Fan Fears: A collection of fear based stories (22 page)

It was that that caused him to run. He lurched away from the door, taking the steps two at a time and almost losing his balance. It was only when he was back in the kitchen, where it was light and breathing was easy, could he relax. He sat at the table, still shaking and hating his mother for putting him in such a position. He hated her for it, the rawness of that particular emotion excitingly unfamiliar. He wouldn’t go through this again. Coming to this house, with its awful living ghost existing in the shadows upstairs waiting to snatch him. He just hoped she would understand when he explained it to her.

FOUR

“Sorry I’m late, the traffic was awful.”

Arnie’s mother kicked the front door closed behind her and struggled down the hallway with the carrier bags of groceries. She pushed the kitchen door open, preparing for the onslaught of complaining from her son. To her surprise, he was by the sink. He had just finished washing the few dishes that were on the side.

“What’s going on here?” she asked as she set her bags down on the table.

“You were right,” he said as he pulled the plug and the water started to drain away. “I should help more. I’m growing up now and it’s not fair of me to be selfish.”

"Thank you, Arnie, this means a lot. Did grandma wake up?"

He shook his head as the last of the water gurgled down the sink. He took the towel and dried his hands. “No. she didn't. I made her some soup, though."

She looked to the pan simmering on the hob, then crossed the room and kissed him on the head. “Thank you. Really. This is more than I expected. Why don’t you unpack the bags and I’ll take the soup upstairs?”

"I'll come with you," he replied as he walked over to the stove and stirred the chicken soup. "I have to get over my fear eventually, right?"

“Yes, yes that’s right," she said, unable to believe the change.

“You might have to carry the tray, though. I don't want to drop It,” he said as he poured the soup into a bowl.

“No problem. Team effort, right?”

"Right," he repeated. He put the bowl on the tray, grabbed a spoon out of the drawer and stepped back. "Alright, it's ready."

She kissed him on the head again and picked up the tray. Together, mother and son went upstairs side by side. Arnie no longer worried about creaking floorboards or making too much noise. He felt safe now, secure. Even as he went past the squared-off landing into the dark upper hall, there was no fear. He paused at the door and waited for his mother to catch up. She was still smiling, still happy. He hoped she would understand. He would have stayed downstairs, but curiosity had gotten the better of him. He was sure all the pills he had crushed up in the soup would be enough to do it. Even so, there was still one thing he was curious about. He wanted to see the old woman for himself, and how long the rat poison she was about to eat would take to kill the thing that he imagined living in her belly. Not long according to the packaging. Not long at all. He smiled as his mother came to a stop at the door. He returned the gesture, bright and happy, ghosts banished and horrors forgotten.  He opened the door, and then together, mother and son entered the bedroom.