He snapped on the lamp and examined Julie’s face closely. No red marks. Nothing to indicate some bizarre protrusion may have been trying to force its way into her body through her mouth.
But what did that prove? Nothing. Maybe the marks had already disappeared, or maybe the thing had gotten smarter or more careful and not left any evidence behind, or maybe it had entered her body through some other opening. Matt shuddered, suddenly freezing despite the stifling heat inside the bedroom.
Hell, maybe he was going crazy. Maybe that was the problem. Maybe Tim hadn’t changed at all, maybe the kid was perfectly normal and so was Julie, and he was losing his fucking marbles.
Matt didn’t think so, though. As confused as he had felt last night when he had awoken to discover his girlfriend’s son standing mute next to the bed like some flesh and blood statue, he felt exactly that clear-headed right now.
He leaned over to nudge Julie awake. She must be really exhausted, he thought. Normally she’s such a light sleeper she would have woken up just from the sound of the kid’s breathing. Not tonight, however. Tonight she lay dead to the world, her respiration slow and steady, her body as unmoving as her son’s.
Before Matt could wake her, Tim turned, still silent as a corpse, and began trudging/stumbling out of the bedroom. Matt assumed he was heading back to his own room but didn’t really care; he was just glad the kid was gone. That whole stand-still-and-stare act was seriously fucked up.
With Tim gone, the air in the room seemed to lighten somehow, to become less dense, and Matt realized he had been holding his breath. He exhaled heavily and decided not to bother Julie after all. The kid was gone and Matt guessed he would have a bitch of a time trying to wake his girlfriend up anyway, she was sleeping so deeply.
Matt looked at the clock on his bedside table. Four-twelve a.m. The entire disturbing incident had probably taken thirty seconds from beginning to end, although it had felt like much longer. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep, but knew he was — like last night — wasting his time. All he could think about was where the little twelve year old zombie-in-training was and what he might be doing.
After fifteen fruitless minutes spent trying to get back to sleep, Matt slid out of bed to make coffee in the middle of the night. It was becoming a habit.
Matt looked at his watch for the fifth time in three minutes. Seven fifty-five a.m. Julie would normally have been up for almost an hour, getting Tim ready for school and then herself ready for work. So far, neither one of them had yet put in an appearance. It was unsettling. Matt busied himself with his breakfast and tried not to dwell on what Julie’s absence might mean. She was probably just tired. Or maybe she was getting the flu.
That must be it. The flu.
He finished his cold cereal — he realized he had no clue what brand he had just eaten and tried to chuckle, but found he couldn’t force the sound out of his throat — and dropped the bowl into the sink, and when he turned around, there was Julie. She seemed to have materialized out of nowhere, standing just inside the kitchen doorway. Her hair was mussed and her nightgown wrinkled and she stood silently.
Stiffly.
Watching.
Saying nothing.
And Matt knew.
No one had left the Hardiman/McKenna house all day. Tim called the kid in sick from school and then his girlfriend in sick from work and then himself in sick as well. Sure, the bills were going to keep coming but Matt had a feeling he wouldn’t be worth a shit at the garage today anyway — his mind was on other things — so he decided not to bother trying.
After Julie’s appearance in the kitchen this morning, Matt had smiled brightly and offered a cup of coffee—“Looks like you could really use it,” he said — and she had stared right through him like he didn’t exist. She supplied no answer to the coffee question but that didn’t matter. Matt knew the answer already.
The day passed slowly. Time felt disjointed to Matt, like maybe he was living in one of those old-time movies where the camera was cranked by hand and the actors’ movements were jumpy and out of sync. Tim stayed in his room all day, not coming out to eat or even, as far as Matt could tell, use the bathroom. Julie wandered aimlessly through the house, back and forth, like she had done when Tim was missing, except her pacing three days ago had had a purpose to it and this seemed almost random.
Matt tried a half-dozen times to start a conversation with her; nothing serious or complicated, just normal adult chit-chat. Eventually he gave up. Her interaction consisted of toneless grunts or one-word answers, exactly as Tim had done when interviewed by the police the day before yesterday, after his miraculous return from the mine.
The police.
Matt’s thoughts kept coming back to the authorities. He should get the cops out here, but what the hell would he tell them? I’m afraid my girlfriend and her creepy kid have become possessed by whatever has been locked up inside that cursed mine for the last couple of centuries? And what was his theory based on, exactly? A grouchy girlfriend? An unresponsive kid? Hell, if that was the measuring stick for possession, half the families in America would be considered possessed. Maybe more.
The clock continued moving, afternoon becoming evening, evening sliding into night, with no change in the status of either his girlfriend or her son. It was like they had become fucking zombies overnight. It would be time for bed soon, and Matt knew one thing with absolute certainty: he would not be sleeping with whatever Julie was becoming. Or had become.
He eyed her nervously from the couch as she wandered past, walking aimlessly through the little house, somehow larger, bulkier than she had been before. Her hands were balled into fists, but Matt knew what he would see if he could get her to unclench them — lengthening nails, hooked and claw-like, growing thicker and stronger.
He wondered how she would react when he told her what he had to say. He needn’t have worried. “Listen,” he said. “I’m thinking I should probably crash out here on the couch tonight.” And every fucking night until whatever is inside you has disappeared or died or otherwise gone away, he thought to himself. “You really could use a good night’s sleep and I’ll probably just keep you awake tossing and turning next to you.”
It sounded weak coming out of his mouth, but if Julie thought so, she didn’t say. She barely said anything. “Whatever,” she grunted, hardly slowing her stumbling, trudging pace and not looking Matt’s way at all. Or maybe, “Okay.” Matt wasn’t sure. He didn’t ask her to repeat herself, though. The exact words didn’t matter.
A few minutes later, he walked into the bedroom and retrieved his gun. He returned to the living room and placed it under the couch, within easy reach, and set himself up with some blankets and a pillow. Then he waited uneasily for Julie — or whatever she had turned into — to wander off to bed. His sense of unease continued to build. It was turning into real fear.
Matt stretched out on the couch and tried to relax. He didn’t think there was any way he would be able to fall asleep with his brain buzzing like a hive of angry bees. It occurred to him that he was probably in shock, and why wouldn’t he be? Three days ago he had a life he understood. It was boring, sure, but it made sense. Steady job — maybe he’d never get rich, but everybody needed a mechanic eventually — sweet girlfriend, standoffish twelve year old. His life was so normal, it was a slice of freaking Americana.