Things Unseen

Kate Gryson

I am thirteen years old when Aberdeen stops making a sound. The doctors can’tgive any explanation as to why this is. No one can. One day, she is a perf ectly healthy child, and the next...silence. Hunter wants more tests. Thomas wants to pretend that nothing is wrong. Margaret is in the closet. Aberdeen’s silence is where this story begins. My name is Eleanor. Nell f or short. I live on Larkspur Lane in the eighth house on the lef t. The house is set back aways, hidden f rom nosy neighbors who at any given moment can be spotted trying to sneak a peek through the f rosted windowpanes. Thomas says that people have changed. They’ve become so nosy about other people’s lives that they f orget to live their own. Whenever there is a f ace smushed against the glass, eyes searching lef t and right, Thomas is ready with a rolled-up newspaper in his hand, ready to play whack-a-neighbor. Late every night, you will see Thomas sitting on the f ront porch on high alert. I’ve never knownhim to sleep. Margaret spends most of her time inside the closet. Mind you, she always leaves the lights on. Even when they turn them of f , she always turns them back on. I bet you’re wondering, how does she eat or relieve herself if she never leaves the closet? Aberdeen and I trade of f on making sandwiches for her. She only eats if the sandwich is peanut butter and bananas and cut into triangles with the crust cut of f. As f or relieving herself, that’s a question you will have to ask Margaret herself. Hunter rarely comes inside, except to visit Margaret and f or his daily beer. He works at the service station a f ew streets over, taking as many hours as he can. Thomas says that he’s counting down the days until the law catches up with him. The neighbors don’t dare come near Hunter. They’ve all heard the rumors about how if you look at him wrong, he’ll pull out the switchblade that he keeps in his lef t sock and carve a smile into your f ace. Those stories are ridiculous. He keeps his switchblade in his right sock. And then, there’s Aberdeen. An odd name f or an odd child. Do not make the mistake of underestimating her, f or though she may not make a sound, she knows all the secrets of the house. The only way to hear her coming is by the rustle of her bow. These are the people that live in the house. It’s not “our” house because it never was. It belongs to the echoes. These were Aberdeen’s words back when she did make a sound. The echoes have dwelled in the house f or as long as we’ve lived here, probably longer. Though no one speaks of them, we all know that they are watching. Watching and waiting. [Text Wrapping Break] Autumn on Larkspur Lane is always a sight to see. I like autumn most of all. There is something about a crisp autumn day that lif ts my spirits, doesn’t it yours? The neighbors' porches are lavishly decoratedwith scarecrows and

beautif ully carved orange pumpkins, why, they look like they could be straight out of those Good Housekeeping magazines that Thomas reads. The house that I live in is an old, rickety Victorian called Mayberry Manor. The other houses on Larkspur Lane are not named, only Mayberry Manor is. I am not sure as to the reason. Mayberry Manor is set on a winding dusty road towards the end of the Lane, hidden by overbearing pine trees and a wrought-iron gateway that is nearly covered by overgrown ivy. There are no scarecrows or carved orange pumpkins on Mayberry Manor’s front porch though. Thomas says that Halloween is a poor excuse for what should be a proper Christian holiday. Our mailbox reads “Mayberry” because Hunter never got around to replacing it with our name. The Mayberry f amily portraits still hang proudly in our main hallway because Thomas says that every house should maintain its roots. When I reach the f ront door, I give it a hard shove, but it doesn't budge. Drat. Thomas insists on keeping the house locked at all times in case one of the neighbors gets any ideas. Fishing out the skeleton key, I jam it into the lock. Once the door cracks open, the f irst sound I hear is Margaret screaming. “Let me go back! I don’t want to hear them! Please! Don’t make me leave! They’re whispering to me!” You would think that if this was the f irst thing that I heard, I would be racing up the stairs to see what was wrong. No, don’t be absurd. This has been going on f or what seems like a very long time. “You have to get out of that f ucking closet!” Hunter is with her. “I’m the only one who’s talking! He shouts angrily. The television grows noticeably louder f rom the living room. As the bickering and struggling upstairs continues, I peek around the hall. Thomas is sitting in his La-Z-Boy, cranking up the voices of Jethro and Elly Mae so that they almost drown out what’s going on upstairs. His exhausted, steely gaze meets mine and he grabs the remote to turn up their voices even more. As I round the corner to go upstairs, Hunter and Margaret are at the top of the stairs. Margaret has one hand around Hunter’s throat. Hunter has one hand at his throat trying to stop Margaret’s hand while the other hand is pushing Margaret away f rom him. “Will you two quit it?!” I shout over the blaring Clampetts. Racing up the stairs, I grab Hunter’s arm and yank him towards me, causing him to stumble, and allowing Margaret to break free and f lee back into the closet. “Goddamnit, Nell, I almost had her!” he spits at me, lurching out of my grip. “And what did you think you were going to do?” I f ire back. “Drag her down the stairs, kicking and screaming?” “Yeah, I was. I was going to drag her to the f ucking mental ward where she belongs.”

“Watch your language,” I hiss, nodding my head towards Aberdeenwho is lingering in the doorway. Hunter rolls his eyes, curses again, and bangs his f ist on the wall. “Aberdeen, will you go and grab Margaret’s sandwich f rom the kitchen?” I ask in a slightly strangled voice, hoping she will get the hint and leave. In Aberdeen-like f ashion, she leaves as quickly and silently as she arrived. Once she leaves, I pull Hunter towards me so that we’re f ace to f ace.

“You and I both know what would happen if we took her there,” I say pointedly. For a moment, Hunter almost looks sympathetic, but then the anger f lares back into his eyes. “This house is f ucking nuts,” mutters Hunter. Bef ore I can stop him, Hunter is heading down the stairs, shaking his head and cursing. The f ront door slams shut behind him, nearly shaking the bones of the house. I turn around and there stands Aberdeen, Margaret’s apple juice and triangle-shaped sandwich on a plate in her hands. “Jesus, Aberdeen, you scared me. How did you…?” I wonder, trying to remember if Aberdeen had snuck up the stairs while Hunter was leaving. Eyeing me quizzically, she shakes her head and turns towards the end of the hall.

“The back staircase…right,” I realize, stupidly, taking the plate and cup f rom her and turning the rickety knob to Margaret’s room. As always, the room is deathly silent. I haven't the slightest inclination as to what she does inside that old closet. She never says. “Margaret?” I call, half-wondering if a demonic voice will answer that Margaret is no longer here. “I have your sandwich and apple juice,” I try when no one answers. The closet door squeaks open. “Is it cut into triangles with the crust cut of f ?” she asks in a hoarse voice.

“Yes, it is. I’m going to put it right by the door f or you, okay?” The door opens a bit more and suddenly, a pale, almost eerily translucent, skeletal hand reaches out, snatches the plate and cup, and the door slams shut. I stand outside her closet door awkwardly, considering whether or not I should make a break f or it or attempt to make conversation. Hunter would make a break for it like a bat out of hell, I surmise amusingly. “Aberdeensure misses seeing you,” I begin timidly. “She always offers to make your lunch f or you. I’m sure she would love it if you came downstairs f or your lunch” I add in, hoping that if Aberdeen is mixed into the equation, Margaretmight come out of the closet.

“I need to stay in here where it’s safe,” she answers, almost robotically.

“What will happen if you do leave?” I press. “They will f ind me, just like they always do” Margaret replies. My sciatica begins to act up, so I sit across from the door. “Who, Margaret?” I inquire, already knowing how this conversation is going to end. “The echoes,” she says quietly. “They speak to me. This closet is the only place they cannot f ind me.” I pause f or a moment, deciphering how to word my next thought. “What do they say to you?” “They tell me to do things. Awf ul things, but mostly, they warn me of...” she stops and then goes quiet. Fear prickles my spine as I process her words. “Of what, Margaret?” There is no reply. Af ter several attempts at calling her name, I decide that Margaret has resortedback to silence. A loud bang on the f ront door averts my attention to the hall. In the doorway, Aberdeen is standing, pointing down the staircase. Handing Margaret’s empty plate and cup to Aberdeen, I hurry down the stairs to open the f ront door. When I unlatch the door, Hunter is standing bef ore me, red in the f ace and practically steaming at the ears.

“Did you do this?” he exclaims, holding up a banana. “What are you talking about, Hunter?” I reply def ensively. He turns the banana and there is a large razor blade sticking out of its f lesh. “Did you do it, Nell?” he shouts in my f ace. “Jesus Hunter, you think that I put a damn razor blade in your banana?” I f ire back. Aberdeen comes f rom behind me and glances between Hunter and me. Suddenly, Hunter grabs her by the shoulders and shakes her violently. “Did you do this? Did you put that razor blade in my banana? I took it f rom the f ruit bowl this morning, so it had to be someone in this house!” Hunter screams vehemently. As he shakes her, Aberdeen stares back at him, completely void of emotion. “Hunter! Let go of her!” I cry as I wrestle Aberdeen out of his grip. She stares back at him bef ore sprinting into the next room. I turn back to f ace Hunter and look him in the eye. “You’re crazy!Do you really think that any of us put that in your banana?” He runs a dirt-covered hand through his greasy dark hair and kicks at the ground below him. “Someone did, Nell, and I think it was something in this house.” “Something?” I question at his odd choice of words.

Hunter barks out a humorless laugh and pushes past me into the kitchen. He grabs several bananas and apples f rom the f ruit bowl, grabs a knif e, and begins slashing the f ruit.

“Have you completely lost it?” I exclaim, coming up behind him as he throws the dismemberedf ruit into the garbage. “Not completely,” he scoffs, tossing the knif e into the sink. “None of these other f ruits have anything in them, so someone in this house put that blade in the banana because they knew I would take it!” I sigh dramatically, sinking into the nearest kitchen chair. “Do you even hear yourself?” “Nell, this isn’t the f irst time that something weird has happenedin this house,” Hunter notes. “Last Friday morning, all of the clocks were stoppedat 5:37 a.m.” “You think that one of us did it?” I af firm. He raises his eyebrows and exhales sharply, leaning against the kitchen counter. “I don’t know what to think anymore. I f eel like I’m going f ucking crazy,” he mutters, raking his f ingers through his hair. “You know we can’t leave this house; it would be too suspicious.” “I don’t care anymore, Nell,” Hunter mutters. “All I know is that I’m getting out of here as soon as I can.” “Nell!” Thomas yells f rom the next room causing Hunter to mutter a string of colorful curses as I leave. When I step into the living room, Thomas dramatically points the remote at the television trying to pause this week’s episode of Lost in Space. “Go get me this morning’s newspaper f rom the driveway!” he shouts loudly, not bothering to turn down the volume. I decide that it’s pointless to answer since Thomas can’t hear me anyway. Grabbing my coat, I shrug it on and push open the f ront door. The wind blows harshly against my f ace as I hurry down the steps towards the newspaper at the end of the driveway. Suddenly, a movement in the trees beyond the mailbox catches my eye. Stopping in my tracks, I squint to try and see better through the trees. Within the trees, two sets of dark eyes are staring back at me. About a minute into our staring contest, a blast of courage surges through me and I begin to sprint towards the trees. Suddenly the eyes are gone, and I’m standing in the middle of the woods, looking around f or the trespassers. Af ter a moment, I turn around and Aberdeen is standing in f ront of me with Thomas’s newspaper in her hand. “Shit! Aberdeen, you have to stop sneaking up on me like that,” I screech. She looks at me in conf usion, peers aroundme, and then back at me. “I thought I saw something but I… I don’t know what I saw,” I mumble stupidly, taking the paper f rom her.

As I head back towards the house, I am acutely aware of Aberdeen trailing behind me. When I manage to get the f ront door open, I shove past it and toss the paper to Thomas who somehow catches it in mid-air. Af ter hearing my stomach growl, I decide to head into the kitchen to make some lunch. At the kitchen table, Aberdeen is sitting with a glass of water. She turns to look at me, and then hands me the glass of water. I stare suspiciously at the water. “Thanks,” I say as I take one long drink.

Nell died twenty-four years ago. So did Thomas, Hunter, and Margaret. I know what you are thinking, that I killed them, right? Af ter all, I f ooled you this f ar. Don’t worry, it wasn’t hard. Every morning when Thomas had his coffee, I would slip a little more acid in his mug than the day bef ore. It was the same with Margaret. Why do you think that I always offered to get her apple juice? She was the easiest out of the f our. Hunter was a bit more difficult since he was out of the house most of the time, but I would always be waiting with his beer when he came inside. Mixed with the alcohol, he was the f irst to go. Nell was the hardest. She was the smartest out of all of them, and the most suspicious of the house, but even she was f ooled. Why did I do it, you might ask? For the same reason that Margaret locked herself inside that decrepit closet. The same reason why Thomas could never sleep. The same reason why Hunter always stayed away f rom the house. The same reason why Nell never took Margaret to the “f ucking mental ward” as Hunter so tastef ully phrasedit. I did it because the echoes made me.

My name is Aberdeen. I have always made a sound. 