Sinister

Chapter-4

I placed the basket filled with apples, peaches, and oranges – a generous gift from Silas – onto the table.
“You really didn’t have to trouble yourself,” I murmured, feeling awkward under his gaze. Social interactions weren’t my forte, and finding the right words was always a struggle.
“That’s just a little housewarming gesture,” Silas replied with a warm smile. “Mrs. Rose insisted on it.”
“Mrs. Rose?” I inquired, curious about the mysterious benefactor.
“Yes, she’s the mistress of the house, and I’m her caretaker,” Silas explained. “She wanted to visit, but her arthritis makes it difficult for her to get around.”
“Ah, I see,” I nodded, unsure of what else to say.
“How old are you?” Silas suddenly asked, breaking the silence.
“Fourteen,” I answered, a hint of defensiveness in my tone.
“You’re still a baby,” he chuckled. Feeling slighted, I retorted, “No, I’m not. How old are you then?”
Silas grinned mysteriously. “Guess.”
“You look younger than me,” I admitted, slightly taken aback by his enigmatic demeanour, the awkward silence stretched, Silas began to explore the kitchen, his hands grazing the walls. “Do you like it here?” he asked, attempting to fill the void.
“We only moved in yesterday, so I can’t say,” I confessed.
“And where are your parents?” Silas inquired gently.
“My mom’s at work, and my dad... passed away,” I replied, the mention of my father cast a shadow over the room.Silas’s expression softened with sympathy as he reached out to comfort me. I recoiled instinctively, offering a weak reassurance. “It’s not like that.”
Silas smiled warmly at me, “Why don’t you come to our house for some tea?” he suggested.
“No, thanks,” I replied, feeling overwhelmed by the idea of socializing with strangers.Silas persisted, his insistence fuelled by kindness. “No, I insist. Mrs. Rose would like to meet you. She really would.”
I balked at the thought of venturing into unfamiliar territory.
“No!” My refusal came out harsher than intended, fuelled by nerves and anxiety. But Silas reached out and gently took my hand, his earnestness both comforting and frustrating. “Come on, you’re all alone. Let’s have some tea with cakes.”
I fought the urge to lash out, my frustration mounting at his persistence.
“I’m sorry, but next time,” I managed, hoping my words would persuade him to let it go, But it didn’t.

At Mrs. Rose’s house, I found myself seated at her elegant table, feeling utterly out of place. Her wrinkled hands offered me a cup of tea, and I accepted with a forced smile. I didn’t understand why Silas had insisted on bringing me here. Mrs. Rose, with her kind eyes and welcoming demeanour, tried to ease my discomfort.
“It’s good to see new faces in our neighbourhood,” she remarked, sipping her tea. I blurted out a response without thinking, my anxiety getting the best of me.
“Well, I hope we get along well,” I said, cringing inwardly at my awkwardness.Mrs. Rose chuckled at my unintended implication.
“And why do you think we won’t get along?” she teased, her laughter infectious. My anxiety spiked as I fumbled with my teacup, spilling its contents in a clumsy mishap. Mrs. Rose rushed to reassure me; her kindness only serving to amplify my embarrassment. After an awkward exchange, Mrs. Rose turned her attention to me.
“What was your name again?” she asked kindly.
“Brooke,” I replied, feeling small under her scrutiny.
“Brooke, what a beautiful name for a young lady,” Mrs. Rose remarked warmly, her words a fleeting comfort in the midst of my discomfort. As the conversation veered towards family, Mrs. Rose’s demeanour shifted, her tone tinged with sadness.
“Sadly, no,” she replied when asked about children.
“It’s just me and Silas here.”
The offer to stay lingered in the air, but I declined, eager to escape the eerie atmosphere of Mrs. Rose’s house. Before I could make my excuses, Mrs. Rose made a curious request.
“Tell this old woman a joke,” she said, her eyes twinkling with mischief. Confused and unsettled, I tried to deflect.
“Look, Mrs. Rose, I’m sorry, but I have to go now. My brother is coming home soon—“
But Mrs. Rose persisted, her insistence unwavering.
“What has eyes but cannot see?” she posed, her riddle hanging in the air like a challenge. Frustrated, I played along, offering a half-hearted attempt at humour.
“A needle!” I replied, she glanced at me with a smirk. “Incorrect. The answer is a blind man.”
I chuckled. Was she serious? What kind of absurd answer was that?
“She always enjoys the twist,” Silas chimed in unexpectedly.
“When did you arrive?” I asked.
“I’ve been here the whole time,” he replied with a smile.Mrs. Rose chuckled before clearing her throat.
“Alright, I’ll give you an easy one.”
“Great, let’s hear it,” I thought. She began slowly, “You see a boat full of people, yet… there isn’t a single person on board. Why?”As she spoke, I noticed her fingers moving, but the riddle didn’t make sense to me. Not wanting to waste time, I simply replied, “I don’t know.”
Silas interjected, “That’s a funny answer,” oblivious to my glare.Mrs. Rose cleared her throat again.
“The answer, my dear, is because they’re all married.”


“I’m never going back in there again,” I muttered angrily as I pushed open the creaking front door of our house. “Those answers were as ridiculous as she looks. And Silas suggesting I return? No way.”
The conversations left my head spinning, so I retreated to my room for some peace. As I ascended the stairs, the frames on the walls seemed to shift, giving me a chill. But when I turned to look, they remained still, though the pictures within felt like they were watching me.The silence of my room was suffocating, reminiscent of the eerie quiet of the mental asylum. I needed to break it, so I grabbed a recorder and took each cassette out one by one, scanning their titles: ‘Atomic Doggies,’ ‘Justin Learns to Rock,’ ‘Highway Boys...’”Oh! I like Highway Boys,” I exclaimed, selecting the cassette and inserting it into the recorder. Initially, it emitted a faint humming noise, which eventually ceased. Pressing play again, the cassette began rolling, only to halt abruptly with a zipper-like noise.
“What’s wrong with this?” I muttered, frustration mounting as I attempted to troubleshoot. Despite my efforts—twisting spools, rubbing the cassette’s edge clean—the recorder remained unresponsive.
“Really now?” I sighed, resigning to the malfunction. “Nothing is going right today.”Returning the recorder to the closet, I was startled by a clicking sound and the sudden resumption of music:
“In a world like this where some back down...”Confused, I rushed to the closet, finding the recorder playing the song. But hadn’t I turned it off? As the music distorted into a cacophony, I frantically hit the stop button. Heart racing, I froze when knocks echoed from above, persisting until silence fell. Unable to comprehend, I took a few steps back, only to hear another knock followed by a sigh. Then, a voice spoke in Russian from above: “чтотыздесьделаешь?”
I screamed, my mind reeling with confusion and fear. There couldn’t be someone up there—just the roof above my room.