The Children of the Night by Elijah Babcock

Chapter 1: The House on the Hill

(note: for some reason the first few paragraphs wouldn't indent, so I separated those with spaces to make the breaks obvious)

We sat, as usual, near the center of the cafeteria. Plasticware scraped and chairlegs squeaked in a cacophony all around, kids chewing and chatting and roughhousing all at the same time. Everyone talked over everyone else. Add on to the general scramble the fact that Francesca Ingersoll and Johnny Shitface (not his real name) and their whole ilk decided it was time for “a move,” and you had the perfect recipe for a lunch period even crazier than normal—which was how things typically were.

They were what Hollywood might dub “the popular kids,” though we dubbed them “Them” or “Them Assholes.” Francesca’s mother sat on the school board and her father had Ted Bundy eyes so no one ever dared cross her, and every once in a while right at the beginning of lunch, Francesca would get that gleam in her eye and she and the rest of Them Assholes would get up and relocate to another group’s table. Hence, “a move.” I guess it was supposed to be a flex, I dunno. The teenage version of gentrification.

Anyway, the current “a move” resulted in a bunch of displaced theatre kids milling about with full trays and Disney Villain t-shirts. Somebody was crying, I think Gracie Hattersfeld, because the group couldn’t find a free table with enough spots so somebody had to sit out. Not that she was the victim, mind you. That girl had mastered the art of crocodile tears. Damn actors and their ability to cry on command.

We, of course, never had to move (“never”), because we always sat at The Mustard Table (almost always), so named because someone years ago graffitied “MUSTARD” across its entire length, which I guess compelled people to honor the moniker by constantly dumping mustard packets all across its surface, and now the table always smelled like mustard. Francesca wouldn’t be caught dead at The Mustard Table. This served to prove how “cool” we were, isolated in our safe haven and above all the petty drama. Usually it worked out, though sometimes a displaced group crowded the table first and left us with barely two spots for four people. One time, from lack of room, I knelt next to the bench until a teacher came and yelled at me.

Fortunately a spring cold had rendered a good quarter of the school out sick, so we had a whole half of the table to ourselves. The scene kids crowded the other end, all of them hunched over like dark lords or geriatrics. Also, to clarify, I say “scene,” but, well… okay for example I knew Tyler’s mom, and she wouldn’t let him dye his hair or cut it in any way “unChristian,” so he settled for black t-shirts, skater gloves, and a random assortment of chains and rings and whatever accouterments he could hide in his locker. Sometimes he tried guyliner. It made him look like if emo Toby Maguire in Spider-Man 3 quit dieting for two years. I guess Mindy seemed the most authentic—her dad being dead was something she bragged about—but the whole group was essentially what settled for counterculture in a town the size of ours.

It was just the three of us at the moment, our fourth late as always (or “fashionably late” as he would retort). Olly sat next to me, laughing at his own jokes and trying to impress Hayley. She nodded at him from the other side of the table, a perpetual half smile the only constant in her wardrobe. The day’s outfit consisted of skinny jeans and a gray vest over a black top. Hayley’s dad was loaded, and every other weekend when he had custody, she’d always come back home dragging a bag or two of new outfits. The one time we tried World of Warcraft, she preferred taking screenshots of her character in cute gear to leveling. We teased her for it of course, calling her “such a girl,” but she just shook her head and laughed it off. Hayley considered herself a tomboy but never rejected the more girlish parts of her personality, and embraced all of her traits with pride. I really admired that about her. Plus, it gave me a perpetual excuse to stare. Only checking out the new threads, after all.

Olly broke off his stream of chitchat to knock back a glass of water. He slammed the empty cup onto the table and cleared his throat dramatically, the telltale sign of an impending proclamation. 

“Okay, so, this morning I learned my parents are gonna be out of town for the weekend. I’m thinking tonight, you guys come over and we can stay up all night playing Halo.” With a low glance from side to side, he leaned in and beckoned the two of us to join him. Hayley and I rolled our collective eyes. He beckoned again, more insistently, so we decided to humor him. 

Even with all of us huddled close, Olly’s exaggerated whisper came out just as loud as normal volume. “If we want, my sister can probably score us some drinks, if you know what I mean.” 

Olly wasn’t familiar enough with alcohol to name anything specific beyond the all encompassing “drinks.” That was his sister’s job. Tara had performed this service for us a couple times before, though it still felt exciting and taboo. None of us were big partiers—our idea of a great weekend was potato chips and team slayer—so between the three of us we’d packed away like ten drinks max. Last time, I think the weekend after Halloween, Tara bought us beers. It took us about three collective sips to determine the beverage really wasn’t for us. Well, Hayley did, and Olly and I secretly agreed with her, but of course our manly pride wouldn’t let us stop sooner than two beers each. I much preferred vodka. It tasted like ass, of course, but all alcohol did, as far as I was concerned. The point was to get drunk and silly, and whatever facilitated that with the least number of sips was objectively the best.

Hayley leaned back from our conspiratorial circle, hands behind her head, and chewed her lip. I stared at her. There’s simply something about a woman biting her lower lip, that, well, you know. It’s baked into the male DNA. 

“I think I should be fine,” she replied, staring at the ceiling. “Hopefully. My mom hates me sleeping over at either of you guys’ place, y’know. Thinks we’ll get up to all sorts of naughty stuff.” She laughed at this, the idea clearly silly to her. Let me tell you, there’s no good response to that. I took the coward’s way out. I laughed, too.

A sudden hand descended from the heavens and landed on Hayley’s head as Kit, our fourth and final member, swung himself into place next to her. 

“‘Sup guys, what I miss?”

Hayley grabbed his hand and shoved it off her, grumbling, “you’ll mess up my hair.” But I noticed the smile at the corners of her mouth, and how her fingers lingered on his. 

The clock showed lunchtime as near halfway over, and Kit’s plate held enough food for the three of us combined. He would finish by the time the bell rang, of course. He always did. Since middle school, it had always been just Hayley, Olly, and me. Then right after Christmas break in our senior year, Kit transferred into our school, and somehow, our group. Fashionably late, as always. He was such a natural, easy-going guy, impossible to hate, despite how hard I tried. With blond hair spiked up in the front and arms that made me buy a pullup bar, his casual smile had the disarming charm of a Hollywood star. 

“We were, um, talking about gaming at my place tomorrow. I can, um, bring up the living room TV, too, so it’ll only be two per screen.” Olly peered at me with eyes as demure as a Victorian bride. He always got shy around Kit. I couldn’t blame him.

Kit nodded in response, a smooth motion to the beat of some nonexistent jazz. “Sounds pretty good, pretty good.” He garbled out the words through a mouthful of eggs.

“Oh my god, you’re so gross. I can’t even look at you,” Hayley said, continuously looking at him.

Kit winked at her, and chewed his eggs with a contemplative frown. His fork twirled about in elaborate patterns. Olly said something, and Hayley chuckled, but her attention was on Kit.

She’d talked to me about boys before, mostly to bask in how uncomfortable it made me. I think she assumed my reactions to be a general boyish discomfort. I doubt she knew I liked her. I never told her, after all.

It wasn’t love. I don’t think it was. It felt real, it hurt like real. I often whispered to myself, “I love you, Hayley,” in the quiet moments alone in my room, basking in the miserable ecstasy of a one sided crush. But love was for adults, I think. I didn’t feel old enough for love. People always said, “you’ll know when it’s real,” but I didn’t know, and didn’t know how to know, and no certain, godly voice ever split the heavens to declare from on high the objectivity of my feelings. So, it was just a crush. A five year long longing. 

Hayley rested her cheek on her open palm. The pose pushed her lopsided smile further up her face. The first crush she admitted to me happened back in middle school, on a boy named Brad. Three months later, when I asked about him, it took her a minute to remember what I meant. They were always like that. Transient fascinations. This one, too, would pass. And even as her hand propped up a smile meant for Kit, her wrist still wore the silver bracelet I gave to her. The other constant in her wardrobe.

Kit flicked his fork into the air and caught it between his fingers, scooping up the remaining eggs into the center of his plate. “You know me, guys, always down for some gaming. But this time I was thinking about something… else.”

His sly declaration didn’t immediately grab me. Kit was an outgoing guy, always full of ideas. Sometimes we tried them, but just as often the collected, introverted energy of the rest of us dragged his fantastical plans down to manageable levels. Like, no Kit, we’re not gonna go rafting down the Mississippi like Huck Finn, but maybe we could take a swim in the local pond. 

“Have you guys heard of Lancaster Manor?”

The name went in one ear and out the other. “You’re just afraid of getting trounced, Kit the Kitty-cat,” I teased him, trying to maneuver the plans back to gaming. I was the best at Halo 3, and I liked having Hayley see how much better my K/D was than Kit’s.

“I’m serious, guys,” he retorted, still with his easy smile. “Lancaster Manor.” All three of us stared back blankly. “Olly.” Olly jumped in his seat. “You’re smart. You know it?” 

The smaller boy scratched his head. “Lancaster… um… what did you say? I think I might have. Lancaster, the town, isn’t too far, you mean there?”

“No, it’s right here in Tilbury. Lancaster Manor.” It felt like fog permeated my brain, like trying to write an essay after an all nighter. Kit snapped his fingers, his arm outstretched to the center of the table. “Lancaster Manor. Guys, focus.” A hint of seriousness marred his voice, something I’d never heard there before. But something in the way he said the words made it finally stick.

Hayley spoke up first. “Um, yeah, I think, actually. The big house near Sandy Park Hill, right? It’s not far from my house. Just an old building, right?”

Kit leaned in conspiratorially. Without hesitation the rest of us followed suit, ever drawn into his pace. “Do any of you guys know anything about this town’s history?”

“Um, I remember going to a presentation about it at the library once,” I chimed in. “But that was when I was a kid. So I don’t remember much.”

Olly clicked his tongue. “I think I remember doing that, too. Now that you mention it, Kit, Joseph Lancaster was the town’s founder.” He peeped up at Kit for confirmation. The taller boy nodded.

“That’s right! And he lived on the outskirts of town, in a big old manor house. Ergo, Lancaster Manor. Guys,” Kit leaned even further in, and we all copied him. Our collective foreheads nearly touched. It no doubt appeared way more suspicious than a normal conversation. “That place. It’s definitely haunted. Let’s go check it out.”

“What makes you say that?” A pink blush dusted Hayley’s cheeks. I think she realized how close she was to Kit.

“Hayley.” When he turned to face her, the tip of his nose brushed against hers. She leaned back instinctively, then after a second closed the gap again, blush deepening. “You said you live nearby. Have you ever seen anyone come or go?”

“I… I don’t think so. Maybe?”

“And do any of you know anyone with the last name Lancaster?”

I sat back and crossed my arms, hoping to force physical distance between everyone again. “Alright, that just means it’s abandoned. So what? Lots of places are. Nothin’ special about it.” 

“Not abandoned, no.” Kit steepled his fingers. His plate of eggs sat directly between us like a fluffy yellow campfire. I swear his face somehow had underlighting. “A crazy old man lives there. Some say he’s the last Lancaster. Some say he’s the old gardener, who went insane and killed his employer. But all agree, that every night, the old man retreats into the depths of his house, and speaks with undead souls.”

“Some say?” I raised an eyebrow. “You mean ‘you say.’ Nobody even knows about this place, so don’t act like it’s a common ghost story.”

“I dunno, Alex, I think it could be fun.” Hayley shrugged and ducked my glare. “Haunted or not, aren’t you curious? Who knows how long it’s been abandoned.” My face soured. Oh, I see. She wanted to Scooby-Doo us. Hey, send Shaggy and the dog off to the ass end of nowhere while Fred explores the bedroom with Daphne. Wink wink nudge nudge and all that crap.

“Yeah, you get it!” Kit clapped her on the shoulder. “Although remember, like I said, it’s not abandoned.”

Hayley patted his arm. “Whatever you say.”

Their physical touches made me ill. “I just think it sounds stupid.”

“Oh c’mon, don’t be a scaredy-cat.”

“Says the girl who ran out of the room during The Ring.”

“Oh, hush. That was years ago.”

“Yeah, like, two years max.”

Olly watched the exchange without comment. Guess he couldn’t be counted on for backup support. I crossed my arms and let out a long breath through my nose. In truth, while I definitely didn’t want to create romantic moments for Kit and Hayley, I couldn’t explain my real anxiety about the manor. I didn’t believe in ghosts, so that didn’t frighten me. It’s just, when I heard the name, Lancaster Manor… something in my gut felt wrong.

 Kit smiled at me. “You alright?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine. Alright, I think it’s stupid to act all scared about this like little kids, but whatever. Let’s go explore your haunted house.”

“Great!”

“Great.”

“We’ll meet up tonight.”

So lunchtime came to an end and we quickly made our plans, or rather Kit made our plans and we agreed. I spent the rest of the school day trying not to get excited. Okay, okay, maybe it did seem a little cool. I guess.