They end up having pancakes for dinner. The three of them eat in silence, Charon frowning at his own plate like it holds the secrets of the universe while dad ignores every outside input and just eats in rigid movements like a robot.
Moira is not hungry at all, but she knows that if she goes to bed without eating she will regret it in the morning, so she forces every fork in her mouth and dutifully swallows each bite.
It had been a tiring day. With the funeral and the terrible service at the church later, very awkward for all people involved. Moira is jealous over the fact that Charon skipped it, but the feeling tampers down after she remembers how sick he had looked.
When they had exited the chapel, he had been fine, still pale and shivering, eyes unfocused. But he had refused to eat anything else, saying he felt fine already, that breakfast must had made him sick or something.
Dinner concludes when dad cleans his plate and just gets up and leaves, plate and glass left in the sink and Charon and Moira are suddenly alone in the kitchen to finish their respective plates.
"Don't blame him too much" mumbles Moira after they had watched their dad leave in absolute silence, Charon turns to her and raises an eyebrow "It was terrible, Char. I think he feels guilty about the whole thing. All those people…they knew his dad better than him, that…that must hurt"
Charon has been quiet since Moira and their dad got home, but then again, he had been sick. He had looked terrible at the chapel and Moira perfectly understood if he just wished to go to sleep.
"Do you…do you feel better?" Asks Moira softly. Charon blinks and looks at her, then he smiles, a trembling one, and pats her head.
"Yeah…just…needed to get everything out" he says and returns his attention to his pancakes.
Moira's eyes widen in surprise.
"Did you throw up? Why didn't you say anything!?" She shout-whisper, trying not to bother their dad or grandmother.
"I felt better afterwards" says Charon, not bothered at all "Sometimes, you just need to get what's making you sick out to get better"
He smiles and Moira huffs at his nonchalance. They stay quiet as they tidy up the kitchen and when Charon is locking the front door and Moira turning every light off, she speaks up again.
"What's the plan for tomorrow? We need to go grocery shopping, right?" She asks.
"Yeah" nods Charon "We'll have to do that in the afternoon, since Dad is talking with the lawyer in the morning and we'll have to take care of grandma in the meantime"
Moira merely hums in response and follows her brother as they both climb the stairs to their bedrooms. They continue turning lights off and Charon pssts at her when she stands in front of her door.
"Maybe we could explore the town after lunch" He says with a smirk "Maybe finally go to the beach"
"Yeah" Answers Moira shyly "Goodnight"
"Goodnight" says Charon back, then, in a sing-song tone "Don't let the bedbugs bite"
Not bothering to acknowledge that, Moira enters her room, closing her door behind her and dropping backwards on her bed, the mattress making a loud creaking sound that makes her cringe, hoping the noise hadn't woken up her dad.
She sighs loudly and closes her eyes, just for a second, she will take off her dress after she breathes for a second.
She feels heavy, her body like lead sinking in the ocean, and just…like…that…
Moira falls asleep.
—————
>> Thunk…thunk…thunk…
The noise keeps going in a steady rhythm, like the sticks of a drum-set hitting the same beat over and over again.
Her body is sore and while she's unable to open her eyes, she knows she's sitting down, a strange pressure at her waist keeping her firm against the back of a chair, her hands forced behind it with what she thinks could be rope, her wrists burning from the friction against her skin.
She can still smell though—how does that make sense?—and the scent of iron and smoke clogs her nose enough to make her taste it in her tongue. Iron?…no, not iron…it's the heavy smell of shed blood, too much blood.
Thunk…thunk…thunk…
Another noise joins the constant beat, like breathing, heavy breathing, the one she would get if she tried to run a marathon. Cigar smoke joins the smell of blood and she chokes on it. More huffing, a strange pressure in her chest.
It takes her what feels like hours to realize it's coming from her. The huffing and puffing comes with sobbing and tears falling from her eyes—she can't open them…why can't she open them? Why is she crying? Why is she so scared?
Her whole body aches, her legs have fallen asleep and the static that climbs up her knees makes everything even more uncomfortable.
Where is she? How…how did she end up like this?
Where is the blood coming from?
Something hums behind her, like a person humming a tune to themselves, but it reverberates in her eardrums and in her stomach, too loud to be coming from a person.
The song is completely unrecognizable to her, but it still gets stuck in her head, looping too loud and too fast. It's painful, her head thrums and beats like a heart.
Thunk…..thunk...….thunk…
The noise was starting to fade out, the humming getting louder in her ears until she can no longer hear the different tones.
Until she feels a mouth close to her ear and a voice that whispers— <<
With a gasp, Moira wakes, her room still too dark to be morning.
She inhales sharply, still reeling from the dream, and turns in bed, her hand blindly tapping her bedside table until she finds her phone. Moira is blinded for a second when the screen lights up, she blinks a couple of times and then groans when she sees the time.
3:34
Terrible luck, she's sure of it. She closes her eyes for a minute until her bladder makes itself known and Moira decides it's time to empty it.
At some point during the night she had woken up and put on her pajamas, it had been a long time since Moira had sleepwalked, but it didn't surprised her too much, the new environment was probably stressing her out.
She rolls out of bed, the cold floorboards making her feel like she has stepped on a block of ice. Moira wastes time looking for her fluffy slippers, and when she finally finds them she shuffles to the bathroom as fast as she's able, using her phone as a flashlight to find the way.
The house creaks under her every step, even as she walks as slow as she's able. She's extra careful as she approaches her brother's door, and when she finally reaches it, she is surprised to find it open.
They had become accustomed to closing their doors at night after they had taken care of a foster dog—something Moira had insisted, wishing to convince their dad on the benefits of owning a dog, the experience had ended with chewed up couches and the constant smell of urine. Thankfully, the dog had ended up with a caring family, not their own, of course, her dad had just pointed at the destruction when Moira begged for them to keep the dog—So, even now they had become used to keeping their doors closed.
Moira freezes at the threshold, still in the hallway, but with a clear view of the inside of the room, the bed right on her sight and on it, giving his back to the door, sat her brother.
Moira gives into her curiosity and dares to point her light towards him and as she does, she feels something that resembles panic climbing up her throat.
His hair, as he always did to sleep, was tied in a loose braid over his back, the tip of it reaching his lower back. His back was bare and hunched over and it was…bloody.
Long scratches climbed from his hip to the middle of his back, crossing his back completely, like a lion had tried to maul him to death.
And it was bleeding…a lot. It pooled on the white sheets around him and some even dripped slowly on the floor.
Moira must have made a sound, because her brother suddenly straightens his back and very slowly turns to look at her over his shoulder. The pupil of his only visible eye reflecting the light like a cat's would.
She raises a hand, reaching towards him, her feet stuck to the ground. Just as her fingers graced the space between the room and the hallway, the door to the room creaks and slowly, on its own, closes.
Leaving Moira alone again in the hallway, staring at the closed door of Charon's room.
Moira blinks, once, twice, and, fully believing she was still dreaming, Moira continues on her path to the bathroom.