Ever After

In The Midnight Hour

---

This chapter is in Jack's perspective.

---

I was sitting up, staring blankly at the basement ceiling, not knowing how to even begin to describe how the afternoon had gone. It was definitely a strange one, the kind of afternoon that I wasn't used to, the sort of afternoon that would make anyone feel dazed and as if it'd happened years ago. In a sense, it was kind of like waking up from a nap, which is something I'd basically just done; turning over to my phone and clicking it on, I recognized the screen's clock saying that it was twenty after three, not even surprised. This was the time of day (or night, rather) that I was most used to, and I would honestly rather be up at three o'clock than at three o'clock in the afternoon, although I'm pretty sure that nobody wanted to be locked in a stuffy classroom for six to eight hours a day, which is why I found that adults had it lucky, that they shouldn't be complaining about getting paid for wasting their day - kid's didn't.

As I sat staring up at the floorboards, I heard a sudden noise come from upstairs, one that was silent at first, but grew stronger within seconds. It sounded like someone was pushing a button, as if they were tapping something aggressively, like someone trying to kick a machine back into gear. I rose from my sleeping bag, making sure as not to distract the sleepers.

Speaking of sleepers, there were only three now; Bob, Wade, and Felix. I sighed to myself as I sluggishly moved up the stairs, mentally prepping myself for whatever kind of sick fetish kept Mark up and wandering around strangers' houses at night - I scratched at my slight beard as I crept closer and closer to the top of the stairs, just quickly enough to hear the sound of scampering footsteps, followed by the sound of something colliding against the floor (supposedly a can). My ears were perked like a pooch's, my eyes like lasers scanning the floor, trying not to make it too obvious that I'd found Mark's hiding spot within the second it took me to climb up and out of the basement. Who in the hell hides under the dining table, one of the most obvious places to hide? I certainly didn't intend on being stuck with him in a horror movie.

I shifted my eyes from his shaking body to the living room, where the light was left on. The TV screen was on, showing aggressive static from space, and the Play Station had its disk sticking out like toilet paper on a shoe. I bent down to shove it closed, trying to avoid the scent of Mark as I did - it was an amazing smell, the smell of being at home, possibly with your grandparents or relatives who lived all the way out in the country. He must've smelled like his home, for it was a scent I'd gotten used to; it was similar to the one you'd earn yourself from dusting off an old antique. I assumed he lived in an old house as I stood, glaring over in his direction.

"Mark, you can get up how," I said through a yawn.

When he continued to sit there, in a shrivelled little ball, I said, "Mark, I can fuckin' see you!"

He continued to stay still, as if I wouldn't notice if he held his posture, causing me to (for whatever reason) stoop down to the floor, pushing a chair out of the way as to allow me to sit next to him, under the table. I felt as if it were my tiredness speaking - I was extremely exhausted (most likely because I haven't gone to bed at eleven o'clock in what must be at least a year), but I allowed instinct to take over as I cuddled myself into a ball, staring intently at him, who was staring shamefully at the carpet. He looked like a child about to be scolded by their parent, as if I were about to rap him on the knuckles with a ruler or ground him. Instead, I tried to speak in my calmest, most sympathetic tone, one that I never thought I'd use again.

"What the fuck were you doing down here?" I whispered, clearly failing at managing to be patient with the kid. "Do you want to wake up my parents? 'Cause, if you do, keep doin' what you're doin'... it's certainly making enough noise to wake up the whole house."