The Places Alec Forgot

Chapter Two

Stillness often disturbs me more than chaos. As I wake, groggy eyes squinting through the shadows of my bedroom, all I can hear, all I can think about, is the endless silence. The freak storm has ended, and not even the wind is whispering now. All that seems to exist outside of my bedroom walls is this void, this lack of other things. It's almost sickening, and yet, to me, emptiness has always been disgusting.

I crawl out of bed, glancing for only a second at the red numbers on my bedside clock. 3:08 AM, taunts the time. I cannot remember what time I fell asleep.

I don't remember a lot about last night, actually. My head still hurts, and as I rub it, I can feel a bump that has formed on the back of my skull. I curse quietly, and the sound is like a boom in the silence.

I swallow hard, shaken by my own voice. The feeling that washes over me is not one that I have an easy time explaining, and yet I've experienced it many times in the past. I can remember not when, only how it felt in the moment. It's a fear that has seized my muscles, one that has stolen my ability to move and breathe. In a way, it is like sleep paralysis, but I know I am awake. I am standing. I suspect that I have spent many nights in this state, but I can't recall how many.

My bare feet brush against the cool hardwood. I can't tell if I love or hate the swish sound that it creates; it feels like sound attracts whatever is capturing me in fear like this. I decided to tread lightly.

There is a light on beyond my bedroom door. It flickers and sways beneath my door, dancing on the floor before me. I find no fear, however, in what they illumination might be. A good friend of mine once whispered his fears to me when at his house late one night. His story told of movies like Poltergeist and The Ring, things unnatural to this world. I knew then and know now of only one cause for the light I now see, and it is not something as foolish as movies crafted by those haunted by nightmares.

"We have school tomorrow," I say. I step out of my bedroom, eyes trailing to the living area of our home. The three rooms - living, dining, and kitchen - are all combined into one, wallless space. There are many windows in this room, each now blocked by curtains drawn before we had left the previous morning.

I find my sisters out there. They are both sitting at the coffee table, hunched forward from where they sat, hip to hip, on the couch. They turn to me in unison, Jamie's head blocking just a few inches of Jesse's. For a moment, they are silent, and I suspect that they are waiting for me to take in their surroundings.

Sitting before them on the table is a small wooden board with black letters and numbers painted across it. It was handmade, and I recognize that stained and burned wood. Yes and No are written in each corner at the top of the board. It, though recognizable by many, is a talking board. Mother told the girls to get rid of that thing months ago, and until this moment, I thought it had been burned in the fireplace outside. As it turns out, I was wrong.

The light I had seen flickering beneath my door comes from candles that the girls lit around the house. There are two on the coffee table surrounding them, and the wall mounts, which hold three tea lights each, are all light up. There are three illuminating the kitchen.

"We'll sleep soon," says Jesse.

"Just don't tell Mother about this," Jamie adds, far more cautious and sneaky than her twin. There are times when I believe them to be the same person, but there are others, like this moment, that causes me to wonder if the tales of Changelings are true.

"Didn't you burn that board?" I ask, walking closer. That fear that clung onto me in my bedroom has ebbed away, and I can subconsciously feel it lingering in the doorway. Perhaps I will be sleeping on the couch tonight.