This choice: Wake up Helen, keep Ashley as a skin • Go Back...Chapter #9Setting (Some) Things Wright by: Nostrum   You stand before the mirror and give yourself one more look. You can’t help but smile and pose, because seeing how Ashley would react to seeing herself while thinking about you urges you to do that yourself. It’s a very meta thought.
You still have to return home, though. Your mom doesn’t mind you stepping away for a while, but she’ll definitely ask if you spend more than four hours (like you’ve done – it's night already) and she’ll probably have a heart attack if you don’t return by dinner.
You still have an excuse to sport these curves, and that’s to check the pen to see if they can be returned. You dress up again, trying to wear something more casual and that covers more – a pair of jeans and a turtleneck sweater – and grab her purse, shoving the pen within.
Closing her door shut, you step all the way to Helen’s house, holding the key you borrowed earlier on. The lights are off, and as you glance at Edna’s house, you don’t see her checking out. You hope she doesn’t corner you while inside, waiting in the dark, but that would be too clever and nefarious for her.
You open to see everything as you left it – up to Helen molding to her seat – and close the door tightly before turning the lights on. You quickly close the curtains of the only open window, making sure Edna or anyone doesn’t stare while you execute your grim experiment. You take a deep breath, point the pen at Helen, and click.
You almost trip as you see the blob of skin convulse, filling up like a balloon. The ghastly expression in Helen’s face gives way to one of astonishment, then to serene quiet after a big gasp. She’s breathing (thank goodness!), and after a while, she starts to lean forward and move. “What happened to me?” she asks in a gruff, gurgling voice.
“Mrs. Morris?” you ask, figuring you should show some respect – and in case you’re not on “bestie” terms. “You alright?”
“I feel like someone wrung me out and left me to dry...” (Not too far from the truth, to be honest.) She looks at you, puzzled. “What are you doing here, darling?”
“Came to check in on you, ma’am.”
“And what time is it...?” She turns the TV on, shaking her head. She gasps as she notices the show. “Did I fall asleep that long?”
“Do you know what happened, Mrs. Morris?”
She touches her forehead, struggling to straighten. “Not really. All I know is, I heard some strange sounds, and...” She stops abruptly, pointing at the back door. “There was someone there.”
“On your backdoor?”
“Yes,” she claims desperately. “Last thing I remember was seeing the door open. Then I see a bum stepping in, and after that...” She immediately grabs the phone, holding it at eye level.
It doesn’t take a genius to figure who she’s calling – that could cause trouble. “Ma’am, I could always check on first and--”
“Nonsense!” she barks. “There’s someone dangerous lurking around, darling. What if he gets into your house!?”
Someone already did, you think, considering who you are and who you’re appearing to be. But you try to stop her with a reasonable lie. “Ma’am, if he’s who I think it is, he was already stopped.”
She lowers her phone, surprised by the news. “What do you mean, young lady?”
“Police were passing by, asking the neighbors about some strange man roaming around. I went to check in and Edna told me--”
“Wulff?” Helen snorts, flashing the only genuine smile out of that scowling face. “That penchant for gossip will lead her nowhere good, let me tell you.”
“She said she saw someone going around your house. She asked me to check on you, but...” You stop, as you need to make your story believable. If Edna calls you out, she’ll suspect. “I got through the back door and saw you on the seat, unconscious.”
“Must’ve been after I saw that man...”
“There was nobody, though. I checked your blood sugar, and it was high, so I...” You move towards the insulin pen, shaking it. “And I waited until you woke up, though I had to go to my house to close it up.”
“I see...” She furrows her brow and rubs her temples one more time. “Thanks for helping me out, young lady.” She finally looks at you and chuckles. “I see you’re wearing something decent for once. Now, if you could only get a good, long skirt instead of jeans...”
--
You did your best to entertain Helen, but it was a pain. Feeling Ashley’s breasts on your chest and rubbing your inner thigh in her panties distracted you from her conversation.
As you suspected, she’s from out of town and moved in with her husband, the late Jeremiah Morris. It’s strange that you never met them, nor your parents – you and your family has always lived here, with your parental grandparents living roughly half an hour away and your maternal grandparents half as far as the first – but you recognize various people that once lived in the neighborhood.
Helen has two children, but they don’t want to know anything about her. Josiah, the eldest, lives in Philadelphia and refuses even to call her; her daughter, Rachel, does visit every now and then but only for a couple of hours and only once every three to four months. She does recognize you and enjoys the time spent together, which means the creep must have realized she was the best chance to trap her.
She’s hungry, and you give her some roasted potatoes with a little olive oil and salt, coupled with some steamed vegetables – you're glad that you learned to do some cooking on that camp, but you’re not one to cook for yourself. She does notice the difference in flavor and, while thankful, it’s obvious you don’t know her taste. (That, and it didn’t taste that great in the first place.)
Finally, after making sure she’s doing alright, you leave her. Upon returning, you notice you’ve spent way too long outside, and you’ve skipped dinner. (Your mom saves it for you, but because she wants the family to share together, she does so begrudgingly.) Thus, you (equally begrudgingly) slip off Ashley’s skin, wipe off with one of her towels (God, the smell!) and dress up again. You figure she could spend one day deflated at the very least – that way, you could slip in tomorrow and have another “date” with her. You poach her keys, though, and set the sweater inside her face to create some bulk before leaving, but not before hiding the creep’s skin under her bed. (You only hope nothing goes horribly wrong.)
With the pen and her keys in your pockets, you check your surroundings to see if Edna, Helen or Mr. Ferrell are looking before slipping in and then blending out. It’s nighttime, which makes it harder for anyone to notice, but learning there’s a gossip in the neighborhood means these escapades will be a lot more difficult.
Finally, you reach your house, ringing as you forgot your keys (and your phone) when you left to check out. Claire answers with the smuggest smirk on her face. “Dad wants to talk to you.”
That, of course, is code for “you fucked up”, and the little hops she gives afterwards add “big time” to it. You move towards the dining room only to see your father sitting, arm on table, looking at you.
Before he can even ask, you quickly tell him the first thing that comes to your mind. “I was helping a neighbor, Dad.”
“Who?”
“Ashley,” you say. “Um... Ashley Wright. She lives... a block away. Near Mr. Ferrell.”
“And what were you doing?”
You bug out, realizing that you’ve lied now to several people, and anyone could easily find out. “Watching her house. She was checking on another neighbor – Mrs. Morris – and asked me to keep an eye on her.”
“Do you know her number?”
“Uh... No, Dad. And she’s already asleep, so--”
“You know you should be here before dinner at least.” Your parents cross looks, and their behavior suggests you’re let out loose. “You should’ve told your mother about it.”
“Sorry Dad! It’s just that, well...”
“Claire said you left without a warning. She was about to follow you--”
Shit! You realize. What if she found out and didn’t tell them!?
“--but your mother stopped her.”
“David,” your mother adds. “You’re almost an adult, but we’re still worried about you.” She serves you a plate with chicken parmigiana atop a bed of spaghetti and some of the sauce, then goes to look for the garlic bread.
“I know, I know... Sorry, Dad.”
“Next time this happens, grab your phone and tell us you’ll be late. You know I don’t mind if you’re visiting your friends or your girlfriend until late hours, so as long as we know. Makes it easier for us to know where to look in case something happens.”
“Yeah, I know...” You feel a leer behind your shoulder, only to notice Claire’s watching this from the side of the living room, smirking.
“Well - so as long as that happens, it’s alright. Now eat – had to leave you a big one or else Nick would’ve eaten your portion.” He pats you on the back and leaves, inciting Claire’s fury.
“Hey! What’s the big idea, Dad!?”
“Davey’s got the age, and you don’t.” You feel Hell just froze over, because Tina – your elder sister, and the oldest of your siblings - stands up for you. (Or so you think) “When you’re eighteen, maybe Dad’ll let you off the hook. Or maybe not – you know boys get off light.”
“Tina?” your mother says, wrists on her waist. “You know that’s not true.”
“Nick could spend days with Aaron and Sharon, and you didn’t bat an eye – but the moment I arrived at 10, you’d be chewing me out.”
“The difference,” your brother Nick says as he ruffles your hair, “is that’s the only place I went.”
Your oldest brothers soon engage in a discussion as you munch on pasta and chicken. Focusing on it makes you think about it.
Being Ashley could give you some peace of mind, but who’s gonna make you dinner?  You have the following choice: 1. Continue |
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