The House

Chapter 29 - Day 3: Stormy Terror

"No!" I exclaim, horrified at the idea of him stepping out of the house into that horrible weather and sleeping in a truck with rain crashing into windows with such force that I'm afraid that they will break. "It's all good."

I eat my food, trying to think of cheerful things like unicorns and warm fires and David's smile, but I'm fully aware that if he left me alone here, I'd fall apart.

"We're not horny teenagers; we can share the house," I shrug, and when I finally look up from my plate, I'm met by his amused grin.

"Well, maybe not teenagers," he agrees, and I give a scandalised laugh, swiping a hand through the air as if to wipe away his words. I am feeling better now, though. If he can make jokes, then we're probably not going to die.

When we've eaten our food, drank our coffee and had some ice cream – the most essential part of every meal – I refuse to allow him to help me do the dishes, and he decides to make a break for the truck to get his bag. I regret my decision to do my share and leave him to run off the second he leaves the house. 

What if he doesn't come back?!

It's becoming second nature to fear the disappearance of rooms and people, and things that were here a minute ago. Listening to the storm, my hands in warm soapy water, I count the seconds. If he stays away longer than 120 seconds, I'll go look for him.

The lightning flashes encourage me to wash the dishes faster; the fear of getting electrocuted makes the water less pleasant to hang around in.

"20."

That's how many seconds it's been since I heard the front door close behind David.

"37."

I hurry to wash the plates after I'm done with the pan, and in no time at all, I have our mugs and utensils nicely stacked on the drying rack. I pull the plug and turn away from the sink to wipe down the serving island while the dirty water gurgles down the drain.

"98."

With the cloth neatly hung from the sink, I hurry from the kitchen, satisfied that it won't look like a freaked-out paranoid woman cleaned up after our dinner. David kindly left the foyer light on when he left the house, but the second I step out of the hallway (the short one I can no longer stand to be in for longer than the seconds it takes to run to and from the kitchen), there is a loud crash of thunder and the wooden floor shivers beneath my feet.

The light dies...

"128... I think..." I'm not sure anymore and can no longer remember how to breathe. It is so dark, darker than it's ever been here before. I raise my hand in front of my face, and I cannot see it. I want to shuffle to the door, but fear of falling again or heading in the wrong direction has me rooted to the spot.

David drew the curtains earlier when he saw how much the storm was scaring me, so even the momentary brightness of lightning is blocked right now.

I fumble for my phone, trapped in the pocket of my skirt. It won't budge, and I keep on plucking, just to snare it in more folds. Taking my phone from this pocket has never been this hard before. Then again, I've never tried to take it out while trembling like a flower trapped in a hurricane.

I finally get it out, and using both hands, I search for the screen. Once I know which side it is, I feel around the edges to determine where the top is so that I can locate the button to activate the screen and produce some light in this endless, thick darkness.

Something shifts near me. I hear it very clearly. The sound of shoes scraping against a wooden floor, grinding dust beneath their soles.

"D-David?"

No answer, only the thunder rolling outside and the nautical clock pausing between ticks as though it is holding its breath.

Did I imagine the sound?

I can hear the grandfather clock ticking far to my right, but it, too, sounds off-kilter and overly loud... It shouldn't be this audible with the noisy storm raging outside, rattling the windows and howling like demons around the house.

Again, the subtle stirring of feet on wood, eerily audible beyond the storm trying to tear apart the house.

My shaking fingers find the right button on my phone, and I press it, bringing the screen to startling life and blinding myself. I gasp, shying away from the bright light, and with that stomach-dropping feeling of despair, I feel the phone slip from my hand and hear it crash on the floor.

The darkness now has an afterimage superimposed on it, darker than the rest of the black. I saw something just now. I'm sure I saw something, or was it someone? I can hear gasping and soft whimpering, and I think it is me, but I cannot be completely sure. There is too much of it going on around me.

Am I really breathing that loudly? Is it just my breath I'm hearing? Falling to my knees, I desperately feel around for my phone, my eyes shedding unseen tears running down my cheeks.

"David," I sob. "Is that you?"

Is it him? Is he here with me? Why isn't he saying anything? What is he doing? Just how big of a fool am I? How could I just trust him so easily and completely? He said he is the owner's grandson, but what proof do I have of that? He could be anybody! Perhaps I did see someone outside on that day I arrived here. Perhaps it was David... watching me.

He took care of me when I fell asleep...

But why did I fall asleep like that in the first place? Was I really that exhausted? Did he drug me? Terror is starting to tangle its nasty fingers in my hair, pricking my scalp with sharp nails, reaching with bony tendrils around my throat, strangling me. I cannot breathe!

I need to find my phone! I need light! I need a weapon!

I can hear gut-wrenching sobs, and trying to shrink away from the sound, I realise that it is coming from me. I'm the one making these almost animalistic sounds of despair. My fingers brush against my phone just as I hear the scraping sound of shoes again.

Why isn't he attacking already?! Why is he stalking me, playing with me?!

"Please..." I whisper, my voice cracking, unable to form proper sounds.

And then the front door flies open with a loud crash, letting in a gust of wind strong enough to cause the things on the small table there to tumble and whip my hair out of my face and spray me with cold rainwater. I didn't realise that I'd crawled this far towards the door.

I rise to my knees, shaking with fear and anxiety, trying to see into the darkness outside. A bright flash of lightning flares up, blinding me again, but not before I clearly see the outline of a figure crouching on the patio, ready to attack.

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