THE GHOST IN YOU - IT [2]

chapter nine

But if she lets her eyelids flutter shut and her imagination take over, the sight she's met with is nothing she can laugh at. Victor coming back from staying at Bowers, reeking of pot and booze, cussing her out for no apparent reason other than self-gratification. Laughing at her, shrugging her off, yelling at her. None of that had hurt more than the fact that Victor had cared. He had cared about her during that time, just like he does now, he just had the hand of Bowers around his neck at all times and couldn't express his concern for his younger sister. She had seen the way he'd longingly look at her, the way he'd open his mouth and close it with a defeated sigh when they'd bicker. It pained her because she knew if Bowers wasn't around, he wouldn't be that way. If Bowers hadn't been around, a lot of things would've been pretty fucking peachy.

Jaime shakes her head and approaches the door to her bedroom. The doorknob had been removed, so she took that opportunity to peer through the gaping hole. Similar to Victor's former room, nothing but junkie's junk laid beyond the door. She could still picture where her furniture had once been, but she had auctioned most of her furniture off before moving out of Derry. She presses a hand to the door and lets it creak open. The scent of mothballs and mildew was more potent than ever. At one point, she would've sworn her Bath & Body Works perfume had permanently stained the carpet and walls. Even before she had left for New York, with no furniture in the room, the smell had been fragrant as ever. Now, there wasn't even a trace of the pear and berries perfume.

Get in, get out. She reminds herself of why she's here and tugs open her folding-door closet. The boarded-up window from her room doesn't provide much light, so she clicks the flashlight button on her mobile phone and holds it upwards. The harsh light shines onto the shelf above the clothes rack. Standing on her tiptoes, she peers over the shelf.

And there, bundled up in the corner, covered in cobwebs and a thick layer of dust, is her shirt.

Without even thinking, she grabs at the heap of blue fabric. A large black spider darts out from under the shirt, so she quickly pulls it down and gives it a few hefty shakes. Dust, debris, and animal droppings fall to the floor. The color of the fabric had dulled, and Eddie Van Halen's face was completely rubbed off. Still, an inescapable grin crosses her face. She found it.

When she got to New York and realized she had left it, it was much too late for her to get it back. Jaime had called her dad and told him to ask the new owners to look for it for her, she had no clue where it could be. He refused, insisting she likely lost it on the way to NYC or accidentally left it in her antique dresser she sold. Jaime knew she wouldn't be that careless with that shirt, and she told him that. He retaliated, telling her if that was true, she wouldn't have lost it. That had been around the time Jaime realized that Victor was more of a fatherly figure than her own dad.

Triumphantly, Jaime walks back to the bedroom door to exit this dreaded house. The energy was far more negative than it ever had been, the walls tainted with memories of family fights and, in later years, hopeless druggies. The carpet was embeded with scorn, having absorbed every horrible thing to ever occur in the house. So she walks to the closed door and pulls the door open.

It doesn't budge.

"What the fuck?" She murmurs, squatting to peer through the hole where the doorknob used to be. If there was no doorknob, there was no latch. So how could the door be--

The floor in the middle of the room slowly begins depressing. It was as if the floor was made of fabric, and a basketball was being placed on it. Sinking, caving in.

"You have got to be kidding me." Jaime chokes out, her throat closing as her pulse quickens. Paralysis holds her legs in place as she watches the depression in the floor grow, then finally, begin breaking into a tiny hole. The hole grows, revealing utter darkness underneath. Jaime can't even think about crossing the room to go to the window; there are loose boards covering the window. By the time she'd peel them off, she'd be a goner.