House Of Nightmares

Chapter Two: Autophobia

I waited outside the girls bathroom for a solid hour. Lunch ended. I didn't care. I was technically skipping class, but whatever, I needed to be there for my friend. I listened to some music, read my book for English class, and basically did whatever fourteen year olds do when they're worried.
Oh yeah. I was fourteen at the time, in case you're picturing a seventeen year old girl with luscious blond hair and  big green eyes in your head. Yeah, no. I had pencil-straight, dark brown hair (everyone thought I had black hair BUT I DIDN'T I HAD BROWN HAIR YE IDIOTS) and I had dark brown eyes as well.
Finally, after an hour, Kendra's mom walked in. She was a relatively pretty woman with dirty dark brown hair and hazel eyes like Kendra, but today there was something different about her eyes. I couldn't put my finger on it, but I could tell that there was. She wore a black blazer and skirt, her office uniform. She worked at MTS, Manitoba Telecom Services.
She saw me sitting outside the girls bathroom and smiled at me. It made my skin crawl, that cold smile. It didn't normally. But for some reason, her smile today did. "Good morning, Edelie," she said. Kendra's mom normally greeted me differently. She called me "Eddie", so greetings were normally like "Eddie, my girl! What's up?" This stiff, formal greeting seemed alien next to Ms Welle's normal demeanor.
But I pulled my features into a smile, assuming the difference was just because Kendra was so sick. "It's the afternoon, actually."
"Ah, yes. Silly old me." Ms Welle pulled a pocket mirror and lipstick out of her bag and began to apply her makeup, turning her lips a deep burgundy. She pursed her lips then put the stuff back in her bag.
She looked down at me, and I felt that her stare was one of pity. Not pity like "oh I'm sorry your best friend is vomiting blood" but more like "I'm sorry you're less than me". Ms Welle never looked at me like that.
This part is important, pay attention.
Suddenly, a tiger came crashing through the wall of the school and ate me.
Paying attention now? Great. Continue doing that.
Back to the actual story. Ms Welle looked at the bathroom door like she was waiting for Kendra to march on out and say, "Come on, Ma. I'm ready to go."
She didn't.
Instead, a few seconds later, Kendra staggered out, leaning on Ms Saffron. Ms Saffron is a good deal shorter than Kendra, so it was both worrying and amusing to watch. Ms Welle looked more amused than worried.
"Kendra, come on. Lean on me. Let's get home."
"Yes, Ma," Kendra gasped. She didn't look good. Blood stained her shirt and dribbled down her chin. Her coffee-coloured skin was pale and her amazing hazel eyes were shifting around weirdly. Her blue sweater had been removed, and I could see the sheen of sweat on her forehead. Kendra Welle was not healthy.
Kendra was unceremoniously flopped from poor ms Saffron's shoulder to her mother's. Ms Welle carried her with surprising ease. She turned to me, and said quietly, "Good day to you, little flame."
Only as they walked out the door did I realize the difference in Ms Welle's hazel eyes.
Her eyes hadn't been hazel at all.
They were bright green.

After that I was obviously a bit shaken. I asked Mr Gerald if I could go home "MONSIEUR GERALD, MAY I GO HOME!" and he said yes "Why yes, if you need to, you have my permission."
Personally, I think he thought I was asking to go to the bathroom.
I walked home. My house was relatively close to my school- only a few blocks away, but it felt longer, with the cold December wind and the memories of the day behind me.
I couldn't get the image of Kendra, pale and helpless, out of my head. Or those unnatural green eyes. I felt that those eyes didn't belong on Ms Welle- or any human at all.
Ms Saffron watched me go out the door. She shook her head as I left and muttered something unintelligible. It sounded like "tomorrow" but I wasn't sure.
I lived with my auntie and uncle in a nice house. Tante Aimee and Oncle Lucien were very nice to me, and they were like my mother and father in a way. I certainly knew them better than I ever knew my mother or father.
Tante Aimee was a professor of classics at the University of Winnipeg. Oncle Lucien just stayed at home and cooked and cleaned and wrote his novel. I am very well read because of those two book nerds I had as my guardians.
Oncle Lucien saw me out the window as I walked up the front path. He frowned, confused, then went to go open the door for me.
(The following conversations have been translated from French, because they are French, and I am French, and so in our fine household, we spoke French.)
Oncle Lucien wrapped me in an embrace as I entered our house. "Edelie! It's not three twenty already, is it?"
"No, Oncle Lucien. I... well, my day at school wasn't great. Can I tell you about it later, maybe with Tante Aimee over supper?" Tante Aimee got home about forty minutes after school ended, so she got here around 4.
Oncle Lucien nodded, still looking perplexed. "Yes. Yes, of course. How about you go downstairs and watch a movie? I can get you some popcorn."
"Yes please." I kissed him on the cheek. "Love you, Oncle."
I slipped downstairs, where there rests our one and only television, and turned on a classic movie: Lord Of The Rings. When I'm stressed, those movies distract me. That sounds weird, but if I'm sad, nothing breaks me out of a mood like hobbits and orcs.
Relatable to anyone? No? No? Okay.
Oncle Lucien brought me popcorn and a blanket, then snuggled in with me to watch. He's an emotional person, so it was kind of annoying because every time anyone got stabbed it was like "Waaaa! That orc had a family!" and I was like "No. No it didn't. It was created from blood, clay, and Saruman's magic." and then he was like "But Saruman loved them!"
No. No he didn't.
But it was good. I had family by my side, and a good old fashioned battle on the screen in front of me. By the middle of the second movie, Tante Aimee was home. She came downstairs, laughed at Oncle Lucien's tearstained face, and went to refill our popcorn.
"Thank you, Tante Aimee," I yelled up the stairs as she left. "Don't burn it!"
"That was one time, Edelie!" she laughed, disappearing from view.
"It was multiple times, dear," Oncle Lucien shot back.
"Only twice!"
"Three times, Tante Aimee."
"You two will never be off my back about that!" We turned up the volume. My favourite character was saying something about potatoes, but that's really no surprise. Half his lines in the second movie concern potatoes.
I was hoping Oncle Lucien would forget I ever said anything about having a bad day. But no. How dare he have a good memory. He suddenly reached for the remote and paused the movie. "Aimee, Edelie had a bad day at school today."
"Oh, Edelie- AAAH!" A pause. "Lucien, do you want to make the popcorn?"
I laughed. "You burned it, didn't you."
"Just... yes. Fine, I confess. I burned the popcorn. You do it, Lucien."
"Not yet, Aimee. Edelie needs to tell us about her day."
I sighed. "Can it wait until supper?"
"Why would you want to wait until supper?"
"I just do."
A long pause. "Um... okay." Oncle Lucien got up and started to go upstairs. "I'll make popcorn."
I picked up the remote and pressed play. No one cried when an orc was gruesomely shot through the head, or made commentary on their poor family, and the horrible grief they would face. It made the basement seem empty.
But soon Oncle Lucien came back down with a bowl of chips. I smiled. "Oh no. What happened?"
"Aimee broke the popcorn maker."
My eyes widened, and I laughed. "She broke it?"
"I'm not even sure how. I think she was turning the handle too fast? It actually came out of the popcorn maker itself."
"So... ketchup chips."
"Ketchup chips." Oncle Lucien sat down, and his eyes glazed over as he began to watch. Not four seconds had gone by before he gasped. "No! Boromir died!"
"Boromir is a jerk, Oncle Lucien."
"But his dad will be so disappointed!"
"His dad is also a jerk, Oncle Lucien!"
"You just have no soul, don't you?"
"Did Boromir die?" Tante Aimee asked as she came downstairs. "Lucien, your heart is soft as your bread pudding."
"Yours is as hard as your attempt at a casserole!"
Oncle Lucien smiled at his own witty insult, and Aunt Aimee rolled her eyes. "Well, fine. If you don't like the food I provide, I guess you won't be wanting the pizza I brought home."
"Yes!" I got up and ran upstairs. On the dining room table, there were two pizza boxes. I peeked inside: one pepperoni, and one half Canadian, half ham and pineapple. "Tante Aimee," I called, "Pineapple on pizza is a sin!"
"I like it, and so does your uncle, so stop complaining," Tante Aimee said as she entered the dining room and sat down. "Besides, it's only half ham and pineapple. Now, what did you want to tell your uncle and I?"
No avoiding it. "Today... Kendra got really sick. She was vomiting in the bathroom, vomiting blood. She was pale, and shaking, and it was so horrible, and..." My voice broke and a tear ran down my cheek. "I'm sorry, can I just... not?"
Tante Aimee stood up and walked over to hug me. "Edelie, my darling. It's fine. You don't need to continue. If you want, you can call Kendra after supper and see if she's okay."
I nodded, my face wet with tears now. "Okay. I'm not really hungry." I took a deep breath then headed upstairs. "I'm going to bed."
Oncle Lucien looked after me, worried. "Okay. Call if you need us, okay?"
"I will."
My room was upstairs. It had a simple grey-green colour scheme. I flopped down on my bed, and let my tears soak into my green leaf-pattern blanket. I flipped over to stare at my ceiling, covered in teensy plastic stars that I applied when I was five.
A bit of curiosity struck me. I was afraid to do it... but I'm a curious person by nature. Even fear can be triumphed by curiosity.
I concentrated. My heart pounded and my head did the same. Butterflies- no, full on eagles flew around in my stomach. Facing your fear is not an everyday event. I closed my eyes. If I didn't look... it wasn't real. I felt heat prickling my palm, and I couldn't help it.
I looked.
My hand glowed bright red, like metal that had been placed in a hot fire. As I watched, a spark danced across my palm. It flashed an angry red as it grew into a flame.
As I let out a little screech, I quickly closed my hand and the fire went out. I stared at my now-normal hand in fear.
What was wrong with me?