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Apr. 16th, 2005 04:52 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
amityville_sweetheartIt’s late. She can hear the clock ticking.
Corrine rolls over, Kinsey hopping from the bed at her sudden movement. He gives her a decidedly dirty look before exiting the room. She responds with a kitten-noise, and her head retreats under the blanket.
It’s a game, really, but only to her. She’s been playing it since she was a child. Hide under the covers when it’s dark, and see what you can hear that you normally wouldn’t be able to. She listens carefully. Tick. Tick. Tick. The clock. Eeeer-wooo. Eeeer-wooo. An ambulance on the street below. Cuusht. Someone closing the window in the adjacent apartment. “—not a second time!” The neighbor scolding his children playing in the hallway.
“Are you coming, or not?”
She blinks, tilting her head to the side curiously. That was too close. She listens harder. “Well, I’m not going to wait forever. I have places to be.”
Corrine realizes the noise is not outside of her apartment, but inside of it. She’s alone, though. Tentatively, she pokes her head out from under the covers. There’s a little boy on a big wheel in the middle of her bedroom. She finds herself wanting to be slightly disturbed by this fact, but it’s curious that she isn’t.
“C’mon, this way,” he says with a sigh, and pedals out into the hallway.
She follows. It’s the polite thing to do, isn’t it, when a strange child shows up in your apartment at—she glances at the clock—two fifteen in the morning? The apartment isn’t the same, though, she realizes as she follows behind him. His pedaling is echoing strangely through the halls that have become suddenly very gray. “Currrsh, currsh, currsh…” they echo. She makes a small sound. It doesn’t echo. Strange.
“Where are we going?” she asks, taking in her surroundings. There are big, metal doors lining both sides of the hallway. They must’ve been white at some time, but the paint is chipping.
“To find where it’s all going.”
“Where what’s going?” she asks, and it seems like a very stupid question.
It is, if the child’s voice is any indication. He stops pedaling. “The magic, stupid! Didn’t you read the memo? It was your thought.”
Corrine looks down. There’s a little yellow sticky-pad stuck to her shirt. It reads: ‘Something’s going on. The magic’s acting weird lately’. She shakes her head. “I meant to find out about that.”
“Well, lucky day for you, isn’t it?” he says, and continues pedalling. He’s a very rude child.
She can hear things, now, all sorts of things. There are people arguing, people whispering, people laughing and screaming. A phone is ringing. A fire is crackling. A dog is barking. She can hear the static of a movie theater reel starting up. She stops. It’s coming from a door. There’s little glass windows on all the doors. “Where are we?” she asks.
“Don’t look in the windows,” he says without stopping.
“But—“
He’s getting smaller and smaller in the distance. She glances to the left. It must be an old movie. She loves old movies, especially ones with Audrey Hepburn. ‘Maybe it’s an Audrey Hepburn movie. Then it won’t hurt if I take a little peek.’ She presses her face to the glass, using her pajama sleeve to wipe the grime and dinginess away. She can’t see anything at first, just the flicker of light. Then, slowly, her vision adjusts. She can see chairs. And there’s people, but she can’t make out the forms. Three or four people, tops. They don’t seem to notice her, or even know she’s there. She squints, trying to see if she can recognize the people.
“Don’t LOOK!” A deathly cold hand grips her arm, and she jumps away from the window. The child is giving her scolding eyes. “That is none of your concern. What did I tell you, huh? And people say children never listen. Come on.”
With a final look at the little window, she continues to follow him.
There’s no one else in the hallway. The lights are overhead are very dim. “Are we in a sanatorium?” She can see an abandoned medicine cart, overturned to her right. The wheels are spinning.
“Do you always ask so many questions?” He pedals around a corner, and she nearly trips over him. He’s stopped. “This is it,” he says, staring at the only exit or entrance to the otherwise dead-end. “Wait here.” He gets off of the big-wheel, pulling the big, metal door open and going inside.
Corrine waits. The hallway is very creepy. The sounds from earlier now seem very far away, but she can hear one voice above them all. She turns towards it, back towards the hallway. He told her to wait. She sighs, going towards the sound. There’s a window, now, where one hadn’t been before. She stands on her tip-toes, looking through it. There’s a parlor, and a little girl and a woman sitting at a fireplace. She squints. The little girl has bandages on her hand. The woman is crying.
“Again,” the woman says.
She looks around. She’s in bed. Sunlight is shining in through her blinds. The clock says 8:39. In her lap, is a note. “Next time, stay put.”
Corrine rolls over, Kinsey hopping from the bed at her sudden movement. He gives her a decidedly dirty look before exiting the room. She responds with a kitten-noise, and her head retreats under the blanket.
It’s a game, really, but only to her. She’s been playing it since she was a child. Hide under the covers when it’s dark, and see what you can hear that you normally wouldn’t be able to. She listens carefully. Tick. Tick. Tick. The clock. Eeeer-wooo. Eeeer-wooo. An ambulance on the street below. Cuusht. Someone closing the window in the adjacent apartment. “—not a second time!” The neighbor scolding his children playing in the hallway.
“Are you coming, or not?”
She blinks, tilting her head to the side curiously. That was too close. She listens harder. “Well, I’m not going to wait forever. I have places to be.”
Corrine realizes the noise is not outside of her apartment, but inside of it. She’s alone, though. Tentatively, she pokes her head out from under the covers. There’s a little boy on a big wheel in the middle of her bedroom. She finds herself wanting to be slightly disturbed by this fact, but it’s curious that she isn’t.
“C’mon, this way,” he says with a sigh, and pedals out into the hallway.
She follows. It’s the polite thing to do, isn’t it, when a strange child shows up in your apartment at—she glances at the clock—two fifteen in the morning? The apartment isn’t the same, though, she realizes as she follows behind him. His pedaling is echoing strangely through the halls that have become suddenly very gray. “Currrsh, currsh, currsh…” they echo. She makes a small sound. It doesn’t echo. Strange.
“Where are we going?” she asks, taking in her surroundings. There are big, metal doors lining both sides of the hallway. They must’ve been white at some time, but the paint is chipping.
“To find where it’s all going.”
“Where what’s going?” she asks, and it seems like a very stupid question.
It is, if the child’s voice is any indication. He stops pedaling. “The magic, stupid! Didn’t you read the memo? It was your thought.”
Corrine looks down. There’s a little yellow sticky-pad stuck to her shirt. It reads: ‘Something’s going on. The magic’s acting weird lately’. She shakes her head. “I meant to find out about that.”
“Well, lucky day for you, isn’t it?” he says, and continues pedalling. He’s a very rude child.
She can hear things, now, all sorts of things. There are people arguing, people whispering, people laughing and screaming. A phone is ringing. A fire is crackling. A dog is barking. She can hear the static of a movie theater reel starting up. She stops. It’s coming from a door. There’s little glass windows on all the doors. “Where are we?” she asks.
“Don’t look in the windows,” he says without stopping.
“But—“
He’s getting smaller and smaller in the distance. She glances to the left. It must be an old movie. She loves old movies, especially ones with Audrey Hepburn. ‘Maybe it’s an Audrey Hepburn movie. Then it won’t hurt if I take a little peek.’ She presses her face to the glass, using her pajama sleeve to wipe the grime and dinginess away. She can’t see anything at first, just the flicker of light. Then, slowly, her vision adjusts. She can see chairs. And there’s people, but she can’t make out the forms. Three or four people, tops. They don’t seem to notice her, or even know she’s there. She squints, trying to see if she can recognize the people.
“Don’t LOOK!” A deathly cold hand grips her arm, and she jumps away from the window. The child is giving her scolding eyes. “That is none of your concern. What did I tell you, huh? And people say children never listen. Come on.”
With a final look at the little window, she continues to follow him.
There’s no one else in the hallway. The lights are overhead are very dim. “Are we in a sanatorium?” She can see an abandoned medicine cart, overturned to her right. The wheels are spinning.
“Do you always ask so many questions?” He pedals around a corner, and she nearly trips over him. He’s stopped. “This is it,” he says, staring at the only exit or entrance to the otherwise dead-end. “Wait here.” He gets off of the big-wheel, pulling the big, metal door open and going inside.
Corrine waits. The hallway is very creepy. The sounds from earlier now seem very far away, but she can hear one voice above them all. She turns towards it, back towards the hallway. He told her to wait. She sighs, going towards the sound. There’s a window, now, where one hadn’t been before. She stands on her tip-toes, looking through it. There’s a parlor, and a little girl and a woman sitting at a fireplace. She squints. The little girl has bandages on her hand. The woman is crying.
“Again,” the woman says.
She looks around. She’s in bed. Sunlight is shining in through her blinds. The clock says 8:39. In her lap, is a note. “Next time, stay put.”
