Almond (ONC2021)

Chapter 6 - The Slapping Machine

To say I was rattled was an understatement. I would have been content to stay on the floor, in a near-catatonic state, except that I was literally laying atop the bag of squirrel heads, which was uncomfortable on multiple levels.

The voice had ceased a few moments before. It hadn't abruptly stopped. Instead, it had drifted away, as if whatever was speaking had slowly floated out of the attic. Or out of existence.

Eventually, I had to force myself to move. Much like the attic clean-up, I gave myself small tasks to focus on accomplishing.

Get up.

I knocked that one out of the park.

Dispose of squirrel heads.

Hard fail, as I picked up the bag by the bottom and all the heads and assorted offal spilled out the top. Of course, the squishy, bloody parts landed on the carpet and the heads bounced down the staircase. This would make it the Battle of...I started counting steps but lost interest as the concept suddenly seemed silly and insignificant.

As eager as I was to somehow secure the attic hatch, I couldn't do it while stepping around rodent parts. So, once again I gathered up the remains, tied the bag this time, dropped it into the garbage can in the garage, put the lid on it, and topped it with a brick.

Secure attic hatch.

This went easier than I expected. The hatch and frame were wood, so I was simply able to drill some long screws into it. Would it stand up to a human kicking it open? Probably not, but it should keep whatever was in there from pulling it up. Or so I hoped.

Address the note.

The "98" note was still in my pocket. I had finally accepted that whatever insanity was transpiring in my home was going to continue, regardless of my denials or resistance. All of my previous plans had been bad, and I certainly wasn't coming up with any new or better ones. To top it all off no one was truly going to believe me if I went for help.

I debated calling Beth at that point but summarily dismissed the notion. What was she going to be able to do besides worry or have me committed?

It was time to face this almond crap head-on and if that meant playing along then so be it. Shit or get off the pot, as my grandmother used to say. I dropped the five attic almonds into the bowl and set the folded note on top. That brought the count in the bowl to fifteen, as I had left the almonds in the ornaments on the tree. To show that I was truly being a team player I even left a pen next to the bowl.

I waited for a while—for the pen to levitate and write on its own or for the note to move or an almond to run around my house breaking shit—but nothing. I supposed I shouldn't be too surprised. Hauntings usually didn't perform on command for willing audiences.

When my eyes grew heavy, I threw in the towel and headed upstairs. I flopped onto the bed and stared up at the dark hole my foot had left in the ceiling. Shit. I'd forgotten all about it. I'd patted myself on the back repeatedly for barricading the attic hatch and the whole time there was a hole right above my damn bed. Whatever was in the attic would have no trouble dropping through and would even get to use my mattress to cushion its landing, possibly while I was sleeping on it.

I opted to spend the night in the guest room. Armed with my old hockey stick, I thoroughly searched the room for, well, for anything and then tried to get some rest.

I wasn't a fan of this room. The mattress was too firm, there was no television, and, as it was the furthest from the furnace, it received very little heat. Additionally, the ceiling fan chain was broken so having the light on meant the fan was also running at top speed. And I sure as hell wasn't sleeping in the dark.