Peter helped his mother into the elevator and gingerly pressed the button for their floor. He didn’t know what he was expecting to happen, the button zap him, the floor drop out of the elevator, zombies burst from the roof or any number of possible and impossible scenarios but all that occurred was that the doors shuddered a little when closing before the lift whisked them smoothly upwards.
His mother was leaning her back on the cool metal wall with her eyes closed, but cracked one when she said quietly “These old buildings, eh? One time the lift got stuck at the top and we all had to take the stairs for a day. I’m sorry we have to live here, honey.” She sighed. “The next place will be better, I promise.”
Thinking about the terrors he had experienced with tech recently, Peter just hugged his Mum. “It’s okay. I don’t mind it here,” he assured her.
“You’re such a good boy, Peter. Not like your Dad. I’m sorry I compared you to him earlier.” She returned the hug, holding tight even when the lift reached their floor, opened the doors and closed them again.
Peter lunged for the ‘open door’ button before the elevator departed for another floor with them still inside. Under the pressure of his finger, the button fell into the recess behind the panel, letting his skin come into contact with one of the wires from another button. Peter yelped as electricity coursed through his finger, and stuck it in his mouth. “Oww,” he whined.
Eyes fluttering open, his mother pushed off the wall and dragged Peter out the now open doors. “Come on Petey, it’s waaay past your bed time.” She stumbled and Peter leapt to support her. The two of them made their way unsteadily down the hall, Peter guiding his clearly dead tired mother along to stop her straying into the walls.
Inside, Peter helped his Mum into her room and closed the door. “Sleep well,” he wished her through the wood. He heard a muffled reply but couldn’t make out any specific words.
Feeling like a cup of tea before he turned in himself, Peter put the jug on and sat at the kitchen table. I guess we all need someone to lean on sometimes. He listened to the rumble of the water heating in the plastic. Even when we can’t ask for it. Even when we’re supposed to be the one doing the supporting. The jug clicked off and he poured himself a large mug of bergamot tea, inhaling the steam as it began to steep.
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
He took the mug to his room and sipped from it slowly as he thought about his life. Flicking off the light he crossed to the window, nearly tripping on a discarded pillow in the process. How did it all get so screwed up? I never see Dad anymore, Mum’s working so hard she’s out of it. I’m going to fail my exams and even if I passed, Bully is going to take the pass for me anyway. I don’t even have any friends I can talk to about it. Putting the mug down heavily on the window sill with a clatter, Peter stared out over the moonlit cityscape. It looked unreal, ethereal almost. He was reminded of the way the mist curled around the streets of Averton as the smog filled up the streets below. It was similar to the first time he had fought the imps in front of the tavern.
Taking a sip and holding it in his mouth, he let the warmth suffuse his face. That’s weird, he thought, swirling the tea like the thoughts swirled through his mind, it even feels like it did that night. There was indeed an electric creepiness drifting through the darkness and Peter imagined a haunting throaty chuckle floating on the wind. The feeling like someone was moving behind him stole over him and a flicker on the edge of his vision made him whirl about, almost spilling his tea.
Keys rattled in the front door as someone tried to open it stealthily. “Shh,” a familiar voice hissed, “they should be asleep, but stay out here and be quiet.”
Peter froze. It was his Dad. And someone else, but most importantly, Dad. What’s he doing here? Mum said he was busy at work. The answer was soon forthcoming as a different set of keys jingled, extracted from the key bowl with the ringing noise of metal on ceramic. He was taking another set of keys. Peter checked the clock on his implant, it was after ten. Maybe he’s just taking the bike out for a spin to clear his head after work? But who’s the other person? Is Mum right about him sleeping with some lady from work? Should I go see him?
Torn with indecision, Peter stood rooted in the dark until the door closed. The creepy feeling faded soon after. He returned to the window and picked up the mug with a shaky hand. That was weird. Whatever that was. He took a mouthful of his now lukewarm tea. Do I tell Mum? How would I describe the weird feeling without referring to TAOS&S? Ah, bugger it. DB’s waiting for me and he’s probably eaten all the nuts by now and started working on the furniture. He moved the mug to his desk where it wouldn't fall and rebuilt the pillow fort as quietly as he could.
Setting his usual alerts, he logged in.