encoded notions

Visitors

“I watched you, like I watch everyone,” explained Harold, “but you had some spark that spoke volumes to me.”

“Blech. Don’t get all touchy-feely with me.”

“Do not interrupt me again.”

“Sorry,” she mumbled.

“As I was saying, you had that spark. The way you looked at life, your sarcasm was just begging to be poked and prodded. I toyed with your life solely to watch your responses; I must applaud you—though my hands are bound—you were very creative with your reactions; I have some of my favorites recorded for posterity.”

She scowled at him, her face was awash with hatred to her core. She fumed. Then she reached for something from the table.

Harold flinched.

And just at that moment, there was a knock at the front door.

Tersely, Julie said, “I will be back shortly so we can continue our…fun.”

Harold thought, that was far too close; I need to end this situation before I run out of visitors to call on for distraction.

Upstairs, she ripped open the door with the same fire in her eyes that she carried with her from the basement, and yelled, “What!? What do you want!?” On the porch stood a rather older woman, looking rather distraught. Julie’s eyes traced the path down the sidewalk, and over to the smoke pouring from under the hood of the bus parked along the curb.

A bus.

And pouring from it, swarming up the lawn like African killer bees—with equivalent, if not more destructive power—was something that she did not wish to see right now. The one thing that could bring ruin to this enjoyable day: A busload of screaming children; Julie did not like children. Sure they were fine once they reached a certain age, but prior to that, they just got in the way. They were a messy race of creatures. Kids are like anchovies. No one in their right mind likes them, she was known to say on occasion.

The woman spoke, “Our bus broke down, can we use your phone?”

“Of course, it’s in the kitchen…I think.”

“Can some of the kids come inside? It’s been a long drive from the museum and some of them desperately need to use a bathroom. We’re willing to compensate you for the trouble.”

I’m not blind, Harold. I see what you’re trying to do, but delays and minor annoyances only make your torture all the more appealing to me later.

“Sure! Come on in. Make yourself at home, ” Julie looked around at all of the rare and valuable—breakable—things in the house, “just don’t let the kids go into the basement, it’s not safe for them down there.”

“Thank you.” Turning to the kids, the woman—presumably their teacher—quieted them and said, “this nice lady has agreed to let us come into her house while we wait for the tow truck to come.”

The kids cheered and ran towards the house.

You ruin my life, and the least I can do to return the favor is to leave your house in shambles.

In the basement, Harold could hear thumping, running, squealing, and the sounds of very expensive things falling from high shelves. Damn. Today just keeps getting worse for me.

Upstairs, Julie smiled and turned towards an array of picture frames on the wall. In one she could make out a younger version of Harold, at his high school graduation ceremony. Standing beside him was a young lady of his own age. The caption read, “Fate and Harold make their mother proud graduating at the top of their class.”

Fate? So Harold had a sister, and her name was Fate (Are all of these supernatural beings related like characters in a daytime soap opera?). Julie pondered this new piece of information; she rolled it around in her mind as one would savor a fine candy. Harold’s comebacks weren’t working as well as she’d expected. If Harold and Fate haven’t been on speaking terms with each other since Gloria started spending the night here, then perhaps his sister was countering her brother’s plans, making them backfire out of spite.

Ah, sibling subversion at its finest. Julie was going to have to send Fate a thank you card.