Dreary - (Parapines)

So We Live Here Now

"Welcome home," Norman's father announced gruffly, kicking the screen door wide open and hefting a suitcase over his shoulder.

Dust particles whirled about, disturbed by the movement. It looked as if the place had been abandoned for a long time.

Norman entered with his own suitcase and backpack, Courtney trailing close behind him. Wordlessly, he scanned the entry hall.

The house was old, and the floorboards creaked under their weight. It was spacious and bare, the decoration kept to a minimum. Yet it appeared tidy; Norman poked his head into every room, and noted that the kitchen was orderly and clean, and the bathroom wasn't a disaster. The only thing that unnerved him was rickety flight of stairs leading to the second floor.

"It's wobbling!" Courtney exclaimed, making a grab for the railing. "This isn't safe!"

"It's perfectly safe, dear," their mom hovered a consoling hand over Courtney's shoulder, but Courtney wouldn't be touched. "Your dad will fix it up nicer."

And then there's the basement.

"What a mess," Norman's father near shouted. His footsteps echoed loudly on the stairs leading down, into the vacant space. "Where the hell is-ah, here." A lonely bulb lit up, flooding the basement with dim light. Norman peered over his father's broad shoulder to see.

It appeared like it hadn't been touched in ages- no, centuries. The basement walls were draped in cobwebs and grime, and a thin layer of mold festered in the corners. The floor was warped, covered in a spongey substance in patches. Something...flowers? Grew wild from each patch. Norman wondered vaguely how flowers could grow in a dark place like this, but was mostly worried by a nagging feeling in his gut. The basement didn't feel right, like something twisted and deep.

Norman tried not to dwell on it.

"Gross," Courtney voiced their thoughts exactly. She was leaning over their father's other shoulder; Norman glanced at her. Her nosed was turned up and she wore her trademark scowl.

Their father merely grunted, flicking off the light. Instantly, the basement was engulfed in darkness. "We can clean it later. C'mon kids, lets unload the car."

--

Norman and Courtney settled themselves in their respective beanbags on opposite sides of the living room. Norman fiddled with a magazine - the cover displaying two zombies reaching out with grubby fingers and staring bloody eye sockets - and Courtney picked idly at her perfect nails.

She cleared her throat, and Norman's head snapped up.

"So," she said, attempting to look aloof. "We live here now."

"Yeah," Norman replied.

"Are there any ghosts?"

"Yeah. There's a lot in town." Norman thought back to the green specters eerily watching their car as they sped down the street, hovering over them and whispering things Norman couldn't catch. Many of them appeared to have died in the most gruesome ways. Most seemed downright peculiar. Norman wondered how.

"Are there any here?" Courtney asked, frowning.

Norman shook his head.

"Even grandma?"

"She had to stay."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

There was a time when Norman wouldn't have believed that apology. But both he and Courtney have changed- hopefully for the better.

"It's okay." Norman gave her a small smile. "She's bound to the place she died, and couldn't follow. But she understands."

"Blithe Hollow isn't a good place for us anymore," Courtney murmurs under her breath. Her face is downcast, and she isn't wearing any makeup. Norman wishes he could say more, but the words don't come, and they settle into an resigned silence.

There's a clatter in the other room, and someone bites out a loud curse. Courtney clambers to her feet. "Need any help, dad?" And leaves the room.

Norman looked down at his magazine. He didn't realize how tightly he was clutching it; it was nearly crushed between his fingers. He laid it on the floor and pressed out the wrinkles as best he could, a scowl working its way across his lips. Discouraged when the cover wouldn't lay flat, he rolled it in his fist and stomped out of the living room, up the sketchy stairwell and into his assigned bedroom.

His boxes, labeled 'Norman' in big letters, were stacked in a corner, his unmade bed pushed into the other. The sunset glared through his open window, it's orange rays not obscured by curtains, and shadows loomed like pillars across the wooden floor.

Norman flopped onto his bed and curled up to face the wall, trying to be as small as possible. He squeezed his eyes firmly shut, colors sparking in the darkness behind his eyelids.

So we live here now.