The house I grew up in was humble and plain, with a small garage jutting out its side and and one of those obnoxiously pink tiled bathrooms. It had those finicky blinds, the thick ones that you could pry apart with your fingers, the type that tilt this way and that when you’re trying to raise them, and only with a practiced hand and a bit of luck you could keep them straight. A long dining room table, wood stained with sharpie and red marker from school projects over the years. Carpeted bedrooms with lofty bunkbeds, untouched since my siblings and I moved out years ago.
I have five siblings. I’m the third kid, which means I’m sandwiched somewhere in the middle. You see all those big Youtube families where the kids wear matching shirts and take vlogs at Disneyland and post their kids crying over their grades for views and clout. While I’d rather be shot dead than wear anything matching my brothers and sisters, I have to admit I was jealous of that big family vibe we never had.
We had the looks of a classic sitcom suburban family, but my parents’ love turned conditional around kid number four. There just wasn’t enough of it to go around, especially when Mom and Dad started fighting, yelling and throwing plates, screaming about money and jobs and some woman named Julia. On those nights, my oldest sister Tabitha had us all haul sleeping bags down to our relatively soundproof basement. She made smores in the microwave, turned off the lights and put a flashlight under her chin, telling scary stories that devolved into childish nonsense, till we all laughed to tears. As soon as she turned eighteen, Tabby got the hell out of Dodge, and I don’t blame her. We all moved out eventually.
I’ve made peace with my childhood. We all did, I think. Can’t say it didn’t mess us up though.
“Get your feet off the dash,” Sean barks from the driver’s seat. Adam tuts and rolls his eyes, stretching his long legs further till his sneakers were almost touching the windshield.
My younger brother Jake is eager to share his thoughts. “I saw this episode on Nightwatch once, where some dude got into an accident on the freeway, and the dude in the driver’s seat had his feet on the dash, and his fucking kneecaps impaled him in the ribs, and he folded in half like a piece of paper, and his legs were bent, at like, a fourty-five degree –”
“Get your feet off the dash or I’m pulling over,” Sean says. Adam relents, swinging his legs off the dash and crossing his arms over his chest.
“What crawled up your ass, Sean?”
I see my own reflection as Sean adjusts his front mirror. “I don’t want to be here, that’s what. I’m missing the game for this shit.”
We’re all coming back, to the house we grew up in, because someone fucked up their liver to hell and back with booze and needs a partial liver transplant, and his wife isn’t a match. I heard from my mother for the first time in two years, when she called me on the phone and begged me to stop by town to see if I was a potential donor. Said one of her kids had to fit the bill, or Dad was going to kick the bucket with a nasty case of jaundice and a severely cirrhosed liver.
“Fuck Dad, piece of shit.” Hailey’s the youngest, two years out of high school. “No way in hell he’s getting my liver if I’m a match.”
Sean snorts. “You’re all talk. You need your share of the will more than anyone. You have your percs stashed in your back pocket?”
“Fuck you, Sean.”
Sean slams the breaks at a stop sign. “As classy as I remembered you, Hails.”
I’m nearly suffocating from stale air and unresolved tension as Sean pulls into the driveway of the old house. I tumble out of the backseat and gulp at the fresh air, taking in the scene. The house is the same as I remembered, save for a stretch of ivy growing across the small garage, copious weeds on the front lawn, and a dead wreath on the door, probably there since Christmas.
“Home sweet home,” Tabitha mutters.
The doorknob has almost fallen off the old house. Tabby has to nearly hold it against door as she inserts the key and turns it over and over, until it finally clicks and the door swings wide open. The foyer is just how I remembered, a little dusty, the small mirror on the wall a bit crooked, and –
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Harsh laughter draws my attention to the living room, where my siblings have all gathered. The living room is bare, save for the stockings hung up above the fireplace, each etched with our names. We each got when when we were born, a gift from our now long-gone grandmother. Hailey’s shaking her head, tangled strands of black hair brushing against her shoulders. “They still have these stockings up? When was the last time we were all here for Christmas?”
“Wait, hold on. There’s only…” Sean takes a moment to count. “There’s only five! Fuck you, Adam, you’re not on here!”
“The fuck?” Adam shoves Sean aside to see for himself. Sure enough, there are only five stockings hung on the fireplace, in age order, as Tabby had organized them every year growing up.
Tabitha
Sean
Connor
Jacob
Hailey
“What the fuck, Mom and Dad?” Adam shouts to the sky. I can’t help but laugh, because if anyone was going to be left off of the fireplace, of course it was Adam, the self-proclaimed “rebel”.
“What a loser,” Hailey laughs. “You’re kicked out of the family, pack your bags and go.”
Adam shakes his head. “Fuck this family, dude, I don’t even want to –”
We’re caught off guard by the flickering of lights, before they turn off entirely. Evening approaching, I can still see the outlines and faces of my siblings, confused and still a bit giddy over Adam’s missing stocking.
“They probably didn’t pay the electric,” Sean groans. “Maybe with you out of the picture, they’ll have some more spare change to…”
Sean trails off, elbow in position to jab Adam in the ribs. The darkness of the living room is illuminated by the flicker of the fireplace, the small flame casting shadows against the wall. Adam is walking towards it, his usual confident gait slowed and calculated, as he reaches the front of the fireplace and drops to his knees before it, staring at the small flame.
“When the fuck did that turn on? Adam, the fuck are you doing?” Sean goes to approach him, grabbing him roughly by the shoulder and turning him to face us.
“Jesus fuck,” he exclaims, and I hear Tabby gasp beside me as I feel my face lose color, something wicked constricting my chest. It’s Adam, alright, but his telltale hazel green eyes are…white. No pupil, no iris, nothing. It’s as if the color in his eyes have been painted over, milky white and unblinking, contrasting with his thick black eyelashes. He doesn’t blink…rather, stares straight into the wall behind us, before his head whips around so fast Sean startles and lets go of his shoulder.
Adam’s staring into the fireplace again, bowing his head towards the flame.
“Yo, what the fuck? Adam, c’mon, man, I don’t know what –”
Adam turns so quickly to Sean that his neck audibly cracks. “Go away.” His voice has changed…what used to be a bit nasally and laced with sarcasm is now deep and severe, a guttural growl. His lips move quickly, low mumbles escaping his mouth as he murmurs into the crackling fireplace, knees digging into the stone as he nudges himself closer.
Sean looks back at the group. “I don’t know what he’s doing. I don’t know.” I’ve never seen my brother look so shaken. “I don’t know what to do. What do we do?”
“Uh, call 911?” Jacob’s as white as a sheet.
“Right, right.” Tabitha’s grappling for her phone, stopping short when a slow, low whine claws its way from deep Adam’s chest. He sounds like a kicked dog, a kicked dog who is lowering his head dangerously towards the flame, grinding his knees against the stone of the fireplace so hard that I begin to see blood leak out from under them as I stalk towards him. I drop to my knees below him. He’s leaking with sweat, running down his neck and his face. A spark lands on his parted lips, but Adam does not react. He’s mumbling something incoherent.
“Adam?” I try, reaching out a hand before deciding against it. “Adam, it’s Connor. Are you okay, man? What’s going on?”
Adam’s head spins swivels towards me, too fast and too hard, so much so that a loud crack reverberates in my ears. When he finally finds my eyes, his head lolls loosely from his neck, dropping onto one of his shoulders at an unnatural angle that makes my stomach turn. Blisters are already forming on his lips, the skin nearly at a boil, bubbling underneath the tender flesh, pus already beginning to spill onto his chin as he opens his mouth. His eyes seem to be dripping too, deflating, melting under the flame of the small fire. I jolt as a strong hand wraps around my wrist, squeezing hard. What’s left of his eyes meets mine. When Adam opens his mouth, splitting the skin at its corners, his voice is horrifically scratchy and hoarse.
“Adam hurt this house. Adam pays now.”
And with that, Adam lets go of my wrist and starts to crawl into the fire.
“Adam, NO!” I yell, throwing my arms around his middle in an attempt to restrain him. He wrenches himself from my grasp, throwing himself into the open flame. Almost instantly, the flame is growing, as if feeding off of his burning flesh, and I jump backwards, finding my footing and running back towards my terrified siblings.
I can’t look away. It singes his hair, makes its way down his face and into his melting eye sockets. His clothes are up in flames as he settles in the fireplace, fire traveling down his arms and legs. The smell of burning flesh makes me gag, and I look over to see Jacob retching behind the couch. It’s as if the fire is consuming him, roasting him for dinner, and he just takes it, not screaming or crying or begging for help. The roar of the growing fire engulfing my brother is too loud, and I don’t realize I’m covering my ears until strong hands are ripping my arms away from my face. It’s Sean, screaming.
“Connor, we have to GO, NOW, GET OUT OF HERE!” He’s shaking me, I realize, or maybe he’s just trembling himself. I can hear Hailey’s shrill voice from the foyer.
“THE DOOR WON’T OPEN! IT’S FUCKING LOCKED.”
“YOU’RE AN IDIOT, JUST TURN THE DEADBOLT.” Tabitha.
“YOU WANNA FUCKING TRY IT, IF YOU’RE SO FUCKING PERFECT?”
“BREAK THE FUCKING WINDOW THEN, HAILEY!”
“I’M TRYING, JESUS CHRIST!”
I turn towards the growing fire, so large it’s nearly escaping the fireplace, and wonder if the damn house is going to burn down if we don’t find a way out. And with a crack, what’s left of Adam’s mangled body explodes like a pop rock in the fireplace. Sean yelps, hands leaving my shoulders as I’m blinded for a moment or two, sparks burning my skin as I tumble out of the living room. I fall to my knees in the foyer, coughing up my lungs and throwing up on my lap, as Hailey, Jake, and Tabitha attempt to smash through the windows, throwing fists and lamps and the fireplace pokers to no avail.
It takes a moment for my hearing to return, for me to come to my senses. My vision, blinded by white, begins to come back, as I take in the outlines and shadows of the foyer, begin to see colors once more. I blink, glancing up at my older brother Sean, who nearly lifts me off the floor as he hauls me to my feet.
“Are you alright?” He’s sweaty and breathless, shirt tinged black, one eyebrow nearly burned off.
“Y-yeah,” I say, and Sean slings an arm around my shoulders as he tugs me back towards the living room, where my remaining siblings have gathered. Jacob’s sobbing. Tabby has her hands clasped together in front of her, as if in prayer, blue eyes wide and brimming with tears. Hailey’s hands are threaded through her hair, nearly pulling it off her scalp, pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace, where nothing but bone and ash remain.
I turn towards Jacob, maybe in an effort to calm him down or hug him or something, but stop short when I see his shaking arm raised, pointing above the fireplace. I follow his line of sight.
There are four stockings above the fireplace. They are in birth order, as Tabitha always organized them every Christmas.
Tabitha
Sean
Connor
Hailey