Human Nature

In the midst of a darkened existence, the splintering harsh wood beneath small, frozen fingers tucking into the palm of each hand, wrists staring at the weight of her body until they began to shake, she slumped against the wall, a thin slit of artificial light shining across her small mouth and nose. Her body shook with the cold, soaking through her small sweater seeping into her bones. Each breath was a small wheeze as her eyes were kept tightly shut. Breathe. The inky blackness of the enclosed space around her echoed every sound back into her mind, everything around her was made it difficult to breathe. Her hand slowly reached forward, translucent skin coiled around a brittle bone, fingers tentatively touched the inner part of the doors wooden frame, breathe. Her palm strained with the effort, leaning forward she shifted her weight in an attempt to assist her strained limb, she held her breath. Her tired mind forcing her to search for a reason to leave the confined space, recoiling at the thought of any sound she may make that would ruin her chance.

Not a soul would hear her she vowed, promising her badly beaten form, petite shoulders slouched, her mind and body curling into itself. The small cupboards door was slowly pushed open, as quiet as an exhale of breath would have been if she had allowed herself to breathe. Her limbs were stiff from sitting in the same position for the hours since the sun had gone down, her knee slowly slid forwards over the splintering surface of the cupboards bottom, followed by the other, she left her feet to dangle over the edge, her knuckles burning from clutching the edges of the wood waiting for a sign to retreat. She exhaled slowly. Lowering herself down onto the floor, a sharp pain shooting up her leg as it made contact. Her face scrunched up, her mouth now forming a slight grimace, but she made no noise. her footsteps were light as she softly treaded through the dining room and past the couch, her heart pounded painfully against her ribcage. The couch was empty. Her eyes strained in the darkness of night, frantically searching for the minuscule piece of metal that meant her freedom. With a pit of dread in her stomach, she recalled the memory of the key to the backdoor stuffed haphazardly into Mr. Kit’s front jean pocket. When the sun had still been up she had seen it through the small crack in the door, though that left many other places the key could have been placed.

With absolute determination she willed her beaten legs to make it to the stairs, not yet mentally prepared to ascend. Her soft brown eyes began to water, her vision growing foggy. A small hitch of her breath reminded her of the price of every sound she made, her limp served as a second reminder, with trembling fingers she threaded her fingers together and carefully began her climb. The stars may have had mercy this evening, there had not been one creak from the old stairs to alert the occupants of the house to her intentions. Down a long aged hallway, five doors resided, the wallpaper faded and torn around each corner of every door except for the fifth. There was more glue and paint there to maintain the dignity of the room’s resident, of which she had to apply herself, the old wallpaper and glue still embedded deep under her fingernails.

Her entire body wanted nothing but to turn around and retreat, but her resolve spoke determined in her mind, that the fear and pain of today is all for another day without it. Her confidence built at her reminder, she quietly passed each of the doors, each holding worsening memories until she reached her destination. Her hand was already gripping the handle. Her wrist strained as the effort to make no noise, to her surprise the handle offered little resistance, shifting her weight she slowly opened the door. He is asleep, his soft snores and even breathing assure her of that, though the danger has not subsided and the problem was only now presenting itself, in a new light or lack thereof. The thin blinds were drawn almost completely together allowing little light to alert her of not only the location of the key but a safe path to retrieve it.

Blindly, she moved forwards, slowly inching towards the bedside table where she hoped to god the key would be, waiting for her hands to grasp its metal body and rejoice in her freedom. That was not the case. Her dainty fingers skimmed over the surface of the table, managing to narrowly miss brushing the small glass over water, that would most-assuredly have ended in her being rendered handicapped. Her eyes scanned the room, pulling any of the dreaded memories from this room to mind, in hopes that something might help. Pain. That’s all her memories in this room can serve to remind her of, though as morbid and disheartening the thought of that is, it doesn’t really help. The thin stretch of light coming in from the curtain catches on one of the bedposts, her new destination.

Moving swiftly, but carefully her hands grip the metal post of the bed, a dark mass in the corner of the room, with an outline of what she can only assume to be a chair, his desk, her best bet. Lightly hovering over a mass of papers, wires and half-eaten pieces of food, her hand touches metal, the cold familiar spiral of the house keys. With nimble fingers, she scooped the keys into her palm, for fear that if she held them the noise would alert Mr. Kit. She held her breath. Her feet making no sound with each careful step, her heart was beating a mile a minute as she reached the door, inevitably having to look over her shoulder to reach out for the door handle. Imagining harsh eyes glaring at her menacingly, the whites of his eyes glinting in the darkness promising pain and fear. He was still asleep, though as her hand pulled the bedroom door closed, she still refused to exhale. It was only until she had successfully made it down the stairs until she exhaled, her footfalls remained impossibly light, approaching the back door, her heart caught in her throat. The terrifying sound of someone in the kitchen. Someone who was awake, someone who could find her, hurt her, and ruin everything. Her small form ducked behind the couch in one quick movement.

It was the sound of running water, a glass washed and then placed in the drying rack. From the sound of the footsteps, it could be Mr. Erik. Her mind was reeling, thoughts of every possible escape racing through her mind while she was trying to make her breathing as quiet as possible. Her vision became blurry, her silent breathing hitched as hot traitor tears spilled over her muddled red cheeks. She had thought a terrible thought. She had forgotten to close the cupboard.

Her hand crept towards her mouth to silence any sound if necessary, waiting for what would happen next. The footsteps moved with uncertain, drowsy footing, moving towards the couch stopping, she felt it, like it had gripped her very soul. His hand gripping the cushion of the couch she was hiding behind, he steadied himself and then moved away, shuffling towards the staircase. She didn’t dare move until she heard his door close with a resounding click. Her knees buckled as she moved to stand, her knuckles white from gripping the keys. She approached the door, feeling through all the keys she looked for the one with a square base with a number on it, pushing the teeth into the lock her wrist twisted and sighed in relief when she discovered that it was now unlocked. With a soft tug, she felt the cool night breeze caress her bruised face, a soft smile graced her lips as her foot crossed the threshold and she closed the door behind her.

Her mind thought back to a something Mr. Kit had said when she was first brought to the house, his voice had been less mangled, having smoked less back then, he said,

“We are your protectors, here to save you from your fate.”

Though the meaning was not particularly clear then, over the years they had somewhat each added something. Each with disdain seeping from every pore as they spoke,

“We’re doing you a favor, if we let him find you, he’s much worse than us.” and,

“At least everything we do to you is a choice, it’s just in his nature to hurt people.”

Though as she looked upon the forest in front of her and all of the dangers that lay in front of her, she knew that the people behind her, and the nature of them she was more afraid of. With that thought her stride became stronger and surer of herself, limp and all, that this decision she would not regret.

Word count: 1518

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