The Elm House by Paul C Skertich

Author:Paul C Skertich [Skertich, Paul C]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-06-19T22:00:00+00:00

Mary was slick as she covered Jesse’s hood over her eyes, so she wouldn’t see the crime-scene tape stretched out across the kitchen doorframe. As they exited out of the house, she uncovered Jesse’s hood.

“Peek-a-boo!” she said, giving a fake laugher. But not too fake, Mary seemed (slightly) genuine. Jesse giggled.

“Mommy, what are you doing?” she asked.

“Being silly, like you!” Mary said, kissing her on the nose.

After the family got inside their family vehicle, they drove off to Premo’s Ice Cream store. The family picked a local motel near Oak Lawn. When they entered their motel room, Jesse seemed to piece the puzzle together.

“Why are we in a motel?” Jesse asked, curiously.

“Dad found cockroaches, and they need to get rid of them,” Brad said, tickling his sister. “All those bugs crawling all over you.”

Jesse giggled.

“I didn’t see any bug,” she said.

“Are you sure?” Brad asked, looking inside her ear. “No bug here.” He checked the other ear. “Oh, my! There’s a bug in your ear.”

Jesse shook her head, smiling from ear to ear.

“No, there’s not!”

“I thought it was. But… it turned out to be a giant ball of earwax.”

“When are the bugs going to go away?” asked Jesse.

Brad shrugged.

“I don’t know.” He smiled, brushing her hair. “But when we’d get back… it’ll be bug free!”

Nice, Brad, very slick. But of course, Jesse already knew the truth in the back of her mind. Tiffany killed herself with the kitchen knife. The parents and Brad tried to pull the wool over Jesse’s eyes. But she’s too damn smart for her age. Brad could tell in the look of her eyes that she’d been played. But it was all for her own good, Brad and his parents had to make up a story. They had to move out, momentarily, until the crime scene cleaners cleaned the kitchen. So, they can move back home like nothing ever happened.

Images of Tiffany stabbing herself in her eye replayed inside Brad’s mind. The way her head slightly jerked as in a protest, kind of way. The way it seemed that Tiffany didn’t want to do it, but she was somehow forced to stab herself. How she couldn’t scream but grunt in agony each time the knife was slammed inside her eye socket. How many times had she stabbed her own self? It had to be nearly about fifty times or more. Brad stood there, in the doorframe of the kitchen, frozen stiff as a board as he watched his babysitter repeatedly stab herself. She didn’t scream, oh no, but Brad could tell she was in extreme agony. When she fell face-first on the kitchen tile floor, it sounded like a pumpkin smashed onto concrete. Now with that vivid memory, Brad wanted to vomit.

She wanted me to warn you all… the house is evil, Brad recalled Jesse saying inside her bedroom.

The house is evil.

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