If The Gravestone Could Speak #1-3

“Oh, it’s only mother,” he whispered to himself, relieved as he heard her soft footsteps coming up the stairs.

Running a hand through his dishevelled brown hair, Alex returned to the welcome embrace of his pillow, determined to sleep once more. It was late, and tomorrow was the first day of a new school year. After an hour of tossing and turning though, he gave up, accepting that he would be tired in the morning. Another noise put his senses on alert, coming from the room once occupied by his grandmother. It reminded him of the scary stories his father used to tell, of demons and ghosts that lurked in the shadows of their four bedroom, two story house. The family home had originally been owned by Alex’s great-great grandfather, and then passed down the generations since. There were also rumours that the house contained hidden rooms and secret passageways, yet in 15 years, Alex had never found one. It wasn’t for a lack of trying; his father had been searching for twenty years, since inheriting the house from his mother. Both Alex’s parents had lived in Hellraite most of their lives, growing up in the town and only leaving briefly to live in Chicago. Mrs Graham had been in labour with Sam, Alex’s older brother, when his father had received a call from their lawyer, explaining that the house was theirs. They had left their tiny one-bedroom apartment immediately, and moved back without a moments hesitation. In truth, they didn’t have a choice. The apartment paled into insignificance against the house.

Sitting up and lifting his arms aloft, Alex stretched the slumber from his muscles. The alarm clock bedside his bed read 4am, far too early to be getting up. _I’ll get a drink, _he thought casually, _just to stretch my legs. _Standing, he opened his door slightly and crept out, tiptoeing across the landing and down the stairs. The house was generous in size, with two bathrooms, one on each floor, a huge kitchen, and large garden where he and his brother could play. It was as Alex reached the bottom step of the stairs that he cursed himself; he’d forgotten his slippers, and the cold tiles of he kitchen floor would turn his feet to ice. Reaching the fridge was no easy task, hopping three tiles at a time to avoid cold feet. A white glow lit the room as he pulled it open, a bright contract against pitch black. A flicker of movement from outside drew his attention, the big bay windows to his left offering a perfect view of the front garden. Although he couldn’t see anyone, the feeling of being watched wouldn’t leave, and then he saw it. In the darkest part of Crowver Street, stood beside a post box with the number 27 painted on it, was a broad shadow, outlined against the night. Whatever it was, it felt dangerous. Alex took a step back, oblivious to the tiles against his feet as he felt the heat of the shadow’s stare.

“Alex,” called someone from upstairs, “Alex, is that you downstairs?”.

“Ye...Yes.” he replied shakily, tearing his eyes away from the window.

When he grew the courage to look again, the shadow was gone. Sprinting through the kitchen, he leaped up the stairs and into the open arms of his mother. She had been leaving the bedroom down from his, his grandmothers’ old room.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, concern etched across her face.

“Oh, nothing mum; I... I needed a drink. That’s all”.

It was only as his mother ruffled his hair and sent him off to his room that Alex realised he’d left the drink in the open door of the fridge. He was thankful that she had been working late, not sure how long he’d have stood staring out of the window if she hadn’t called his name. As a Chief Physician at the local hospital, she worked late often, and would arrive home in the early hours of the morning. Despite the long hours though, she loved her job, remarking how useful it was working in a hospital when she had two boys at home that loved fighting each other. Alex’s father, many years before, had met Mrs Graham on route to the Hellraite hospital, but she was only a nurse at the time. He had fallen at the building site his firm were working on and been impaled by a large iron rod. Three Centimetres to the left and the iron would have pierced his heart. Having no choice but to remove it, or risk infection, she had pulled it free in the back of a speeding ambulance. So overcome with emotion and adrenalin, he had asked her to marry him right then, the curved scar on his chest a constant reminder of their first encounter. At least, that was the story he told friends around the dinner table.

When Alex awoke the next morning, it was with puffy red eyes and something furry sat on his pillow. He didn’t remember falling asleep again, only getting back into bed after giving his mother a cuddle. The sun was still low in the sky, but a beautiful orange hue was visible through a split in the window blinds.

“Ah, get off!” he snapped, shoving an old looking tabby cat off his pillow and onto the duvet.

The family had inherited three of them from his grandmother, and also a dog that was on its last legs too. The cats, especially, loved playing tricks on Alex. They’d make all kinds of noise running around the house, scaring him into believing his father’s spooky stories. When Alex was ten, one even managed to convince him that a ghost inhabited his grandmothers old wheelchair. He’d heard the squeaking wheels whilst walking upstairs, and saw the bedroom light flicker on, but when his parents pushed open the door, the room was dark. The only movement at all came from the smug little cat as it pranced out of the room and into another.

“Go on, shoo”. With a swish of its weathered tail, the cat jumped off the bed and shot him a stern look, eventually stalking out of the room in a huff.
“Stupid cat,” he muttered, head heavy after such little sleep.
A loud pinging sounded from the laptop sat on his desk; only one person could be video calling him this early in the morning, Peter. Right on cue, the boys raven black hair and wide smile came into view as Alex opened his screen.
“Alright mate?” Peter asked, full of enthusiasm and energy, “you look awful”.
“I’m just tired,” Alex replied with a shrug.
Peter had been Alex’s best friend since their first day at school together, when Peter’s sister had locked them both in the changing room lockers. Even thinking about it now, brought a smile to their faces, reminiscing about whispering to each other through the narrow slits. They were still wary of Jessica though, likely to end up as the but of one of her cruel jokes if they weren’t careful. She was the golden child at home, the cool kid in school, while Peter was just plain old Peter, a nerd. His glasses were steaming up as he talked on the video chat, constantly forcing him to take them off.
“You better liven up before school starts mate; it’s the first day of the new year”.
Alex was about fire back a sarcastic response when a memory from last night returned, a memory steeped in darkness.
“You’ll never guess what I saw last night?” the words exploding out of his mouth in a rush.
“Huh?” replied Peter, confused.
“I went downstairs during the nig...” but Alex’s sentence was cut short mid flow.
A woman stormed into Peter’s room, and by the look she gave him, wasn’t best pleased at all. Fluttering furiously, Mrs Stormball lifted up a pair of red lingerie with yellow roses and something that might have once resembled a white T-shirt.
“How many times do I have to tell you not to put your coloured underwear in with the white laundry Peter?”.
Looking abashed, Peter lifted his arms up in protest, “mum, they’re not even my underwear! “What if there had been a girl in here?”
His mother simply smiled, “don’t be ridiculous Peter, the only girls in your room are the ones on the wall”.
She was nearing forty years of age, but didn’t look a day over twenty five, with long blonde hair that was neatly combed, and deep blue eyes. Always dressed in the latest fashion trends, often provocative, she lit up any room she entered. Like Alex’s father, the Stormball family also worked within the building trade, but on a far larger scale. They were incredibly wealthy, owning nearly a third of the properties for sale in Hellraite and the surrounding towns. The company that Alex’s father worked for was owned by them, and along with others, helped grow their annual income to a respectful one million dollars. Most people who’d met her said there wasn’t a contract she couldn’t conclude, and no property was too difficult for her to sell.
Today, she wore her daughters clothes, a tight fitting pink shirt with the caption “Go Lions”, and a pair of short pink shorts. Those were the colours of the girls school football team.
“Hello Alex”, she said casually, catching a glimpse of his shocked face on the computer screen.
Blushing furiously, he fumbled for a response, and any thoughts about last night went sailing out of his head.
“Hel... hello, Mrs Stormba... Stormball”, he stuttered, “nice to... to see you”.
When she whirled around and left the room, Alex couldn’t help but say to his friend, “your mum is hot”.
“Don’t talk about my mother like that,” he snapped back through gritted teeth, a hint of embarrassment in his words.
Alex struggled to keep the smile from his lips, but he didn’t mention Peter’s mother again. “I’ll see you at the bus stop in ten minutes,” he said, “Oh, and don’t forget the red underwear”. Bursting out laughing at the outraged face of his friend, Alex shut the laptop screen and started to get dressed for school. Sam glared at Alex dangerously as his younger brother tried, and failed, to shuffle past him on the stairway. There had never been any love lost between the two, yet to Alex’s surprise, he wasn’t on the receiving end of a wayward punch this time.
“Watch were you’re going next time,” came the angry response from Sam, quickly forcing his was past and into his bedroom, slamming the door furiously.
Despite being younger by five years, Alex could have been his brothers twin, so much so, that in public, he was often mistaken for Sam. He’d heard his mother say, once, that he looked mature for his age, but Alex certainly didn’t feel it. Able to walk unobstructed now that his bother had moved, he glided down the stairs two and a time, and landed on the hard stone tiles with a thud. Mrs Graham was sat at the breakfast table, a look of condemnation on her face. Without even glancing up at her son, she raised her right hand and pointed in the direction of the fridge. It stood open, the white florescent light flickering idly.
“Why is my fridge open?” she asked in a voice to calm for her face, “you’re lucky the milk hasn’t gone off”.
Alex didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t tell her about what he’d seen; she’d never believe him.
“I forgot to close it,” he replied, looking anywhere but at her, “sorry”.
Pushing a stray strand of hair from her eyes, the same shade of brown as her sons, she smiled. “Don’t forget again. Now, go on, it’s time for school”.
Not wanting to be told twice, Alex laced up his shoes and headed for the door, only stopping when his mother spoke again.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” she asked, pointing towards the fridge again when Alex looked confused, “the door”.
“Oh yeah”.
Walking over to shut it, he caught a glimpse out of the kitchen window into the front garden. A cold shiver ran down his spine as he remembered the shadow from last night, clear in his mind like an unforgettable nightmare. Still in a daze, mind swimming with visions of dark shadows, he left the house without saying goodbye, only realizing he was outside when the fresh air hit him. Even though he knew there was nothing there, he still walked gingerly around the mailbox with the house number 27 on it, like the shadow could reach out and grab him at any time. Once Alex had passed it, and was through the wooden gate at the end of the garden, he relaxed a little. With the sun’s rays beating down, it would be a beautiful day, and the hustle and bustle of life had already started. People were leaving their homes, some dressed in suits, others in casual clothes, while excitable children’s voices could be heard as chatted on the way to school. There was something reassuring about being surrounded by so many people, and soon Alex was beginning to think about meeting his friend at the bus stop, and of their first day of the new school year. To his left and right, trees lined a road that ran directly through the suburban neighbourhood, and led on into town. After walking for five minutes, Alex entered what was known as the rich part of town. The first house coming into view was number 34, the Stormballs. Their house was nothing short of spectacular. White marble made up the exterior, while a large iron gate was surrounded by huge walls that ran the length of the front garden. Peter stood outside the gates, a look of impatience on his face.
“I thought I’d wait for you here,” he said, “but you took so long I could’ve already been sat on the bus by now”.
He was dressed in blue denim jeans and a white T-shirt. Carrying a black backpack on his shoulder, he rushed over to Alex and waved his watch around, trying to indicate the time. It read 07:56; the bus was due to leave at 08:00.
“We’re going to miss it if we don’t hurry up,” Peter continued, “come on”. *