The Liverly

V

I wake up sweating and shaking, breathing like I've run a marathon in record time. I bury my face in my hands and try to control myself as reality sets in. They're back. Why can I never get rid of these nightmares? They destroy me when they strike and make me act like a zombie. I know I won't be sleeping for at least a week. It works, but the cost of trying not to sleep for more than seven days is high. Like I said, I look and act like the undead.

Getting up, I grab a pencil and a sketchbook before heading into the sitting room, only to pause when I open the door. It's pitch black and it takes me forever to find the light switch without stepping too badly on any of the pictures still laying all over the floor. I didn't finish putting them up, but lazy me didn't even move them so now I have foot-crumpled pictures.

I flip on the light once I find the switch and blink while my eyes adjust to the brightness. My stomach takes this moment to gurgle loudly, and I frown at it. "You ate supper."

It gurgles louder in protest.

I sigh, glance at the clock. It's just past one in the morning. Ms. Husby said it was okay for any of us to get one snack out of the kitchen if we were up late working. She emphasized the word "one" so strongly then looked at Caleb and Tyrell who both sheepishly grinned. They'd cleaned out the whole fridge one night while working on schoolwork and computers, leaving nothing for breakfast.

Downstairs in the kitchen, the lights flicker, lighting the way for me as though the house knew I needed food. I grimace at the idea of a living house. The Liverly wasn't really alive, but it was alive enough to eat my family whole.

A body lays slumped over the kitchen table, face in a Spider-Man comic book, a bowl of soggy cereal mournfully sitting beside Caleb. "Caleb?" I ask, walking over to him. He doesn't move, so I flail my hands a bit in an attempt to figure out where to touch him to wake him up when I settle for poking him once on the shoulder. He grunts and shakes himself a bit before getting his face more deeply embedded into the crinkled pages of the comic.

"Fine," I grumble, grabbing some fruit and a yogurt from the fridge and sitting down across from him. Munching on an apple while doodling, I look up at him and smile a bit. He looks so sweet and innocent when he's asleep, not quite so crabby. I pausing in my chewing, my smile turning a bit devious, and I start to sketch him laying there. I'm halfway through his smooshed face when I let go of my eraser while erasing an annoyingly difficult spot and it flies toward him, bonking him in the face.

He jerks upright and glares at me, eyes aflame. I set my sketchbook down on my lap and say nothing, staring at him. I don't know if I need or run for my life or wait it out. He glares at me for a minute more before blinking lazily and yawning. "Sorry," he mumbles. Waiting it out is the correct choice.

"What time is it?" he asks, looking around for the clock.

"Past one. What are you doing down here?"

He looks sleepily at his cereal and stirs the inflated, squishy flakes around before taking it to the sink and dumping it out. While he does that, I flip to my earlier doodle page and keep working on my swirls. They're super relaxing to draw and really pretty, at least I think so. My pencil squeaks, and he jumps, turning and half-glaring at me. I glare back and he continues washing the cereal bowl

Caleb comes back to his comic book, yawning occasionally while I keep drawing. At some point he leans over to look at what I'm drawing before going back to reading. I try not to breathe when he does this, as if he's a wild animal that will startle if I sneeze on him.

I guess I nod off because I open my eyes to find the sun shining through the windows, a blanket draped over me, and Caleb gone. I glance at the clock on the stove. Only eight in the morning. Ms. Husby takes that moment to enter the room, bustling around to make breakfast, muttering about how she's late. By the time breakfast is ready, Tyrell is still in his room studying for a math exam he has tonight, so Ms. Husby takes his breakfast up to him. Caleb wanders in to grab some bacon before heading back upstairs, telling Ms. Husby he has to work on a laptop Mr. Johnson from next door gave him to fix. We watch him leave and Ms. Husby sighs. "Never been the same since his father died," she says, sitting down across from me.