Harmony House by Nic Sheff

Author:Nic Sheff
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2016-02-02T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 10

My dad went up to bed pretty early, thankfully, so I didn’t have to be too totally embarrassed by him in front of Christy and Candace and Mercedes. He did make me promise, before the girls got here, to try and spread the word of God and salvation to them. He gave me a big, long, crazy lecture about how I need to lead the flock and pass on the holy word to the poor sinners of the world and blah, blah, blah. I have no idea why he’s acting so totally insane these days. He even started proselytizing to the girls a little bit. Both Candace and Mercedes had guys they wanted to invite over, but after spending a little time with my dad, and I guess hearing about everything that happened last night, they called their respective boy toys and held them off.

So now the three girls and I have made up a big bed on the floor in the back sitting room, where there’s a TV and VCR. We have a fire going and we’re eating microwave popcorn and drinking hot chocolate.

The girls, surprisingly to me, had not seen The Silence of the Lambs, so we’ve started with that, and they all seem pretty freaked out. That storm really must be coming, too, because it’s raining hard outside and the wind is blowing the rain against the downstairs windows, making a rat-a-tat-tat sound over and over and over again.

On the television Anthony Hopkins has just ripped the prison guard’s face off with his teeth and the girls all scream and I laugh at them, but just ’cause they’re cute and obviously not into weird, dark shit like I am. There’s a pain in my stomach, cutting in, though, not related to the movie, that makes me feel dizzy and nauseous and I have to get up from where we’re sitting and go off down the hall to find the bathroom.

“Where are you going?” Candace asks me.

And Mercedes almost cries, “You can’t leave us here.”

I try to smile and say, “I’m sorry. I’ll be right back.”

And I go out of the room quickly, feeling the nausea rising up in my throat.

On my way to the bathroom, fighting the urge to be sick all over the floor, I hear an unfamiliar sound drifting in from the other room—the sound of a strange, rhythmic chanting—over and over—high-pitched—with something deeper and guttural underneath. I am chilled, so the nausea is momentarily forgotten.

The sudden cold makes my fingers numb.

That smell of pungent mold and mildew is almost palpable.

I pass through the foyer and the dining room and the reading library and the study, and the chanting and screaming and shrieking gets louder and louder. The house seems to swell and exhale around me—the walls and ceiling pushing in and drawing back. I wonder how the girls haven’t heard anything from the other room yet.

A fire is burning again in the living room fireplace—immense, bright, casting shadows like leaves falling from the trees outside.

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