Harness your hopes on just one person.
Emma’s room.
Is empty.
Even the blood.
Has been wiped away.
The silence.
Seems oppressing.
And so I ran back.
To my room.
For some reason, I
used to enjoy talking to Peter. He seemed as kind and spineless as any clever
man who has no way of showing off his smarts. Professor of medicine, what can
he do during a Christmas week?.. This time, however, we barely speak. Peter
seems morbid and never looks away from his computer screen. Marie has a sick
idea: Peter is looking for the right poison. He knows but he has to make sure.
But Peter is one
person. And there are so many of them in the house.
The blood patch on
the bathroom wall has moved to the living-room window now. It has grown bigger,
it has grown redder.
Jo, when she is not
in her room or playing the piano (and maybe then, too), can sometimes be found
talking to Eric. Plotting something.
Emily is having sex
with my dad almost in the open now. I mean, I can actually hear their screams.
My mom is waiting. I
guess.
Hilda is not even
looking at Tom any more. Tom, in his turn, is never looking at Hilda.
I should no longer
bother locking my room. Someone is doing it without a key. Or with a spare one
which does not exist. Moving my things around, stepping over my toys and slippers,
looking for something.
Last night someone
knocked on my door as I was sleeping. I woke up and closed my eyes, like some 6-year
old child. I put the blanket over my face. Somehow, it worked. And the ghost
was gone. Or the murderer. Or whoever it was.
Nine people. Eight
plus myself.
How, how can I ever
choose one?
P.S. Have to get some
birthday presents tomorrow. Will be happy to leave the house. If I
survive the next
night.
P.P.S. Quiet. So, so
fucking quiet.
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