The Psychic Next Door

[First Draft] Chapter 11: Relic

Just like my apartment, the house looked innocuous. It hadn't changed at all after the attack, it didn't become sinister or evil like we envisioned it in our minds. The red door blazed in the darkness-lit by an overhanging light-as we pulled into the drive. It was still just as quaint and innocent as before, but this time it sent a shiver down my spine.

The door was left unlocked after we fled, but it didn't look like anyone had gone inside; this neighbourhood seemed like the kind where everyone just minds their own business. Or maybe it was some inkling in the forgotten primitive parts of their mind that warned to them to stay away, warned them that evil had touched down here.

When we entered, it was exactly as we left it: the splinters of the dining room chairs scattered across the entrance hall, the table itself laying split in two, angled and still balancing precariously on the remains of the seats. The only evidence of a human presence was the unsettling trail of blood-our blood-that traced a path out of the the house; it was more than a little disturbing to see the larger pools that had collected in the spot where we had lingered, as we faced off against the Beast.

It was like a museum, this foreign and unfamiliar room-it seemed like it was frozen in time. It was hard to imagine that I had been here when it had all gone down, or even that only a few weeks had passed. It seemed like a far off distant memory, a past life or a dream.

I looked over my shoulder, glancing at Polly, who was hobbling in behind me. Her expression was cautious but there was no trace of fear. She was good under pressure, and I knew why. After dealing with her sister's degenerating mental health-or what she thought was her sister's degenerating mental health-she must've gotten good at just dealing with anything that was thrown at her. I wished I had that skill. I had gotten much braver, but I still quaked in the face of all this.

We stood side by side in the wake of evil and admired the chaos that had been left behind.

"Where was her room?" I asked, finally speaking, breaking the heavy and uncomfortable silence.

"Which one?" Polly said quietly. Her voice sounded hollow and distant; she was still taking it all in.

I furrowed by brow in confusion, still looking at Polly. She snapped out of her trance and looked at me, her expression was steely and unmoved.

"She had two. You were staying in one of them."

Two rooms? I thought back to the room I had spent two nights in three weeks ago, and it suddenly made sense. The room that had been equipped like a hospital room, with the bars on the window and the furniture bolted to the floor. It was where she kept her hysterical sister. I shivered when a thought snuck into my mind; had she died in that room?

"Well, whichever room has her personal effects."

Polly nodded her head to the side, knowing that was the obvious choice. She then staggered towards the stairs, her cast making a rhythmic thuds as she walked. I ran forward and took her arm to help her.

The upper floor was was just a hall, with several doors placed evenly along the walls. It was still lovely, the floor covered in a lush carpet, pictures and paintings adorning the sides. We didn't linger there for long, because Polly was already focused on a particular door, and headed towards it immediately-the one on the very end of the left wing.

The room itself was just as unassuming as the exterior; it showed no signs that it had been scarred by a dark presence. The bed was made and everything remained in a natural place; it almost seemed like it was just waiting for her, like we could expect her sister to return home at any moment. It made me a little sad to see the perfect way that Polly had kept her sister's room; it had become a shrine. I understood that Polly missed her sister, and sympathized, but there were times when I realized just how big of an effect it had on her that it really struck me. This was one of the times.