Blog #2: An All-Too-Familiar Voice

Watching the shadows lurking on the streets as the cab trudged toward the amphitheater, Kit couldn’t help but wonder if this was a bad idea. The boost of confidence he had felt that morning when he heard the words “I used to care of the ghosts and spirits, but things have changed,” seemed like a distant memory.

As the sky turned from a pinkish hue to a deep purple, Kit wondered why he didn’t have the motivation to tell his mother, “I told you so, mom!” Perhaps it was because he was unconsciously hoping that she was right. Maybe the courage he always associated with her would somehow rub off on him. Kit turned to look at his mother, recognizing his own golden brown eyes and chocolate hair on her. Unfortunately, it looked like physical appearances were going to be the only sources of similarities between the mother and son. Stifling a sigh, Kit turned back toward the window and watched as his breath fogged the glass. He decided he would be brave for his mother, no matter how scared he actually was.

…

Two hours into the concert and Kit felt nothing but the numbing freedom of the music reverberating through his bones. At the moment, he was oblivious to all else, including the darkening sky and the fact that his mother had not returned from the restroom for over an hour. As Conrad began transitioning into another song, Kit finally realized his mother was missing and made his way through the crowd, clanging elbows and stepping on shoes.

Finding an old man leave the only porta-potty in sight, Kit’s heart started to pound and his mind began to race: where could she have disappeared to? As he made his way to the parking lot, he pulled out his phone and called her. No answer. That was strange, she always answered her phone, or texted back, at the least. Cursing as the phone slipped through his suddenly clammy hands and hit the granite, Kit heard his mother’s voice and another, a derisive one that was all-too-familiar: his father’s.

The man had abandoned Kit and his mother seven years ago, only turning up with his new girlfriend to pick up the Lexus that he had snagged via asset division. Kit hated him with all his being.  So, why were his father and mother in contact with each other, let alone meeting without his knowledge?

Blog #1: Night Seeps Into Day

The day started with a persistent throbbing in Kit’s skull. But as he opened his eyes, he realized it was the rain pattering against his window panes, beyond which he could see nothing but darkness and the haze of city lights. As he automatically reached for his phone on the ebony nightstand, he heard rustling. He froze.

“Who’s there?”

There was no answer.

Though he lived in an apartment on the posher side of the building, there always seemed to be the occasional sound of rusty pipes or creaky floorboards, and so, hearing strange noises in this little apartment wasn’t unusual for Kit. But now things were different. Ever since Mr. Evans -the kindly old man who handed candy to kids- had died, Kit had grown paranoid, double and triple-checking the locks and always placing the watermelon knife in the nightstand drawer.

When his mother had come over the day before with the excuse of bringing him Pot pie, she had said he was going insane. At the time, Kit had wondered if she was right; maybe he was being overly cautious. Nonetheless, a weapon at-hand didn’t seem like a bad idea when one considered the treacherous combination of his nyctophobia and a potential murderer at large.

As Kit held his breath and clutched the knife to his chest, he asked again, “Who is it??” Fortunately, he thought, his voice wasn’t trembling as much as the first time. He leaped lightly out of bed and flipped the switch: no one was there. But before allowing himself to relax, Kit walked into each of the three bedrooms and bathrooms, checking under every table and behind every shower curtain. Finally, he returned to the warmth of his bed, only to be woken by the buzzing of his alarm a half-hour later.

This time, a couple of sun rays were peeking into Kit’s apartment, illuminating it just enough to give Kit the confident stride he lacked in the dark. Easing into his weekday schedule, Kit showered, gave his mother a good morning call, and headed to his first class of the day, Microbiology 201; the night’s events temporarily out of mind.

However, though the things Kit feared the most, nighttime and the darkness that defines it, were gone, the cause of Mr. Evans’ horrific death was still about. So was the cause of the previous night’s rustling. What if the two were, in fact, from the same source?