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Midnight Interruption

Owen told them, of course. He had to, now. Though it was not his secret to share, the house had shared it with him. And they needed to know. So he told them what he saw. How Nick’s father was abusing his son.

They, of course, were horrified. Nick loved his dad. His dad was the Cool Dad. They all loved him, loved hanging out there.

How had they missed it?

—

“I still loved him, was the worst part.”

That sentence, spoken in the darkness of the crawlspace.

They startled awake to find Nick standing there. He’d freed himself from his bonds. Chewed his way free of the tape. He was a shadow above them.

Owen saw: He has something in his hand .

“Nick,” Lore said, calmly.

Nick kept on talking, his words weak and weepy, strung together with sniffles and small ill-stifled sobs: “Like, he was my dad, and he was… doing stuff to me. And I wanted to hate him, but I couldn’t. Because he was my dad. And how fucked is that? How fucked is it that I didn’t even like myself enough to hate him for what he did to me? Was doing to me. Christ. I didn’t like myself enough to stop him. Fuck. I didn’t tell any of you. Covenant this, Covenant that, blah blah blah, all bullshit because I kept that to myself. Because—fuck, I dunno.” His voice trembled and shook. “I dunno why.”

“It’s okay, dude,” Hamish said in the darkness. Slowly standing.

“I let him do…stuff to me. And then I let the house get inside me, too. Sometimes it talked to me in his voice, you know that? Jesus. Jesus! And then I bring you all here and now we’re all fucked, we’re all just empty houses waiting for this monster to move in and take us over…” His voice rose to a sad pitch, a whine like a buzzsaw cutting. His arm—the one holding something—slashed out at open air. “But I’m not—I’m not letting it get in here again, I don’t deserve to be here. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry—”

Owen knew:

He was going to hurt himself.

Maybe kill himself.

As his eyes adjusted, he could see the shape of what was in his hand. A knife, but not a knife. Long and tapered to a sticking point. Like a huge splinter.

That’s what it is. A long splintered piece of wood.

From the wall, from one of the stud beams .

Nick turned the point toward himself.

Time seemed to go slow in the darkness—

Hamish and Lore moved toward him—

Nick tucked the weapon toward his chest, pointing it upward—

Toward his chin.

He’s going to stab it upward.

Through jaw, neck, maybe into his brain.

“I used to cut myself,” Owen said, abruptly.

Silence and stillness ensued as the shock of what he said stayed everyone’s hand. He had not planned on saying this, not ever, but here he was. He had to say it. Felt the poison of it purging out of his mouth as the words kept coming:

“I had a knife. A little penknife I bought from the flea market we used to go to and—and I’d cut myself, but not in places you could see. Like, on my biceps. Outside, inside. Sometimes on my inner thighs or even—even around my hip bones. It was stupid, so stupid like—a cry for help that I hid from everyone else, a cry for help I wouldn’t let anyone hear. How fucking insane is that? It’s why I never wanted to go swimming—never wanted to take my shirt off because the scars on my arms were still there. Are still there.”

Lore, quietly: “I wondered what those were.”

“I hated myself, too, in a lot of ways because, I dunno, same stupid shit as the rest of us. Daddy issues. How common. How dull . Oh my father was shitty to me and mean and so I cut myself to feel something or…or to make his words true and right, so that he wasn’t just mean to me, he was telling the truth, and that made it better somehow, or so I told myself. But I never said anything either, Nick. I could’ve and I should’ve, but I didn’t. So please put the sharp thing down. We’re all really fucked up and just trying to get through life, and it’s better when we do it together instead of alone. That’s how we’ll survive this house. That’s how we’ll get out of this place. Together, and not alone. But that can’t happen if you do what you’re about to do. Okay? I know that now. Don’t hurt yourself anymore. That’s what this place wants. So go the other way. Okay? Please.”

“Please, Nick,” Lore said.

“Please, dude,” Hamish begged.

Nick let slip another gulping sob.

The weapon he’d been holding—the sharp wooden shaft—clattered to the ground at his feet and he toppled over, sobbing. But they caught him as he fell.