Harness your hopes on just one person.
Even the blood.
Has been wiped away.
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.