Shiver

November 8th

Our new house is freezing. The vents shake in the night, the windows whistle, and the house groans. I feel like I’m living in an ice cube. When mom said we were moving north, I didn’t think she meant all the way. Compared to Austin, Texas, this was the polar icecaps. Maine had nothing to offer except old buildings and rundown schools. I missed my friends, I missed my house, and I missed being warm. 

November 14th 

Mom has spent the past few days yelling at the repair company. They were supposed to fix the house up before we came, but alas, here we were. I wore three pairs of socks to walk from the bathroom to my bedroom, but my feet felt like they were turning purple every time I moved from my mountain of blankets. I don’t know how much longer I can last in the cold; I’m a warm body. 

November 18th 

School provides both a distraction and an opportunity to get to know the rather small adolescent population. There are 400 students in school. I should mention that it’s k-12. My classes consist of the same people, the same teacher, and the same classroom. My school back in Austin was huge, with a whopping 40 students in my biology class alone, and we were strictly high school. I don’t make any friends yet, mainly because nobody will talk to me. One girl stands out- Kayla Sebastian. Her hair is a deep black, her eyes gray. Not only does she feel different, but she looks nothing like the rest of them. Her features are intense, almost plastic. We have the same hair, our eyes the same shape, except that mine were a cool blue. I catch myself almost thinking I’m looking into a mirror. However, she possesses no humanity in her face, nothing to separate her from a wax figure. She turns her head fast, catching me. I don’t turn away. Our eyes lock, and everything about her frightens me. Her hand tightens on the pencil she holds, and lightning-fast, she whips it at me. I barely manage to duck before it splinters against the wall behind me. 

November 25th

I sleep like a log, and I think that’s important. I’m not bragging, it’s just that this morning, I woke up with cold feet, and it wasn’t a metaphor for school jitters; my blanket was laying on the floor beside my bed. This has never happened before. I’d never even done so much as snore in my sleep- there was no way I’d thrown off my blanket. Mom blames it on stress, saying that it could affect my sleeping habits. She offers to make me tea, but I settle for going for a walk through town. The town has no sidewalks, so I walk on the edge of lawns, my boots leaving small imprints on the lawns of empty homes. Or, so I thought. A shiver ran down my spine as I looked in, just to see the curtains yank shut. It took everything in me not to run home at that exact moment.

November 26th

I was feeling rather good about myself. My marks were already stellar, the workload comparably easier than back home. Note to self: I needed to stop saying that. No matter how much I hated it here, it was home. Austin was a far cry away, and nothing would change it. It didn’t have the warm and fuzzy feeling it should’ve, but I had to give it time. Mom said all good things come in time, and so I promised myself I would keep an open mind. I was gathering my things after school when someone pinched my shoulder. I turned around to see Kayla standing there, a dead look in her eyes. ‘Trina.’ She whispered in a low tone. I shake my head mutely. Her grip tightens on my shoulder, and she pushes me back into the lockers. ‘Trina.’ She insists, her jaw moving side to side, her face shaking. I open my mouth to reply, but I can’t think of anything to say. All of a sudden, her free hand grabs my throat, and she squeezes. 

November 27th 

I haven’t seen Kayla again. Mom was furious, and from my bedroom, I could hear her using her ‘professional’ voice with the principal. As a psychiatrist, she had the most unique way to expose the harsh reality to someone without coming across as rude. She didn’t scream, swear, or demand her expulsion. She explained that had it not been for a student leaving detention, Kayla would have killed me. In the end, the principal thought she was underreacting and suggested Kayla be not just suspended, but expelled. He confided that she had a track record of violence, and this was the straw that broke the camel’s back. That night, picking my blanket up off the floor, I asked my mother to tuck the edge of the blanket under my mattress, ensuring I wouldn’t wake up cold. She obliged, kissing my forehead, and shut my door softly. 

November 28th

It didn’t work. 

December 7th 

At noon, the slam of doors could be heard downstairs. Finally, the company had arrived to fix the heat in the house. I heard doors shut and footsteps rush downstairs, faint muttering audible from the second floor. The door shut again, this time softer, but the footsteps didn’t carry downstairs. I thought maybe it was Mom, but her voice grew louder as their footsteps ascended, talking about a new filter. I shrugged it off, putting my headphones on, smiling as the hum of a furnace rang out and a wave of heat washed over my room. A few moments later, I heard the truck leave and decided it was time to start homework. However, there was a note in the side pocket of my backpack. I opened it, and the word ‘Trina’ was scrawled hastily. I crumpled it up and flushed it down the toilet, shaking, my throat burning from Kayla’s memory. I didn’t know who she thought I was, and I didn’t want to.

December 10th 

I’ve grown tired of this town. I’m sick of the robotic classes, I’m sick of glancing at Kayla’s empty desk despite knowing she’ll never be there to stare back. I’m sick of waking up exposed, and I’m sick of missing my friends. Their calls and text messages have significantly reduced in the weeks I’ve been here. I’m no longer part of their lives. I’m across the country, alone, while they’re probably Christmas shopping together. I can almost imagine the smiles on their faces as they pick out the perfect presents. This year, I know there won’t be anything from them under my Christmas tree. 

December 15th 

I can’t sleep anymore. Mom was right; everything is taking its toll on me. I’m more stressed out than I care to admit. The blanket, Kayla’s haunting face, the creepy neighbors I’ve yet to see… Tonight, I lay awake as the sun sets. I stare outside of my window, glancing at the stars. It feels strange to be able to see so much of the sky. Then again, I live in the middle of nowhere, where the only light comes from the street lights. Nobody is awake but me. At that moment, someone proves me wrong. Across the street, an upstairs light turns on. There’s movement in the room, and a woman- in her thirties, maybe- stands in the window. She’s staring at our house. Her eyes are wide, her mouth ajar. She shakes violently and breaks into a sprint. Her front door opens seconds later, and she takes wide sprints across the road. My breath catches in my throat- she’s running toward our house. She bangs on the front door, hard and fast. I run to mom’s room only to see that she’s already awake with a baseball bat in hand. I stand back as she tiptoes downstairs, peeking out. She demands they say their name. The person on the other side speaks out in a feminine voice, demanding we open up, telling us we’re in danger. She was concerned because she saw someone in our attic window, to which mom opens the door. The lady steps aside, and I run outside with mom. We stand in the middle of the road, staring up at the attic window. We wait. Nothing. No light, no figure, no anything. Mom runs back inside, the lady frozen solid in the road, and I make the wise decision to follow my mother. She runs to my closet, and I realize that’s where the attic door is. She pulls on the thick wire with all her might, practically hanging from it. The door budges and bounces back, refusing to give. Mom tells me to pull on the rope. I do. As the door opens slightly, she jumps up to catch it before it closes. Just as she does, I feel resistance. I almost convince myself I heard something- a sharp voice hissing, but before I can say anything, the door slams shut. Her screams are bloodcurdling as she hangs only by her hands. I fumble with the rope and pull with a strength I didn’t know I had. She falls with a thump, the door snapping shut. I grab her hands in mine, gagging as I see that some of her fingernails have snapped off completely, and her index finger is purple and crooked. We spend the next hour at the hospital; she comes home with three finger splints. After she settled into bed, I frightfully return to my room and stand cold. The blanket is gone. Completely.  

December 16th 

I knock on my neighbor’s door after school. It takes nearly ten minutes before she answers, dressed in a shawl and loose nightgown. I introduce myself, though it’s hardly necessary. Tentatively, I ask why she looked so scared, and how she knew it wasn’t one of us in the window. She wipes her nose, her features tired. I listen as she tells me it looked just like her daughter, Kayla. My blood freezes. She continues, shaking her head, telling me that I resembled her quite so. She mumbles, telling me she could have been mistaken. After all, I was in my window when she looked over. It could’ve been me. But then she continues to ramble; Kayla was a twin. Her twin sister died from suffocation when she was just ten years old. Kayla had been damaged ever since, the trauma setting her back on a destructive path. ‘She isn’t bad,’ the lady muttered. ‘She just misses her sister.’ 

December 17th 

I tied my new blanket to the posts of my bedframe. I was probably sleepwalking, another result of my increased stress. I lay, stilling my breathing, but there’s no way I’m falling asleep. The clock reads 2:47 am before I begin to feel tired. Even so, fear overtakes fatigue, and I force my eyes to remain open. Two minutes later, the vents begin to rumble from above. I sigh, waiting for the blast of heat to warm my room. It doesn’t come, but the shaking subsides. The furnace is old and acting up, I think. But then I hear a creak; the attic door. My eyes split open as I watch my closet door. The attic ladder descends with a soft thump. My heart is racing. It’s an old house, I tell myself; these things happen all the time. The doorknob turns ever so softly, and I stifle a scream when a silhouetted figure stands silently, head cocked. I can’t see who it is. The door blocks the moonlight, and without it, all that remains is shadows. They stand there, breathing hard, for what feels like hours. The clock reads 2:55. Then 3:00. At 3:45, they drop to the ground. I whimper silently, tears flowing down my cheeks. I want to scream for my mother, but I know I can’t. I feel a tug on my blanket, and I realize what’s happening; they’re untieing the strings. Softly and deliberately, they peel the blanket off my body. It sounds ridiculous, but I feel vulnerable without it- like the soft fabric was the only thing keeping me safe. Instead of dropping it on the ground like every other time, they take the blanket and hold it over my face. My breathing quickens. They press tighter. The silence begins to whine, and soon, my lungs are burning. I gasp, choking. My head swims and my thoughts muddle. I take one last gasp of air before the world completely fades, just in time to hear the voice whisper raggedly, ‘Stay dead.’ The blanket lifts and I gasp deeply; I can’t seem to get enough air. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the shadow creep forward, ready to try again. I think fast. I turn my gasps into chokes, spasm, and slump. They stop. I’m thankful for the darkness, the steady rise and fall of my chest unnoticeable. I breathe shallow, turning my body to stone. I stay like this until the sun begins to rise. I play dead so long I almost convince myself I am. The figure suddenly slumps over, walking back to the closet door. I see, as they walk past the window, that this is no stranger. Kayla retreats softly into the attic, the door closing behind her. I wait twenty seconds, realizing that Kayla didn’t miss her sister at all- she missed her being dead, and I was a living reminder of her sins. Three breaths later, I leap out of bed, screaming for my mother.