(18+) Someone in the dark

Ch. 8: Old news

I was sleepless. Exhausted. After a long day, I still couldn't wind down enough to relax and close my eyes, and now I was getting quite desperate. Over a week without a proper night's sleep sure does something to you, as if my head wasn't messed up enough as it was. And I still had so many questions. Would I ever get the answer to any of them?

I kept tossing and turning in my bed, squeezing my eyes so tightly shut that I saw tiny stars on the inside of my eyelids. But it didn't help. Moments later, they were wide open again, and counting the nails on the ceiling.

I gave up with a groan and sat up on the edge of the bed while I rubbed my sore eyes. I felt old, almost like I'd aged thirty years overnight, and if this continued, I would probably need a walking chair by the end of next week. The thought of how Mrs. Lee would react to that made me chuckle to myself as I walked over to sit on the wide windowsill, where I'd placed a pillow to sit more comfortably. It had become a habit now, sitting in deep thoughts while staring out into the darkness, counting the minutes until my alarm startled me back to reality. A habit that left me more and more frustrated by each day.

My eyes blinked slowly, and my skin felt warm against the cool air. I'd gotten used to that now. It was like my body slowly adapted to my surroundings and tried to become a part of it. It was an odd calmness that I wasn't sure I liked.

My breath fogged up the glass again, and I stared at it until the fog disappeared. Then I frowned and studied it closer when I noticed it had a thin, gray layer. Maybe I should clean the windows tomorrow? That would give me an excuse to be outside in the sun. There hadn't been too much of that lately, and it showed. I was pale as a ghost.

My eyes swept across the dark landscape outside. The moon wasn't full, but large enough to shed its dim light as a drizzle of silver that revealed the contours of the garden. It was the fountain in the middle of a little labyrinth of small hedges. It was the neat topiary bushes, and the many graveled paths. It was the beautiful flower beds with razor-sharp, straight edges, the perfect lawn, and the enormous surrounding trees towering in the distance. It was a Victorian inspired botanic diamond that was The Silver Fox Manor, framed by nature itself.

But there was something I'd never noticed until now. It had probably just been too dark to see it before, and I'd been too busy noticing it in daylight, but tonight I could see something that looked like a shed, hidden under some of the large trees furthest to the left. I didn't really know why it caught my attention, because with a garden as large as this, there was nothing more natural than a shed to store equipment. Then why did I get this eerie feeling while looking at it?

I sighed heavily and closed my eyes to cut the imaginary connection between the shed and me. Why couldn't I just sleep? I couldn't even blame the girl in the attic tonight because she was quiet. I only heard the random footsteps, knocking, and doors being opened and closed, but I'd learned that these were just normal sounds inside a not so normal house. I'd almost stopped being curious about who made them. Or to be more exact; I didn't want to know.

I suddenly remembered the newspapers from the library. I'd hidden them under my bed together with the key. I still hadn't figured out which lock it fit into, or what that brown, stinky mass that stuck to it was? How come I didn't smell it before? I'd been here for over a week now, and it appeared to have been there for a really long time, which made little sense since the smell came yesterday. But most of all, I wondered who put it there. Was it Leo? Was it Mrs. Lee who decided to test me for whatever reason? Or was it someone entirely different? Someone I hadn't met yet? My boss?

I sighed again. Another flood of unanswered questions, and I refused to ask Mrs. Lee unless she brought it up.

The newspapers distracted me from my growing annoyance with the female householder. I picked them up, skimmed through them, and chose the one at the top first. The pages were yellow and faded, just like the oldest photos on the cupboard in the REDRUM, and the headline was written in bold letters above a large picture of a group of men fighting.