Awakening You
Page 2
“Four days,” she murmurs sleepily. Her head starts to angle to the side, and I think she’s about to pass out, but she suddenly gets a second wind. Her eyes pop open as she jumps away from the wall. “I need you guys to come with me.”
“I have to go to work,” my brother snaps while pouring cereal into a bowl.
“Work, shmirk.” She waves him off, staggering over her own feet as she jerks open the front door. “Come on. This is important.”
I exchange a quizzical look with my brother, and he shakes his head and slams the box of cereal down onto the counter.
“Fine, what do you want?” he asks, striding to the front door.
“It’s outside,” she whispers, her gaze darting from left to right.
My brother rolls his eyes, but steps outside, anyway. “I’m getting so tired of this shit.”
My mom stumbles down the rickety porch to the gravel driveway, and we all follow her. The sky is clear, the sun gleaming brightly, but there’s a chill to the air.
“What do you think she’s on this time?” he asks me as we hike down the windy road, past trailer homes, and toward the field surrounding the area we live in.
I shrug. “I really don’t care anymore.”
Which is the truth. I may hold it together on the outside, but I was done with my mother and her drug and alcohol addiction a long time ago. I have four more years of this shit, and then I’m getting out. The moment I graduate, I’m packing my shit and leaving. And I’m going to take Sadie, too.
My mother leads us on a wild goose chase up through the field and around the fence line before heading back toward the house.
“I have a bad feeling about this, Ayden,” Sadie whispers to me. “In fact, I had one of my bad feelings this morning that something bad was going to happen today.”
“It’s going to be okay.” I squeeze her hand, trying to comfort her, but I’m pretty fucking worried myself.
By the time we’ve reached the road again, I figure my mother probably forgotten the purpose of why she brought us out here—if there was even a purpose to begin with—and is going to take us back to the house.
But she makes a right at a smaller home just to the side of ours, and the three of us begrudgingly trail after her, exhausted and cranky and ready to go home. Even Sadie has grown quiet.
“Just wait right here,” my mom instructs as we reach the bottom of the rotted, wooden steps that lead to a crooked front door. She climbs up the stairs and fixes her dress into place before knocking.
The door swings open, but I can’t see who’s inside the house. For the most part, the three of us have tried to stay away from our neighbors, considering most of them deal and do drugs.
I hear hushed whispering and sigh, knowing more than likely my mom’s buying drugs. My gaze travels around the area, across the road, along the front of the house. I notice a strange, jagged, circular pattern painted on the metal along with a sign that reads: Enter at your own risk. Those who dare step in never get out.
Part of me thinks the warning is a joke, but a small part of me starts to get a little anxious about who lives in this house.
“Okay, are you guys ready for this?” my mother asks, drawing my attention back to her.
The door to the house is wide open, but the person who answered has stepped back so I can only make out their silhouette and what looks like a head of red hair. It seems so dark and smoky inside, as if there are no open windows or ventilation.
“Go on.” She has something in her hand and a nervous look on her face as she flicks her wrist and motions at the door. “Get in there.”
Sadie moves forward first, and I hear a cackle from inside. The sound triggers something deep inside me, a warning.
Something’s wrong.
Don’t go in. Don’t go in.
I run for her with my hand extended, reaching to grab her and pull her back, but the house starts to fade away—everything does—and bleeds red.
Bleeds red.
Don’t go in there.
Blood.
Don’t go.
Blood everywhere.
Close your mind. Trust me, you don’t want to see what’s about to happen...
My eyes shoot open as I gasp for air, but my lungs are constricting, and I can’t get any oxygen.
“Help,” I gasp, rolling to my side, clutching at my chest.
Dr. Gardingdale is above me, his eyes wide as he pats my back and tells me to, “Breathe. Just breathe. Air in. Air out. In. Out.”
He repeats the mantra until I calm down, and then he moves back and gives me room.
I sit in the chair with my feet planted on the floor and my head in my hands. “I was remembering the day my mother dropped us off at the house,” I finally say. “But the memory would only go up until the point where Sadie ran inside, and I went in after her. Then it shut down . . . All I could see was red.”
I hate that, no matter what, my mind refuses to let me see what happened in that house. All I know is a female there had bright red hair and disgustingly long nails. They also didn’t—don’t—like it when people leave their group, even those who didn’t enter of their own freewill.
He studies me closely as the music changes from the sound of ocean waves to the lull of a waterfall. “I think that’s going to be all for today.” He seems distracted as he stands up from his chair and walks over to his desk. “I’m starting to get concerned, though, that we might be putting too much pressure on your mind.” He collects a prescription pad from his drawer and a pen. “I’m going to write you a prescription just in case you have another panic attack like that.”
“I have to go to work,” my brother snaps while pouring cereal into a bowl.
“Work, shmirk.” She waves him off, staggering over her own feet as she jerks open the front door. “Come on. This is important.”
I exchange a quizzical look with my brother, and he shakes his head and slams the box of cereal down onto the counter.
“Fine, what do you want?” he asks, striding to the front door.
“It’s outside,” she whispers, her gaze darting from left to right.
My brother rolls his eyes, but steps outside, anyway. “I’m getting so tired of this shit.”
My mom stumbles down the rickety porch to the gravel driveway, and we all follow her. The sky is clear, the sun gleaming brightly, but there’s a chill to the air.
“What do you think she’s on this time?” he asks me as we hike down the windy road, past trailer homes, and toward the field surrounding the area we live in.
I shrug. “I really don’t care anymore.”
Which is the truth. I may hold it together on the outside, but I was done with my mother and her drug and alcohol addiction a long time ago. I have four more years of this shit, and then I’m getting out. The moment I graduate, I’m packing my shit and leaving. And I’m going to take Sadie, too.
My mother leads us on a wild goose chase up through the field and around the fence line before heading back toward the house.
“I have a bad feeling about this, Ayden,” Sadie whispers to me. “In fact, I had one of my bad feelings this morning that something bad was going to happen today.”
“It’s going to be okay.” I squeeze her hand, trying to comfort her, but I’m pretty fucking worried myself.
By the time we’ve reached the road again, I figure my mother probably forgotten the purpose of why she brought us out here—if there was even a purpose to begin with—and is going to take us back to the house.
But she makes a right at a smaller home just to the side of ours, and the three of us begrudgingly trail after her, exhausted and cranky and ready to go home. Even Sadie has grown quiet.
“Just wait right here,” my mom instructs as we reach the bottom of the rotted, wooden steps that lead to a crooked front door. She climbs up the stairs and fixes her dress into place before knocking.
The door swings open, but I can’t see who’s inside the house. For the most part, the three of us have tried to stay away from our neighbors, considering most of them deal and do drugs.
I hear hushed whispering and sigh, knowing more than likely my mom’s buying drugs. My gaze travels around the area, across the road, along the front of the house. I notice a strange, jagged, circular pattern painted on the metal along with a sign that reads: Enter at your own risk. Those who dare step in never get out.
Part of me thinks the warning is a joke, but a small part of me starts to get a little anxious about who lives in this house.
“Okay, are you guys ready for this?” my mother asks, drawing my attention back to her.
The door to the house is wide open, but the person who answered has stepped back so I can only make out their silhouette and what looks like a head of red hair. It seems so dark and smoky inside, as if there are no open windows or ventilation.
“Go on.” She has something in her hand and a nervous look on her face as she flicks her wrist and motions at the door. “Get in there.”
Sadie moves forward first, and I hear a cackle from inside. The sound triggers something deep inside me, a warning.
Something’s wrong.
Don’t go in. Don’t go in.
I run for her with my hand extended, reaching to grab her and pull her back, but the house starts to fade away—everything does—and bleeds red.
Bleeds red.
Don’t go in there.
Blood.
Don’t go.
Blood everywhere.
Close your mind. Trust me, you don’t want to see what’s about to happen...
My eyes shoot open as I gasp for air, but my lungs are constricting, and I can’t get any oxygen.
“Help,” I gasp, rolling to my side, clutching at my chest.
Dr. Gardingdale is above me, his eyes wide as he pats my back and tells me to, “Breathe. Just breathe. Air in. Air out. In. Out.”
He repeats the mantra until I calm down, and then he moves back and gives me room.
I sit in the chair with my feet planted on the floor and my head in my hands. “I was remembering the day my mother dropped us off at the house,” I finally say. “But the memory would only go up until the point where Sadie ran inside, and I went in after her. Then it shut down . . . All I could see was red.”
I hate that, no matter what, my mind refuses to let me see what happened in that house. All I know is a female there had bright red hair and disgustingly long nails. They also didn’t—don’t—like it when people leave their group, even those who didn’t enter of their own freewill.
He studies me closely as the music changes from the sound of ocean waves to the lull of a waterfall. “I think that’s going to be all for today.” He seems distracted as he stands up from his chair and walks over to his desk. “I’m starting to get concerned, though, that we might be putting too much pressure on your mind.” He collects a prescription pad from his drawer and a pen. “I’m going to write you a prescription just in case you have another panic attack like that.”
