I thought he was talking about Mom, who was acting like she didn't leave me in the middle of nowhere and didn't even apologize for her actions. She was probably the witch from Hansel and Gretel, but if she wasn't cooked in the oven,. I once wrote that in my school essay, and Mom cried, so I stopped calling her that.
Finn was right; it's not worth biting the hand that feeds you.
"Yes, I also think something is off," Mom said it in a hushed tone. That makes more sense, I guess.
She chimed in, "Maybe we should use healing stones."
"When has that ever worked?" we laughed as we scrubbed the horrors of the wall. Maybe this was the cleansing process. We needed each other, and we had each other. So, there was hope here, right?
Right?
----------
The knock was loud and incredibly obnoxious. We had all been dozing off from the drowsiness. Kiara fell asleep through half of the scrubbing that she clutched that messy teddy so hard the cotton poured. We didn't even bother going upstairs to explore the halls and sleep in the bedroom. Why bother? Dad slept before he could even start. I covered her with some blankets in our car. Believe me, I wouldn't have done it if it wasn't for my little sister. That forest doesn't get better the more you look at it. Quite the opposite, actually.
Even through the biting cold, we found a way to sleep. I guess it runs in the Wallace blood.
"Mom, wake up; someone's at the door." I shook her. She didn't respond at first, but by the second bang, she woke up, startled.
"Wah!"
"Mom, I think someone is knocking at the front door." It's a good thing I locked the door because I got a weird feeling down my back about the person (?) knocking on the door.
The old oak door stood as a testament to time, weathered but unyielding. Its thick wood, once a rich brown, had faded to a muted grayish-brown, marked by deep grooves and knotted patterns that tell stories of decades gone by. The surface was rough to the touch, with a few cracks and scars from years of exposure to the elements, yet its solid weight and sturdy frame remained unshaken. A heavy iron handle, worn smooth from countless hands, hung firmly, reflecting the door's enduring strength.
"What? Who could knock at our door at this ungodly hour??" She peered at her watch, which read 00:00. What an odd coincidence (?).
"I don't know, packers and movers or something?" I shrugged.
"They said they'd drop it off in the post office; it's not them," Dad said, his voice gruff.
BAM! BAM! BAM!
"uwah!" Kiara hid behind me. The knocks were calculated and quite precise. It was like they did it to scare us.
"WHO IS IT?" dad demanded.
There was no answer.
"That's it! I'm going to check it out!" I paced to the door. "What? This boy is crazy!"
"Young man, you will do no such thing." Mom said it in a harsh whisper.
"Don't go, Trish; they might be trying to rob us!" Kiara cried.
I didn't think it was robbers. The windows were a mock-up; one could easily sneak in and steal stuff, if there was any stuff to steal. Maybe it was an animal, like a monkey or gorilla?
Whatever it was, I was getting tingles in my spine, and the whole situation made me skeptical.
I slammed the door open, hoping to get it the hell over with.
"Who is it?" They peeked out.
"No one." Everyone rushed to the door.
Nobody. There was no one. Nothing, just vast darkness and the shadows engulfing us.