The Dead House

A stain on the floor. Large. Dark. Ominous.

“Haven’t got a clue what that is, but I do sense something… off about this room. Kaitie says she’d been spending all her time up here until Carly… went. It troubles me.”

She turns the camera on herself. “It troubles me, because I can sense intent here. Like parts of this school… the older parts. Only, I’ve never sensed anything like this. And there’s a smell… a scent. Like”—she inhales, nostrils widening—“I don’t know, like mildew or something. Like rot. And something else—something vile. It worries me that Kaitie’s been sitting in this power for so long, exposed to hell knows what.”

The camera spins once more, to take in the defiled space.

“Something’s been working up here. I’ll have to check people’s handwriting. I’ll decipher all I can.”





77




Diary of Kaitlyn Johnson


Friday, 7 January 2005, 9:50 am

Forgotten Garden

It’s everywhere.

On the walls, on the ceiling, on the floor—every surface. Words and words and words. Endless writing, some of it legible, some not. The whole attic is covered in the scrawl. I found it when I went up there. It stank. I couldn’t stand it. Went to find Naida.

Someone has been in my space. Someone knows I’m here. But who? Who knows, besides Ari and Naida, Scott, Brett, and me? Who besides us five would come into my bubble, while my body betrayed me to sleep down in the basement, and write on the walls of my haven?

It’s her, isn’t it? The thin yellow girl. You can tell me, Dee.

But, see now? Do you see? How some of the writing is written in felt-tip pen? Marker? And how as the fibers die on the splintered wood, it changes to ballpoint pen? And farther, as the pen dies, scratchings as though she—Carly, it has to be Carly?—attempted to use the pen to gouge her cries into the wood itself. That doesn’t last long, see, Dee? Something else is used after that—it’s messy, confused, brown. Ugly. Oh, God—it’s shit. She wrote in shit, Dee. This is where the smell is coming from. It reeks!

I followed the trail of words, none of them making much sense, following all the way along the dark and narrow U that is the attic—my home—until I came to the very end, where not even the spiders live anymore. There, on the floor, sat an ominous dark stain in the corner, soaked into an old carpet rolled up to one side. I didn’t know if it was green or blue or brown, that stain, but there in the shadows, it looked black. The true color.

Horror woke itself inside me, and I backed away slowly, never letting my eyes wander from that stain, which seemed to regard me as much as I did it, telling me, I can see.

But can you?

Later

I told Naida I won’t look at the writing. I won’t go back to that defiled place. There is something wrong with me. There is something inside me.

Because… I didn’t tell her that the writing on the walls, Dee… seems to be my own.

5:00 pm

Maybe it was stupid, but I DON’T CARE! I’m sick of waiting! I’m sick of being alone! Her school’s only four miles away, in town, and I knew I’d be back before anyone noticed, and I was, so no big deal. So you can quit looking at me like that, Dee.

I saw her waiting for dickball Bailey by the front benches, so tiny and lonely and vulnerable, and I called her over to me. Her eyes widened, and she ran over so fast I could barely catch her. All her stuff, including the ridiculous bobble hat she was wearing, went rolling all over the place, but I didn’t care, because she was in my arms.

“Kaitie,” she murmured into my hair. “You were gone!”

“It’s okay, Jaimebean, I’m here.” And she didn’t smell like Jaime anymore. The Bailey smell had completely taken over.

I took her round to the back benches, just out of sight of the main school, and I asked her how she was. Normally she’d tell me about her school, her friends, her new coloring pencils—all that stuff—but this time she just kept asking about Carly.

“Where’s Carly? Is Carly with you? Has she gone to heaven with Mummy and Daddy?”

“No!” I snapped, and when her eyes filled with tears, I added, “She’s just… sleeping. Don’t worry, though, because I’m going to wake her up.”

“You’re going to get her?”

I nodded. “I promise.”

Maybe it was stupid to say that, but I did. And that promise held a thousand meanings.

I promise I will get Carly.

I promise Carly will be safe.

I promise life will go back to normal.

I promise I will take care of you.

I promise I know what I’m doing.

I promise I’m not crazy.

I promise I won’t go to jail.

I promise I will force the world to make sense again.

I saw Mrs. Bailey before Jaime did, and when she called out Jaime’s name, and Jaime turned to look, I melted into the shadows and watched the whole disgusting scene like the ghost I am.

Mrs. Bailey came, and Jaime picked up all of her lost treasures. She didn’t turn to look for me. Not once. It’s as if she knew I wasn’t really there to begin with.