Sigma Eta

The House Is Occupied

Victor made sure not to open the folder in his office, nor any time during school hours. He knew that this had to be a secret, his secret, and to reveal that he even had the slightest bit of information on the fraternity would certainly betray his main objective. Considering the passion that was burning inside of him when he first looked upon the folder, coupled then with Martha's wild reluctance to surrender it, he was sure that even the slightest glimpse from a student would compel them to either fight him for it or sneak into his house when he had left it unguarded. Even the prospect of Martha's return to his office to take the folder back after having heard specific instructions within her compromised head was enough for Victor to keep the folder on his person at all times. He tucked it inside of his jacket, keeping it clasped tightly against his side so that when he lowered his arm he could feel the chilling scrape of the paper corners against his exposed skin. It wasn't the most ideal of situations, though it was the only thing he could think to do. It was the only situation that made him feel as though he was protecting the folder justly. If anyone had found out where it was hidden, well then they would have to go through him first, and right now he was feeling practically unstoppable. Victor skipped dinner that night, even though he had dropped a package of Ramen noodles into water about thirty minutes ago. He let them turn around and around in the microwave, though their rotation bored him enough to wander off towards more interesting things. He sunk down into his kitchen chair, setting the thick folder down before him, and decided that now was the time to open it. The doors were locked, the windows covered, all but the kitchen light had been extinguished. He was operating in complete secrecy, just as he was instructed to do. Victor's fingers at last found the clasp, a single elastic band which drew the ends shut by stretching across on two metal hooks. He released one end, letting the folder fall open before him, the papers and documents falling off towards the left side as if they had organized a synchronized, chronological discovery. The first document he saw was something quite familiar, though through an entirely different lens. It was a photograph of the house, colored in the dull pastels of the early days of the camera. It was the house lit with sun, dated in a strange red ink at the bottom of the page, 1962. The microwave beeped, but Victor didn't hear it. He just continued to stare, stare at the picture that represented its own story, hidden from the eyes that looked upon it. But if he could go beyond the picture, behind the camera, then he would be able to see more. He would be able to see that day, in late August, on what would prove to be the last summer the house had smiled. 

 The camera flashed, a car horn blared, and somewhere in the distance John could hear a stereo blasting music from one of the dorm hall windows. He stood on the curb, balancing his toes on the cement as he struggled to get an appropriate angle of his new home. He figured that the photograph would be good enough, and he let the camera drop back onto the strap that he had hung around his neck. If the developed product proved unsatisfactory he would just have to take it again, considering this house would probably be standing long enough to get another more fitting shot. 

"John honey, you're not going to let your sister do all the lifting?" Mrs. Watson cried from the back of the car, pulling out one of John's lighter suitcases and dropping it onto the grass. He groaned, wondering quietly to himself why he had ever let his parents drive him up in the first place. All they ever were on move in day was a nuisance.
"I'm coming, alright." John muttered, making his way through the grass and minding his white sneakers against the clippings. The maintenance crew must have been mowing all day yesterday, making sure that the lawns looked beautiful enough for the concerned parents to be satisfied. Two years ago this day had proved to be one of the most frightening of his life, though now it was coming as nothing short of a revolution, an exciting peace of mind. As an incoming junior, John felt as though this year was going to be his to rule. It was the first time he was going to be living with his fraternity brothers in the Sigma house, and as a newly ordained upperclassman he would be given many more privileges around the campus. No longer was he on the bottom half of the pecking order, this time he could give the orders, not the other way around. The sooner his parents could pack up their little car and leave for the other side of the state, the better.
"Some of this stuff is fragile, mom. You can't just be throwing it around." John warned, taking up one of the milk crates and examining to make sure his record collection had remained unscathed.
"I'm sorry dear. But you know how your father gets, if we can't unload the car in under thirty minutes he's just so uptight." Mrs. Watson muttered, looking over to where her husband was standing on the porch, ordering Harriet to hurry up with the bedsheets while a cigarette was dangling between his teeth. John nodded, understanding this constant struggle more vividly than he would prefer. His father was a rough man, and the idea of leaving the rest of his family alone with him was always the worst part about moving back into Stoke Moran. It was a gamble, though in the end it would have to be a necessary step. John couldn't stay at home for the rest of his life, trying to keep his father in check. He slung one of his backpacks over his shoulder, waddling awkwardly with the weight of his possessions across the street and up the sidewalk. There was a mess of boys walking in and out, mostly the older ones who had moved themselves in without the help of their parents. This was one of the only days where they tried to look like responsible, respectful adults. They knew that their audience would be one of concerned parents and jealous siblings, and so each one of the boys had dressed their best and put on the most helpful face they could manage. Even now Sebastian was taking up one of John's large garbage bags (filled with pillows and blankets) from Harriet, giving her a reassuring smile. It was almost comical to watch him lend a helping hand, considering he was the one who was in charge of John's pledging class just a year earlier. That boy had made himself all together helpless when he had a bunch of pledges at his command, to the point where they sometimes had to lift him up in his chair and move him to a better spot around the house. This of course was all just trying to be annoying, for he would request they carry him all the way up the stairs and into the attic so that he could 'get a better view of the sunset' and then promptly commanded them to take him into every other bedroom to issue a 'mandatory room check'. To see him now, lending a helping hand, made John chuckle. Then again Sebastian was now the president of the fraternity, having claimed ownership long before he was even enrolled into the college on the claims that he was a long ancestor of the founder. This was of course due to his last name, Moran. Everyone marked him down as some attention hungry psycho, and their assumptions at last proved correct when they unearthed documents declaring that the name had nothing to do with the founder, that the actual founder was named Grimsby Roylott. To fill his ego Sebastian was immediately drawn to the position of president, for without any blood power he felt required to make his own power elsewhere. Despite his ambitions and reasoning's, he was the best choice for the spot. As annoying as Sebastian could be, well he was a good leader at heart. John followed a train of people up towards the second floor, where the majority of the smaller bedrooms were. Even though the rooms were about the size necessary for a single bed they had crammed two into each, in an attempt to make sure they could fit as many boys inside as possible. John didn't have much of a problem with this, considering that his roommate since freshman year and consequential best friend was going to once more be at his side. Greg Lestrade still hadn't moved in, of course, for at the rate he drove he was probably still hours away. The boy was a little bit of a disaster, and time schedules seemed to operate at a complete different rate for him. Surely he'd show up sometime during nightfall, wondering why no one came out to help him unpack.
"I'm on the left." John instructed, hoping that Sebastian would at least make his job easier and throw the large bag onto the appropriate bed. And of course, just to be a pain, Sebastian threw it onto the opposite.
"Nice to have you staying with us, Johnny Boy." Sebastian chuckled. "I'm sure you and Lestrade will make a perfect duo of house cleaners."
"We're not pledges anymore, remember." John warned, giving the man a little shove in protest and dropping his things onto one of the desks.
"Make sure to leave little chocolates on the pillows, too." Sebastian suggested, intentionally disregarding John's protest.
"I will, right after I infuse them with laxatives." John agreed, to which Sebastian chuckled softly. Their conversation was halted when Mrs. Watson appeared, carrying a suitcase in both hands and wearing one of John's old football helmets on her head. John groaned in protest, but couldn't do the liberty of voicing his opinions out loud.
"I couldn't find a better way to get it inside!" she explained quickly, her red lipstick smearing upon the face mask and her large curls shoved awkwardly within the leather. John sighed heavily, and Sebastian quickly excused himself. Undoubtedly he assumed it would be rude to laugh in her face, though in private it was certainly understandable. The move in process went slowly, and with each passing moment Mr. Watson got ever more uptight. For as much complaining as he took it upon himself to do it seemed as though his actual work load was nothing, in fact all he did was chain smoke out on the front porch and instruct everyone else on what they should be doing. By the time the car had been emptied, all of its bags and packages loaded instead onto John's mattress, his parents each bid him a farewell. Harriet only managed a wave from where she was already sitting in the back of the car, and so with a tearful hug from his mother and a stiff handshake from his father John was left alone. He watched from the front porch as their little sedan made its way down the road, and he offered it a wave of goodbye as a string of sadness erupted from his heart. It was a strange feeling, saying goodbye to those you were never supposed to leave. And it was always saddening, realizing that you will not see them again for a long, long time. But the sadness passes, and reality ensues. And suddenly the world opens with possibility, the sun shines a little bit brighter, and whatever shackles that his parental guidance had slapped upon his wrist suddenly slipped off, and he was free to pursue the life he most wanted. Suddenly John's face broke into a smile, and even before the taillights of his parent's car had vanished down the hill he had turned around, racing into the house with a newfound freedom and a wrenching sense of excitement in his heart.