1Carrie loved kids. In fact, she had decided that someday she wanted to work in child services. She already knew the university she wanted to attend after high school. While all of her other friends were anxious and paranoid about their futures, she was well into the new school year with determination plastered all over her face.
But a postsecondary education wasn't free, and so Carrie had had to find a job. And so she found two. She was a waitress at a local family restaurant and did babysitting on the side. Both workplaces suited her well, since she got to be around kids almost constantly. It was worth it, even if the chef at the restaurant was a bit perverted.
When given the choice between the two, however, Carrie would always choose the latter. Being directly in contact with kids who lived in nice houses and meeting all sorts of kind parents who paid well? No brainer. So it was no surprise that when Mr. and Mrs. Campbell called Carrie's mother on a cold Saturday afternoon in November and asked if her daughter would be interested in babysitting their son Derek for the night, she immediately told them that Carrie would love nothing more.
And indeed, Carrie was delighted.
The rather new, cream coloured house sat rigidly on a dead end street. Carrie didn't mind at all. At least there wouldn't be any cars roaring by or people chatting noisily as they walked down the sidewalks. The surrounding houses were all owned by rich, older folks who rarely ever came outside, or so Mrs. Campbell had said when she spoke to Carrie's mother.
It was exactly one minute to nine when Carrie arrived in front of the cream door with its paint peeling slightly at the edges. She smiled to herself as she reached up for the golden knocker that hung in the very center of the door.
Carrie was never late.
She paused a moment, the knocker raised, and checked her watch. Tick. The digital numbers changed from eight fifty-nine to nine o' clock. She smiled again and knocked soundly.
A moment of silence passed, the echo of the knocking filling the empty street. A few leaves blew by, synthesizing tumbleweeds. Then, the door was thrust open and a hand shot out, pulling Carrie inside.
The door shut.
A smiley woman stood in front of a mirror, trying to fix a necklace of pearls around her neck. She fidgeted as she did so, both hands fixing, one foot tapping. She wore a long, elegant dress that was as black as the night itself. Blood red lipstick glimmered in the hallway light.
"One moment, dear," Mrs. Campbell said, flashing a quick smile at Carrie, who stood on the welcome mat with her hands clasped in front of her. "Honey? Could you come help me?"
A short man appeared from around a corner at once. He was wearing a striking suit, the same colour as his wife's dress. His tie matched her lipstick, and his hair was slicked back so that his eyes bulged, making him appear almost ghoulish.
"Ah, dear. Let me fix that." He crept behind her and fiddled with her necklace for a moment, until both of them appeared satisfied. They stared into the mirror at each other for what seemed like a very long moment. Mr. Campbell's mouth twitched slightly at the corner, as if he were trying to smile.
"Oh my! Yes, young Miss Watson. I'm afraid I almost forgot you were standing right there." Mrs. Campbell turned to face her fully for the first time and Carrie noticed that her gray eyes were punctuated with crow's feet. "You are a very brave girl, working here on a Saturday night instead of playing it safe and hanging out with your friends."
Carrie smiled uneasily and shrugged. "It's no trouble."
"We must be going soon, honey." Mr. Campbell tapped his wife's shoulder and then looked at the door behind Carrie. His eyes never remained still. It was as if he had to make sure everything was in place before he left. In that moment of sporadic glancing, his eyes caught Carrie's. He smiled a shaky smile.
"Yes, of course." Mrs. Campbell kept her eyes on Carrie. "Just a few quick things before we go. Derek is in the living room. His bedtime is in half an hour, so try to make sure he gets to sleep quickly. He shouldn't be too much of a fuss. He'll want a snack before sleeping though, so I've left something on the kitchen counter for you to give him. Feel free to watch television once he's in bed. And here," she handed Carrie a small piece of paper, "is my phone number. Should you need it."
Mr. Campbell was already brushing past Carrie, his hand on the door handle. "All right, then. Let's be off."
Mrs. Campbell flashed a swift smile that faded just as fast. Then the two exited the house and the door clicked behind them.
Carrie ran a hand through her long, blond hair and shook her head a little. Never before had she run into such an odd couple. Taking off her boots, she turned the first corner out of the hallway and found herself in the kitchen.
Carrie crinkled her nose. The place was a mess. Filthy dishes sat in the sink, recently used cooking instruments lay stranded on the table in the center of the room and cobwebs hung in every corner. The only spot that had been cleaned off was a portion of the counter, which was dedicated to a small metal tray that presumably held Derek's bedtime snack; two cookies and a glass of milk.
A single, naked bulb lit the kitchen and forced Carrie to squint somewhat as she looked around. The urge to clean rose up instantly in her chest. She drummed the table with her fingertips and shivered a little at the sight before her, then decided it would first be best to check on Derek.
That would surely cheer her up.
She looked to the end of the kitchen, where a doorway-sized space led into another room. Flashing lights lit up the walls near the entrance, but the room beyond appeared dark. She walked towards it and peeked in.
There, on a single couch sat a small boy of perhaps six or seven years old. His tiny gray eyes were locked on the television that sat several feet in front of him. The lights in the room were off, and the artificial colours from the T.V. lit up his smooth face in blinking flashes.
Toys and workout equipment were scattered about the room, making it almost as messy as the kitchen. An empty plate from a meal past sat to Derek's left. Carrie felt that same, cringing desire to clean everything at once. Instead, she took a deep breath.
"Hello there," Carrie said softly so as not to frighten the boy, standing at the entrance still.
"Hello." His monotone response came without so much as batting an eye. He didn't look away from the screen.
"You must be Derek. My name is Carrie," she said.
"I know," he said.
She paused. "You know, it's almost nine thirty, would you like to have your bedtime snack now?"
"No."
Carrie blinked and then tried again, a little stronger. "Derek, I know T.V. is fun, but it's getting late. How about ... how about we clean this room up a bit and then go to bed?"
For the first time, her words seemed to elicit a stirring in him. He turned his small, dark head and frowned at her. "I'd rather not."
"But this place is filthy! Come on." Carrie felt a bit of exasperation take hold of her voice as she moved into the room, locating the light switch and flipping it. Nothing. She flipped it up and down a few times.
"It's broken," Derek said sullenly.
Abandoning the switch, Carrie strode further into the room to stand beside the couch. "Derek, it's time for your snack. I'm serious. You don't have to help me clean the room, but you do have to go eat and go to bed." She gazed down at him.
Slowly, he turned his head upwards to look at her and simultaneously tore his eyes from the screen. He met her stare with his own.
Carrie felt her heart leap.
Something inside of her screamed that this was wrong. Those grey eyes were frosted over with some sort of detachment. It was as if they had never truly seen, never felt warmth. They longed for something, but it wasn't joy. Whatever it was, Carrie knew she couldn't provide it.
"All right," he said finally.
She shivered. "Thank you."
Derek hopped off of the couch and brushed past her on the way to the kitchen.
Standing up straight, Carrie took another deep breath and closed her eyes momentarily. She shook her head and ran her fingers through her hair. Then, she searched the couch for the remote, finding it behind an old, half-finished jar of sauerkraut. She turned and pointed it at the T.V., about to change the channel when she realized what Derek had been watching.
Static. The screen was filled with snow. Black and white nothing burst and popped a million times a second, ultimately revealing nothing.
Carrie swallowed and pressed a button on the remote, changing the channel to some type of soap opera.
Leaving the room, she entered the kitchen to see Derek finishing off his second cookie and then draining the milk glass. He set the tray back on the counter with a little difficulty, since it was a fair amount higher than him, and then turned back to Carrie.
He laid his cold eyes upon her again. "Finished."
Carrie opened her mouth.
"And I'm not cleaning."
She sighed and shrugged, deciding to give up.
She followed him back to the main hallway and up a flight of carpeted stairs, passing a couple of cream doors before reaching an upper level with a closed door at the end of the hall. Derek approached it and opened it with a slight creak.
Carrie followed after him, pausing at the doorway. His room was no cleaner than the rest of the house.
He climbed up into his bed, the room dark. A moment. Then an eerie blue glow cast over everything as Derek flicked on a nightlight. He turned back to look at Carrie.
"You can call me if you really need me," she said. She tried a smile but she bet he could tell it was forced. Her throat felt dry.
Derek never looked away from her face, his own expressionless, saying nothing as she shut the door quietly. Then she raced as silently as she could back down the hallway, down the stairs and into the kitchen with the single bulb.
Shaking off the blanket of worry that shrouded her, she noticed again the disgusting state of the kitchen. She ran a hand through her hair and decided that tidying up might help her relax.
She was right. As she scrubbed and washed, swept and mopped, Carrie felt herself growing lighter. A joyful tune was soon playing in her mind as she put the finishing touches on the mass clean with an air freshener she had found in the cupboard. Standing back a moment, mop in hand, she surveyed her work. The place was immaculate compared to what it had previously been.
TAT. TAT. TAT.
Carrie started as her head swiveled to the source of the racket. Her heart had nearly leapt into her throat. Carefully, she moved over to the kitchen window to see a familiar face looking back at her from the other side.
"Roger! Keep it down, would you? The kid is in bed," she hissed as she lifted the window so that he could scramble in, then shut it and locked it tight.
Roger steadied himself with the table and grinned, his freckles seeming to shine in the dim lighting. Short, fiery hair topped his head and bright green eyes met Carrie's. He was a head taller than her, and his innate confidence made him that much more handsome.
"What? Isn't it worth the risk to get to see your boyfriend?" he mocked.
"Almost isn't," she said, giving him a fake, reprimanding look. "Come on, the T.V. is in here."
The two of them entered the living room again.
"Yeesh, they sure aren't too clean here, huh?" Roger asked, looking at the mess.
"Tell me about it," Carrie said. "You know I spent almost an hour just now cleaning that kitchen?"
"No kidding." Roger grinned at her and then looked back at the couch and shrugged. "At least it's something."
The two smiled at each other and then Roger took her hand in his, leading her over to the couch and clearing a space between the piles of stuff. As they sat down, Carrie noticed the imprint of where Derek had been sitting. Pushing the thought out of her mind, she ran a hand through her hair and picked up the remote.
"What do you wanna watch?"
Roger chuckled and coyly slid his arm around behind her. "I don't think it matters. But something loud would do."
She punched his shoulder playfully. "You are su-"
Her words lingered in the air a moment as her voice vanished with the kiss. She allowed her eyes to flutter shut as her hand found his, their fingers intertwining. His arm came down to her shoulders, tightening a bit around her.
Time seemed to halt, the world was only for them. The air thickened with lust as the kissing grew more and more passionate. The mechanical laughter of an old sitcom could be heard every so often between staggered breaths, Carrie's hands snaking their way to the back of Roger's head.
She could feel him growing bolder, more explorative. Her heart began to pick up considerable speed as a familiar sensation came over her, starting in her loins and shooting its way up through her body. His sturdy fingers were at the edge of her shirt. And suddenly cool air hit her skin as it began to lift ...
"CARRIIIIIIIIIE!" The unsettling yell came from upstairs. It was a sound that one could tell was not meant to be. The voice that it came from was not supposed to yell. The noise was off. Like the screech of a cow being dehorned.
The couple broke apart immediately.
"Jesus!" Roger exclaimed. "What the hell was that?"
Carrie turned her head towards the kitchen, her chest rising and falling as her breathing slowly began to even out.
"Derek," she muttered. "Hang on, I have to go check on him."
Roger sat back and grumbled, crossing his arms and staring contemptuously towards the kitchen.
"Don't worry, I'll be right back." Carrie smiled at him as she rose from the couch. "Promise."
Roger just nodded and with that, Carrie made her way towards the staircase. She looked back at her boyfriend once, seeing him there, staring after her with a look of unfulfilled lust. His eyebrows rose. She gave him a look and then began climbing the stairs.
Reaching his room in seconds, Carrie paused at the doorway. The feeling of arousal now all but gone, that same sense of eeriness threatened to swallow her again. Derek's doorway was much like the front door to the house, only the peeling of the paint was much more evident. She hadn't noticed this the first time.
Knocking once out of courtesy, she opened the door a crack and peeked in.
There was Derek, sitting still as a statue in the same position she had left him, facing her.
"Derek, is everything all right?"
"You forgot to tuck me in," he said with that same blank look. "Mother always tucks me in."
"Oh."
Carrie licked her lips and slipped inside the bedroom. As she did so, Derek pulled the covers back and moved under them. She walked over to the bed, which was cast in the nightlight's bluish glow. She pushed in the blankets surrounding Derek's body, until it appeared he was resting in his own casket. His eyes never left her face while she worked.
"There. All tucked in." Her voice was a bit higher than usual. She turned to leave.
"There's something else."
She looked back.
"Can you check under my bed for monsters?" Still, his little round face was impassive.
She hesitated. "Sure."
Moving back over to the bed, she knelt down beside it. She could feel Derek's eyes on the back of her head.
Slowly, she lifted the blankets that hung over the side.
At once, her eyes widened and her heart plummeted. A boy that looked identical to Derek lay huddled under the bed, his face filled with apprehension. His grey eyes met hers.
"Carrie, there's someone in my bed," he whispered.
Her heart pounding, Carrie let the covers fall back down. Looking up, she saw that the expression on Derek's face had changed.
A wide smile now spread across his face, his eyes bulbous with pleasure. He stared at her, never blinking. His head turned inhumanly to watch her as she backed up quickly to the door, shaking hands wrenching it open.
Tearing down the hallway, she pulled her cell phone from her pocket and the piece of paper that had Mrs. Campbell's phone number on it. Dialing it as fast as her numb fingers would allow, she listened.
We're sorry, the number you have called does not exist, a woman's voice stated.
She tried again. Same result.
Carrie bounded down the stairs and back into the kitchen. She could still see the outline of Roger in the darkened living room. As she darted through the clean kitchen, the single bulb burst. Tears welled in her eyes and uncontrollable shivers began to seize her body as the room was plunged into darkness, the only light coming from the window.
"Roger, Roger, Roger," she whispered the name hoarsely between quiet sobs, over and over as she reached the living room. The T.V. was still on, although the channel was now nothing but static. The white light flashed against Roger's statuesque silhouette.
"Roger," Carrie tried again. Hot tears rolled down her cheeks. She ran a shaky hand through her hair.
Turning stiffly so that he faced her, Roger's face was one of distilled horror. It sat upon his face like a painting, smeared yet solid. His mouth hung wide open as if disjointed, eyes popping and eyebrows raised. He stared directly at Carrie, his expression constant, as he began to stand up.
"ROGER!" she screamed now. All sense was gone. Her voice was the only one in the house, bouncing off the walls and echoing in empty chambers. "Roger, no! No! NO!"
The tears came harder, her vision becoming increasingly blurry as what used to be Roger started towards her. She backed up, unable to take her eyes off of his grotesque face. She felt herself bump into the table and something sticky seep into her shirt.
Whirling around, she saw that the entire room was oozing thick black liquid. It exuded from the walls, gurgled out of the table top, bubbled out of the sink and dribbled from the cupboards. It stuck to her like glue.
She screamed again and looked back to see Roger advancing, arms hanging loose at his sides. Between heaving sobs, Carrie clumsily pulled out a chair from the table, placing it in front of her. Her head whipping back and forth, she noticed a bunch of filthy kitchen knives hanging from a spot on the wall.
Sinking to the oozing floor, she held the knife in front of her. It quivered in her hands as she pointed it towards Roger. She could feel her mascara all over her face, her heart set to burst from her chest. As Roger picked up the chair and set it aside slowly, her head burned intensely.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Derek's head peek around the corner of the kitchen entrance. The same enormous smile was still etched on his face. And then he began to speak.
"There's nothing clean about me. And there's nothing clean about you. Let's spend eternity together once you're through and through."
Then he laughed, a horrible, cackling sound that shattered the night like gunfire. The ceaseless howling filled Carrie's ears, burrowed into her brain, absorbed into her skin. She screamed in agony, the pitch mixing with Derek's laughter in tyrannical harmony.
Roger closed in.
Carrie's shaking knife shook more.
In the ensuing moments, if Carrie had listened close enough, she might have heard the single, strained word: help.
The following day, Mr. and Mrs. Campbell's house was roped off by bright yellow police tape. The hearse had rolled off with two bodies inside of it. None of the old people who lived on the street were much help. Some of them said they hadn't heard anything, others said they heard something that sounded like a scream.
The parents were nowhere to be found. They had never returned to their suburban home on the dead end street. No credit cards, bills, or anything of the sort had been found that might have helped track them down. They were ghosts.
The only thing worth looking into was the tale the boy had told. Derek. He had said that his parents had left for the night, and that he hadn't wanted them to go. A nasty babysitter had come and treated him terribly. Then, her boyfriend arrived and the two got into a spat that ended with the girl stabbing the boy sixteen times (twelve in the chest, four in the throat) before butchering herself.
The boy had hidden in his room, scared to death.
Other than that, officers and detectives alike were puzzled. They continued to search in vain through the terribly messy house, though were focused mostly on the kitchen. For other than the blood which had been spilt from the teenagers, the entire room was spotless.
Almost like snow.