1998: Linnet Street 14 [Chapter 6]

Chapter 6: Fractured Lives

The decision to leave came not with a dramatic confrontation or a sudden realization, but with a slow, painful acknowledgment of the truth Yvonne could no longer deny. The man she had married, the man she had once loved, was gone. In his place was someone she could no longer recognize—someone who frightened her, who put their children in danger. She knew she had to get them out, had to find a way to break free from the darkness that had swallowed their home. But knowing she needed to leave and actually doing it were two very different things.

The process was slow, agonizingly so. Every day was a struggle, every step forward met with obstacles that seemed insurmountable. Yvonne spent hours on the phone, calling landlords, looking for any place that could take them in. But finding suitable housing wasn’t easy. The market was tight, and the few places that were available were either too expensive or too small for a family of four. And then there were the financial implications—the bills, the debts, the cost of moving. Yvonne worried constantly about how she would manage it all on her own, how she would support the kids without Duane’s income, despite the fact that his drinking had already drained much of their resources.

She kept these worries to herself, not wanting to burden Christer any more than he already was. But he could see it in her eyes, in the way she moved through the house with a heaviness that hadn’t been there before. She was doing her best to keep it together, but the cracks were showing, and Christer knew it was only a matter of time before everything fell apart.

The weekends became a special kind of hell. Yvonne, desperate for some semblance of normalcy, started spending weekends away from the house, seeking comfort and support from a new partner she had met through her work. She didn’t tell the kids much about him, just that he was a friend who was helping her through a difficult time. Christer knew there was more to it than that, but he didn’t press. He was just relieved that she had someone, anyone, to lean on.

But her absence meant that Christer was left alone to deal with Duane, who took full advantage of her being gone. The moment Yvonne’s car disappeared down the street, Duane would pull out his bottles and drink himself into a stupor, the anger and resentment that had been simmering inside him bubbling to the surface. The weekends turned into a nightmare of drunken rages and escalating violence, with Christer doing everything he could to shield Therése and Rickard from the worst of it.

The house seemed to feed off Duane’s fury. The hauntings, already unnerving, grew more intense, more malevolent. The footsteps in the hallway became louder, more insistent, as if whatever was walking those floors was growing impatient, growing angry. Objects didn’t just move—they flew across the room with a force that defied explanation. Doors slammed shut, trapping them in rooms they couldn’t escape. The temperature in the house plummeted, and the air grew thick with a sense of impending doom.

One Friday evening, after Yvonne had left, Christer tried to keep things normal for Therése and Rickard. He made them dinner—macaroni and cheese, one of the few meals he could prepare without burning it—and tried to distract them with a movie. They huddled together on the couch, the TV blaring in an attempt to drown out the sounds from the other room where Duane was drinking. But the noise of the movie couldn’t block out the reality of what was happening.

“Christer, I’m scared,” Therése whispered, her small hand clutching his arm. She was trying to be brave, but the fear in her voice was unmistakable.

“Me too,” Rickard added, his eyes wide as he glanced nervously toward the kitchen, where they could hear Duane muttering to himself.

Christer’s heart ached for them. He wanted to tell them it was going to be okay, that they didn’t have to worry, but the words felt like lies. How could he reassure them when he was just as scared, just as unsure of what was going to happen?

“It’s going to be alright,” Christer said anyway, forcing a smile he didn’t feel. “Let’s just finish the movie, okay? Mom will be back soon.”

But they all knew that wasn’t true. Yvonne wouldn’t be back until Sunday night, and between now and then, they were on their own.

As the evening wore on, the house grew colder, the shadows lengthening and deepening until it felt like they were being swallowed whole. The movie ended, but none of them made a move to leave the couch. Christer could feel the tension in the air, the way the house seemed to be holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.

And then it did.

Duane stumbled into the living room, his eyes glassy, his face twisted with an expression that was more than just anger—it was something darker, something that made Christer’s blood run cold. He reeked of alcohol, the smell so strong it made Christer’s stomach turn. He stood in the doorway for a moment, swaying slightly, his gaze fixed on Christer with a look of pure loathing.

“You think you’re so smart,” Duane slurred, his voice thick with venom. “Think you can take care of everything, don’t you? Think you can take care of them?”

Christer didn’t respond. He knew better than to provoke Duane when he was like this. But the silence only seemed to anger him more.

“Answer me!” Duane shouted, taking a step forward. “You think you’re the man of the house now? Think you’re better than me?”

Rickard let out a small whimper, and Christer instinctively moved to shield his brother and sister, his heart pounding in his chest. He could feel the cold seeping into his bones, could feel the oppressive weight of the house bearing down on him. It was like the very walls were closing in, suffocating them.

“I… I’m just trying to help,” Christer said, his voice trembling. “Please, Duane, just… just go to bed.”

Duane laughed, a harsh, bitter sound that sent a shiver down Christer’s spine. “Go to bed? You think you can tell me what to do? In my own house?”

The lights flickered, the temperature dropping even further. Christer could see his breath in the air, could feel the fear radiating from Therése and Rickard as they huddled close to him. The house was alive with anger, with malevolence, and it was all focused on them.

“Duane, please,” Christer pleaded, his voice barely above a whisper. “Just… just leave us alone.”

But Duane wasn’t listening. He lunged forward, grabbing Christer by the collar and yanking him to his feet. Christer’s heart raced, his vision blurring as panic set in. He tried to pull away, but Duane’s grip was like iron.

“You’re nothing,” Duane hissed, his face inches from Christer’s. “Nothing. You hear me? You’re just a worthless little punk, trying to take what isn’t yours.”

Christer could feel the tears welling up in his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. He couldn’t show weakness, not now, not in front of his siblings. He had to be strong, had to protect them, even if it meant facing Duane’s wrath head-on.

But before Duane could do anything more, the lights in the room suddenly went out, plunging them into complete darkness. The temperature dropped to freezing, and the air grew thick with the smell of damp earth, of decay. And then, in the darkness, Christer heard it—a low, guttural growl, coming from somewhere deep within the house.

Duane froze, his grip on Christer loosening as he turned toward the sound. The growl grew louder, more menacing, filling the room with an overwhelming sense of dread. Christer could feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, could feel the coldness wrapping around him like a shroud.

“W-what the hell is that?” Duane stammered, his voice shaking with fear.

Christer didn’t answer. He didn’t know what it was, didn’t want to know. All he knew was that they needed to get out of there, needed to get away from whatever was lurking in the darkness.

“Rickard, Therése, run!” Christer shouted, pushing them toward the door. “Go! Now!”

They didn’t hesitate. They bolted from the room, their small feet pounding against the hardwood floor as they fled up the stairs to the safety of their rooms. Christer moved to follow them, but Duane grabbed his arm, pulling him back.

“No,” Duane said, his voice low and trembling. “You’re not going anywhere.”

But before Duane could drag Christer back into the darkness, the growl intensified, shaking the very walls of the house. The coldness became unbearable, the air thick with the sense of something ancient and malevolent. And then, just as suddenly as it had started, the growling stopped, replaced by a deafening silence.

Duane let go of Christer, his face pale, his eyes wide with terror. For a moment, they stood there, frozen in place, too afraid to move, too afraid to breathe. And then, without a word, Duane turned and stumbled out of the room, disappearing into the shadows.

Christer didn’t waste any time. He raced up the stairs, his heart pounding in his chest, and found Therése and Rickard huddled together in Therése’s room, their faces pale with fear.

“It’s okay,” Christer said, his voice shaking as he pulled them close. “It’s over. It’s okay.”

But it wasn’t okay. It was far from okay. The darkness in the house was growing stronger, more malevolent, and Christer knew that they were running out of time. Yvonne’s absence left them vulnerable, exposed to both Duane’s rage and the increasingly aggressive haunting that seemed determined to break them.

In the days that followed, Christer did his best to hold everything together, to keep Therése and Rickard safe from both the seen and unseen forces that plagued their home. But the weight of it all was crushing him, driving him deeper into isolation, deeper into despair. He couldn’t talk to Yvonne about it—she was too focused on finding a way out, on trying to hold onto the hope that they could still escape. And he certainly couldn’t talk to Duane, who had become a monster, driven by both his own demons and something darker that lurked within the walls of their home.

Christer was alone, trapped in a house that had become a prison, a place of nightmares where the past and present collided in a maelstrom of fear and violence. And as each day passed, the lines between the two blurred further, until he could no longer tell where one ended and the other began.

Yvonne’s weekends away offered brief moments of peace, but they were fleeting, and the respite they brought was always overshadowed by the knowledge that she would have to return, that they would have to face Duane’s rage and the haunting once more. The cycle was relentless, wearing them all down, fracturing their lives bit by bit until there was nothing left but fear and uncertainty.

One night, after a particularly violent weekend, Christer sat in the living room, staring at the shadows that danced along the walls, his thoughts a jumble of fear and despair. He could hear the soft breathing of Therése and Rickard from the other room, the only sound in the oppressive silence of the house.

He didn’t know how much longer he could keep this up. He was just a kid, barely fourteen, and yet he was being asked to bear the weight of a burden that was too heavy for anyone, let alone someone his age.

He was supposed to be their protector, but how could he protect them from something he didn’t understand, from a force that was growing more powerful and dangerous with each passing day?

As he sat there, the coldness crept back into the room, seeping into his bones, chilling him to the core. The shadows seemed to stretch and warp, twisting into shapes that made his heart race with fear. And then, in the silence, he heard it—a soft whisper, barely audible, but unmistakable.

“Christer…”

The voice was familiar, too familiar, and it sent a shiver down his spine. He knew that voice, had heard it in his dreams, in the dark corners of his mind where the past and present bled together. It was the voice of the house, of the darkness that had taken hold of them all.

And in that moment, Christer knew with chilling certainty that the house wasn’t just haunted—it was alive, feeding off their fear, growing stronger with every moment they stayed. It wanted them, wanted their pain, their suffering, and it wasn’t going to stop until it had consumed them all.

He couldn’t do it alone. He needed help, needed someone to believe him, to see what was happening before it was too late. But who? Yvonne was too blind to see the truth, too caught up in her own struggles to notice the danger. And Duane… Duane was beyond saving, lost to the darkness that had claimed him.

Christer was running out of options, running out of time. The house was winning, and he didn’t know how to fight back.

In the darkness, he heard the whisper again, closer this time, more insistent.

“Christer…”

He closed his eyes, trying to block it out, trying to hold onto the last remnants of his sanity. But the coldness, the darkness, was too strong. It was pulling him in, wrapping around him like a shroud, suffocating him with its malevolent presence.

“Help me,” he whispered, his voice trembling with fear and desperation. “Please, someone… help me.”

But there was no answer, only the silence of the house, the shadows closing in, and the whisper of the darkness that had become his constant companion.