Bebo

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	A Friend
	I sigh as I look out the window and see a group of young, giggling children stand outside, pushing each other forward. Dusk approaches. The sunset dashes the sky with sheer shades of pink and orange. A dying sun leaks onto the overgrown lawn. But the house doesn’t change. It’s always dark. The House of Horrors, they call it, they all do, I hear them. But they have no idea. They don’t remember how it got its name. Children dare each other to knock at the door, throw stones at the window and think it’s all a great laugh. But they don’t know the truth. Every year on Halloween, it gets worse. There’s always one. Braver than the rest. Sometimes a little kid dared by bullies, terrified to refuse, desperate to fit in. More afraid of being an outsider than being inside this house. So they sneak in. Sometimes it’s a teenager, loud and drunk. No respect, no sense. Silly children the lot of them. I try to warn them. I whisper to them to hurry away, never return, but nobody listens. They always think they know better. They always think it’s a joke. That’s because they don’t see what I see, don’t know what I know. The group moves closer, impressed by their own daring. Youth glows in their eyes, excitement brims and still they come. They’re more nervous now, giggling loudly to mask their fears. Small steps towards the front door, huddling together for safety. One loud knock on the door sends them all running, but I know they’ll come back. They always do. I go downstairs just as they get to the front door again and watch from the small window next to it. I can hear everything from here but they don’t see me. One boy is smaller than the rest. Wary. But he joins in with the “fun” because he knows he won’t live it down if he doesn’t. He has a nice face, friendly. I sometimes wonder what it would be like to have a friend. He is the one who puts his hand on the doorknob and turns it. I smirk to myself as they all gasp in sudden fear as the door creaks ajar at his touch. They never expect that to happen. I don’t know why they always expect a lock. They are unsure now. Secretly, they thought a lock would stop their fun, give them an excuse to turn back. Should they leave? I know they should. Four bewildered little faces turn to the fifth. The biggest one. The one that pulls the wings off flies and leaves them to suffer before they die. The one that reminds me of HIM. The big one thinks fast, I can almost hear her brain ticking over as she grins cruelly before pushing the smallest one through the door as fast as lightning. Before he has time to steady himself, she has shut the door behind him. “Get some proof that you looked upstairs or we’ll tell everyone how much of a wuss you are!” She jeers and the others laugh with relief before running a safe distance away to watch. They’re just glad it wasn’t them. The smallest one of all, the boy with the nice face, stands a few feet away from me. I wonder what he’ll do. His face is so pale, I feel sorry for him. I can see his hands tremble. He blinks as his eyes adjust to the darkness. He can barely see before him. He takes a torch from his pocket and shines a dim light through the shadows. I follow him, curious now. He isn’t going to run away. He steps forward, hesitant at first but then sweeps the light over the walls. This part of the house is dusty and almost empty. Except for me. He looks towards the stairs and seems to make a decision. He IS brave. He steps slowly up the stairs, flinching as they creak. Too loud amidst the deafening silence. I can hear something shifting upstairs and I know what will happen if he goes any further. “Wait”, I hiss. “Stop, go no further! Leave now.” He doesn’t even turn around; he just rubs the back of his neck and shivers. I wish he’d leave. But I would like a friend. Maybe this time will be different. He steps slowly, creaking all the time until he reaches the top of the stairs. His breathing is quick and shallow; I can almost hear his heartbeat racing. A shuffling noise makes him jump and pause for a moment but he continues. I behind him. His torch shows him the way, closed doors on either side but one room remains open. It is at the end of the hall directly in front of him. His cheeks rise as if in smile and he hurries towards it. Looking for his evidence I suppose. He doesn’t hear the shuffling noise approach. In the room, he races to the window and waves out at his friends. They spot him and cheer. He’s more confident now. It’s a shame really. Such a brave little boy. He takes his time exploring now. There’s a lot to see in this room. They all come to see this room. The wall to his left is covered in yellowed paper that flutters continuously. The windows are shattered, that’s why it’s always cold in here. He peers at the paper and sees it is newspaper cuttings mostly. A missing child. From a long time ago. Familiar photos stare out at me with blank eyes. But he looks confused. Why hasn’t he heard of this story? He reads pages upon pages of stories all about the same child. Panic had once filled the street where he now lives. He slowly moves along the wall, the newspapers are in chronological order. They become less frequent as he moves along. The last newspaper tells how the child was found. He reads the words House of Horrors. At the end of the wall are different pieces of paper. Pictures, photographs of that missing child. Pictures that his parents were not allowed to see. Pictures that made the police vomit when they saw them. Grown men cried when they saw what was done to that child. Months of torture and pain. I look away. I don’t need to see them again. I already know them by heart. This room remains a shrine. I wish I could take those pictures down. But HE won’t let me. Comprehension seems to dawn on the boy’s face. I can see beads of sweat appear on his forehead. His breathing is noisy and I can see the panic in his eyes. He glances about him wildly, swinging his torch around the room as if it will protect him. A bed is in the corner. He didn’t notice that before, I can tell. He stumbles backwards, away from the skeleton that is chained to the rails at the head and end of the bed. His teeth chatter. He swirls and sees me now for the first time. His scream fills the entire house. He shouldn’t have done that. Do I really look that bad? I know I must but I don’t want to think about it. He runs out of the room but I follow, I want to see if he will be the one that stays. As I pass the window, I see his friends running in different directions. They won’t even try to save him. I hurry after him and find him in the hallway, paralysed with fear. He can hear what he awoke. The shuffling noise has become a thump. A thump that slowly ascends the stairs. The bad man is coming. The boy suddenly spins around, searching pointlessly for an escape. The only escape is down the stairs but the bad man is in the way. A harsh, crazed laugh shocks through the entire building, shaking the walls. The boy has no idea what to do. Even though he can’t hurt me anymore, it still chills me to hear it. I hurry back to my room and sit on the bed that once held my broken body. The thumping is getting closer and a stench fills the room. The boy is hyperventilating now as he twists door handles, trying to find somewhere to hide. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. I cover my ears, it’s so loud, and he’s almost here. I rock too and fro as the boy starts to scream. Loud and without stopping, he screams. But I am the only one who hears. The bad man reaches the top of the stairs and laughs once more. The boy rushes into the room, urine soaking his jeans. “Help me.” He stares at me pleadingly, eyes wide with fear but I shake my head sadly. There is nothing I can do. The thumping noise is quicker now, louder with each step. The boy huddles into the corner as if that will save him. I swallow a scream as it stops outside the room. The boy is panting, sobbing, his face wet with tears. He jumps up and runs blindly from the room, his reflexes forcing him to flee. I can hear his small feet running swiftly along the landing. The thumping noise changes, hurries after him. I will him to hurry. If the bad man touches him… One last yell and a bang. Thump, thump, thump down the stairs. One more laugh and the bad man sleeps until next time. I venture out of the room. There is no sign of anyone. I rush to the top of the stairs and peer over the banister. The little boy’s body lies still, his neck bent at an awkward angle. His life is gone but he was lucky. He didn’t suffer. They’ll say it was an accident. He slipped and fell, alone in the dark. Dreadful accident, they’ll say as they shake their heads sorrowfully. Then they’ll go back to their safe warm homes and forget about him. I look around for a sign. Did the boy stay with me? But no. He is gone. Just like all of the others. I am the only one trapped here. Because I was the first? Maybe next time I’ll make a friend.
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