The Universe Rings (A Ringing Purpose)

Chapter Two

The next few days passed slower than schooldays ever did. Kenneth distanced himself from Halo and Dior; Dior's rare dry humor and death stares grew annoying, and Halo's constant attempts of comfort as if she were a therapist weren't any better.

Kenneth only interacted with Dior when Dior had sketched a small dog and Kenneth was forced to approach and thank him—accompanied by awkward and fake smiles. That was something new Kenneth hated. Smiles. How hadn't he noticed how artificial and unrequired smiles were in the past?

Kenneth found no point in exploring the shelter; the godforsaken place was filled with the same flat wooden beds, metal boxes, wooden crates of food and supplies, and too many people. Too many people and their too many conversations.

~
Kenneth walked through a misty wood. Green leaves fell from trees, and fog swirled around the roots. The atmosphere was tense as if a predator awaited in the mist, but Kenneth ignored it. He wasn't sure where he was heading, but he kept on, one step at a time.

The mist parted, revealing a familiar house, and he bolted into a run.

Kenneth almost ran into a wall. Stepping back, he realized he stood in his house, in the kitchen—oddly enough, the fridge, oven, and appliances were missing.

Kenneth walked through the kitchen, and into the dining room. "Mom?" Where the table for five should be only bare open space.

Feeling in a sort of trance, he walked into the living room, giving little mind to the hall leading to the front door and basement entrance. Off to the side of the room, the bathroom door barely hung onto its hinges.

Approaching the stairs, he realized the fans and lights were missing too and no one was in the upstairs hall. He sprinted up the creaky stairs and into his parents' room—nothing—and into his brothers' room—still empty and vacant. "Grayson! Sterling!" Silence. He went to his room, and to his surprise, it had furniture.

Hope sprang in his chest. His room was intact—his bed pushed against the wall across from the open door, his dresser at the end of his bed, and his clock he never used hung on the other wall. He called, "Hey, is anyone here?"

Even the clock didn't tick as a reply.

Kenneth stood in the middle of his room, defeated, and staring at the ground. He only looked up when a creak sounded from downstairs.

Kenneth ran out and down the stairs, almost skipping every step. He stopped at the bottom, listening for the noise. The creaking continued from the entrance hall. Following the strange sound, it grew louder as he neared the closed basement door—the only door not hanging on its hinges.

Kenneth tentatively turned the handle, and opened the door, revealing carpeted stairs leading down to a wide room. It was missing the couch and TV which should've been on the far wall. "Dad?" he called hesitantly as he walked down the steps. His eyes narrowed as he found the source of the creaking; it hadn't been a creak, it was a cracking.

A growing crack slithered across the four walls, etching onto the popcorn ceiling and carpet floor. Kenneth halted at the bottom of the stairs watching as the room became more and more broken.

Kenneth stumbled forward as a wall appeared behind him, blocking the exit of the basement. He stared wide-eyed and retreated as the wall moved closer. He backed up into the end wall, which had also moved closer. The room was shrinking as flakes of paint and drywall crumbled.

His pulse pounded and anxiety rose as a current of water, coursing through and around him.

"Kenneth!" A voice broke through as water reached his waist and the ceiling fell.