18Chapter One: The new neighbor
It was a Monday, and Brian Anderson was hit hard by it. On a normal day Brian would get up for school in a gloomy manner and reluctantly but obligatorily get ready for it. But this particular Monday he found it unusually hard to rouse himself. Maybe it was because he had stayed up much too late the previous day; maybe it was because he had stayed up much too late the previous week, but this Monday he would have liked nothing better than to be able to sleep through the whole day right here in his bed. But he knew that he had no choice, so, halfheartedly, he turned off his alarm clock, got up, and dressed for school.
His Dad, Albert, was to be found in his parent's room, already fully dressed and ready for work. He wore a big smile as Brian walked by.
"Lovely day, eh?" Albert announced as a good-morning as he fixed his gray and white tie in the mirror. "Today is the day I get to start my new position as co-manager!" He added, as though he was bursting to say this and was hoping to find his son deeply surprised. But as he had reminded Brian about this promotion for the past week, Brian's countenance showed everything but surprise.
"I'm a little nervous, you see, but still . . . I can't wait to get started on the floors!"
"That's great, dad," Brian said feebly, not quite fully awake and not in the mood to talk to his dad at the moment. He was longing for his breakfast, having not eaten much the night before. Breakfast and coffee always made him better on Mondays; he felt it slowed things down and gave him time to get things in order while eating.
He found the cereal box already out and an empty bowl on the table and inferred that his nine-year-old sister was already awake and had already helped herself to breakfast. Brian groggily filled himself some cereal and was halfway through taking his first bite when he realized that he hadn't poured any milk. Taken aback by his own silliness, he found that the milk gallon was already on the table and, using his bad hand to grab it, sloppily poured some milk into his bowl, spilling a bit of its contents on the countertop by accident while doing so.
"You'd be a bit more careful, Brian—we're getting the new table next week and we're going to try to sell this one. It won't do to have you spill on it and dirty it up."
It was his mother, Sarah.
"Yeah, sorry, mom—wasn't paying much attention," Brian replied, noticing that she was wearing her nightgown still and her hair wasn't brushed yet, although she still looked characteristically pretty. Brian's mom had long blond hair that rolled down her neck and bright, blue eyes which she had passed on to Brian's sister; Brian, however, had carried his father's dark, brown eyes. She had a certain healthy look about her and it was obvious that she had spent many hours building her body, from her slender thighs to her small but well-rounded hips. She, too, gave Brian a smile, but it didn't have nearly the warmth that his Dad had given him. Her smile was more of a rather cursory, mechanical smirk that she threw at him while getting the orange juice bottle out of the refrigerator.
"Almost out of Orange juice—I just bought a whole bottle yesterday!" She exclaimed. She eyed him suspiciously, as if trying to find a guilty countenance, but Brian didn't meet her eye; he was distracted by something outside. There was a man standing in the middle of the road next to their driveway. He wore an old-fashioned trench coat that came all the way down to the ground, where it trailed off onto the street. He had a pale, expressionless face and dull grey eyes that yielded no depth. His nose was crooked. His hair, which seemed prematurely gray, came down to his shoulders. But what had drawn Brian's attention the most—what he found very unsettling—was that he was staring right into his eyes through their kitchen window. The man seemed motionless as he stared; he did not move but an inch, and Brian noticed that he had not blinked his eyes the whole thirty-odd seconds of staring.
"Who is he?" He asked his mom, pointing at the man.
"He must be . . . oh, I don't know—probably just the new neighbor, hon," she answered, her voice sounding farther away than it should have been; although she was standing right next to Brian, he could barely here his mother's voice.
"Wonder if we should go say hi. . . ." She added, and again her voice still far, far away. She had an ambivalent look in her eyes, but after staring for a few more seconds, seemed to come to a decision. She strode toward the door. She had extended her hand and it was just about to make contact with the doorknob when her son interrupted her.
"Don't touch it!" He cried. For some reason—a reason that he could not explain now and could never explain for his whole life—Brian got a very bad feeling about this man. He had never experienced such an ominous feeling like this in his life, but he felt like there was nothing that his mom could do that was more dangerous than to open the door right now.
"What?" His mom asked, perplexed. "Honey, I bet that he is feeling really lonely right now. He must have just moved in and is probably feeling nervous to meet strangers. We should welcome him." But Brian could not perceive any sign of nervousness in this man's face. In fact, there seemed to be no sign's of anything; the man just stood there, staring blankly into his eyes, as if studying him.
Brian had once before experienced something similar to this. It had been several years ago, when he was only eleven. He had been on an airplane trip to Hawaii with his parents, and they had first-class tickets. While on the plane he had met a man who sat to the seat adjacent to him and his family. The man, who looked in his early thirties, had introduced himself as Tobias Fletcher. The man had said that he was a gifted magician and could perform any magic trick that Brian desired. Brian, who was still young at the time and had always been fascinated by the supernatural, had tried to come up with the most intricate magic trick he could think of. Eventually, Brian ordered the man to make the plane stop moving. The man, without the slightest bit of hesitation, agreed.
The man had asked Brian that, in order for the magic to work, he would have to stare directly into the man's eyes. Just don't break eye contact, the man had told him. Keep looking straight into my eyes. Brian, who was still interested in seeing some magic, complied; their eyes met. Instantly he was taken aback by just how deep the man's eyes seemed to go. It wasn't as if he was looking into his eyes at all; it was as if he was staring down a well—a very deep, dark well that seemed bottomless. Time seemed to escape him; he could not recall whether he had spent five minutes looking into the man's eyes or five seconds—all he seemed to remember was how deep the man's eyes were. After staring for some time, an image entered Brian's head like a picture. It was first hard to make out what exactly was on the picture, but over time the picture became brighter, more perceivable, until Brian was able to see it quite clearly: it was a picture of a plane. It didn't take long for Brian to realize that it wasn't just any plane; it was their plane, the plane that they were riding on.. And, just as Brian had asked the man to do, the plane had stopped; it was suspended by invisible hooks in the picture, and there was no sign that it had been moving before the picture had been taken. There, the man had said, smiling. Just as you asked.
Spooky man, Brian had told his mother later that day. Spooooky man. And he now found himself in an oddly similar situation as he stared at the man out on the street.
Brian averted his gaze for a moment to pick up his now-soggy bowl of cereal and dump it in the sink.
"That's a big waste of milk and cereal, you know," His mom said in a tone of angry reprimand.
"I've lost my appetite," he said bracingly. He took one last glance out the window and saw that the man was still there, only staring at his mom now. Brian looked from the man to his mom. He had never seen his mom look so mesmerized before; her eyes, so often narrow and sharp, seemed to have widened, as if in fear. She looked so put-out that Brian thought that she would not be able to regain control of herself without his help.
"Come on," Brian said, walking in front of his mom and the kitchen window and putting a hand on his Mom's shoulder. "We have to get ready."
"What? Oh . . . yes . . . yes, I suppose we do…." His mom said slowly, coming out of her reverie. Brian waited until his mom stopped gazing at the man before hastening off to the bathroom. A quick glance at the kitchen clock told him that he had less than seven minutes to finish getting ready, and that replaced any consternations about the man in the trench coat; he had hadn't even finished getting dressed yet. He entered his bedroom and grabbed the first clean pants and shirt that he could find in his dresser. He then closed his door and started getting dressed in front of the mirror on his wall.
After he had finished, he continued to stare into the mirror. He saw himself, a fourteen year old boy, tall for his age, with messy black hair and a small, flattened face. Everything about his appearance looked the same as yesterday, except for his eyes: they seemed almost twice their usual size, and looked oddly blank. Brian put his hands over his eyes and rubbed them, in the same way he would rub them if he had some foreign object lodged in them.
"OUCH!" He wailed. The moment his hands had touched his eyes, he felt a burning sensation in them that was so fierce that it caused him to step backward and, still confounded, stumble over his laundry basket in his room. He fell backwards and banged his head hard on the bar of his bead. Stars swirling in his head and what felt like a lump formulating in the back of it, Brian heaved himself up. His eyes still hurt tremendously, but the throbbing sensation that was now pulsating viciously at the back of his head was distracting him from the pain in his eyes.
"Everything all right, Brian?" He turned around and saw his dad standing just outside the door to his room, a worried expression playing across his face.
"Oh, yeah—uh, fine." Brian stammered. "J-just fell over, that's all."
"Well, your mom says to hurry up or you're going to be late. She's taking you to school today, and I think that's very kind of her." Brian's dad gave his son a cynical stare before continuing, he though his son didn't deserve such gratuitous treatment. "You know, you're old enough to take the bus or ride your bike on your own, and I think you're lucky that your mom's taking you." Brian didn't bother arguing back; he simply nodded in agreement. When his dad's antagonism ceased, he roused himself from his daze and rushed to his closet to grab his backpack. He swung it over his shoulder and made to exit his room, but as he passed his Dad, their eyes met for the first time that morning, and Brian took an abrupt step back. He noticed that his Dad's eyes seemed much larger than their usual size, as if they were swollen. He also noticed that his Dad's eyes looked slightly bloodshot, giving them an odd maniacal look to them. His dad had an atypical angry look in his eyes. Normally he was bright and cheerful in the mornings—hell, he had been just a few minutes before, with his new promotion and all—but now his dad looked like he was about to kill someone.
Looks to kill, Brian thought amusingly, and gave a chuckle.
His dad met his son's gaze and stared back.
"What's so funny?" He asked, and Brian noticed that, as he said this, his eyes seemed to return a little back to their regular size, like a cat's claws would curl back into its paws after deciding not to attack its prey.
"Nothing," Brian said, stepping forward to exit once more. He turned to his Dad at the last second again, with a sudden thought.
"By the way, dad . . . how did you sleep last night?" He asked, in what he hoped was an innocent, curious tone.
Brian's Dad looked a bit shocked by the question. He looked at his son and said, to Brian's bewilderment, "Like a baby."
Chapter 2: School Troubles
Brian's mom was waiting for him by the doorway, keys in one hand and her purse in another. When he approached her, she shook violently and turned around. Brian noticed that she had been staring out the window.
"Oh, Brian—ready to go?" she asked. "I was just looking out the window for the new neighbor," she added, when she saw Brian's inquisitorial look.
"Is he still there?" he asked quickly, and noticed right after the words left his mouth that he had forgotten to conceal his worrisome tone. She looked at him skeptically and said, "Oh no, he's gone. I tried to say hello to him after you left, but he seemed to have slipped away. Why do you ask?"
"I'm just curious," Brian said. His mom ruffled his hair in an affectionate way. She then looked at her watch and said, "Well, let's get going, huh?"
"Yeah," Brian agreed.
Sarah Anderson drove a 2001 Honda Civic that was still in good condition. They had gotten a good deal when they had bought it and so far they had gotten almost a thousand miles on it.