I Know What You're Afraid Of

Chapter 5

    "He's dead." He's dead, but he's sitting right there. Nice one. Marianne shot him an incredulous look. "He looks pretty alive to me." Miles looked at her with his signature blank stare, which soon turned into the most obvious fake smile. "You should go to bed." Marianne was shocked. She opened her mouth to scold him, but she was at a loss for words. She watched him place the spider in a bush and walk back inside the house, slamming the door shut behind him. Marianne could hear the spider crawling away. Why wouldn't he take it with him?   

    Marianne walked inside and made her way upstairs. She turned the corner and bumped into Sydney in the hall. "Going to bed?" Sydney was the only person she felt comfortable with.
   "Yeah. I should. It's late and I want to get up early tomorrow so..."
   Sydney chuckled softly. "Okay. Goodnight, Marianne."
   "Goodnight, Syd." Marianne continued to her room. She walked in and flopped onto the bed, pulling out her sketchbook. He liked my drawings. Marianne was smiling wide at the thought of Miles complimenting her art. Her smile faded as she remembered how he had treated her. The way he snapped at her as if she were a dog that had just finished tearing apart his favorite pair of shoes. She pushed the thought away and got ready for bed.

***

   Miles had trouble sleeping that night. Whenever he closed his eyes, he would be forced to re-watch the same terrifying scene all over again. He was back in his house. The house he hated for countless reasons. He couldn't leave. He knew he couldn't. With or without her. The lights were off, and the house was cold. He was walking around the house, trying not to bump into the walls. He had dropped his flashlight, the batteries flying out the end. Miles got down on his hands and knees to search for them. But it was pitch black. He could no longer see anything. "Miles." He turned his body in the direction of the taunting voice. "Where are you?" He called to the voice. "Miles." This time it came from behind him. "This isn't funny anymore." Miles continued down the dark hallway. The voice called to him once more in an urgent tone. "MILES, HELP ME! PLEASE!  MILES -" He'd wake up before it got worse.

    He woke up sweating and gasping for air for the third time that night. Deciding that he's had enough, Miles got out of bed and walked over to the bay window. He picked up the journal he had found in his bag, and a pencil. The journal was black, and it had Property of Miles Fairchild written in white in the center. As much as he hated having one, Miles kept a dream journal. Every time he had a bad dream, he would draw or write about one good thing that happened. As he sat there thinking about it, he realized that there was not one good or happy thing about that dream. Not one good thing about that day.

    Miles gazed out the window thinking about his interaction with Marianne on the swing. He regretted snapping at her. It wasn't her fault. She didn't know the simple question would anger him. Miles didn't like talking about his feelings or his personal life. However, he felt he should at least apologize to her. 

   His thoughts were interrupted by a loud crash that came from downstairs. He stared at the door, before slowly walking over to it. Miles put his ear against it to listen, but it was quiet. Still unsure, he opened the door and stepped out into the hall.

    The lights were off in the hall, making it difficult for Miles to see where he was going, much like how it was in the horrible dream. He stuck his hands out, trying his best to feel his way around. He had only managed to make it a few feet away from his room, when he heard whimpering. It was coming from Marianne's room. Ignoring the possible intruder, Miles walked towards her door - almost absentmindedly - and turned the handle, quietly pushing it open.

     Her whimpers continued, as he stepped closer to her bed. She was mumbling words that he couldn't quite make out. The only word he understood was his own name. He froze when he heard it, wondering what she could have possibly been dreaming about. He figured it wasn't a good dream judging by the way she woke up suddenly, sweating and clawing at her neck. Miles backed away from her and stood, still as a statue.

     Marianne reached over to the lamp that sat on her bedside table and turned it on. "Miles? What are you doing here?"

   I don't know. Miles looked everywhere but at her. Now that he could see, he noticed the lack of windows in her room. He wondered if she felt as trapped as he did, just standing there. Remembering she had asked him a question, he quickly thought of an answer. "I think there might be someone in the house." As if on cue, another crash was heard from downstairs.