CHAPTER FIVE
❛ back to the old house. ❜

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S Y D N E Y
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THEMES:
back to the old house — the smiths

DEAR DIARY, currently lost in oblivion...

It has been four, maybe five days since that Homecoming night. I don't know anymore. I kind of feel like I'm... floating? I don't know where, but all I know is that I don't feel like I belong anywhere now. Except maybe hell. But there is no way I can go home. Not after this.

But I was also running out of options. When I woke up this morning, throbbing from lying on a stiff park bench, I knew I needed a solution. I felt like shit — I hadn't eaten anything more substantial than snack food in days, my hair was greasy and still coarse with dried blood, and the gut-wrenching feeling of being directionless gnawed away at me. I was alone, and vulnerable. If I had learned anything about my powers, it was that that was not a good way to be; raw.

It was while I was nauseated, slowly eating stolen potato chips, that I told myself I couldn't live like this anymore. I had a decision to make: go home and face the music, or run away for good.

     Either way, it looked like I was going to have to journey back home.

     I started going back in the early morning, when I knew Liam was at school and Mom was at work. Retracing my steps felt like treading on eggshells — I was so terrified someone would spot me, would somehow see right through me and know what I did. Then I'd really be done for. But in the effort to push those nerves away, I just focused on the clunk, clunk, clunk of my worn Doc Martens against the sidewalk... each tedious step bringing me closer to home.

     The familiar neighbourhood started materialising around me. For one thing, I passed Stan's house with a few blocks to go, and stopped for a minute. His house still looked like a pigsty on the outside — all sorts of scraps and junk bundled up in front of the porch, neglected and hoarded over years and years. I knew I was messy, but I still didn't know how he could live in that place, and not least because of his shitty dad. Still, seeing his house gave me some strange comfort. It took me back to just a week ago, when he'd caught me on my way home from school, high as a kite and barefoot (still don't get what the fuck that was about...):

     "So, Bloodwitch, am I right?"

     "What?"

     "Bloodwitch. You like their music?"

     "That's a... terrible name for a band."

     "Perfect, actually."

     "I bet they sound like shit..."

     "Well, I mean, I have– I have them on vinyl... limited edition... if you wanted to come over, and we could listen to some stuff?"

     "Oh..."

     "And we can get high."

     "... Yeah, maybe."

     "I mean, we– you don't have to, I– I was just... you know, we– we live so close and we've never really hung out before."

     "No, I guess we haven't... but yeah. Maybe we should."

     "Yeah. Cool, uh, let me know... what a world we live in, Sydney."

     I recalled him wearing those stupid sunglasses, doing a goofy dance in the distance on the road; the silence that greeted me instead made me grimace. I thought about Stanley, and how I'd maybe taken our friendship for granted... however brief it'd been so far. Did he still want to be my friend after this? Did he even know I did it? No, stupid question. Of course he knows I did it.

     Not wanting to face that place any longer, I kept walking along our neighbourhood until I reached my house. Seeing the familiar outer walls and slightly patchy front yard made a lump form in my throat. It was shabby, sure, but it was home — and yet I felt like a total outsider. Instinctively I went to open the front door, but after tugging the handle a couple of times, I remembered I didn't have any keys on me. I was going to have to do this the hard way.

     Circling around the house, to the side where our recycling bins were clustered together, I squinted up at my bedroom window. There was a flimsy lattice on the side of our house that I could use as a ladder... then I could find my way in through my room, if I didn't fall and snap my neck first, of course.

     Well. Here goes nothing.

     I rolled one of the bins in front of the house and haphazardly climbed on top of one of them. From there, I used it as a springboard to reach the lattice fence attached to the wall; my fingers were able to hook in and I could already feel how weak the wood was. Of all the times to think it, a self-conscious paranoia suddenly hit me — what if the neighbours see me, and think I'm a burglar or some shit?

Well, I told myself in response, too late now that you're hanging off the wall like a dollar store Spider-Man.

My arms, hands, legs, everything was throbbing by the time I'd clambered up to the level of my bedroom window... my lack of core strength had come back to bite me for sure. Should've concentrated more in Phys Ed. Now the challenge was getting the window open. Luckily I had just the tool for that, if I could control myself. I focused my stare onto the window, squinting as if down the barrel of a gun; it was channeling all of my energy into this singular action.

With a sudden jolt, my skin prickled and the window jerked open.

The force made me wobble on the lattice for a moment, before I plunged my arm in and hooked my hands on the windowpane. I managed to crawl in, instantly regretting the placement of my desk by the window, as my body swept old homework and a pot of blunt pencils onto the carpet. Once my Doc Martens landed on the floor with a thud, I resolved to tidy them back up (not wanting to leave any trace of myself), before I looked up and surveyed my room.

     Seeing it again this way was like a time capsule.

     I'd forgotten about the chest of drawers, the one I'd shoved in front of the gaping hole in the wall that I made. When I peered into the bathroom next to my room, my sanitary products were still sitting there in an untouched mess. One of the biggest differences was the lack of an inflatable bed on the floor — I almost tripped up on the empty space. It was strange. Hallie had become part of the furniture this week, in a time where my life had changed forever without any warning. And now, even she had gone home too.

     I remembered seeing her that night, after it happened. The last look we gave each other; her intensely blue stare was heightened by the crimson splatters she was drenched in. I remember how I couldn't tell what she thought of me. Whether she saw me differently after what I did. It still haunted me.

First things first, I wanted new clothes. I rummaged through my closet and found some baggy jeans, socks, t-shirt and a thick hoodie. My hair stood on spiked ends as I pulled the hood over my head — it had a faded fragrance of laundry detergent and warmth. It was like a warm hug after the last few days.

     Blinking away the prickling in my eyes, I took the opportunity to walk around the house alone. I felt every matted bump of the landing carpet underneath my shoes, trying to remember every contour as my shoes dug into it. Liam's bedroom door was open — Goob had propped up his teddy bear by his pillow, just as he always did, and a box of Lego was placed in the middle of the floor. I even peered into Mom's room, seeing the bed made but still slightly creased, especially on the side where Dad used to sleep. The staircase creaked under every step as I descended downstairs...

The kitchen still smelled vaguely of pancakes. I remembered the batter sizzling in the pan, a pyjama-clad Liam peering over my shoulder as it cooked. I recalled getting on my hands and knees to clean some of the stuff that spilled, so she wouldn't see it and get mad at me.

That was yesterday, a lifetime ago. This was today.

On the dining table, I noticed a stack of papers fastened together. When I saw the top one, my heart did an anxious somersault, my fingers tips gently lifting it up. They were Missing posters, all printed with black-and-white photos of me. All my information and everything. The days had blurred into one so much, it felt like a slap to the face — how long had I been gone? And what would it mean if people started looking for me?

     The shrill tone of the phone in the living room startled me, and I stared at it like a deer in headlights. Distanced about a metre away, I let it ring several times before it went to leave a message, which turned out to be from Aunt Janet:

     "Hi Maggie, it's Janet. Sean told me you were making posters for Sydney, and he's on a business call right now but he wanted me to tell you if you're running low on toner, just give us the word and we'll print more for you. This is such a horrible situation, I– oh hold on... I think my boss is calling me... anyway, call me back!"

As usual, her phone was probably ablaze with work calls and messages, so it got cut off early. But her words still lingered in the air around me. What if... I did come home? No one, except for Stan and Hallie, could know what really happened that night. So if I could just get over my conscience, learn to control my powers and be able to look Dina in the eyes again, I was all good... right?

THUMP!

The muffled racket came from behind the basement door. Goosebumps instantly prickled along my skin. An invisible tether beckoned me to open the door, one I didn't want to listen to but tempted me anyway. That basement was symbolic of so much hurt — it's where Dad used to go when he was overwhelmed, and ultimately where he ended it all. It was also where he hid his secrets, apparently... one that we shared, if I'd understood Mom correctly the other day. Us both being gifted with these stupid abilities.

Still, I opened the door for whatever reason. Tendrils of shadow crept up the steps and lapped at my feet like waves rolling onto shore. A chilly air rose up from the stone cold floors, grey and dull even in daylight. I was paralysed, trapped, ensnared, unable to speak or think. The contents of the shelves began rattling, and for once I didn't know if it was me or something else. Or... even someone else.

"Sydney..."

A disembodied voice whispered to me, one that I neither recognised nor loved. Fear struck me like a hot rod of lightning and I slammed the door. I couldn't do this. I couldn't live like this. Not like I used to. Everything was going to follow me around like a shadow, and if that was the case, I had to get out of here. For good.

I bounded up the steps and hurtled into my room. My backpack was hanging on my chair and I shook it over my bed, emptying its contents so I could start repacking — I was going to be a runaway. Spare clothes, my wallet, some ID, some basic sanitary products and more. I even found the glass jar filled with money I'd been saving up for college and, with slight hesitation first, I stashed it into the bag as well. It's not like I would need it anyway. I couldn't see myself having that kind of future after all this.

My phone was also lying on my desk, which I'd only just noticed. How did that get here? I thought I'd lost it that Homecoming night. Not in the right frame of mind to question it, I pocketed the phone and slung the bag over my shoulder. I knew I was leaving fast, but I also knew I had to rip this off like a band-aid. If I dwelled too much on what I was leaving behind, it would just make me sadder. So I stormed out of the house without even looking back.

For a while, I just wandered the roads, pondering what my next move should be. Maybe I could go to another city, get my own place, start a new life... then I scoffed at the thought. You wish, I told myself. Big ideas for a seventeen year-old girl who just committed murder.

By the time I'd finally decided which bus I would get on, the air was bitter and unforgiving in its autumnal chill. My Doc Martens happened to slump into a puddle on the sidewalk, dampening at the toes. An old man was seated next to me, a corduroy cap covering the wiry grey hair on his head. For the past few minutes, he'd been glancing at me now and then... I honestly didn't know how to feel. In general, I hate people staring at me. It's like, fuck off, you know? You could be looking at anything else, and yet you're looking at me. I think Dina might be the only exception to that — I don't mind it if she stares at me. I could stare at her all day. Zoning out, my tongue wetted my chapped lips, and for a moment I thought I tasted cherry chapstick...

     Anyway, I'm getting off track. The old dude finally spoke to me after a while. "Where are you off to, kid?"

     "I... don't know," I shrugged honestly.

     The old man chuckled, tapping his walking stick. "You bunking off school? Don't blame you. Did it all the time when I was your age."

     Oh. I wish it was just that. "Actually, I'm trying to get away. Just... from everything."

     Before he could ask me more questions I didn't have the answers to, the bus pulled up and braked at the stop with a hiss. As the double doors open, I felt my heart lodge itself in my throat, the weight of what I was doing seep in with the rain. I pulled down my hood and let my pixie cut be exposed. I handed the bus driver my ticket, who looked me up and down as if to say, "The fuck are you doing out this late?" and then I was on.

     I meandered all the way to the back seats and rested my temple on the window. As it rumbled with the movement of the bus, I pressed the power button on my phone to finally check in on it. Almost instantly, it opened a floodgate of missed calls and texts which dominated my home screen. A ton of them from Mom, Dina, Hallie, Stan... my thumb hovered over them, scrolling through each word. All the 'We miss you's and 'Are you okay's were too much. I contemplated replying, but then put it down.

     Maybe it was better that I wasn't found.

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A/N:

sorry this chapter is so short and a bit lacking, i've discovered that i REALLY struggle with writing sydney's POV and i don't know why... maybe because of how angsty and moody she is? (might just pretend the shortness of her POVs is because she has a blunt character voice or something). anyway, this was my mood in updating this chapter for you guys:

however i'm very pleased with the song choice for this chapter, as follows:

'back to the old house' by the smiths: sydney breaks into her own house and walks around, sadly reminiscing of her old life.

but fear not! this mediocre chapter will (hopefully) be compensated for in the next one, because we're meeting some NEW CHARACTERS! i'm so excited for you guys to see them and react to them; they're part of a little subplot for hallie and i hope they come across as endearing as i intend them to be. as for sydney's story, you guys haven't seen much of shadow man yet, but whenever her next scenes are you might start getting more of him... i'm kind of dragging this out because i want to make sure i'm absolutely decided on what kind of character he is, so stay tuned 👀

also you may or may not notice a little sign-off gif at the bottom of this chapter, which i've added to the previous ones as well... i spent a ridiculous amount of time and effort making it, but i'm so happy/proud of how it turned out! from the ianowt-looking font to the stallie feels (the fact they both look down shyly at the same time gives me so much serotonin EEK)

thank you so much for reading, and have a lovely day/evening!

published: 25th august, 2022