CHAPTER SEVEN
❛ i killed a tween. ❜

I LOVE MY PARENTS, OF COURSE I DO. And I know they love me, too — it would be rather sad if I thought they didn't. However, sometimes I think I looked up to my Uncle and Aunt more than I did my own mother and father.

I often wonder if they sensed it, too.

     There was this time when they were coming to visit us for Christmas; I was eight years old. They'd come all that way to Pittsburgh (Sydney's family have lived all over the country, before they settled in Brownsville recently) just to make the effort of seeing us, and it was uplifting to say the least.

My Dad had picked them up from the train station, leaving me waiting eagerly at the window. Every rumble of a car sleuthing past had me perked up, drawing back the curtains to see if it was that red Sedan containing my relatives. Checking the clock every five minutes, pestering Mom with theoretical reasons that they couldn't make it.

And then they came. He came.

I remember it well: the moment the door opened, there stood my Dad and my Uncle. Like clones, reflecting one another in the doorway — except one was leaner than the other, scrawny one. One wore glasses and the other didn't, one had their shirt buttoned all the way up and the other didn't, one was kneeling down to greet me and the other wasn't.

I'm sure you can guess which one my Dad was, by now.

As I ran straight past my father's legs to be embraced by my late Uncle, I caught a glimpse of something in his eyes. Hurt. And I can see it now, why it must have felt like a sucker-punch to the gut. Imagine if your daughter is more pleased to see your brother than you, her own father. But he brought that on, himself.

I couldn't help it. No one could. My Uncle was charming, cheeky and, at the best of times, positively aglow. It made such a difference from my parents, who couldn't spend time with me for more than five minutes for checking their work phones, it seemed.

But since he... died, I've been thinking a lot about not just him, but Dad, too. How must it feel? To lose someone who's quite literally your other half?

I was thinking about this as I stared vacantly as the basement door, trying not to think about him. Down there. All alone. In the darkest of places. Making a decision that would ultimately change his family's lives forever. One that made his twin brother cry in agony, like a wounded animal; painful sobs that didn't stop for hours, muffled from inside his office, before he emerged the next morning, puffy-eyed and drained. I never wanted to hear my Dad cry like that again. Ever. It was too much to—

"— play on your Nintendo later?"

It was as if a light switch clicked in my brain, and suddenly I was back in our universe, and faced with Liam's patient face. I cleared my throat. "I'm sorry, what?"

"I was wondering if I could play your Nintendo later?" he repeated, with a sweet genuineness that was impossible to say no to. "There was a game that I tried last time, and I was getting into it, so..."

"Oh, yeah. Sure. Do you want it now?"

"No thanks. I wanna do something with you guys, for now."

Sydney looked up at him with a doting smile. Her head was leaning lazily her elbow, which was propped up on the top of the couch. We both watched as Liam cradled Banana in his hands — the little creature scurrying absentmindedly from palm to palm, now and then getting the luxurious treatment of being petted by his loving owner.

     "So, what do you wanna do?" Sydney asked.

     "I don't know," — Liam shrugged, letting Banana crawl onto his lap — "I don't know. I was sorta thinkin'..."

     "What?"

     "We could maybe, uh... do a puzzle?"

     My cousin's complexion was suddenly swallowed by a sickly, pale colour, as her eyes flitted over behind his shoulder. I followed her gaze over to the door, standing locked under the stairs, and she must have thought it the moment I did...

     "The puzzles are downstairs..." she protested in a bare murmur. In the basement. Where her Dad killed himself.

     It only occurred to me then just how frightened Sydney appeared at the prospect of going down there. If she'd done it before, surely she wouldn't be so nervous. I decided to take action, piping in as I offered, "Are you sure there's nothing else you wanna do? Watch some cartoons? Draw something? I'm sure we could do multiplayer on my DS."

     "Maybe..." Liam nodded, not looking at me. His heart was set on a puzzle, and that was final.

     Sydney seemed to give in too, as she got up off the couch and headed over to the door. "Hang tight," she told him. In front of the door, she froze. Her Doc Martens were planted firmly in the floor as her eyes bore right into the wooden panel. Cautiously and slowly, as if she were anticipating a jump scare, her fingers caressed the door-handle. They were quaking. As she turned it, she blew out a puff of air that was maybe an attempt to dispel her fear.

      It didn't work, clearly.

      "Sydney?" I started to get up off the couch, although honestly, I was as rigid as she was. "I can go down, if you want. Just tell me where they are—"

      "No, Hallie, it's fine." she cut me off, and her eyes didn't leave the stairs down there. "I'll get them."

     Nodding solemnly, I sank back into my seat and watched her descend downstairs, a dull, dimly lit glow spilling out into the living room. Banana had started trudging onto the couch and making a straight charge towards me. I slid away from him, not entirely sure how to react, what with my lack of knowledge in handling woodland animals. With a small giggle, Liam scooped him back up and smoothed his hand over his prickles.

"He sure runs fast, doesn't he?" I thought aloud.

"Uh huh. Banana's pretty lively."

     Something rumbled from downstairs, and we both perked up. There was a faint rattling sound, the basement alive in some kind of tremor. Eyebrows furrowed in puzzlement, I stood and began to wander over to the open doorway.

     "Syd?" I asked.

      No reply.

     "Sydney? Are you okay?"

     Still no reply.

     "What's going on down there?"

      And then I saw it; Sydney was standing in the middle of the basement, her hand clamped tightly around the puzzle box, her jaw clenches. The light bulbs were buzzing, crackling overhead. Around her, various tools on the shelves and work tables — spanners, screwdrivers, oil canisters, garden shears — were trembling in their place, vibrating tremendously to create a haunting chorus of household appliances. Was this an earthquake? It didn't feel like one, and I'm pretty sure earthquakes aren't all that common in Pennsylvania.

      She was in a trance. Staring straight ahead of her, at something I couldn't see. I placed my foot down on the first step, hoping to get her attention as they squeaked underneath my shoes.

     BANG!

     The sound, followed by Liam's cry of despair, drew my attention back to the living room. I hastily stood behind him, and tensed when I spotted what he was holding in his hands.

     Not long after, Sydney came bounding up the stairs in a frenzy. "Liam, are you okay?" she implored breathlessly. Then she saw it, too.

     "It's Banana," he barely got out. "I think he's..."

     Dead. That's what the poor thing was. Lying there, limp in Liam's hands. Banana's eyes were clenched shut, and his tiny little teeth were on show as his mouth was agape — almost like he was in as much shock as we were. His miniature paws were held up, in what looked like surrender.

***

I've been to a couple of funerals in my time, one of them being my Uncle's. But today was the first (and probably last) time that I attended the funeral of... a hedgehog.

     We'd found a patch of grass outside the house suitable enough, so we started to dig. I'd done most of it myself — sweating profusely in a black blazer, may I add — since Liam and Sydney were inside, preparing Banana and his 'coffin.' When they streamed out in a formal procession, I rested my hands on the shovel handle. I wasn't aware of any code of conduct for animal funerals, so I figured it was best to just go with what I knew.

     With a heavy heart, Liam crouched down to place the overdecorated shoe box in the ground: covered with glitter, stickers and messages of love in bubble writing. It was complete with a bite-sized bouquet of flowers (some daisies that he'd picked from the garden and bunched together with an elastic band) that was taped to the box. There was something heartfelt about it all, the funeral and Liam's sorrow, that made me feel genuinely sad over the little animal's untimely demise.

     "How old do you think Banana was? In, like, hedgehog years?" Liam asked.

     I began to answer. "Oh, not very—"

     "— Super old, man. Like, ninety-four." Sydney cut me off before I could continue. I realised my blunt honesty wasn't welcome right now, so I kept to myself. She was lying, though. Banana was only twelve in hedgehog years. Practically a tween.

     "Really?"

     "Definitely."

     A silence hung over us, much like in many human funerals. This was so weird. What a story I'd have to tell my parents on our next phone call... Hi Mom, how are you? Oh, shopping and spa sessions, that's nice. But guess what I did this weekend? I did a minute's silence for a deceased hedgehog...

     "Could you say a few words?" said Liam, to Sydney. His voice was laced with sadness. "I'm too sad."

     Sydney shot a glance at me, which I could only return with an earnest shrug. Sighing, she stared down at our homemade burial site. "Uh, Banana... you were very cute," she paused as Liam sniffled back tears. "So much fun. We both love you."

     "Do you think that, um... Banana... is with Dad now?"

     "Yeah. Dad will take good care of him." she replied. Her face hardened, suddenly becoming more sincere. A moment passed before she talked again. "I just... I wish I was there for you, at the end. Had we known that you... needed help, we would have given it to you."

     I don't think she was talking about Banana anymore. I certainly wasn't thinking about Banana, anymore. (No offence, little guy — fly high)

     "This just isn't fair. You're gone now, and there's nothing we can do about it. We both miss you s..." Sydney stopped. I actually wondered if she might have been trying not to cry. "So much. Everything's so different without you around."

     Liam sniffled again, exhaling a shaky breath. "And you, Hallie."

     I started. "Who, me?"

     "Can you say something, too? For Banana? You're good with words."

     "I am?"

     "Your birthday cards are always so neat and tidy, and you write nice stuff, so..."

     Feeling the pressure, I cleared my throat and stared down at Banana, padded comfortably in his little coffin. He was gonna be okay. We were gonna be okay. Banana had been Liam's anchor through these tough times, so understandably this was a paramount blow. But... not to sound like a cheesy, broken record or anything... we had each other. At some point, someone was going to have to cave in and just confess. This couldn't go on. All the treading on eggshells, all the pretends like everything was okay. None of us were okay with this.

     There were a million things, much more meaningful, that I could have said. But in that moment, words failed me. So instead, I settled on something more traditional.

     "Fly high, Banana. Nothing can hurt you now."

     What a thing to be in an afterlife, if it existed. To be safe from ever being hurt, or heartbroken...

     Wouldn't that be something?

***

     It was just Liam and I this evening. Sydney had gone out to Ricky Berry's party with Dina, and Maggie had returned home from work but was too flat-out tired to do anything. So, it was up to me to entertain him.

     As promised, I retrieved my Nintendo from my bag and entered his room with it. He needed a distraction right now, and when I was younger, this is what always worked for me.

"Alright, I hope you're comfy," I joked, plonking myself down next to him on his bed, where he'd been sitting patiently. "I brought out all the games so you've got a selection."

Curiously, Liam peered into my little pouch, where there were stashes of games that had brought me hours of fun in my childhood days, and still even now. "That's alright," he said. "There's only one I really like, anyway." And to my surprise, he pulled out one of my Animal Crossing games.

     "Wild World, huh?" I asked, impressed.

     "Yeah. Why, would you rather I played something else?"

     "Oh, no, of course not! It's just... I didn't expect that to be your favourite."

     "It's fun," he justified, blowing into the little slot at the back before inserting the game card. "It makes me forget about some of the bad stuff for a while, y'know?"

     I nodded. I knew exactly what he meant. When I was really sick a few years back, the Animal Crossing games were my favourite to play. And even after that, I enjoyed them thoroughly. The villagers were always pleased to see you, and the days rolled on by in the most blissfully non-eventful ways, besides from trying to pay off that goddamn loan to Tom Nook... no levels, no end-of-game credits. Just an escape.

     "I've been playing as your character, I hope you don't mind." Liam admitted sheepishly, pointing to the upper screen. Sure enough, he was about to select my small little villager, who was lying asleep on a bed in a wooden room — it was the character selection menu. I'd forgotten what she looked like; she had little red pig tails, and was wearing a four-leaf clover (a lucky find!) in her hair, along with a tartan t-shirt and a skirt.

     There was one other character on the menu, named Rachel, which was a blast from the past. Rachel had been my best friend when I lived in West Virginia at the start of my life, and for years we'd stayed in touch even when I came to Pittsburgh. But not anymore. It's a shame, really. She was very dear to me.

     "That's fine," I reassured him. "But... why don't you make your own?"

     "Are you sure?"

     "Absolutely."

     "But... it's your game."

     "And you're one of the most frequent players. So, go ahead. Be my guest."

     "Gee, thanks." Liam broke out into a grin, which was a relief in comparison to how crestfallen he'd looked during Banana's funeral. He selected a new character file, and I stood up as the screen switched to Kapp'n with the bubble of dialogue below his face. That's when I remembered what I'd named my town: Charles. I'd named it after Charleston, where I was born (for lack of creativity.) It exceeded the character limit though, so I'd settled on Charles.

     Patting him lightly on his shoulder, I made my way out. "I'll leave you with that."

     I gently shut the door to Sydney's room, and pulled out a chair from the side. It was about time I practiced my cello, whether I liked it or not.

I propped my music up against a book stand, which was placed atop of the wooden shelf... conveniently in front of the giant hole in the wall from that other night. Even now, I can't get my head around what that was. If Brownsville was turning to earthquake tendencies more often, then they sure were weird ones.

Today, for instance: it was only shaking downstairs, not up here. If it was an earthquake, we would have felt it everywhere. And then suddenly, Banana just dies out of the blue, even though he was perfectly healthy moments before his death. I was beginning to think that something bigger was at play here... but I just couldn't put my finger on what.

For a good ten minutes, I got in a couple of songs on my cello. Playing it by myself was much more of a joy than playing it at school — here, I didn't think about the additional pressure of concerts, recitals, exams, and possibly attending a related college. Lately I wasn't even sure that being in a West End orchestra was my dream, anymore. But was quitting really the right choice? Besides, I didn't even know what I'd do instead. All I'd focused on was this one thing.

I paused at the end of a song to write a memo to myself: a reminder to practice this particular scale of notes that I just couldn't quite crack. As I reached over awkwardly for a pen, my arm knocked the glass of water I'd had standing there, and it spilled all over my work. The words became smudged ink, chromatography right before my eyes.

Paper, I needed paper.

I rummaged around Sydney's room for anything which I could just write something down on. Most of them were either printed books, or notebooks that were filled up. Wandering over to her desk, there were strewn about pieces of doodled-on paper, surrounding a book lying open. There was a blank page — hurrah!

Placing my hand on one flap of the book, I grabbed the other page, ready to tear it out when I spotted some writing above my pinkie finger. It stood out to me for some reason, like a red herring:

"When does this get easier?"

It seemed so... personal. I turned back a page, reading the context for that sentence.

"Dear Diary, I murdered a hedgehog. Banana was only 12 in hedgehog years. I killed a tween."

I recognised the handwriting, which was undoubtedly Sydney's. It made the message ten times more confusing. What was she talking about? She can't have killed Banana. She was downstairs...

Curiosity was taking a hold on me. You should read more. No, that would be wrong on so many levels. She won't know. What if I read something I really shouldn't have? She said she killed Banana. You don't know that. I mean, if I were you, I'd want to know if my cousin was a psychopath. She's not! Read it. It's a violation of privacy. READ IT!

I flicked back a couple more pages to a random date, and my eyes fell to the bottom of the page:

"Honestly it was really awkward. Something just didn't feel right. I really don't want a boyfriend. I just wanna hang out with Dina, and for all this weird shit to stop happening, and for everything to go back to normal."

I worked my way up the page, and found the beginning of the entry:

"Dear Diary, I fucked Stanley Ba—"

"Nope," I sighed out loud, quickly turning the page.

"Dear Diary, happy fucking Friday."

Not a lot of information. I went back further.

"Sometimes I wonder why he did it, and why we never talked about it... and what the hell is going on with me. Why sometimes I feel like I'm boiling up inside. 'Cause maybe... I am WAY more fucked up than I thought."

This is more useful. My heart sank a little at the beginning part, though. Sydney sounded so... broken. Like she did when she started talking about her Dad at the funeral today. But the second part had me stumped. Throughout this diary, she kept referring to herself like she's some kind of alien. What has she done to freak herself out so much?

I went back further, and I think I might have found the answer:

"So, here's the deal. Today, I almost convinced myself that I made Bradley Lewis's nose bleed. With my mind."

Almost laughing out loud, I shut the book. That was ridiculous, and far from what I was expecting to read. It's practically impossible to do that, isn't it? That's the kind of shit that Spielberg makes millions from in his movies, not something that a moody teen like Syd gets graced with, all of a sudden. And if she hypothetically had powers, then surely I would have known about them. But she doesn't, so that's final!

Then I remembered something. I did know. I remembered the strange look on her face when Bradley's nose started bleeding. Her desperation to hide the crack in the wall from me, like it was her fault. The bread popping out of the toaster on command. This afternoon, in the basement. The shaking... was that her?

All of a sudden, this didn't seem so far-fetched. It seemed likely. Absolutely insane, but likely.

My cousin wasn't a psychopath. But there was a chance that she had psychokinesis.

I had so many questions, as I'm sure she did, too. And I had a harrowing thought; she sounded like she had no control whatsoever, and this was a relatively new ability, too. So she had no idea what she's (hypothetically) capable of. If she could kill a hedgehog with her mind, there was no saying that she couldn't kill a human, too... and where's a place that's packed with humans?

Ricky Berry's birthday party.

Oh, fuck me.

________________________

A/N:

detective hallie's on her way to be antisocial at a social event whilst spying on her cousin 😚✌️

honestly, banana's death was so sad to write, i had to stop for a while because i was like "WHY AM I DESCRIBING A HEDGEHOG DYING?"

ALSO, this beautiful manip of hallie and stan was made by -saoirses — thank you!

song of the chapter: 'every time you go away' - paul young
(banana wigglesworth's funeral ☁️ 🦔)

published: 23rd april, 2020