1998: Linnet Street 14 [Chapter 7]

Chapter 7: The Darkness Closes In

The weekend began like all the others, with Yvonne packing a small bag and reminding Christer to keep an eye on Therése and Rickard. Her departure was quick, a brief kiss on the cheek for each of them and a tight-lipped smile that didn’t reach her eyes. She hesitated at the door, her gaze lingering on Duane, who was already nursing a drink, but she said nothing. She didn’t have to. The unspoken agreement hung between them like a heavy fog—she would go, and he would drink. And so the cycle continued.

As Yvonne’s car disappeared down the street, the atmosphere in the house shifted, growing colder, more oppressive. Christer could feel it in the air, in the way the shadows seemed to deepen, stretching out like dark tendrils. The house was waiting, biding its time, and Christer knew this weekend would be different. He could feel it in his bones.

Duane’s mood deteriorated quickly, fueled by whiskey and anger. By Saturday afternoon, he was already a volatile mix of rage and sorrow, his words slurred, his movements clumsy. He stumbled around the house, muttering under his breath, his eyes glazed over with a madness that Christer had come to dread. The walls seemed to close in around them, the air thick with the smell of alcohol and something else—something rotten.

Christer kept Therése and Rickard close, trying to distract them with games and movies, anything to keep them out of Duane’s way. But the tension was palpable, the house a pressure cooker ready to explode. Every creak of the floorboards, every flicker of the lights, sent shivers down Christer’s spine. He knew it was only a matter of time before something terrible happened.

That night, the storm outside mirrored the chaos within. Thunder rumbled in the distance, the wind howling through the trees, rain lashing against the windows. Inside, the temperature plummeted, the cold seeping into every corner of the house. The lights flickered, casting eerie shadows that danced along the walls, and Christer could feel the darkness closing in, wrapping around them like a vice.

Duane was in the living room, a bottle in one hand, his other hand clenched into a fist as he ranted to no one in particular. His voice rose and fell, a mix of angry slurs and incoherent ramblings, his eyes wild with a fury that seemed to come from somewhere deep within, from a place that was not entirely his own. He was a man possessed, driven by forces Christer couldn’t understand, couldn’t fight.

“Stay in your room,” Christer whispered to Therése and Rickard as he led them upstairs. “Lock the door and don’t come out until I tell you. Do you understand?”

Therése nodded, her eyes wide with fear, clutching her bunny close to her chest. Rickard was silent, his face pale, his small hand gripping Christer’s tightly. They didn’t argue, didn’t ask questions. They just did as they were told, the fear in their hearts mirroring the fear in Christer’s own.

Once they were safely in their room, Christer closed the door and stood in the hallway, his heart pounding in his chest. He could hear Duane’s voice rising from downstairs, a guttural roar that sent chills down his spine. The house felt alive, pulsating with a dark energy that made Christer’s skin crawl. He knew he had to do something, had to protect his siblings, but he didn’t know how.

As he descended the stairs, the darkness seemed to thicken around him, the air growing colder with every step. The lights flickered wildly, casting long, distorted shadows that twisted and writhed along the walls. The house was a prison, and Christer could feel its malevolent intent pressing down on him, suffocating him with its presence.

When he reached the living room, Duane was standing in the center of the room, his back to Christer, staring at something only he could see. His body was tense, his breathing ragged, and for a moment, Christer thought he might have a chance to get him to bed, to defuse the situation before it escalated. But then Duane turned, his eyes locking onto Christer with a look of pure hatred, and Christer knew it was too late.

“You,” Duane spat, his voice low and venomous. “You think you can take this from me? You think you can take what’s mine?”

Christer didn’t know what he was talking about, didn’t understand the words that were spilling from Duane’s lips, but he didn’t have time to think. Duane lunged at him, grabbing him by the collar and shoving him against the wall with a force that knocked the breath out of him.

“This is my house!” Duane roared, his face inches from Christer’s. “Mine! You don’t belong here. None of you do!”

Christer’s heart pounded in his chest, fear gripping him like a vise. He could feel the coldness seeping into his bones, could hear the whispers of the house, the dark, malevolent voice that seemed to echo in his mind.

“Please,” Christer gasped, his voice trembling. “Please, Duane… stop…”

But Duane wasn’t listening. His grip tightened, his eyes wild with a fury that was beyond anything Christer had ever seen. It was like he was looking at someone else, someone who wasn’t there, someone who had wronged him in ways Christer couldn’t comprehend.

And then, in a moment of desperation, Christer did the only thing he could think of. He closed his eyes and spoke to the darkness.

“Please,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “Please… stop this. Please…”

For a moment, everything went still. The house seemed to hold its breath, the air thick with anticipation. Duane’s grip loosened, his body going rigid as if something had taken hold of him, something that wasn’t Christer. The coldness in the room intensified, a deep, bone-chilling cold that seemed to freeze time itself.

And then, just as suddenly as it had started, it stopped.

Duane released Christer, stumbling back as if he had been struck. His eyes were wide with shock, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. He looked around the room, his gaze wild and unfocused, as if he was trying to make sense of what had just happened. And then, without a word, he turned and fled up the stairs, disappearing into the darkness of the house.

Christer stood there, gasping for breath, his heart pounding in his chest. The silence was deafening, the house eerily still, as if it was waiting, watching. For a brief moment, he thought it was over, that the darkness had finally released its grip. But deep down, he knew better. This was just a reprieve, a brief moment of calm before the storm returned.

He didn’t know how long he stood there, his mind racing, his body trembling with fear and exhaustion. All he knew was that he had to check on Therése and Rickard, had to make sure they were safe. He forced himself to move, to climb the stairs, his legs heavy with the weight of what had just happened.

When he reached their room, he found them huddled together on the bed, their faces pale, their eyes wide with fear. They didn’t say anything, didn’t ask questions. They just looked at him, their small bodies trembling with the aftermath of the terror they had just witnessed.

“It’s okay,” Christer whispered, his voice shaking. “It’s over. It’s okay.”

But as he said the words, he knew they were hollow. The darkness hadn’t gone away. It was still there, lurking in the corners, waiting for its next opportunity. And Christer knew that they weren’t safe—not as long as they stayed in this house.

The rest of the weekend passed in a blur. Duane kept to himself, locked in his room, his presence a dark shadow that loomed over the house. The haunting continued, the whispers, the cold spots, the flickering lights—all of it a constant reminder that they were not alone, that something malevolent was watching, waiting.

By the time Yvonne returned on Sunday night, the house was in disarray. The living room was a mess, the furniture overturned, broken glass scattered across the floor. The air was thick with the smell of alcohol and something else—something rotten. And her children, her precious children, were traumatized, their faces pale, their eyes filled with a fear that cut her to the core.

She stood in the doorway, her bag still in her hand, staring at the scene before her with a mixture of shock and horror. For a moment, she couldn’t move, couldn’t think. All she could do was take in the full extent of what had happened, the full extent of the suffering her children had endured.

“Mom,” Christer whispered, his voice trembling with exhaustion. “We can’t stay here. We have to leave. Please… we have to go.”

Yvonne’s resolve, which had been wavering for so long, finally solidified. The denial that had clouded her judgment, the hope that things might somehow get better, was shattered. She knew now, with a certainty that cut through her like a knife, that they had to leave. There was no other option.

She dropped her bag and rushed to her children, pulling them into her arms, holding them close as tears streamed down her face. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her voice choked with emotion. “I’m so, so sorry…”

Christer closed his eyes, his body sagging with relief as he felt the weight of her words. They were finally leaving. It was the only way to escape the darkness that had consumed their lives, the only way to break free from the nightmare that had taken hold of their home.