The Strange House

Author's note: I know this series is a bit slow for some of you, but I will tell this story how I want to tell it.

*

By the stairs, between the kitchen facing the street and where I hid, a figure stood hidden in the shadows. It was hard to tell decisively as the form was shrouded in darkness, making any shape seem ominous to begin with, but what gave it away as someone rather than something, was the fact that I saw its glittering eyes staring right at me. And those eyes stared right into my soul as all color left my face, and as a gripping feeling enveloped me from the inside. It was faint and hard to gauge, but it was there. And paralyzed where I sat, I stared right back. I had been scared before, but nothing ever made me as frightened as when I sat behind the dusty old sofa while being watched by this creature here in the dark. Alone with a dark silhouette piercing into me with its gaze.

By how it stood, the figure seemed like it was on its way somewhere, but had stopped dead in its tracks as it saw me. Did it hope I didn't notice? Was it scared like me? Or just startled? What was it even? Was it even human? It looked to be taller than me by the height of its eyes.

"Hey, you boys need to fuck off," I heard a rough voice outside bark at who I presumed was Zach and Jeremy out back. My eyes darted toward the window for a split second, but as I turned back, the figure was gone. Had it ever been there in the first place?

"Whatever, old man," I heard Zach say, but with a small peek I saw the two boys walk away from the house, probably towards the party again. Safe. For now.

As I came out from my hiding spot I once again looked toward the stairs, but nothing was there now either. Curious. I stood between the TV room and the kitchen and tried to peek up the stairs, only to see more darkness. But I didn't dare to make any sort of attempt to go up. No fucking way.

The back door suddenly swung open and Pete, the homeless man I had spoken with before, came stumbling inside. I guess I had been hiding behind where he slept, judging from the blanket and the pillow discarded on the sofa. Pete immediately looked at me but didn't really look surprised nor did he say anything about me being here. He just came walking over, studying me a bit as he slumped down on the sofa.

"You shouldn't be in here," he said, taking his eyes off of me to take off his big jacket.

"I know, sorry. I'll get out," I said, moving toward the front door, and passing the stairs on my way. A small shiver ran through me at the thought of that menacing shadow I had seen earlier. But it was just a shadow, I had to know that.

And as I got closer, I saw a hat stand and a long coat just hanging where the figure had been. My own fear had played a trick on me. I was relieved, to say the least. I also noticed that there was also a door under the stairs, probably leading down to a cellar. Cool air from the basement could explain the movements in the curtains, in addition to wind from broken windows and ragged walls.

"How come you live in here?" I asked out of nowhere.

"I like it here, and somebody gotta take care of the cat," he replied, looking over at me with those kind green eyes. He looked so much like the sage old wise man, though a bit rougher. It didn't feel great that life had found him with ill will.

"You know the people who own it?" I asked. When he eyed me suspiciously I quickly added, "I mean, just curious. It's been here for so long and has always looked like it's a brisk wind away from falling down."

"You're right. It can come down any minute. It's not safe here, so you should get out," Pete insisted. It wasn't meant as a threat, nor as an excuse to get me out of here and leave him alone, but oddly enough as a warning.

"What about you?" I asked.

"What about me?" he asked back.

"Pete!" I heard Dad from outside. Pete sighed heavily.

"Dutiful man, your Paps," he chuckled, his voice as rough and rusty as the wrought iron fence out back. "Good man. You're very much like him. You may not see

me

a whole lot, but as the town's local hobo,

I

see a lot."

"How come you've ended like this?" I asked. The old man didn't seem offended. He just shrugged his shoulders.

"I don't fit in anywhere else," he said, easy as can be.

"Pete. It's not safe in there!" Dad called.

"We better get out and talk to your dad," Pete said. I nodded, giving him a hand out of the sofa.

Pete shoved the heavy front door open, letting me out first. I saw the slight surprise on Dad's face.

"Logan?" he asked, looking at his watch. "You're home early. What you doing in there?"

"Erh, I figured I'd take a shortcut through the house on my way home," I said. Bullshit excuse. No one ever went into that house. For any reason. I knew at least a dozen footballs and baseballs had been left in there. Even brand-new ones.

Dad eyed me suspiciously, but let it slide. I guess he was glad I was home, and even earlier than he'd expected. Pete gave me a friendly double tap on the shoulder, and let me go on my way as the two men remained and chatted for a bit.

*

The day after was like most Saturdays. I had long since read Lord of the Rings for the fourth time, so I spent my first hour awake rewatching the last part of Stardust, one of my favorite movies. Soon the smell of corn cakes and bacon grease filled my nostrils, and I figured it was time to head on down to join breakfast. Did I mention Mom was the best cook to ever walk this earth? Well, she is. My grandmother was southern on my mom's side, and my grandpa was Italian, so the cuisine at home was quite tasty. To make it better, my mom had both French and Irish in her. A lot of tasty recipes have been passed down through generations.

"How's our little hedonist?" Mom asked as I joined, just in time for a plate of delicious breakfast being put in front of me.

"Hedonist?" I asked. I wasn't sure if I qualified for that. Mom just gave me a gentle stroke on the cheek and went her merry way to do some chopping at the kitchen counter.

"Your dad is out driving around today," Mom explained, before going on and on about the latest art show she had visited last night. I didn't pay much attention until she finally seemed to meet the end of her tale. "I honestly might travel up there and see for myself," she concluded eventually.

"Up where?" I asked.

"I meant down there. New Orleans," Mom said, correcting herself. "So what are you up to today?"

"Mom, should I start exercising?" I asked suddenly.

"Darling, sweetie," she said sympathetically. "You don't need permission if you want to work out a bit. In my world, one should always at least make an effort to improve one's health. But what made you think you should?"

"I don't know... maybe if I was stronger I wouldn't..." I trailed off. Mom turned her head to think.

"You know what? Why not?" she said. "It can't hurt."

So that evening, after dinner, I went for a walk. I kinda half hoped to run into Pete again, as I didn't dare go inside the strange house to look for him. Hatstand or not, that house creeped me out more than enough. I couldn't understand how he stayed there. But alas, as I went past the old house, he was nowhere to be seen. He was just a curious guy. It was honestly sad if it was so that homelessness fitted him better than being part of society.

So I just walked along the road until I figured I had walked long enough, turned, and started walking back again. It was brisk, yet nice. A walk in the last winter month was certainly refreshing. But again, no Pete. Oh well. And no mysterious curtain movement either. Maybe he was out and about. Nothing at all seemed out of the ordinary as I returned from my walk.

"How was the exercise?" Mom asked.

"Refreshing," I replied, joining her to watch some TV.

Hours later, I woke up in my room. I had been PVPing in World of Warcraft, but I guess I had fallen asleep while the queues took forever. '

Well, if I'm gonna sleep, I might as well do it in bed,'

I thought. I hoisted myself out of my worn-down gaming chair and my gaze went to the window.

Something was looking back at me.

Right there, sitting on the roof over the garage, something was looking at me. The same eyes as in the old house, but now I could see the silhouette clearer, cascaded by the moonlight and the streetlight alike. Yet it was impossible to discern anything other than the fact that something, or someone, sat outside my window staring at me. For how long had they sat there?

I slowly, very slowly, moved my hand toward my baseball bat next to the door, but as I did, my forearm brushed against the light switch. And as the light lit, the figure was gone.

'I'm going crazy,'

I concluded, as I left the lights on.

I turned to my computer and saw I had been kicked out of the queue. Looking over at the other monitor, however, I saw that someone had sent me a message request on Discord. Curious. No one ever did. I had had a few good pairings in Arena, and I was part of a few nerdy servers... And some nsfw servers, but let's not talk about that. But I was hardly the most active. Why would anyone contact me?

I checked the message. It simply read: "hello :)" from eddie345. Some guy, I figured. I scanned my brain for my last teammates in the last few different games I had played. Erh, I was too tired for this anyway. I shot the guy a "yo" and went to my bed.

I was still freaked out about what had happened outside my window. Maybe it was a night terror? I had heard of those but never experienced one. It did seem kinda absurd and really obscure, so maybe that was the logical explanation. Yes. It was.

Yet, I crawled under my thick duvet for safety. I know it was silly, like when I was a kid, it always felt so much safer under the warmth of a thick duvet. So with my eyes fixed on the window, eventually, and surprisingly, I found sleep.

The next day, I climbed out onto the roof to check if I had imagined stuff. Surely, if a person had been there, there would be some marks or prints or something. But no, there was nothing. It was wet from some of the snow melting away, but there were no prints that I could discern. Not that I was some forensic expert or anything.

"What you doing there, buddy?" Dad called from below. I saw he was under the hood of Mom's car. Probably filling antifreeze, as Mom had a habit of using LOTS.

"I'm not sure. I thought I saw some animal up here last night," I said, looking around a bit.

"Yeah? They're gone now, then," he said, ducking down to shut the lid of the coolant reservoir. "Mom said you wanted to work out."

"I kinda do. I even went for a walk last night," I said, sitting down on the top of the roof. "Dad, what's the deal with Pete? You think he's a nice guy?"

Dad froze for a moment but regained his composure quickly and stood back up. He didn't look at me, as he seemed to be thinking.

"I don't really know," Dad answered as if he was just thinking out loud more than answering my question. "He's a good guy and all, that much is clear, but I have no idea why he insists on squatting in that old house. A few years ago he had held down a job actually," Dad said, slamming the hood, then leaned on the driver-side door and looked up at me. "But I don't know. Nine to five don't fit everyone. And I think he likes to drink a tad bit too much to keep a job steady. Especially at his age."

I nodded. I certainly could be sympathetic to that. Outcasts of society. Why were they outcasts? Because they didn't fit with the current cast. Hell, most of the time, I didn't fit myself. All of the time, honestly. But I sure hoped I'd cope better than to become homeless. Though, that being said, Pete didn't seem to mind his current situation. People are creatures of habit, I guess.

"Well, I'm heading inside," Dad said, letting me stew on the roof.

*

So one of the things about living in a nice enough neighborhood that lasted back to at least the 60s was that there were a lot of old people, with Mrs. Browning being the oldest. In fact, the only reason why we moved here was because my grandparents on my dad's side moved to an old folks home before they later passed away. A house like this, in a town like this, was way beyond what my parents could afford to buy, but they made it work on a monthly basis at least. But as there were only old people living here meant that it was nice and quiet, and it made it easy for me to earn a few points, and a few bucks here and there, by shoveling driveways, helping the old folks with their groceries, yard work, and so on.

It was never something I had a habit of doing before, but I made it one regardless. I think chipping away at my morals by shoplifting to appease my bullies, and my crush Anna, made me work twice as hard with the few things that could make me feel better. Like helping people who need it.

"And when you're done with the gutter, you can take the dead squirrels out back and throw them into the woods. I don't want no rats around here," old Mr. Marsh said from below. I was on a ladder, gloves and garbage bag in hand, cleaning the aforementioned gutters. "I don't know why those goddamn cats keep dumping those dead things in my yard. Barney can't go out there with all those things around."

Barney was Marsh's giant English Mastiff. I had walked him a few times, as Marsh was too old, but more often my Dad took him, as the big teddy bear was way too big for me.

"They're just showing off," I said, as I started to descend the ladder. Mr. Marsh, an old African-American who had fought in the Jungle, seemed undeterred by my sentiment.

"Yeah well, I'm putting out rat poison regardless," he said, taking over the handheld shovel. "You can put that in the compost out back. And then, the squirrels. It's getting dark outside, so just finish up and get on get. I'm heading inside, so here ya go," the old man said, handing me two ten-dollar bills, before slowly making his way up the steps to his house. "Have a nice night. And thank you. Those gutters haven't been that clean in years."

"No problemo," I said, making my way around the house.

As I dumped the contents of the garbage bag into the compost, my eyes trailed toward the woods. The same one that the cool kids liked to party in. I guess they were out there now. Not me though, not for anything. Not even Anna. The last time was horrific enough, from start to end. I moved my gaze down the yard and past the neighbors, seeing the old iron fence of the old strange house. A shudder went through me as I looked at it.

'Let's get these dead squirrels, then get home,'

I concluded, not wanting to linger around too much.

It was only a 'handful'. Three, to be exact. But they reeked. Oh god, how the scent of their old blood stung in my nose. Luckily, I had my work gloves on. I grabbed one by the tail and a sickening crunching sound came from the dead poor thing as I lifted it. Frozen and it's bone brittle, I tossed it into the woods as instructed. It felt kinda fucked up to just discard them like this, but they were dead anyway, so I tried not to torture myself over it.

I took the second one and tossed it as well. The third one, however, was the oldest, and most rotten one. My glove caught some blood as I grabbed it, and when I tossed it the body flung into the woods, but the tail and parts of its fur and pelt remained in my hand. I almost threw up as I tossed it away, heaving as I hurried out to the front of the house, eager to get away from the dead squirrels, and eventually back home.

"You alright there?" someone unfamiliar asked. I drew in the fresh air of non-decaying dead squirrels and looked up, my watering eyes spotting the person who had talked to me.

A few steps away stood a tall woman with striking green-hazel eyes staring and smiling at me, with glittering white teeth, dimples in her cheeks, and long, sandy blonde wavy hair lightly blowing in the wind which only added to her immediate grace.

Who was this? This woman, who smiled warmly at me in sympathy and friendliness, but also as if she was looking into my soul, seemed to have popped out of nowhere. She looked like she came out of a fairytale, unreal in her striking appearance. And the way she smiled, it was not only a stare of study, of sympathy, it was more than that. A hidden playfulness, I think. If I was more experienced with girls, perhaps I would be able to read that curious smile and those beautiful eyes better.

And she was tall, taller than me certainly, and so effortlessly elegant. And with those greenish brownish hazel eyes that I quickly was drawn to... She was so gorgeous looking, and how she smiled made her seem so comforting. And to make her outlook even sunnier, a contrast to it being a winter evening, she had cute freckles on her nose and cheekbones, looking slightly sun-kissed despite the winter.

Even as she was so tall and so fair, with long legs and smiling eyes, her clothes emanated a certain class as well. A long, beige coat, looking thick and warm, a scarf around her delicate neck, and her long legs clothed in thick woolen stockings.

"Is that blood on your gloves?" she asked, ignoring the very obvious fact that I had been wide-eyed gawking at her.

"O-oh. It is. Squirrels. Old Marsh had some squirrels I had to th-throw away," I muttered, barely able to speak in the presence of this woman. I felt almost as if I had to avert my gaze, but I couldn't take my eyes away from her either.

The tall woman took a step closer towards me, standing just three feet away from me, to look past me and into the garden out back, as if she expected to see tons of dead squirrels back there. I could almost smell her as she leaned closer, and I could even at this distance feel her presence grow nearer. I couldn't help but feel myself filled with a small sensation of... terror? Intrigue? I couldn't pinpoint it.

"Looks like you did a great job, young man," she said, moving her eyes down towards me. Though it was cold outside, I didn't see any dampness from her breath as she spoke.

"I guess," I mumbled.

"You're a bit shy, aren't you?" she asked. It could've been condescending, and I felt a small sting, but it sounded more like an observation of my character.

"Erh, I'm just tired. And a b-bit cold," I excused. Though, I was shy. I always have been. Yet, I couldn't take my eyes off her. I'd need a crowbar.

"Are you always this nice to your neighbors? Helping them out and whatnot?" she asked.

"They pay me," I excused, knowing full well I more often than not snuck the bills back into their wallets.

"Of course they do," she said knowingly, showing me her glittering teeth as she smiled again.

"Who are you?" I blurted out, unable to satiate my curiosity. "S-sorry, I've j-just never seen you around before." I had to know. I don't think I could go to my grave and not know who she was.

"Eiddwen. But it's odd and old, so you could call me Faith. It's Welsh and it means Faith, so either or works," she said, before adding in a small mischievous whisper, as if sharing a secret, "I don't want to sound like some old woman."

"Faith," I muttered. The name filled me with a foreign warmth.

"That's correct," she smiled.

Her eyes then trailed to the car next to us. Mine did too. I saw my own reflection, but by the time I moved my eyes to see hers, I saw none. My eyes darted to where she stood, and she wasn't there. I looked around, down the street, across, and even threw a glance between the houses. Nowhere to be seen. A small sense of dread filled me, as I hoped to... I don't know what I hoped. I shrugged my shoulders. It was cold outside, and while she was dressed for the occasion, she probably wasn't dressed in the warmest fashion.

If she was even real. Maybe I was going crazy, and she was just a figment of my imagination.