Downwell Road

Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Paul and Daniel sat in the Cunninghams' living room that night. Daniel had come over to see how Jane was doing, and to keep Paul up to speed on the goings on of the cul de sac. Billy was upstairs asleep in Garret's room; one of Garret's old dvds was quietly filling the room with a 90s laugh-track.

Daniel told Paul about strange occurrences that he had noticed since their last conversation. Up until that conversation Daniel hadn't thought anything was out of place. After that night, learning all about Jane, he had begun to notice small things that were out of the ordinary. He had also become constantly itchy. Red scratches now covered his body; it seemed everyone had succumbed to that insatiable scratching. Paul was also covered in small cuts and scratches, as were all of the people living at the Presnell's, as well as the Randals. All members of the cul de sac were now scratched up, like alley cats after invading another's turf.

"Everyone is acting strange, Paul," Daniel said. "It's not just Jane anymore. I'm starting to get scared here man. I don't think anyone other than perhaps you, Jane and I are even aware. Everyone appears less alert, clouded. Their judgment and common sense look as though they are absent a lot of the time. I have spent the most time with Lois out of the group, able to observe her nightly habits. Lois is less alert and more fogged at night."

Paul and Daniel were both sipping glasses of whiskey. This time it was much harder to actually drink them though, being tormented by an itch that can't be sufficiently scratched. Their hands were rarely able to do anything other than chase the itch nonetheless, and the attempt to dull the senses and fight the fear with alcohol was futile. Thus, Paul and Daniel were left to converse amidst a desire to rip their own skin off.

"Lois doesn't notice me watching her at night. Nobody in her right mind would do the things she's been doing regardless," Daniel continued. "Last night she was standing in front of the mirror above her sink in the bathroom, staring blankly and blindly into it. I watched as she leaned forward and lifted her hand in front of her face. She stuck up her pointer finger and turned it back and forth, as if amazed by it, studying it. She then proceeded to move that finger to her eye, and, with her eye still open, she touched the tip of her finger to her pupil, though she didn't lightly touch. She seemed to push slightly inward, a small amount of force behind her finger, and I could see as her eyeball gave inward ever so slightly, regaining its original shape as soon as pressure was removed."

Paul could not hide his disgust as he let out a groan and made a noise as if to gag. Daniel continued his story.

"I sat there on the bed," Daniel resumed, "and I was overwhelmed with terror and revulsion as I watched her go further. She removed her finger from the center of her eyeball, pulling a very small and very fine thread of fluid connecting from finger to eye. As she pulled her finger further away from her eye, the thread snapped, lacking  substance to stretch any further."

"Lois looked at her finger once more, turning it right, then left, slowly, once again with great focus. After being satisfied by her findings, she slammed her finger back into her eye, this time with zero restraint. Immediately she clutched her face and fell rolling on the floor, wailing. I insisted on taking her to the hospital after I held her crying body for a moment. She told me she was too embarrassed by her behavior, and didn't want anyone to find out. She patched up her swollen, pussy eye, and took handfuls of Ibuprofen for the pain. She's been changing the bandage every few hours because its all gunky."

"What the hell man," Paul said scratching his arm. "That's some messed up shit. All of this is so messed up."

Just then they heard the back door open and close.

"What was that?" Daniel asked, a nervous twitch coming over him as he scratched at his neck.

"I honestly have no clue," Paul said. He took a swig from his glass with one hand, and kept scratching that arm with his other hand. "Let's go find out," he added.

Daniel and Paul got up from their seats as quietly as they could.  There was no noise downstairs in the house; one could hear a pin drop. The floor creaked as the men stood, and both shuddered as the sound echoed around the room. Sweat began to bead on their foreheads as they looked to each other. Paul took the lead; it was his house and that's what a man does in his home.

Paul walked out of the living room and into the kitchen with Daniel close behind. He picked up a large knife from the knife block and continued slowly towards the back hallway and laundry room. He was shocked that anyone or anything could be so quiet, walking through the house totally unnoticed, only making noise when opening and closing the back door.

The two men slowly and, contrary to how they would remember it, cowardly crept toward the laundry room door. Upon poking his head past the doorframe, and seeing that all was in place, Paul sighed a deep sigh.

"What? What it is Paul?" Daniel asked, the fear almost spilling from his mouth.

"Nothing," Paul replied. "There is nothing at all."

The two men stood there for a minute confused. They both knew they had heard the door open and then close.

Daniel, extremely shaken up, managed to ask, "You did hear the door didn't you?"

"Oh I heard it," Paul answered. "I'm going to go check on Jane and Billy. I'll be right back."

Daniel followed Paul back through the kitchen, where Paul put the knife back in its rightful spot. He sat down on the couch as Paul continued to the front hallway and slowly up the stairs.

Mimicking the creaky floor from earlier, the stairs voiced their opinion as Paul walked up them, still very much on edge. Every other stair yelled at him as weight transferred onto and then off of it. Paul was dripping sweat and itching furiously when he reached the upstairs landing.

Paul, being very intuitive, already knew what he would find. First he crept to Garret's room where, as expected, he found Billy asleep in Garret's bed. Tonight the tv was muted and Garret's boombox was playing an old Blink-182 album. Billy was snoring loudly and drooling. Paul couldn't help but smile looking at his beautiful boy.

Cursing every step he took, Paul continued towards his bedroom. He remembered the nights before he started sleeping downstairs after Garret's death. He would creep to bed like a thief in the night, after a lonely and quiet few hours of television and whiskey in his chair.

Knowing what lay ahead gave him no comfort, and as he opened the bedroom door and poked his head inside his fears were confirmed. Jane was not in the bedroom. The bathroom light was on. Paul crossed his fingers and held his breath.

He made his way across the carpeted floor, thankful that it padded his footsteps. As he neared the bathroom door, hand outstretched, he could see through the small crack in the doorway. He was able to see the shower in the mirror above the sinks where Jane had once stood, ripping off her own skin. It looked empty, though just as Paul thought this he was startled by a quiet hmph and a small shuffle from inside the lit up bathroom. The door moved ever so slightly, creaking softly on its hinges.

Paul took one step closer, now only two paces from the door. Hand still outstretched, he began leaning closer to push the door all the way open. Inches away from touching the door, it quickly slammed shut, hitting Paul's fingertips and sending him tumbling to the floor nearly in cardiac arrest.

Another noise came from behind the now shut door. Paul lay there listening, trying to make it out. He heard a yawn ending in a high pitched tone, and realized he hadn't seen Buster that night.

"Buster," Paul called out.

He heard a whimper from behind the door and then a bark. Buster had locked himself in the bathroom. He would lay behind the door on occasion and must have rolled over and knocked the door closed. Paul opened the door, and with a sigh of relief let Buster out.

"You big galoomp," Paul said, petting Buster's head as he panted happily.

Nothing else in the bathroom. All was well. But where was Jane? Something had told him that Jane was to blame for what he and Daniel had heard downstairs. He had expected to find her in their room at least. This can't be good he thought, and went back downstairs to where Daniel was sitting.

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