7:00 PM, Midnight (Chapter 2)

Saturday, December 14, 2024

A persistent thudding woke me up.

That being said, I was already half awake. The bedroom faced east, so the sun's light had been shining into my eyes for the last few hours. But it was the thudding that woke me. I sat up, my eyes bleary and the duvet moist with sweat. I wasn't quite sure at this point whether the thudding came from outside, or from my head. The room was muggy; the window seemed to be wafting warm air in rather than letting it out. I pulled out my notebook from underneath the pillow and started writing. I had a lot to get down.

Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.

It came from so far away, but I could swear it shook the floor as it went.

Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.

Probably a neighbour doing early morning roof work or something.

Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.

Tosser.

I suppose I should tell you about this. About me. I don't know, you're reading my notebook so I assume you know something about me; otherwise what are you doing with it, you creep?

Fine. Don't worry, I'll tell you. But only because it'd really annoy that cow Ms. Wilson.

Ms. Wilson is my counsellor. Or was my counsellor at any rate. The school assigned me to her because they thought I was "troubled". That meant I was quiet and didn't have any friends, which meant they panicked and thought I was either going to kill some kid or myself. As a result, me and this poncy old hag who looked about ninety would sit in a cramped little storage cupboard plastered with weird leaflets about puberty, talking about "my feelings", and "mindfulness", and other stuff like that every other Tuesday. We both hated it. It's just that she was paid to hate it, so sadly we couldn't stop.

At the end of our second to last session together, I finally told her I was moving away. I could tell she was relieved. Then, during our very last session, just three days before I left, she gave me this notebook. She wanted me to write down everything about the new place and keep it close to me, so I never forgot how lucky I was to have it. I remember that moment vividly; it was the last time I would ever see her, and she still managed to hit me with one last sucker punch of BS before I left. I still took the notebook. I don't know why, it wasn't like I'd done anything else she'd told me before. It was her last wish, I guess. 

So that's that. I hope she's happy now. I just hope she's happy as far away from me as possible.

Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.

I got out of bed at around 10:00 AM and put some clean clothes on. They were slightly damp; that didn't bother me though. I'd rather wear wet stuff than smell whatever was on yesterday's clothes again. As I grabbed them, I noticed through the window that the car had gone. Dad must have left early to grab some groceries. I grabbed the wash pile I'd thrown into the corner last night, holding it far away from me as I forced the door open, and made my way down the creaky stairs to have a proper look around.

I had to look strangely hard to find the washing machine. I eventually found it in the kitchen, tucked away in an empty larder which for some reason had a door in it, presumably leading to the back garden. As for the kitchen itself, it was barebones. A sink, a fridge, some torn up wooden cupboards that smelled vaguely metallic, and an oven that seemed to constantly radiate a feverish heat. The fridge was empty. The cupboards only seemed to have flies in and the only contents in their drawers was the cutlery that we'd brought ourselves. The door in the back of the larder was locked.

I threw my filthy clothes into the machine and tried to get it to turn on, but I couldn't do anything. In fact, nothing seemed to work at all. I assumed they'd all been unplugged so as to avoid a power surge, but I couldn't find any sort of plug socket in the walls. I tried pulling the fridge out to see if it covered anything up, but it wouldn't budge. I eventually just gave up and shut the door with a loud click, telling myself I'd just wait for the power to come on; the thudding was probably just the grid being worked on down the road.

Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.

I left the kitchen with a strange urge to look around the rest of the downstairs. I don't know where this urge came from though, seeing as it was pretty much empty. The bookshelf in the living room didn't even have any books in it. It just sat there, giant and empty, towering above me. It was almost too big for the room. I hated it. I don't know why. For some inexplicable reason I just despised it. Sat there, taking up space, not even fulfilling its simple purpose. I clutched my notebook tighter, and backed into the rocking chair facing the telly. It was warm, and sitting down I noticed it was far too big for me. It hardly even rocked. I decided to stand instead.

The telly was dated, sitting on a wobbly tripod that looked like it could collapse at any moment. The front was a sickly brown, framing a small square screen that bulged out uncomfortably from the main body. It looked damp. There was nothing else on the front; no dials or speakers or anything like that. A weedy little pair of antennae sat on top, giving off a deep, piercing whine. The noise fluctuated regularly, dipping and peaking in pitch as it went. I moved away instinctively; my head was beginning to ache. Goosebumps prickled across my arms. I took a breath I hadn't realised I'd been holding. It smelt of burnt dust.

Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.

I wanted to go outside. I picked up my notebook from the chair and put on my trainers, still caked in muck from the field. I went through the front door and sat on the steps. The sky was grey, but I felt the heat on my face as I wrote. It felt nice. I don't know why. The driveway was dusty. Every so often a slight gust of wind would pass over, scattering the grit across the grassy edges of the path and kicking up a little cloud that would float along the wind before fading away. I walked down the steps and along the path, no particular destination in mind. I just wanted to get away from the house.

The heat beat down on me as I walked, only slightly cooled by the sweat running down my back. The dust clung to the filth on my trainers, coating them in a thin layer of reddish dirt. I kept walking, coming to a crossroads at the edge of the path. On my right was a long line of shiny tarmac that started flat, before taking a sudden uphill climb. The tall ivory building I saw from the field stood at the top of the hill, standing tall before the sun. I couldn't tell what it was last night, but I could see it clearly now. A church. High above the village and blotting out the sun behind it. I shivered in the warmth. Churches had always freaked me out, and this one was no exception.

I went left toward the village, trying not to think about it. The tarmac wobbled in the heat, its surface riddled with potholes full of murky water. I closed my eyes, listening to the trees rustling in the air. I heard a crow screeching above me, and I looked up to try and find it. I eventually saw it floating in the sky, circling the village. Looking for prey. I didn't think it would find anything; it was the first animal I'd seen since moving, alive or dead.

The road was long and flat. It couldn't really tell whether or not it wanted to be tarmac or dirt, so it kept flitting between the two. The dirt parts were dusty and the tarmac parts were sticky. Both made my feet ache. The sun shone hard on my back and neck. My underarms were soaked in sweat, and my shirt stuck to my back. I was tired. I hadn't even walked that far. But I kept going. I don't know why. It wasn't like I was desperate to get to the village. I think I just wanted to stay away from the house. Something about it just didn't sit right with me. I walked for a while more, thinking about taking a rest somewhere, when I saw it. Peering out from a descent in the hill. A small round cluster of buildings and tarmac surrounded by a ring of dead grass. Thurton Quay.

It loomed over me as I approached, swelling out from under the hill as I walked down the road. There wasn't any sort of welcome sign. The concrete pavements cracked in the heat, oozing out the rainwater from last night. It splashed as I walked across, washing the dust from my trainers. The mud from the field began to flake off too, dyeing the stagnant pools a sickly shade of green. I looked around; it was like a ghost town. Not one person walked the streets. Various unmarked buildings sat within the circle of road, their silhouetted figures shining against the burnt orange sky. The road had no markings. No building seemed to have any sort of importance; they just lay around, facing any way they liked, not adhering to any sort of logic. It felt eerie.

On the other side of the street was another road that branched out from the centre of the village in a small sort of oval. Houses lined the inside of the ring and seemed to follow it from where it started. I crossed over to take a better look at them, not bothering to look both ways; it was so quiet I would've heard a car start from the other end of the village. The tarmac must have been quite fresh, because the road sank slightly beneath my feet as I walked.

The houses at the other end of the street were totally bare; crumbling white walls framing curtained windows that shone red in the sunset. I went to an open porch and pressed the palm of my hand against the door. Its dark red wood felt soft against my skin. A warm wind ran through the lane, rustling my hair and whistling through the roofs of the houses surrounding me. I pulled my hand away. It stuck slightly to the door. I backed away until I reached the middle of the road, looking up through the lane. It stretched onward. I walked along the side of the road, looking at the houses as I went.

The house I started with had an open porch with a red door at the left accompanied by two windows above it and a window to its right. The windows were obscured with curtains. The outer walls of the houses were all old, crumbling slightly, the white paint flaking off and leaving grey patches behind. The lawns were unkempt and the driveways had no cars in them. All of this was topped off with the same thatched roofing that every house shared.

Just like the previous house, the next one had an open porch with a red door. The same windows surrounded the porch, two above and one to the right. They were hidden with curtains. The paint on the walls flaked off onto untrimmed lawns and empty driveways. It had a damp thatched roof on top.

An open porch with a red door inside. Windows with curtains all around it. The walls crumbled. No cars in the driveway. And a wet thatched roof to finish it off.

Open porch with a red door. Windows with curtains. White walls that crumbled. Greasy roof.

Open porch. Red door. Curtained windows. Crumbling walls.

Open porch. Red door. Curtained windows. Crumbling walls.

Open porch. Red door. Curtained windows. Crumbling walls.
Open porch. Red door. Curtained windows. Crumbling walls.
Open porch. Red door. Windows. Walls. Porch. Door. Windows. Walls. Porch. Door. Windows. Walls. Porch. Door. Windows. Walls. Porch. Door. Windows. walls. porch. door. windows. walls. porch. door. windows. walls. porch. door windows walls porch doorwindows walls porch door windows walls porch door windowswalls porch door windows wallsporch door windows walls porchdoorwindows wallsporchdoor windowswalls porchdoor windowswallsporch doorwindows wallsporchdoorwindowswalls porchdoorwindowswallsporchd oorwindowswallsporchdoorwin dowswallsporchdoorwindowswallsporch

doorwindowswallsporchdoorwindowswa llsporchdoorwindowswallsporchdoorw indowswallsporchdoorwindothudthud thudthudtHUD THUDTHUDTHUDTHUDTHUDTHUDTHUDTHUD THUD THUDTHand always that same greasy black thatching to end it all.

I turned around and started walking back.

I wanted to go home.

The sky was black. Thick clouds blotted out the stars as the sun set, the last of its bloody rays falling away as it sank behind the hill. The air was a little less hot now, although still far too warm for December. It took about an hour to get home; every time my eyes adjusted to the dark, the clouds overhead would flash with lightning and blind me into shuffling forward in the black until I could see again. Every few seconds a light breeze would roll across the road, cooling me down a little as I made my way back to the house. It smelled bitter, like rotting apples. I looked at my watch then up at the sky. It was 7:00 PM. It felt so much later.

Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.

I got back to the house at around 7:30. A thin beam of light leaked from the edges of the front door, so I knew where to go. It also meant I knew for certain that the power grid had indeed been fixed, despite that loud thudding continuing. The Ford was parked in the driveway next to the path, so Dad had come home. My eyelids got heavier and heavier as I walked to the house, and as I struggled to find the handle to the front door I realised how exhausted I was. The warmth and the dark were making me incredibly sleepy, and by the time I had wrestled the door open I felt like I was dropping off as I stood. But the weak light of the living room blinded me as I entered, waking me up with a nasty start. I stumbled to where I thought the door to the stairs was, trying to shield my eyes from the light as they adjusted. I could hear Dad snoring nearby, his breaths partially drowned out by a loud static whine emanating from somewhere near him. He must've fallen asleep watching the telly. Lazy bastard.

I mumbled my goodnights as I opened the door and climbed up the stairs. Despite how dark it was upstairs, I quickly found the door to the bedroom and went in, cringing at the sudden wave of heat. Without a second thought, I peeled my clothes off and climbed onto the bed, not bothering to get under the duvet. I was asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow, my notebook still in my hand.

Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.