The Shaded

Chapter Two

CHAPTER TWO

"Run!" I told myself. Believe me, I wanted to, but I was so staggered I could barely move a single bone in my body. I stood there idiotically, gaping down at the situation.

The man was face-first on the floor, gasping for breath as his sweaty palms violently scratched at the ground. It seemed as if he was dying. The doll appeared to be savagely vibrating on the table; it knocked the man's briefcase instantaneously onto the floor.

He stopped grunting, and his body ceased trembling. He was dead. I knew he was dead. I just witnessed someone dying, and now I gawked down at my mother, who was laughing uncontrollably. My heart leaped out of my throat. My skin went white, and my lips purple. I had seen a ghost.

The man groaned as he sloppily helped himself up. His outfit was a wrinkly nightmare, and his tie was left dangling from his collar. His hair was a disaster zone. He was alive! He wasn't sad, nor mad. He had a tepid face, a blank expression, and upon his cheek, a single tear was present. I had seen that look before.

He slowly opened the front door and slugged over to his car. My mother immediately followed him, ecstatically skipping around his every move, her legs prancing as fast as a deer. That ear-splitting cackle my mother made as she accompanied him to his vehicle made my soul uneasy. He ridiculously plopped himself in the front seat and abruptly started the car. In the blink of a single eye, the car vanished from the driveway as my mom awkwardly twiddled her fingers goodbye, and quickly galloped back to the door.

She was coming back, and I was dead. I swiftly ran into my bedroom and shut the door loudly. I prayed she didn't hear that thunderous slam. I waited for the signal. My mother always gave one when she was done. I could hear it through the thick door. She loudly clapped three times. I opened my door and headed downstairs. I was in the clear. She didn't see or hear any indication that her son was onto her.

Who was my mother? What was my mother? All of those years, I was blind, playing by my lonesome, locked away in my own world, and in doing so was in a whole new world away from my first. My mom was obviously something else. This was no longer a game. What did she do to that poor man? Whatever it was, it must've been something big, of she wouldn't have gone through all that trouble to keep me away from it. It's all of those rules, those stupid, pointless rules! Is it normal to go insane if your child has seen one bit of your work or knows one teensy fact of your life? And the phone rule, she would go crazy over the phone rule!

"You're a good boy, Timothy. I've taught you well," she said.

I walked towards her. I also noticed the doll on the table, and how it looked different. I didn't recall it having a smile sewed onto its face or it wearing a tiny, buttoned shirt.

"W-what's for dinner?" I had to say something. I cowered out and went for the "I'm hungry" cliche.

"Hmm... I'm thinking a triple leftover Tuesday!" she suggested.

Revolting! I hated when she did that. It was a Tuesday, so we'd be having Saturday night's meal. I found the general idea to be disgusting, but this wasn't the time to negotiate over dinner. I had to say something to her, but I couldn't. My mouth fought against me. My mind refused to think back on it. My heart tugged at my throat. No words would dare be so courageous to come out. My mother daintily dashed to the dining table and airily picked the doll up, coddling it tenderly in her large arms and agilely stroking the smooth fabric from its head to feet.

"I'm going to be extremely busy tonight, and I want you in bed before ten. And tonight, there may be a phone call. You know of what I speak..." She placed the doll gently back onto the table and straightened her back.

"Around midnight, if you hear it ring, DO NOT ANSWER IT!" She spoke with a deafening voice that made the chandelier quiver with tension.

This was "the phone rule." Around some of the time she had one of her "meetings," the phone might ring. It didn't always, but if I did, I wasn't allowed to pick it up if I heard it; it was one of her most-valued laws.

"Alright? You're usually good at that," she claimed.

She tucked the doll in a purse she fashioned from her supply box and caught her eyes through the window, noticing the sunlight gradually slipping away, leaving an orange-purplish glow in the dusk sky. She lost her breath for a moment as she desperately latched onto her supplies and sped upstairs faster than a runaway train.

It was my whole life. My whole life was wasted. I was buried behind a blindfold as my mother dabbled in the mysteries of her life I could only guess at. Well, that was no more. I couldn't let her and her "clever" ways stop me.

Oh, what was I talking about? I just saw a man almost die a few minutes ago, or something like that. I wasn't going to do this. To delve into mysteries like this was like throwing myself into an eternal, black abyss riddled with snakes; it was indeed a treacherous endeavor. That urge fell back on me again. I knew nothing of what I was tossing myself into, but oh man, did I want an explanation for what just happened a few moments ago. Was she a cold-blooded killer with a thirst for fresh blood and antique dolls? Was she a devil-worshipping goddess buried in her late night work of witchcraft? It was time to remove the blindfold. I desired knowledge. I wanted to see. But should I dare hit her where she lives?

Tonight, I shall be a criminal. I shall be a rule-breaker of her most precious law. Tonight, I shall answer that forbidden phone call, no matter what peril strikes my path. I was up for an adventure.

I had no idea what I was in for.