn't been so broken up about Abe, maybe she could've gotten a better deal. I howled and howled and howled, until I heard Miss P's voice over the raucous sound of my uncontrollable fit: "ENOCH. CONTROL YOURSELF." I attempted to do so valiantly. "It comes as no surprise to me, Enoch, that you have been involved in these disturbances also. A mouse this morning, was it? I believed you were above such childish abuse of your abilities. Put a stop to it immediately. Peculiars were not gifted to play party tricks." Noor's smug expression had me scowling over my steak. Jacob jeered at me. Well, if they weren't for party tricks, then I suppose we should just all use them to entrance mysterious outcasts, hmm?

The next week passed uneventfully. I'm happy to be back at home, safe, not in danger of getting killed every second because of some soul eating idiot who thinks he's way better than everyone else (totally not obvious who I'm talking about, could be anyone), not in danger of getting between some kind of eighty year old messed up love affair (also could be anything, not obvious at all, and, actually, I might not have escaped that one...), and not in danger of loosing my ymbryne (although right now it's debatable whether I would be too fussed about loosing her, as long as it wasn't to her psychopathic brother, due to the amount of nagging I was on the wrong end of at the moment).It's not my fault if everything is boring around here. I can't say I missed being in mortal peril, but...it was more exciting, I can tell you that. And yet everyone else seems absolutely fine, apart from said messed up love affair person. And Horace got his feathers ruffled last week due to some quarrel he had with a peculiar woman who can turn her nails into automatic sewing needles (I know, awesomely deadly, right?) about a suit he'd ordered (it wasn't her fault it had holes in it, I'd accidentally let some mice loose in the storeroom. Accidentally, of course...) which was about as exciting as it got now. Hugh and Fiona were as sappy as songbirds, living in adjacent rooms in the attic (there was a beehive up there, and Hugh was nursing his new recruits), and Fiona was slowly learning how to communicate in sign language, due to the loss of her tongue. One Thursday morning, when I was in the middle of wallowing at my window about the pointlessness of these repetitive days, and complaining about the laundry Miss P was making me do as punishment for the rat I'd snuck into Jacob and Noor's room yesterday, I heard a crash on the floor below. Then a sort of agonised howl, and, being the considerate person I am, I decided to go and check out the source of the noise. Bronwyn was already hurrying downstairs, and she gave me a sharp look as I descended with her.

"What are you doing?" She asked, rather accusingly. Which I pretended to not find offensive.

"I am finding out the source of the disturbance which distracted me from extracting a toad's liver,"I replied, which was not entirely true, but the grimace on her face was worth the stretch.

"Well go back to that then. I'll sort this out."

"And you'll sort it with me, simply because I do not like being told what to do."

She sighed and rolled her eyes, resting her hand on the doorknob of the room we had reached. Horace's room.

"Seriously, Enoch. Just go away. He doesn't...I don't...we don't want you here." I arched my brows suspiciously.

"Is this something Miss P should know about? Actually, I'm suprised she hasn't come running already, with the annoyingly loud noise. Was that unholy howl a signal for something? You and Horace have been together a lot lately..." I frowned. Bronwyn's ears went bright pink, and she stuttered.

"No Enoch...just no. It's nothing like that. Horace just...needs a friend. And to be honest, I'm...I'm..."

"Just spit it out."

"I'm not sure you're the best person for the job." I nodded. She smiled weakly, turning the doorknob and entering the room. I caught a glimpse of Horace, curled up in a feral position on the bed, his eyes squeezed shut, covered in a glistening sheen of sweat, and panting like a wounded animal. I frowned again. What was wrong with him? I was suprised Bronwyn hadn't run straight to Miss Peregrine, but I wasn't the one to tell tales. I continued frowning all the way down to the basement, where I conveniently immersed myself in the world of death and gore, casting thoughts of Horace from my mind.