We Become the Night

The first day of the rest of my life Part 1

Mr. Smithin drives to his home a few blocks away from my parents' home. I stare blankly out the front window and barely notice the scenery passing. Mr. Smithin lives on a street that has mostly older houses, many of them dating back to the 1800's and some even to the 1700's. Mr. Smithin's home is certainly a marvel in and of itself. I've seen the house many times, but I had no idea it's his. The house reminds me of those old gothic style mansions with the tower and rounded edges. There are even gargoyles guarding the entrance way, though these don't look like traditional gargoyles. They are gigantic bears, each standing about 6 feet tall on either side of the driveway. The left one is reared up on its hind legs with its mouth open wide and threatening, sharp teeth gleaming in the afternoon sun. The one on the right is down on all fours, yet no less impressive. The massive bulk of the bear commands respect by merely looking at it. It too has its jaws open as if to take a bite out of someone that shouldn't be there. I bet he doesn't get many salespeople, I think to myself.

The wonder of the house has temporarily distracted me from the events of the morning, but Mr. Smithin's words bring me back to the present.

"Caleb, would you like to get settled? I think I have some of my son's old clothing for now and then we can go out to the store this weekend and get you new ones." His tone indicates that he's worried about me but wants to give me space at the same time.

"That's fine," I say as Mr. Smithin pulls the car around the house and parks in front of a detached garage. I get out of the car slowly. Everything around me seems outta time. Or outta place. I follow Mr. Smithin to the backdoor of the house. As I step on the wooden stairs, I'm slightly taken aback by the fact that they don't squeak or groan like most wooden steps do. That thought is banished as soon as I get a look inside the house. This morning, my parents, my brother, even my own mysterious healing injuries and blood-soaked clothes are pushed far from my mind. The room we enter from the back is just a basic mudroom where coats, shoes and the laundry is, but beyond that is the most intriguingly decorated room I have ever seen in my life.

The whole living room is something straight out of a Stephen King novel with a splash of Vincent Price and just a bit of a hint of Van Helsing thrown in for fun. To say the room was ornate would be putting it mildly. The carpet in the center of the hardwood floor (is that mahogany?) is a lush, soft rug, the kind that you would lay down on in front of a roaring fire with an enjoyable book. And, damn, wouldn't you know it, there is an enormous fireplace just to the left of where I enter.

The coffee table in the center of the room looks like it may be solid wood. I slowly walk over to it and reverently run my fingers across the dark grain. From what little I remember from my shop class last semester, I want to say this wood is snakewood. But that doesn't seem right. Snakewood is incredibly expensive. The wood on this table alone would cost in the vicinity of several hundred dollars, not including labor and transportation and everything else.

I reluctantly pull my attention away from the table to look at the rest of the room. The couch behind the table and against the wall looks so plush it's as if I could sink right into it. I turn around to face the wall behind me and see a 70-inch, high definition, top of the line television mounted on the wall. My jaw drops open when I look under the TV and see just about every game system imaginable behind a clear glass cabinet ranging from the 1980's (before I was even born) Atari to the brand new, difficult, if not impossible, to get X-Box X Series and PlayStation 5 and everything in between.

"You're drooling." I hear Mr. Smithin chuckle behind me. I turn to look at him. He's leaning against the doorjamb that separates the living room from the mudroom. He has a smile on his face.

"Thank you, Mr. Smithin," I say.

"While you live here, how about you call me Joshua? Just at home though. At school, I'd appreciate it if you'd still refer to me as Mr. Smithin."

I nod, "Okay then. Thank you, Joshua."

"Come on. I'll show where you'll be staying." He pushes off the door jamb with a fluid movement and beckons to me to follow him.

I follow him through the living room to the hall, which is no less impressive. The crown molding, the high ceiling, the ornate carved banister of the staircase. This house is something else. The carpet on the stairs sinks below my shoes as I follow Joshua up to the second floor. He leads me past a few closed doors to the last one on the left. He opens the door to reveal what is certainly the most beautiful room in the universe.