My dead mother was standing on the corner, zapping in and out of existence.
I couldn't breathe, sitting on my bed, and I couldn't stop looking at her. I could feel her frigidity penetrating my skin, sending shivers down my spine. I felt like I could pass out any second now.
She didn't move closer, rather, it felt as though the room was closing in on us. She kept moving in and out of my vision like those old VHS tapes.
How am I seeing her now? What is happening to me?
"Tristan, are you ok?" the one who was alive now asked. She couldn't see it because she hadn't died in this world. Or timeline, or whatever the f*ck happened in those doors.
After a moment of silence, she mumbled: "The sheriff is down there watching the place. So far, he hasn't seen anything yet. Trish, there's nothing to worry about." I could hear some faint shuffling from my bedside.
The thing was there, standing there, making the walls die and get infected with her presence.
I didn't want a repeat of the last timeline or whatever, so I called the mayor, telling him something bad is going to happen, and he agreed to place police outside the house, without any questioning or hesitation at all.
It might be because nobody even came to the house; fortunately, the sheriff agreed to be on the lookout. We were thankful and invited him to dinner.
His hair has faded to a salt-and-pepper shade with tinges of dull auburn that match the trimmed mustache that graces his upper lip. The lines etched into his weathered skin are like the grooves of an old map, telling tales of a life lived in service to the law.
"Ah, well, that's an awful lot, miss. Thank ya," his accent was thick and quite loud. He sounded like he was invited to have dinner with our family, not to guard us from these eldritch horrors.
We watched him scarf down an entire pot of porridge down his throat like a wild wolf. He seemed well-built for a middle-aged man. Hell, he seemed buff for my age.
The whole night, we didn't have any strange sightings or occurrences. Still, he agreed to guard for the night in case anything happened.
This is some kind of sick game those f&ckers are playing.
I gritted my teeth as I heard my (alive) mom attempting to comfort me, but I could hear the reluctance in her voice. For a second there, I thought she would get up and just leave, but I don't know why I thought that...
As long as she's alive, I don't care how she feels. I want her to be there for Dad and for Kiara.
I wondered, does she regret having me? Is that why she's here, to tell me that she regrets the choices I made?
The thing seemed to become more and more opaque the more I looked. More present, more conscious. At first, she looked like a crystal silhouette floating around, then it became clear who 'she' resembled.
She looked down at me as if she wanted to tell me she was disappointed in me. That I was a coward. Her eyes looked dead, as if all the lightbulbs inside her had been switched off. It made my hair stand on end.
"M-mom-"
"Trish?" Mom caressed my hair, I instinctively pushed it away.
Sh1t, why did I do that??
There was a long, uncomfortable pause.
"I know this must be hard for you. I know you wanted Avery...back. But I thought this would be a good opportunity for us to get away from everything and start again. I knew you bought this house because of some paranormal activity, and...I thought that, once you figured it out, you would come back to us. That you would forget about this and go to therapy...that's all I-" She sighed, uttering those words. It felt like she was self-soothing, saying that.
It made my blood boil. How could she say that? She says it like an obligation. Like an automated response.
I should've saved Avery instead of her...
My lips twitched at the thought. My fingers felt so cold, like they were going to fall off. I clutched my blanket. I gasped for air, but my chest felt heavy. I tried to breathe deeply, but the more I did, the harder it was to breathe. It felt like drowning again.
The thing became more and more opaque. More present. More conscious, like she was there to suffocate me with her judgment. Not anger, not sadness. It felt like disappointment. The way she looked at me like I was nothing, her dead eyes clouded and dull.
'She' didn't utter a single word, change her posture, and I already felt her choking me.
"You don't even love me."
I wondered in that span of a second what it would be like if she came back, if it was even possible. What would happen if she let go?
"Well...I'm sorry you feel that way. We can work on it." I heard her voice tremble. Did I make her cry?
I felt she deserved it for abandoning me.
"NO. We can't." I said as I focused on the creases on the dead woman's face. Her pale skin cracked and crinkled. The more moonlight that was focused on her, the more ghastly she looked. I wanted to shout and run away, but what?
"Because we can't work on it as long as you hate me."
The atmosphere felt heavy and unnerving, and I didn't stop staring into her dead, soulless eyes, judging me even as a ghost. It shows just how much she hates me, even as a remnant of her body. I finally understood the reason I wanted to open the door in the first place. I wanted her to stop feeling this way. I realized only Avery can pull us off sinking into this quicksand.
She's destroying what's left of me with whatever's left of her.
What else do I have to lose?
If she hates me anyway, I'm going to open all the f*cking doors. Every single one of them.
And I'm going to bring Avery back. Even if I have to drag her out of hell myself.