Tales from the Yeller House: A Horror Collection

What Lies Beneath

*DISCLAIMER: The following story depicts scenes of suicide and/or suicidal thoughts. Please skip to the next story if you feel like this may negatively affect you. Also, if you or someone you know is having thoughts of suicide, don't hesitate to call the National Suicide Prevention Hotline at 1-800-273-8255.*

    "Kyle would never commit suicide," his mother sobbed to the officer in charge of the investigation.

    "Kyle was such a happy person," his friends said, shaking their heads in disbelief.

    "He was looking forward to college in the fall."

    "He had a full ride to Northeastern. Football scholarship." The coach's face was twisted with a mix of emotions.

    "Kyle wouldn't kill himself,. He had the perfect life."

    "He gave me this promise ring." Claire's tears pooled at the corners of her grimace before they continued their course down her face and neck.  "He can't be gone."

    "He could have told me what he was thinking."

    "He could have talked to someone."

    "We were here for him."

    It was all the same generic bullshit spouted by the same kinds of people every sixteen minutes or so across the United States. As if they couldn't see the signs. As if they've been blindsided  by the fact that their loved one made a conscious decision to end their own life.

    "Kyle would never do something like this." It was repeated several dozen times during that first week of April. 

    If only they knew just how right they were. 

    No, Kyle Richards would have never intentionally killed himself.

    It was what was inside him.

*****************

    It started as a tingle. The kind of feeling Kyle would get when he sat too long with his legs crossed. Only Kyle didn't have his legs crossed, and the tingle was in his left wrist, in the underside where the blue-green veins criss-crossed faintly under his fair skin. The feeling subsided as suddenly as it had came. I've pulled something pitching today, he told himself, and hurried out of the locker room to meet Claire at the local dairy bar.

    Kyle woke up drenched with sweat. He'd been dreaming, but about what he couldn't quite remember. He glanced at his phone. 3:48am. "Shit," he groaned and threw the covers back. The cool laminate sent a shiver up his leg clear through to his spine, and he half-tiptoed his way down the hall to the bathroom.

    He splashed cool water on his face and blotted it dry, glancing in the mirror to see if he looked as bad as he felt. Something fluttered on his left cheekbone, followed by a slight tingle. Just like before, his mind whispered. Kyle shivered against his will. Was that...did something move? Kyle leaned in closer to the water-spotted mirror and stroked the sensitive skin below his left eye. 

    Nothing. No movement, no tingle. Nada. He flipped the light off. It's late, I'm imagining too much. He laughed at himself, but the single ha that pierced the quiet was harsh and devoid of any real emotion.

    "Good game, Kyle."

    "Kyle you're the man." Kyle had just threw the winning pitch, beating the Longfork Lions and putting Westview High at 4-0, the best season so far in over a decade.

    "Westview's Baby Ruth." Claire wrapped her arms around him and planted a kiss, her hot pink lipstick melding with the sweat on Kyle's cheek.

    "It's Babe Ruth, Babe," Kyle chuckled. "You ready? We're all going to the Village Inn for pizza."