Ket kept his hand as steady as he could. The block of wood in his left grip twitched and pushed with every stroke of the knife upon the opposite-facing surface. The block was fairly hard to hold still, as he had the edge of it against the middle of his palm.
The top, just in the last hour, had begun to take form. He had managed to turn the flat top into that of a pyramid-shape, with a bit of a cupola at the top. It had been cut too deeply on one side, at least more deeply than to his liking. One edge was also sloped much steeper than the rest.
He learned very quickly to be very careful with how much he took away. He could always take away, but he could never add back. Therefore, after every few passes of the knife, he took his figure and held it up to the vantage of the light. He swivelled it a few degrees left and right, ensuring it matched the design he held only in his mind.
He had tried to sketch it out, but it looked terrible. He was not an artist, that was for sure; even the simplest part seemed ugly and disproportionate on paper compared to the perfect envisioning in his mind. He decided to not let it bother him that he couldn't put the plan in pencil, and just put it in motion.
Aside from the aforementioned flaws, he was satisfied with his decision.
His stomach began to rumble. It was late morning. He had seen his mom off to work earlier, at six.
She still had her weekend-job at the grocery store just a block or so away. The job was not actually a necessity; she could stop working there, now that she worked at the bank. The pay wasn't particularly much, although thanks to her tenure she was paid well more than any of the other cashiers.
But that was sort of her first job. She worked there because she liked it; and they liked her, too. She was definitely a people-person, even if she had some of her son's own tendencies of being rather quiet and reserved most of the time. When it was her job to chit-chat and be an extrovert, she gave her pay's-worth.
The grocery store staff were like their extended family. Ket was known to many of the managers there, and sometimes dreaded going into the store. He always felt it awkward to talk with people that knew so much about him, without having ever formally met them.
But his mom was happier for it, and he was happy for her. Besides, he figured it would be a good place for her to meet a new father. He just hoped she would see the opportunity, for he never explicitly said that thought.
The knife caught against a thick shaving. He knew he should have pulled back, but for some reason, he was a little too slow—he applied pressure, and the knife slipped forward. It stuck into the cupola at the top, gouging a another cut that, when he removed the blade, was noticeable. He sighed, setting the project down.
His hand hurt. He had been carving the first tier of the pagoda since after his breakfast. A bit of worriment came over him as he looked at how much he had left to go. But he had practiced several times on soap, and had a feeling for the knife now. He had done in one morning what it had once taken him two whole days of off-and-on sessions to even get a sense of—and it looked better than that result, too.
He set the fledgling pagoda upon the newspapers spread over the carpet. He would gather and dispose of the shavings later. For now, he sat back, reclining against the back of the couch. He took the whetstone from the cushion next to him, and began sliding the knife across it. Back and forth. A well-practiced motion.
It was therapeutic, listening to the knife scrape across the fine-grained surface and letting his wrist automate the motion. He had to be careful not to be too relaxed; one wrong move and bye-bye middle finger. He actually should probably not do his whittling while alone. But otherwise he was so bored.
Emeral was shopping with her mom and friends of her mom. For clothes, maybe; he didn't really know. She seemed to hint it was so, as if to say she was going to find more dresses that he would like. She had yet to wear the one she had gotten over spring break for a second time, but she did remind him she had it. She promised, even though he didn't really ask her about it, that she would wear it sometime soon. She just wanted it to be, “the right occasion.”
He went back to that moment. He had never thought clothes to be any big deal, ever. Not until recently did he start giving a little bit of a care about what he wore; let alone what Emmy did. But the dress had just caught him off-guard, somehow.
He didn't fully understand that yet, despite understanding other things. It even made him feel a bit light and fluttery as he thought about it now; the way she emerged, and how he went from not giving outfits any thought, to suddenly only able to think about it.
She looked beautiful, was all he could decide.
Clack!
The hackles of the tiger raised. It had been over a week since they had gotten back to their house, in the state of a ransacked mess. Piles of clutter and disorder still trashed most of the rooms—more upstairs than down. His house, like many houses, was wont to make various cracks and groans and clicks and moans as it adjusted itself throughout the day. However, the house did not realize that its adjustments put the tiger on-edge.
Ket remained frozen for several moments. Waiting. Alert. His eyes roamed over the upstairs, looking for what might have been the origin of the sound. It was not the first he had heard that morning, but he was familiar with most of the sounds the house made—and that was not one of them. He looked at his hand; he had a knife.
He knew there was a gun in the house. He didn't know how to use it. His mom did; she was actually a keen shot, from some targets he had seen with his grandpa. But he had never wielded such a weapon. Unless the arcade light-guns counted.
Nnnnnnnnnnrrrrrrrrrrrrghhhhhhhhh
His eyes flicked to the stairs. His heart began to beat faster, a spike of adrenaline rushing up his spine.
He had a knife.
He set the whetstone down quietly. Right now, the only phone was downstairs. He was going to get that phone eventually, for use upstairs, but they had not gone out to get a new one yet. Right now, that seemed like an oversight; in order to call the police, he would have to go into the fray.
Unless he had a cellphone, but he and his mom never saw the need. Maybe for his birthday.
Plip-plip-plip-plip...
His shoulders jumped. At first he thought it footsteps, but after a few calming breaths he discerned that it came from the bathroom. It persisted, as if the house was just toying with him now. Like a little brother, annoying and pestilent.
He went into his bathroom. The sink was dry. He drew the curtain aside of the bathtub, and found there to be a small, very shallow lake in the tub. There was a quick succession of drips dropping from the faucet directly into the drain. It gave a hollow sound as a particularly accurate drop fell in.
He gently pushed the faucet knob in, and it depressed only a slight bit. Apparently that slight bit was enough for it to shut all the way off. How he hadn't shut it off all the way before was a thought, as he usually did. Not to mention he only noticed the dripping just now.
Leaving the tub to dry on its own for the rest of the day, he went back into the den, closing the door to just ajar. It creaked as he shut it, and he decided he would ask mom to oil the hinges. Or, maybe, he would learn how to for himself, since he had been doing so much work around the house anyway.
He was certain upstairs was fine. Aside from his room and the bathroom, there was no other place for a boogie-man to hide. Except the closet. But, if he could have gotten in there, then he deserved to be able to hide there. The tiger wasn't about to risk opening that door, for fear that he might be found three days later beneath the avalanche.
That just left the downstairs. Yup. Just the downstairs. No big deal.
He had to gather a bit of courage. He wasn't expecting anything to be down there—after all, the house was just making noise, right? But still, if something was, he would be facing it.
He had a knife.
He walked barefoot. He passed the squeaky spots on the stairs, his feet careful and light. The sound of the carpet sagging beneath his toes was the absolute minimal possible. All the while, he listened. As he passed the window, he could hear a motor running from somewhere on the street. It must have been rather loud, if it could get through the glass and walls.
He looked out, slitting the blinds on the window just a tad. At the house just outside, the people that come and go must have come. There was a man mowing the overgrown lawn, which would mean mom would get mad that she would have to mow sooner.
Letting the blind fall, he continued his descent to the first floor. The hallway was dark, for at this time in the afternoon it did not get much light. In the morning, it was at least a little brighter if the morning was sunny. Especially in the winter, when the sun was just in line with one of the windows. By now, it was out of alignment. Besides, it was cloudy out today.
His foot met the wooden floor.
Snap!
Oh you stupid house. Ket let his foot drop again, having pulled it up as a reaction. Securely on the wood, he looked from his vantage point. He waited for several moments, but aside from the still-audible lawn mower, no other noises came to his ear.
More assuredly, he stepped into the kitchen. The far-end was dark, like the stairs. By the door and table it was brighter, as they had already gotten the window replaced. His plate was still on the table from that morning. He had had waffles, and by now the syrup had congealed. Sighing, he picked his plate up with a porcelain scrape.
Even more brazenly he kicked his stool over to the kitchen sink. If anyone was in the house, they would have heard him for sure. He looked out the window atop the sink as he rinsed the syrup off the dish, using his hand to scrub away the gook instead of the brush. Because, by some logic, he didn't want to dirty it.
Cars passed by, but none looked suspicious. The clock on the counter ticked to eleven-forty-seven. His mom would get off at two, and would be home five minutes later. He just had to last that long, then the house would be whole for the rest of the weekend.
Plate clean, he set it into the sink. He washed his hand, which had acquired a bit of gook itself, and then checked his chin and muzzle. Often, he found, syrup could be discovered two days later if he wasn't thorough. So he repeatedly washed around his mouth any time he ate with it.
Satisfied, he stepped down from the stool. He still wanted to check the rest of the house, but the anxiety that had gripped him before was all but gone.
Creeeeeeeeeeeak.
Not this time you jerk. He crossed the hall, into the living room. They had worked to clean this area after the kitchen, and it was complete, as of yesterday. It wasn't even that bad, but it had to be carpet-cleaned, along with the stairs, since that was what took the most in damage. The vandals had left the TV and DVD player virtually untouched. There were still a few stains on the couch, but his mom was thinking about getting a new one, anyway.
A cursory glance was all he needed to verify no boogie-men were present. He turned to his left, into the small hallway that separated his mom's room from the bathroom. The tub was unused, filled with some excess junk while they cleaned. He opened the stand-in shower door, and found no surprises.
Last was his mother's room, a place he rarely went. Just as she never went into his, he did not wander into hers unless he felt he needed to—like now.
The room glowed white with the curtains blocking the window. The queen-size bed was pressed against the far wall, clean and made. Just to his right, there was a chest of drawers and a large mirror. The mirror had always given him the creeps, especially when he had learned about Bloody Mary. How his mom could sleep with a mirror watching her, he couldn't guess.
There was also a wardrobe to the left of the bed, and a walk-in closet behind the wall. If a boogie-man was going to hide anywhere, it would be in either of those two places.
Ket stepped into the room. Like his room, the carpet was plush and welcoming to his toes. He walked to the wardrobe and gripped the knob. It wasn't very large, and probably wouldn't be able to house a person, but he was still cautious in opening it. He stayed to the side. Pulling the door away so that whomever might be hiding would not see anyone outside; just the open room.
After a moment, he peeked over the door. His mom's taste in clothing was modest and reserved, but that was apparently not what attracted boogie-men. The wardrobe was clear.
That just left the walk-in closet. It was a place he had almost never gone. It could probably contain his entire bed, including the headboard, and even have some space for walking around it. Not that that was anything special, since his bed was basically just the mattress. But, for a closet, it was ridiculous space!
The closet door did not squeak at all. It was dark inside, until the door hit a certain point, turning on the pressure-sensitive light-toggle. It was smaller than he thought. Then again, he had been littler the last time he explored in here. He couldn't be blamed for being a bit imaginative.
And the boogie-man appeared to be a figment of his imagination as well. Unless he could fit in shoes. He saw shoes that he could swear he had seen once before, when he was younger, but never again. There were even a few pairs still in the boxes, unworn.
Come to think of it, many of the outfits he had not seen her wear in a while. There was a dress he recognized, that she had worn to a dinner with dad, while he was babysat by grandpa. Maybe sometime, he would take Emeral here on a secret journey. She might like to see them, if only to get ideas for things to get—if that's something she wanted.
Girls were weird! And now it was making him weird!
He shut the door a bit roughly, satisfied that he was alone in the house. Just to be sure, he would want to check under his mom's bed. He was pretty sure only tote-bins were under there, but it was better safe than sorry.
He went to the bed and lifted the dust-ruffle, peeking underneath. It was dark, at least on this side. He could not see the other side. He reached in, his hand bumping against a plastic bin. Sure enough, he was right. But he would want to go over to the other side just to make absolutely certain.
Despite being on the bright side of the room, the other side of the bed did not give him any more light to see by. He reached in, but found no abruptly-appearing plastic. He scooted in further, his head just beneath the edge of the bed, and reached as far as he could. He managed to just barely touch the plastic bin on the other side, the one he had so readily collided with before.
Then he jumped. His head hit the bottom of the bed. He groaned; his goose-egg had been dormant for most of the week, but with the bump it flared up. He saw white spots over his eyes. Before he could recoup, he made sense of the noise that had so easily made him into a jumping-bean: the phone rang.
Wriggling out of the crevice beneath the bed, he tried to run to the phone, but just as he reached the kitchen, the answering machine picked it up: Thanks for calling the Rachaun residence; we're not available at the moment, but please leave a message and we'll call ya right back!
”Hi, Micah! This is Rosemary, from the restaurant. The other girls were just askin' about you and we're all just wondering how you're doing. Give me a call, when you can—I promise you're not going to get weaselled into covering anybody! Bye.”
Ket's brows flattened. He reached behind his noggin, nursing the egg with a few strokes. It didn't hurt as badly as he expected—definitely not as badly as it would have a week ago. With a sigh, he let the ambient noises take over. He realized that the lawn-mower stopped. He wondered how long at had been off.
The phone did remind him of Emmy. He took a breath. It would actually be nice to talk to her. He picked up the phone, punching in the number without having to look at the keypad. Though, it wouldn't have been much help anyway, as the numbers were worn away. He listened to the ring, only now vaguely feeling like she may not answer.
”Hello.”
It was an expected hello. His calls were not a mystery, since she could see his name.
”Hey.”
”What's up?”
He twisted the phone cord in his fingers. “Nothing. Mom is at work, still. Just... home alone... I heard some noises downstairs and came to take a look—”
”Emmy h-...b-...?”
”I'll be out in a minute, mom.” She said, clearly away from the phone. “Sorry,” her voice came through clearer. “What'd you say?”
”Sorry, you sound busy,” He observed. “I was just... if I caught you at a bad time I—”
”Nonono,” she said, her voice a bit quiet. “It's... well you caught me, that's for sure...”
He raised a brow. “What does that mean?”
”Well, you kinda just caught me in the middle of trying on some clothes,” she explained.
”Oh... I can... let you get back to that...”
”I mean like...” Her voice dropped even lower. “I totally just took my pants off when the phone rang!”
He held the phone away. “I didn't need to know that!”
Over the receiver, he could hear her muffling her laughter.
”Don't make me laugh too loud! mom might hear.”
He heard some rustling on the other end of the phone. He tried not to think about what it was implying.
”You kinda have knack for calling me when I'm not wearing pants, don'tchya?”
He sighed.
”I'm sorry,” she giggled, “I can't help it. Look, don't worry, it's okay. What'd—?”
”Emm... hu... ple are wai...”
”Look, you're really busy. Why not just call me when you get home?”
”I said in a minute mom!” Back to Ket, she asked, “What?”
”I said just call me when you get back.”
”I didn't make you mad, did I?”
”No,” he insisted, if a bit too readily to keep her from getting the wrong idea; “I can just tell you're busy. Just... call me when you get home okay?”
”Well... okay, but that might not be 'till, like, maybe even midnight.”
”Midnight? Why?”
”Well, we're all, like, two hours out of town—gah; okay, there's this girl that's with us and she says 'like' a lot, sorry.”
”Oh... Well, I hope you're having fun.”
”Oh yeah, I am,” the tigress replied, amidst some more shuffling. “She's helping me pick out some really neat clothes—I dunno what I'd do without her. They want me to try on ugly, boring stuff.”
He heard some rapping on the other end, followed by Emeral's sigh. He panicked, quickly bidding “bye,” and ending the call before she had a chance to say anything. While he wasn't mad or upset—more uncomfortable than anything—he didn't want to bear the thought of getting her in trouble with an apparently impatient Momma B.
He kind of wished he hadn't called her. Now, he felt a bit lonelier than before. Not afraid, just... alone.
Without any more rooms to investigate or noises to resolve, there was nothing to do but go back upstairs. As he surmounted the final step, he was forced to look into the disastrous room. He stood still as he panned his eyes across the floor. A pathway to his room and the bathroom had been made, covered here and there by a stray piece of clutter. Even with his mom's help, it would take more than this weekend to get everything picked up.
He may even have to throw a lot of it away.
He was saddened when he saw the stuffing by his bedroom door. He still hadn't told Lyza about what had happened to the Sphinx she had won for him, and thankfully she hadn't asked about Tutty in a while. He would hate to lie, but she would feel terrible if she learned the truth.
Hopefully, it wouldn't be a lie for long.
Amidst the stuffing, Ket saw a more purely-white thing. He traversed the meager path toward the area, and reached for that which piqued his curiosity. It was a piece of paper, crumpled and torn. He turned it over, taking it to the couch and flattening it out.
Dear Whisperfoot,
I had a lot of fun over Spring Break! I went to a Space Center with a lot of people from my class. It was awesome! I got to drive a Rover, and look at comets, and even went inside a space ship! I k ow i so d l e 'm b g g b wh o o e th Mi dl ea m, y n g o t e s m rip t o.
pe y u t ip t ach w s fu d any alone-time wi
He remembered now, the letter that he set upon the couch for when he got home. He had forgotten all about it, and now he only knew of where the top little bit was. But it was strange, it was like it had been erased a little bit before it was torn; there were eraser crumbs and graphite smudges all across the torn area.
Someone had read the letter. He distinctly remembered leaving the envelope sealed upon the couch before he left. For a minute he was worried; did the envelope have a return address on it?
No. No it didn't. They had stopped doing that once they knew the letters went through.
He looked at the paragraph once more, and decided he had better respond before any more time passed. If he finished it before the afternoon, he could get it to the mailbox before the mail came.
Taking the torn paper to his desk, he twisted the knob of the light to turn on the florescent glow. Kicking back the encroaching clutter, he sat in the chair. The dull pencil at his station was sharpened, and a clean piece of paper was retrieved from the ream situated behind the desk, between it and the railing.
Dear Treewatcher,
I'm sorry, but most of your last letter did not make it in one piece... There was a break-in while we were gone, and it had been torn up except for the part about your trip. Going to—
Clack!
His pencil scraped at the noise. His hackles raised, his fur puffing out with a quick pulse. As it settled he listened, feeling that same prickling sense dread as before. Several minutes passed. Collecting his nerves, he very quickly, yet quietly, went down the stairs.
He looked in the direction of the kitchen, and immediately felt stupid. Lying across the walkway, their Swiffer, which had been propped against the wall, had fallen over. With a bit of an embarrassed growl, he picked up the mop and situated it more securely in a corner, making sure it wouldn't fall again.
He couldn't wait until mom got home...
Dear Treewatcher,
I'm sorry, but most of your last letter did not make it in one piece... There was a break-in while we were gone, and it had been torn up except for the part about your trip. Going to Space Center sounds like a lot of fun, especially since I have been reading more science-fiction lately.
I had fun at the beach, but I have to admit I was a little bit of a jerk. My friend and I got on each others' nerves, I think, but we made up in the end. She helped me clean up my room when I got home, and stayed really late while her mom helped mine. It was kind of weird—Like I said, she is a year younger than us but she can be really mature when she wants to be.
Another friend of mine almost won the Spelling Bee yesterday. In the end, she got second-place. We all cheered for her after going back to our rooms, but I think Lady Hupp thought we were teasing and taunting her. I have never heard her yell like that before! And I'm worried for my friend, because she is acting a little strange from how I know her.
Sorry. I guess on a really lighter note, I'm feeling more confident about the Test. It's just two weeks away now, and Lady Hupp is giving me practice tests to do. Plus, after they are done I can have my afternoons back again!
I guess after that it's just the Market. I think I have a better idea of what I want to do this year. I don't know if you remember, but I made the flip-wallets last year and I think I only sold one. Your jeweled magic bracelets were really popular if I remember right—especially with the girls. I'm sure they were more interested in the jewels than the magic, but hey you got to sell all of yours.
I think I'm going to clean more of the house, now. Talk to you again, soon.
Sincerely,
Whisperfoot
