08 – Freya

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“So,” Chuck said. “You’re really a wimp after all. Shouldn’t have told me you wouldn’t hurt me, wimp.”

“I said I don’t want to hurt you,” Trystyn said, “but try anything, l’ll keep my promise and you’ll spend the rest of your life drinking dinner through a straw.”

The Caretaker pulled them apart. “That’s enough, you two. We get it, you’re tough. Get over it.” He pulled out a mop and bucket. “Now, boy and girls, I only have one of these so you’re going to clean the floor in shifts. I’ll go first to show you what to do and you lot take it from there.” He pointed to the wall. “Everyone who’s told a story line up there.”

Everyone who’d told a story lined up where he pointed. Everyone else took a place after them. The Caretaker shook his head when Chuck and his goons took the last place and sent them to the middle of the line. The girl they were behind sighed in relief.

“Your name’s Freya, right?” the Caretaker said. Freya nodded and he smiled. “Well, Freya, since you’re last in line, you can tell the next story”

Freya’s Story

Our town is small and surrounded by farms. Lots of families here hire transient workers, so we often get a lodger for a season before they move on. That’s why when the tall, pale stranger knocked on our door, asking about a room, I called mum like usual and left him to wait. Despite the chill, he stayed outside. They usually they wait in the foyer.

“May I come in?” he asked her.

“Of course,” she said, “we can’t have you waiting out there in the cold.”

She took him to the kitchen and they talked about money or something. I wasn’t interested, not when the latest update of my favourite game had finished loading.

An hour later, she introduced me to our new guest, a Mr. Shush. He had a night position, didn’t say where, and was only looking for a place to sleep during the day. Everything else, he assured us, would be taken care of by his employers.

Mum showed him up to the guest room, apologizing for her repeated yawns, like she could use some sleep herself. She gave Mr. Shush a key and said she’d have his drink waiting for him when he got back from work. I asked her to pick me up a coke if she was heading to the store for him.

After school the next day, I saw mum in town. She’d already spent Mr. Shush’s deposit buying herself a pair of long velvet gloves.

Aren’t they lovely?” she said.

“Sure.” I didn’t want to tell her she looked like grandma. “They’re great, real classy.”

For the first time since I can remember, she wasn’t worrying about the bills, and she even started giving me regular pocket money instead of loose change she found in her pockets, all thanks to Mr. Shush.

Yet despite the change he’d made in our lives, he never joined us for dinner or breakfast or anything, really. I don’t think I even saw him after that.

The only clue he was living with us was a complimentary glass of tomato juice mum would leave outside his door before she went to bed, and again after she woke. She also bought more long gloves, one in every colour.

A few nights later, I noticed a bat outside my room. They weren’t uncommon here but I’d never seen one up close. It hung upside down right outside my window, facing in.

I snapped a photo on my phone, but the flash scared it off. Bats must move fast because it wasn’t in the picture, but it returned later as I was getting into bed. Call me paranoid, but the thought of a creepy rodent watching me sleep wasn’t all that appealing, so I closed the curtains first.

Later that night, I was woken by the sound of mum shuffling across the carpet. Her eyes were open but she wasn’t really focusing. She seemed so pale in the light from the hallway. Was she sleepwalking? And why was she still wearing those gloves?

She tugged the curtains back and looked out the window. My bat friend returned and she smiled at it before shuffling back to her room. I shook my head and went back to sleep. Mum clearly needed to relax more.

I woke again before dawn, needing to use the loo. The sudden movement must have scared the bat, because it launched itself away from my window. Curiously, another bat, maybe the same one, landed outside the bathroom when I went in. Maybe one was the wife.

On the way back to my room I caught my mother shuffling into our guest’s room. I followed her in, thinking he probably wouldn’t appreciate a sleepwalking old woman rummaging through his belongings and pulling down his curtains.

“Mum, come out, this is Mr. Shush’s room,” I said.

She turned to face me and pointed to a glass. “I’m just pouring our guest some tomato juice, sweetie. Go back to sleep.”

I gave her a half asleep nod and turned away just a thought hit me. I hadn’t seen a single tomato juice carton in this house, ever. I looked back. Mum’s finger was poised over the cup, and it wasn’t pointing to it. A long cut in her finger bled into the tumbler, filling it fast.

The sound of Mr. Shush walking up the stairs behind me caught my attention. Before I could say anything, he walked past me with a polite nod and took the glass from mum.

That’s very thoughtful of you,” he said, and downed it.

Mum ushered me out and closed the door. She put her gloves back on with a smile and told me she was going to make breakfast. When she left, I chanced a peek through Mr. Shush’s keyhole. He was hanging upside down in a darkened room, like a bat. I made a mental note to keep my curtains closed from now on.

The thought of bats watching me sleep creeped me out after that, but when I woke to find the curtains I closed open again, and my mother a little bit more pale every morning, I can’t help but think something is terribly wrong.

And Mr. Shush is still living in our house, still drinking my mother’s blood.