Chapter 5 – Chap 5

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At the sound of the horn I turn to run back toward the ladder, colliding with Natasha who doesn’t react as fast. She falls to the ground, yelping in pain as her elbow crashes against the wooden flooring.

She starts to cry but I grab her arm and yank her upright. We have to get out of here.

I run to the ladder, tightly gripping my sister’s arm. She whimpers with every step but I don’t care right now. We have to get up the ladder and close the hatch before Uncle Curtis –

I hear the unlocking of the front door just as we reach the first step.

“Quick!” my hushed voice pierces the air; Natasha gets a small fright. I let go of her arm and begin to climb.

One step, two steps, three.

The front door opens.

Four steps, five steps, six.

Feet shuffle on the wooden floor above.

Six, seven, eight.

The front door closes tight.

Nine steps.

I’m up.

As I get off the ladder and leap to my feet, Uncle Curtis’ shadow creeps around the corner.

There’s no time left. I have to shut it.

I look down at Natasha’s worried expression. She’s almost up the ladder, but it’s too late. I shut the hatch door; she opens her mouth as if to protest but nothing comes out. I quickly pull the carpet over the door just as Uncle Curtis rounds the corner. The key remains in the lock; I block the slightly raised carpet by stepping in its view.

“Emily? What are you doing in here?” he asks, a concerned look plastered across his face.

“I – I’m looking for Tash. Have you seen her?”

“Well, no. I’ve just come home. Have you checked by the lake?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t want to look near your boat. You know, in case I broke something”, I try my best to stop the tremble revealing itself in my words.

“Well, I’ll have a little look. Let me just put this down.”

Uncle Curtis moves to the dining hall table and places down a rucksack he was holding and a bag he had slung around his shoulder. Then, he heads out the back door and I hear him begin to call Natasha’s name.

As soon as he’s out of sight, I lift the carpet off the door and pull it open.

Natasha is clinging on to the top of the ladder. Her eyes shoot up as I open the door; she’s terrified. I throw my hand out and swing her up. Then, I close the door and lock it before removing the key and pulling the carpet into place once more.

“I’m sorry. I had to,” I whisper, “Tash, quickly. Put this back.”

I hand her the key and she runs upstairs, one arm still clutching her elbow. As Uncle Curtis emerges I tell him I think Natasha is hiding somewhere upstairs, so he needn’t worry.

–

The rest of the day was uneventful.

We didn’t see Uncle Curtis much. Well, in fact, we avoided him like the plague.

What were those things down there in the cages? They looked like… like people. But they were so… twisted.

And their hair, their nails…

I’ve typed out a message to my parents about what we saw. I’ve typed it out a lot of times in a lot of different ways. But I can’t send it. I’m scared. I’m scared they won’t believe me, or that they’ll tell Uncle Curtis, or something. Instead, I’m going to investigate; maybe take a photo of what I find to serve as proof.

Natasha switches off the lights to go to sleep.

–

Sun light beams into the room. Morning.

For the first time since arriving here, I slept through the whole night. I guess yesterday took it out of me.

I sit up on my bed and am about to head to the bathroom when I realise something is wrong. I don’t know what it is, but it’s something in this room. My eyes scan the far wall and surrounding cupboards; it’s not there. It’s something… something closer. I look down at my bed sheets, my pyjamas, my slippers. It’s something here.

My eyes furiously scan my immediate surroundings. Natasha sleepily dazes at me before resting up on her arm, her face now showing concern. I must look mad, insane. Maybe I am.

What is wrong here?

My duvet, my slippers, my bag, my bed-sheet, my – my bed-sheet. Little traces of hair sit atop it – something that ordinarily wouldn’t alarm me but in this moment feels wrong. But that’s not all. What else?

Look, Emily. Look.

My – my feet. What’s wrong with them?

I pull my foot up onto my knee and closely inspect it. No cuts, no injuries, no discolouration – so what’s wrong with it? Just as I am about to give up, I realise.

My toenails. They’re – they’re different.

Not only do I feel they’re shorter than normal, but they’re all perfectly cut. Straight edged toenails along all five of my toes. No… all ten of my toes.

My fingers.

I look at my fingernails. They’ve been perfectly cut, similarly to my toenails; straight, almost expertly so.

“Natasha…” I murmur, “Look at your nails.”

Natasha’s scratches her brow; confusion. She does as I say. It takes her a while to realise it, but as she does she looks up to me with the same bedazzled look that I currently wear.

“Your toenails, too.”

Sure enough, they’ve been cut the same on her too.

The hair on my bed-sheet.

I leap up and run toward the bedroom door; I need a mirror.

As I burst through the door I collide with my uncle’s frame; sturdier than I would have guessed.

“Whoa, whoa there”, he says, “you needing the toilet bad, huh?”

I brush past him, saying nothing. I hear him begin to remark on my ‘needs’ to Natasha as I lock the bathroom door behind me.

It’s been cut.

My hair… I – I can see where it’s been cut.

I stare in the mirror in horror as my fingers trace along the top of my thinned hair. Much like my nails, the ends of my hair are straight; cut perfectly along their edges which rest against my lower back.

I let out a quiet whimper and exit the bathroom.

Uncle Curtis no longer stands by the bedroom door. I walk into the room to ask if Natasha’s hair has been cut too.

The bedroom is empty.

“T-Tasha”, I whisper. Where is she? Has he – has he taken her?

I frantically race down the staircase although I do not get very far before almost running into the back of my uncle who walks down the staircase in the same direction. In front of him, Natasha.

“Emily! You almost pushed me down the stairs! Are you okay this morning?” he asks, startled.

“Y-yes.”

“Hmm. Well, if anything is bothering you, let me know. I’ve made breakfast, your sister and I were just heading down to eat. You hungry?” he smiles.

“Yes.”

“Good, I’d say ‘race you down’ but I’ve seen how fast you are. You’d win against my old knees,” he laughs and continues down the staircase once more.

Natasha walks down too. I can only see the back of her head, but the straight edges of her hair tell me all I need to know.

Something is happening here. And we need to get out.