The Other Side: A Short Story

5

1:45 A.M.

My heart is going sixty miles-a-second and my body is so on edge that I don't really know what's going on. I'm pacing a hole through the dining room floor. I need to relax. I stop, sigh and take deep breaths to try quieting the inner panic, then notice I'm still recording.

Don't stop! Document this!

Speaking of...

"Damn it."

I realize that Dad's recorder must've dropped out of my hand, because I don't see it on the dining table with my camera.

I have to go back to the basement.

He's going to kill you if you don't.

It's a blur. I find the recorder at the bottom of the steps and make it back to the floor above unscathed. It doesn't appear broken or scratched. Dad won't turn me into a ghost. I take a seat at the dining table and catch my breath again. That shadow. I'm not going to check my camera to see if I got it, but...

Please tell me I got that!

The recorder. I hate hearing my own voice, but I know there has to be something on there. I figure out how to get it to play back, sink my head into scrunched-up knees, and listen to the following...

..."If you're here...what's your name?"...

They don't say.

..."Do you know you're dead or not?"...

..."Are you the one that keeps making the taps?"...

Fast-forward.

..."So, why don't you stop acting like a fucking coward and show yourself? ...Do it!"

(Me running like a little bitch a few seconds later.)

...(Explainable thud)...

That's where I accidentally dropped it while fleeing.

I don't hear anything until twenty seconds after leaving.

..."Leave him...he's a goner."...

My head springs up. It takes a moment for the voice to register with me. When it does, like it's burning, I toss the recorder across the table.

"Fuck!"

It's a whispery voice, within a legible distance of the mic. It's not me. Mice can't talk like that. Boo is asleep in the living room.

So, who...or what...is that?

It becomes so quiet around the house. I can feel a headache coming on. My temples throb. The walls are watching me closely. I start hearing taps and pattering all around, but I'm sure it's my senses on overload. If I can't laugh, I'll cry, because I can't hold this edginess in any longer.

"Think I'm done for the night," I tell my camera still filming me and my hysterical, teary-eyed reaction.

I take ten minutes to myself out of view.

Deep breaths!

Even after what happened to me and what I just said, I keep going, choosing to conclude my solo hunt by turning off the lights and sitting in the darkness of my living room. I put the camera on the end table, filming me. Then, I sink into the sofa cushions. I just sit there, watching the shadows that watch me back, Boo curled up next to me.

"If there's anyone here...do it again," I say, and I leave it at that.

I cross my arms, close my eyes, and lower my head.

Dunk me under and complete tonight's voluntary baptism by fire.