Bring Me Home

Chapter 2: Things That Go Bump In The Night

For dinner they ordered local bowling alley pizza. Keith knows this is just because it's the only thing still open, but his mother insists that she is trying to embrace the culture of the place.

Keith is now trying to down the 'culture' despite how greasy it is. The crust is rubbery and the whole thing is luke-warm, turning the cheese into a mass of solid lactose which will undoubtedly upset his stomach. Unfortunately, he's still a teenage boy with the metabolism of a squirrel on cocaine, so he takes another slice.

His dad and Shiro are now fighting over who did the best lifting the mattresses into the house. Shiro thinks it's him, because he lifted more of them, but his dad claims that he lifted the largest one. Both ignore the fact that both Keith, and his mom, had helped lift those mattresses. Neither him, nor his mother, seem to care much though, his mom sits atop a counter, swinging her feet to some rhythm that only she can hear, and Keith sulks at the breakfast bar, glaring daggers at the cabinet he had run into while carrying a box of dishes in earlier. 

He forces down the last bite of pizza and abandons his paper plate in the bin. 

"I'm going to bed." He announces, turning sharply up the stairs and stomping just loud enough to show his displeasure without getting reprimanded.

"Good night!" His father calls up after him.

"Sleep tight!" His mother adds, smirking at Shiro in a knowing way.

"Don't let the bedbugs bite!" His brother calls, finishing a perfectly performed example of why Keith's family will undoubtedly drive him up a wall. He groans in response and pretends not to hear the poorly concealed giggles that follow him down the hall. 

His room is the best part of the move so far. The fairy lights overhead and the large windows give the place a feeling of openness and light, even though outside the only thing visible is a strip of sidewalk, illuminated by a dying fluorescent street lamp. It feels like a place where he can finally breathe again. He sighs as he settles into his bed, which for now, is really just a mattress on the floor. A moment of silence passes with his eyes closed. Then another. And another. With a groan he gets up again, grabbing his phone that's plugged in to the wall and trying to find a playlist he can actually fall asleep to. He settles on some random British indie that his mom had downloaded and climbs back under his covers.

The music makes the place feel a little less empty, and slowly, he begins to nod off, sleep washing over him.

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A sudden crash jolts him from his slumber. With a start he sits up, scanning the room in the dim light to find whatever threat is lurking in the shadows. His gaze falls on the can of pencils that he'd placed on the window seat earlier that night. 

It's contents were spilled across the floor, a stray pencil still lazily rolling across a small dip in the old warped floorboards. Keith lets out a breath he doesn't recall holding and tries to calm the pulse which beats loudly in his ears. He slowly rises, immediately missing the warmth of his blankets, and trods over to the can, gathering the pencils back up. He places it back where it had been resting by the wall. As he takes his hand away, turning to go back to bed he freezes. 

The can had been much too far back to have been knocked off by a draft of wind.

 A sense of unease starts to grow in the pit of his stomach. His heartbeat sounding like a cannon in the silence of the room. 

Wait-

-silence?

He glances toward his phone charging in the corner, it sits lifeless and quiet. The silence grows deafening again, his ears straining for any sign of what could be lurking in the dark corners of the room. Again, it dissolves into static.