The Search for Artemis - By P. D. Griffith Page 0,4

body. He didn’t know what was going on, and he wasn’t able to stop it. His head grew numb, and he looked through a clouded haze as he stared at his buried father. He wondered if he would move, but suddenly a book floated up, blocking his line of sight.

Books and figurines from all over the apartment steadily rose into the air and began moving around the living room. Volumes upon volumes lifted off their disorganized piles and formed a swirling vortex. The lights began to flicker, and picture frames trembled all over the apartment, creating a violent banging noise as they fruitlessly attempted to jump off the hooks that held them to the wall. The floor, ceiling, and walls rumbled and quaked as cracks formed and snaked across the surface. Drywall and dust dislodged and joined the books and miscellaneous objects in a tumultuous journey around the room. Tethered to the wall by the service cable, the TV floated off its stand, and the old leather couch shook violently on the floor. Books and objects continued to rise off their stacks and pedestals. The pink flamingo lawn ornament flew dangerously close to Landon’s head, but he stood unfazed. His eyed remained focused on his father’s unconscious body, which became visible again after the majority of the books covering him rose into the air.

Landon’s mother followed her copy of Alice in Wonderland with a look of horror as it breezed by her head. Still on the floor, she slid back and pressed her body against the wall as she watched what was happening; her body trembled with fear.

She turned to Landon, but he didn’t look back at her. His features appeared rigid and hard. His eyes were dilated, his hair whipped around from an invisible wind, and sweat beaded on his forehead.

“Landon, are you doing this? If you are, you can stop! I’m okay!” Trying to raise her voice over the deafening racket of the apartment, Mrs. Wicker ineffectually attempted to call to her son.

“He will never hurt us again,” Landon said, but his voice didn’t seem his own. It was guttural and commanding as if he was possessed.

“Landon, can you stop this?” asked his mother, but Landon couldn’t hear her. “Please Landon, come back to me!”

The couch shot off the ground and hit the ceiling with a resounding boom. It then zoomed across the room and collided with the wall, pinned in the air.

Then without cause, Landon’s body went numb, his vision went black, his body shook, and he collapsed.

• • • • •

Landon opened his eyes. It took a minute for his vision to adjust to the dark, dusty apartment. He had a blinding headache, and as he came to, he realized that he lay covered in a dense pile of books and random trinkets. While looking around, he cautiously got to his feet. The apartment was a disaster. A torrent of books and figurines were strewn everywhere, and the furniture was bent and broken. The walls looked cracked and crumbling; chunks of drywall littered the room, and it was dark. The light bulbs in all the lamps had shattered. Had a tornado landed? Had a hurricane blown through?

Landon perplexingly looked across the room at the overturned couch and suddenly noticed his father’s lifeless arm protruding from under its crushing weight. Landon froze, paralyzed by shock. What happened? Where’s my mom? Did I do this?

Fervently, Landon waded through the piles of debris, throwing books behind him as he searched for his mother. Volumes by Poe, Twain and Stevenson flew through the air, landing on collections of Shakespearean plays and Agatha Christie mysteries. He picked up another book, but paused; it felt wet. After wiping his hand on his pants, he pulled the book to his face to see if he could tell what it was in the darkness. When he looked closer the liquid appeared dark and thick—definitely not water. Then a ferrous smell caught his attention. Was it blood? Landon anxiously pushed aside the books until he found his mother lying on the floor. Oozing from a deep cut on her head, a pool of crimson blood spread across the cracked floor, the bronze miniature of The Thinker lying beside her motionless body.

“Mom!” he screamed as he fell to her side. On instinct, he started to shake her, violently trying to wake her up. “Mom! Please, Mom! Wake up!” He continued to shake her over and over again, but with every push, her body limply fell back