The Sickening

May 14, 2012
“Okay, so I just speak into the microphone?” I looked at the man in the corner. He had a brown jacket on, it was the fake kind of leather you can spy a mile away. I don’t even know if you could call that raggedy thing a jacket. It was so filthy; I don’t even think there’s a word to describe that thing. Although, I have to say, he is the cutest guy I’ve ever seen. His hair was a dark brown and was cut short, while his eyes sparkled with the most hypnotizing emerald you’ve ever seen. He looked up from his board of papers to look at me.

“Yes, just speak into the microphone and look at the camera.” I just stared at him, I mean come on, and why do I have to do this? It’s not like I was the one running around killing people. He motioned for me to face the computer and start confessing. I turned to the small black camera and adjusted the microphone to my mouth.

“I don’t know where to start. I guess I’ll start with my name. Hello, I am Candin. I am here because, well, I have no idea. I’ll just tell you what happened to me……..”

It was any other regular day. Summer was turning into fall. The leaves hadn’t yet changed to that beautiful, golden amber. I was enjoying my bowl of Cocoa Puffs while enjoying my favorite morning cartoon Spongebob Squarepants. The first bite of cocoa almost reached my mouth when I heard a scream from upstairs. That, of course, could be none other than my brother. We did this every morning, Dad would wake him. He would ask Dad why Mom didn’t wake him up. Dad would tell my brother that he needed to stop with Mom because she isn’t here and my brother would scream bloody murder.

My brother’s name was Charles and he was 17 years old. He wasn’t your typical teenager. He was a delinquent, a dumb one at that. He and my mother were the best of friends, until I came along. Mom, in Charles’s words, would pay all of the attention to me. He would always call me names because of it; he always spread rumors about me at school. I didn’t mind what Charles said about me, I didn’t mean to ruin his life. I used to care, but I couldn’t help that Mom liked me better. Well, when I thought it couldn’t get any worse it did. Charles was only five as I was only three when Mom had another child.

I remembered sitting in that hospital for hours, wanting my mother to stay safe. The doctor came out from the labor room and announced harshly that my mother had died, but, they saved the baby. To the doctors and my father that baby was a miracle baby, to Charles and I that baby was a mistake. I was as fortunate as to name the baby since I was closest to Mom. Of course I named it the dumbest name possible, Tubby. Only a year after Tubby was born he was dead. It was a tragedy to everyone but Charles and I. I still remember that night, how I fell asleep on the couch. I woke up to go to the bathroom upstairs and when I peaked into Tubby’s room he wasn’t moving around like he usually did. When I touched his limp and cold body I was scared. I’m not the kind of girl who gets frightened often so, I didn’t tell Charles or my dad until I stopped shaking. To this day I still feel as though it’s my fault he’s dead.

A large wail came from the basement, and my stomach twisted harshly. I hate being scared. I slapped my self out of my scared trance and tried to ignore it. I always hear strange noises downstairs but no one believes me. When I told my dad and Charles they just laughed in my face and left. Finally, I realized, after about a million face laughs later, that they were never going to understand. One day I made a promise to never speak of the basement again, and that was a promise I have kept strong for a clear seven days. I never want to be laughed at like that again. Another wail sent my gut on fire; I’ve never heard one that large before. You see, this has been happening for about a month now. I’ve noticed that since that month began the basement noises have gotten worse. First it was just scratching, then scratching turned into footsteps, then footsteps into a crescendo of wails. Ugh, I hate this house. My gut turned from fire to pure jelly when I heard a slam from upstairs.

I sat there like an idiot, not wanting to check on what Charles did now. Last time I heard a sound like that my dad got a new nose without plastic surgery, if you know what I mean. A few thuds from the stairs sent me rocketing out of my seat and into the living room. At the bottom of the stairs was a limp figure. I quickly ran to its side. I could tell before I even got there it was Dad; his features are so different from Charles. My dad is a twig compared to my buffed out brother. My brother had defined muscles where you didn’t even know muscles existed. My dad maintained a more girlish figure.

“Get away from him! Go Candin, before I come down there and make you!” Charles screamed from the top of the stairs with anger. I didn’t listen, Charles threatens to hurt me all of the time, but he never does. “I said, get away from him! Now!”
He stopped down the stairs with such fury I was sure he would fall right through one of the steps.

“Shut up Charles! What are you going to do, hit me?” The stench of my sarcasm had even me grossed out. I’ve never talked to him like that before, I’ve never talked to anyone like that. Not even people I hate. I got up from my dad’s side and went to the telephone in the kitchen. I quickly dialed 911. We called so often the dispatcher knew my voice and name and pretty much everything about me.

“911, what’s the emergency Candin?”

“Charles did something bad again. I think he pushed my dad. Please help, we’re going to need an ambulance.” I quickly hung up to grab a bag of ice from my refrigerator. The only thing I didn’t expect was for Charles to show up behind the refrigerator door. I nearly fainted when I saw him there. Charles didn’t even make a noise coming here. His eyes were not normal. There was something I couldn’t describe that looked sick about him. I didn’t realize he was holding Dad until he landed on the floor with a nasty bang. I leaned down and put ice to his forehead.

“Dad, wake up, please wake up.” I softly whispered in his ear. I looked at my brother with disgust. I was burning him like you burn bacon in a pan. “Why Charles, why? Why would you do something like this to Dad? What was so bad that you had to push him down the stairs?” He looked at me, the look I couldn’t identify quickly replaced with confusion and denial. “Charles, don’t look at me like that! You know exactly what you did!” His face stayed still. By then I was heated, he may be my brother, but I hate him! I hate everything about him. The way he stands, talks, eats, sleeps, looks, I hate everything about him! I hate that he is in a gang, and how he feels he can do whatever. He’s always playing pronks too. I got up from icing my dad’s throbbing head and got in Charles’s face. I was so close you could put a piece of paper between us and let go of it while it stayed perfectly still. I was clenching my fist and jaw, getting ready to use my anger to hurt him when the door bell rang. In an instant Charles ran for the door.

A man in a fire fighter suit walked in. He came around me and did the usual test. You know, stuff like pulse. When he realized my dad was fine he sent out for a gurney and away went my dad. I sat there in that same spot next to the fridge for hours. When my legs went numb Charles came and sat by my side.


“What!” I said loudly.

“I’m hungry,” he looked at me with sad eyes.

“How dare you. How dare you do that to Dad then have the audacity to ask for dinner! And stop talking in that stupid baby voice of yours!” I jumped up and ran upstairs. He is so annoying. He never cares about anything but himself. When I got to my room I jumped on my bed. I lay there for a while as my stomach churns with hunger. I didn’t feel like eating but what good would I be if I was weak and couldn’t control my family. Without me my dad would probably be dead because of Charles. I looked at the clock 5:49 on the dot. It is dinner time. I should probably go back down stairs and feed Charles. I forced myself down the stairs. I just had to remember Charles couldn’t help what he did. When I found Charles he was sitting underneath the dining room table. That’s where he goes when he’s in upset. If only his “gang” could see him now.

“Charles, get up.”

“I can’t,” he said. His mouth was in a pout shape. That annoyed me too.

“Stop playing games and get up! Do you want food or not?” I looked at him as I searched the cabinet. There wasn’t anything to eat here. We have to go buy dinner; while we go out we can see Dad. He got up from under the table. I held out my hand as he grabbed it. I headed for the living room door. I turned the cold door knob to the front door. As soon as I slid it open a crack I knew we would need a lot of coats and hats and mittens. I was very much right, it was snowing outside. I quickly got us dressed in a lot of insulation. The entire car ride was torture. It was quiet and I could tell Charles didn’t take a stench killing shower yet. Yuck, he is so gross. How can you be comfortable not showering for even a day, let alone a week?

When we got to the hospital Dad was with a few nurses and was very conscious. We got the cafeteria food and watched television as we sat by his side. I was so distracted by what they were talking about on the news I didn’t realize Charles and Dad had made up. The channel was talking about all of the kids gone missing in our town. Whoever takes kids is a complete psycho. Half of the kids they named were my friends. Each one had slept over at my house and on the way home they are stolen away. They suspect that someone up my street took them, his name is Mr. Atinio. I can see why they suspect him because he is such a creeper.

Later Charles and I were told that my dad could go home with us tonight. Of course we took him home. I have to admit I was nervous. He didn’t look like the dad I knew and loved. His eyes were blood shot. His hair messy. His limp figure had me worried too. The limp looked weird it looked like he was trying to look limp and fragile. Like he wanted to create the illusion that he would never do any harm.

When we got home with Dad, Charles went straight to bed. Dad and I hung out a bit until I heard a huge slam from downstairs. I tried to ignore it but I know there was no way my dad missed that.

“Dad?” He looked at me.

“Yes sweetheart?”

“Please tell me you heard that.”

“Oh, I definitely did.”

“So you believe me?”

“Yes.” He looked at me cross eyed. There was something he was hiding. I could sense it ever since Charles and I came to the hospital. “Why don’t we go check it out?” I looked at him, was he serious?

“Okay,” what was the harm in seeing what the noise was all about? I sat up and headed for the basement. He followed me. He was so close to my heels it almost hurt. I opened the basement door and stood there trying to see past the dark. My dad reached over and flipped the light switch. It looked normal, kind of, as normal as a basement can get. I pounded down the stairs and looked around. There wasn’t anything weird per se. My dad at the top of the stairs closed the door and locked it.

“Dad? What are you doing?”

“Don’t worry babe.” He stepped slowly towards me. Something was very much wrong. He reached for a shovel in the corner of the room and started breaking down the walls. Something I couldn’t identify fell out of the wall. What was that? “I want you to meet someone Roy, my daughter.” The thing from out of the wall started to move. Oh my god! It was the little boy from across the street. My dad started breaking down more walls and I fell to my knees and cried. All of my friends dead and cold and not healthy. They were all dead. My dad killed my friends. He killed people. There were dead bodies among dead bodies. When he was done breaking walls he came to me. The next thing I know I see nothing but black and I’m in this place with an investigator.

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