The Watcher

The smell of sulfur roamed the room. The small gusts of breeze coming through the front window, brought the smell throughout the whole house. 

‘Death, he’s going to pass soon.”

The whole house has been stiff, filled with emotions. The old fashioned blue farmhouse was well- lived in. I’d be alone soon, with Reagan gone on a work trip and Dad on his deathbed. The feeling of hurt chilled my entire body over the past few days. Feelings are hard to express, but loneliness. I’ve had to help Dad over the past few months. Staying with him has been difficult, I’ve felt joy in the same amounts. Being the last person with Dad is pleasing in itself. I’ve read his favorite book to him every night. The Call Of The Wild, 232 pages of pure pain always brought joy to him. Just that slight sparkled in his eyes, I could tell he missed those old days.

~~~

It has been a month since Reagan came home. Dad was still in the same stage, the unknown stage. It had started feeling eerier, but Reagan had filled the room with love. My own willingness to allow myself out of the house had come up. 

“Sweety, you need to get out more,” is all Reagan ever said to me lately.

My freedom had been allowed, Reagan would watch Dad while I went out. Although shopping was always a blast with Emiliee, something felt off this time. It was as though she knew something I didn’t. She stared at me the whole time, with an unpleasant look. 

“Blaire?” She stuttered. “I think something bad is going to happen to you.” 

“What do you mean, something bad?” I questioned, highly concerned.

Emiliee had been in a vast family of highly trained witches. She could feel, sense, and see chaotic things before they happened.

“I saw you screaming, and begging for help in my dreams. You yelled at someone or something. You called it the ‘Watcher’.” 

“The ‘Watcher’, what does that have anything to do with me?’ I quickly responded.

“I wish I knew, but be careful.”

After this, all the awkward conversations came to a stop. As we slowly went back to browsing through all the crazed shirts Forever 21 had left. The day went on, without us bring that conversation back up. I felt more ‘unsafe’ than normal. After we had finished, we decided to call it a day, and head home. “BYE BABES,” I Screamed to Emiliee as she got out of my SUV.

“See you for coffee next week?” She questioned back.

“We’ll see,” I exclaimed.

The drive home was lonely, I was in my head too much. I wondered how things were with Reagan. I had left them with Dad, hoping nothing bad had happened while I was out. That’s when I played my favourite podcast. Buzzfeed Unsolved Mysteries. Today was about an older haunted house, oddly in my local town (Winslow, Arizona). I was more intrigued, as I turned it up they talked about “The House of The Watcher.’' It was a home filled with bad spirits. In a family For hundreds of years, a family of the name “Ainsworth”. My last name, we’re the only family with that name in town. That’s when things started getting odder. 

I got out of the car, completely forgetting the podcast. “I’m Homeeee!!” I sang as I walked in the door.   

“HE’S BETTER, IT’S AS THOUGH HE HEALED IN A DAY!” Reagan screamed from the living room.

I run through the house to the living room, to see Dad playing the piano like the old days. Tears roll down my cheeks, my glasses fogging up.  Everything had been refined, even if the reason he was magically healed was unknown. I was perfectly happy, Dad was happy. He even had a gigantic smile across his face. It was as though nothing happened.

~~~

The days and weeks flew by, I was able to go back to work, while Reagan

watched over Dad with a close eye. Many days had been the same, excitement throughout the house. But lately, it’s been off. Dad was staying in his room, door shut and all. It was as though he shut Reagan and I out. The days were odd and quiet. I felt as though I needed to check on him. 

As I walked into the room, Reagan behind me. It was bloodcurdling. There were flies buzzing around, and the smell of sulfur. 

“He’s dead?” Reagan questioned.

Just as Reagan mentioned that Dad crawled from underneath the bed. I screamed, terrified of what I was seeing. Blue veins ran all over his face, eyes glassed. But he acted normal. It was as though his body was dead, but his soul was still alive.

“Que la muerte estécon con ustedes dos.”

“R..R..Reagan, what did he just say? He doesn’t speak Spanish, and this is not normal.”

“May death be with you both,” Reagan answered quietly.   

I slammed the door. “I CAN’T DO THIS!!” I screamed. I CAN’T BE IN THIS HOUSE, I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHO HE IS. I'M GETTING OUT OF HERE!” I run to our room, grabbing as much stuff as quickly as possible. I run down the stairs grabbing Reagan’s hand. “Reagan call a priest or someone.” As Reagan dials up the local priest I stay silent. Just as Reagan hangs up they look at me wide-eyed.

“It’s a demon, an overtake of his body. There’s nothing we can do, but he can.”

~~~

Sleeping at the motel was terrible. The bed was lumpy, too lumpy even for a damn dog. The room was cold as can be but Reagan kept me more than warm. Although terrible on the outside it was the first night we had been together in a while. Reagan packed our stuff and brought it to the car. I managed to get out of the room, every step felt heavy. We were meeting the priest at 10 am. Which was great because I could eat, then destroy whatever ‘thing’ took my Dad. 

As we pulled into the driveway, the priest stood there in all black. He looked sketchy, but we continued on. We got out, everything feeling suspicious. The priest pulled sage out of his bag. 

“We will sage before we enter, it warns off evil spirits.”

After sage, we enter. The whole house is dark. We all have to stay close. As I’m not planning on leaving Reagan’s side. We each have to enter Dad’s room individually so that nothing chaotic happens. The priest enters first, and all you can hear are screams. It was like this for 10 minutes, we had to wait for 15 minutes before another one of us entered. It went quiet. I just figured he’d stopped the problem. Then Reagan entered, It still stayed quiet. I wonder what they’re doing, and if dad is okay. My 15 minutes was up so I walked up the narrow steps to the door. As I opened the door I experienced the one thing I did not want. There, laying on the bed was the priest and Reagan. Hearts torn out, faces ripped off, outfits destroyed. Above them, on the wall, it said ‘You’re next,’ clearly written in blood. I screamed in pure agony. That's when I saw it in my peripheral vision, a thing on the ceiling. It clung to it, almost like glue.

“H..H..Hello?” I muttered.

Then ever so quietly I heard a “ Hello.” I looked up and it was gone. I screamed for Reagan. “BABE, PLEASE, PLEASE ANSWER ME. I LOVE YOU. I DON’T KNOW WHY I GOT YOU INTO THIS.” 

I want this to just be a dream, have everything be perfectly fine. Maybe I was dreaming, but I knew everything so clearly. I opened my eyes, blinked to make my vision clearer. I took a deep breath, and heard, “remember me? I’m the Watcher”...