Paranoia

There was an office decorated in calm palettes of blue and brown. It was barely large enough for the desk and two computer chairs, but the two women made it work. One woman’s face was the picture serenity; calm and collected, with a professional air about her. The other was taller, but it was obvious she would rather be anywhere else than the cramped space.

The narrator speaks, her voice inquisitive as she opens her journal. “Now, tell me exactly what happened.”

The strawberry blonde nervously twists her hands, her gaze not leaving the door. She looked like a frightened fawn ready to run off. The computer chair she was sitting in squeaked as she fidgeted.

“Alurah?” The narrator’s voice was gentle, but she was starting to get frustrated. Alurah had a habit of zoning out, especially when thinking about the past. At this moment, the other woman looked as if she was deciding between bolting out the door or lying through her teeth.

Would she finally let someone tell her story? Or deny anything ever happened in that lovely community named after a poker bluff?

Her gaze shot back towards the narrator’s; panicked hazel orbs meeting light brown calmness. “Ah, yes! Sorry.” Alurah’s voice was weak, but she seemed to be back in the moment. Her hands stopped twisting, moving to squeeze the front of her white T-shirt instead. “The first ‘weird’ thing? I guess…”

The girl sighs, her shoulders dropping. It looked as if she was finally ready to open up.

The narrator studies the poor girl, noting how defeated and tortured she looked. Postured as she was, she in no way looked her age of twenty-four.

“My mama told me about the first time, but it didn’t happen to me. It happened to Micah.”

The narrator raises her pen, at the ready to start recording the events. “Your older brother, correct?” she asks. The tip of her pen was poised over the line on the paper, her journal opened at the start of the first page.

“That’s right.” The girl nods, her short hair bobbing past her chin. The strands of red caught the scant light in the room. “She said it happened when I was only four or so.”

The narrator smiles reassuringly, waiting for the facts. “And Micah would have been eight. So, it starts in 1999…”

May 1999

Micah was sleeping quietly in his bed, the ratty covers barely covering his fragile body. He twisted the sheet as he flipped and flopped in the darkness. The only sounds in the night was of the trailer rocking from the rough wind. The groaning echoed through the holes in the damaged roof.

He had been sleeping soundly, tired out after a rough day of play with the other neighborhood children; he also had a few new bruises to show for all of his rough housing. His dreams had been empty, full of nothingness. The exhausted boy was too tired to do anything else but to fully pass out. One would think him lucky, with no nightmares to plague him with tonight.

However, something woke him in the dead middle of the witching hour.

Blinking open his eyes, Micah stayed still on the mattress. His brown eyes gazed at the wall he was facing. Though everything was quiet, an uneasiness seeped into the child’s bones. Panic started to rise in his stomach, but he didn’t know why.

His eyes started to adjust in the darkness, allowing the child to make out the shapes of the dated wooden fixtures, and he tried to remind himself that he was safe at home. Micah tried to curl up tighter, hoping that would help the dread filling his insides. There were no nightlights around to give him a false sense of security.

Truthfully, the mattress with a bare frame was all they could afford for his room. The family had no extra cash for frivolities.

Just as he tried to close his eyes and fall back asleep a giggle rang out in the darkness, resounding in the empty room. The child shivered, his eyes wide. He dared not move, fearing that any movement would draw it’s attention.

Another giggled followed but a moment after. Micah tried to blame it on his overactive imagination, though that would be fruitless.

Mama always said that he was too creative for his own good. ‘It’s all in my head,’ he chanted in his mind.

But was it?

Biting the inside of his cheek, he willed himself not to shake from fright.

He heard another giggle, different from the first voice. Were there two of them?

The room seemed to grow colder, a chill seeping into the air. In the middle of May, there would be no reason for this sudden iciness. Typically, the temperature was at a sweltering eighty degrees; the metal from the trailer making it even more unbearable.

The child knew something wasn’t right, but he didn’t know what to do. He pulled the blanket over his head, the fraying edges brushing his ears as he willed the noises to go away.

The security blanket was too small to fully cover his form.

“Micah,” whispered a tiny voice. It sounded like a little girl, but there was a shrill quality to it. It was like razors through his soul.

“Hey, Micah!” echoed the other voice. A little boy? But all of his friends should be asleep. Who would be calling him this late at night?

Both voices sounded as if they were coming from but a few feet away, near his window. It was impossible, since his room’s window was ten feet above the ground.

The part of the single-wide he was housed in was held up by wooden pillars and dirt. It most likely wasn’t safe, or legal, but it was the only thing keeping it level. Beyond his window was a steep ditch, fading into the mysterious woods beyond. It made no sense!

Micah kept repeating this in his head, his eyes wide and tear filled. ‘It makes no sense! It makes no sense! It makes no sense!’

A whimper escaped the boy, and the two presences seemed to sense his growing fear. The giggles grew louder, and more numerous as they fed off of his terror.

The cacophony of giggles and labored breathing filled the small space of the bedroom. He tried to shift towards the edge of his bed, prepared to run away if need be.

The laughter finally started to quiet, and Micah thought they were gone. He didn’t question why the laughter had disappeared just as suddenly as it came. Instead, he was elated that he was ‘safe’.

But, was he truly?

From the darkness, spoke a voice. Once, where it had been from outside his window, it was closer now. Too close.

From just beyond the bed, he could hear it. “Come play with us, Micah.” The voice wasn’t even masquerading as a child anymore. It was sinister and terrifying.

It was too much for the young boy. With a scream, he jumped from his bed and threw the cover from his face. Almost tripping over the bare metal frame of his bed, he tried to right himself quickly enough. It only took a few steps to get to the doorway of his bedroom, but those strides had felt like a mile.

As he was passing by his door, he heard the unmistakable music of laughter coming from just behind his shoulder.

Micah was quiet in his fear, not making a peep as he ran towards the other side of the house. Most likely it wasn’t a conscious decision; It was probable that he was too frightened to call out in the dark to his mother, the lone adult in the trailer.

He was doubtlessly afraid of who, or what, would answer his cries for help.

The boy almost brought his mother’s bedroom door to the floor as he rammed through it; too scared to use his common sense and turn the brass door knob.

He dove onto her bed, not realizing that he could hurt the frail woman. With a startled yelp, his mother was awoken from a dead sleep. Micah was huddled in the bed, his face buried in the scant blankets that covered the mattress. His brown hair brushed along his chin as he quivered, covering his face from his mother.

His mother moved to the side, checking on her daughter that was sleeping in the bed with her. Luckily enough, the boy hadn’t even awoken her with his flying dive.

“What’s wrong?” she croaked out, her voice coming out broken from sleep and years of disuse. “You okay, Mikie?” Though her voice wasn’t beautiful in any sense, it was like a hymn from the angels to the terrified child.

The boy looked up at his mother as she whispered his nickname.

Her blonde hair was in a ponytail, her wrinkled face showing how exhausted the older woman was. She looked as if she had hardly been asleep an hour. As though she had been haunted by the dark giggling, also.

Adrenaline had kicked in, his pupils large and wide as he caught her eyes. “Mama! Mama!” Even as he yelled, he didn’t cry any tears.

“Shhh,” the mother held a finger to her thin lips, trying to calm the boy. “Now, don’t wake up your sister. What are you doing up this late?”

“There were…,” his voice dropped as he whispered the last words, his tiny voice cracking, “voices.”

His mother wiped a hand down her face, not even trying to hide her frustration with the boy’s antics. “Mikie, we’ve talked about this. It’s just your imagination.”

“But, mama-!” She just had to believe him!

“No buts!” Her voice was like a whip, not letting him speak back. It was harsh, but she tried to reign her misdirected rage back it in. “Just go back to bed. You can’t sleep here.” She waved her hand, fatigue weighing on her. “We don’t all fit in this bed.”

Micah glanced at his sister, her small form taking up a large amount of space. The full sized bed was only so large, and mama always told him he was growing like a weed.

Mama was right, though he dreaded to admit it. “O-Okay…” It was obviously hesitant, but she waved him off anyway.

Every child had to sleep on his own soon enough. She would not suffer this silliness any longer.

Micah slowly rose from the bed, his movements clumsy and disheartened. His mother had already laid back down and turned over, giving him her back as he left.

The child made sure to close the door behind him, and only then did the tears finally start to fall. The little boy gritted his teeth as he made his way across the house, trying to keep his sobs silent.

The track through the hallway and kitchen was calm, with nary a peep. Still, the boy was too busy sobbing to notice.

Outside of his bedroom, he glanced up at the broken hallway light. He grieved that light, as though it was a person. As though it was his protector.

The step over his doorway was torture, but he managed it. The poor boy was being so brave, even knowing what he most likely faced in that gnawing darkness.

He walked over the peeling carpet and climbed onto his bed. Once the cover was secured over his head, he wished to the lord above that he would sleep. He tried, even counting sheep!

Still, it was for nought.

Within a couple minutes of him pulling the cover over his eyes, the laughter started once more. “Come play with us Mikie.”

“Come on, Micah. We’re just outside the window!”

He gritted his teeth as he silently cried to himself. For hours, he listened to their promises as they asked him to follow them. Their playground was just over the window! Why wouldn’t he come with them?

“We’ll love you forever, Micah.”

They were all liars.