Discombobulate

Chapter Twenty-One

Denise groaned for the second time. She picked up the fallen video camera and set it back up on an empty box. "Stay!" She took a few steps back from the bar counter. 

The camera stood still. The viewfinder was flipped towards her, so she could see herself. The video quality wasn't great. The video camera had belonged to her mom. She figured it was the perfect time to use it. 

She leaned over and pressed a button to start recording herself. She moved back and set herself down on one of the stools. 

"Hey..." She stared at herself in the viewfinder. She was wearing an old navy-colored sweater. She decided to put her hair in braids before filming. She liked twirling her hair when she was nervous. She wouldn't be able to do that with braids.

"I'm writing a new story and the main character is struggling with sleep deprivation. I'm staying up for as long as possible to experience it first-hand. It's currently Monday, October 22nd. I tried to start this challenge on Saturday, but I ended up falling asleep." 

She moved her eyes to look directly at the camera. "I decided I'd start fresh yesterday. I found this video camera last night and I figured I could document the experience on camera. I think it'll be better to rewatch my experience rather than write it down and try to remember everything."

"So far, I've been awake for-" She glanced over at a round clock. "I've been awake for about twenty-eight hours. I'm tired, but it's nothing I can't handle. I've been up all night unpacking things. It's about time I finished settling in."  

Dupe meowed behind her. Denise swung around, picked him up, and turned back to the camera. "Dupe and I will keep you updated. I'm thinking I'll update every eight hours." 

Dupe struggled to crawl out of her arms. He jumped back to the floor before she could put him down. 

"Future me, I'll see you later." She waved before pressing a button to turn the device off. She planned on uploading all the video files onto her laptop. If things went south, she planned on recording more updates.

She wanted to document everything.

Leaving the camera untouched, she waltzed into her kitchen. The instant coffee was calling her name. Her mom always had a cheap coffee pot for coffee every morning. Denise ended up throwing the coffee pot away before she moved. It was one of the last things her mom touched before she was murdered. 

Her mom's favorite primrose yellow coffee cup had been abandoned. The warm coffee had cooled to room temperature within the two days it sat there. The mug was nearly filled to the rim with coffee. Susan never had a chance to drink it. The sugar jar had been sitting next to it unopened. 

The whole thing freaked Denise out. After the dead bodies had been taken out of the house, she came back to blood stains. Susan's dried blood stained the hardwood floor.  

Her sister's blood had seeped deep into her mattress. It looked like a child flung a paintbrush against the white wall beside her bed. Crimson slashes and speckles coated the surface. 

Denise had to hire someone to clean the place. The cleaning chemicals left the house smelling like disinfectant. The smell of Susan's lavender candles, that always lingered through the house, had disappeared. 

The house no longer felt like home. The warmth and welcoming fuzzy feeling had diminished. The owners had been murdered in the place they thought was secure. It was the ultimate betrayal. 

Murdering people is twisted. It's sick and it takes a lot to kill a person. Being murdered in your own house is one of the worst ways to go.  

The Houghton's bought the house right before Denise was born. It had been a time capsule of memories for twenty-nine years. It only took one person and one day to shatter it.