October 2023 Fiction Project: The Witch House – Oct 10

I don’t want to write in my journal today.

Something is wrong.

A lot of things are wrong. They don’t seem like they’re connected but they’re all happening at the same time.

Just because things happen at the same time doesn’t mean they’re connected.

But.

Example.

I think something was wrong with Mr. Henderson at school, even before we went on Fall Break.

He was always kind of a big English Teacher nerd, always talking about books and thinking about books and explaining about books that came from other books, and writers who knew other writers, and writers who argued through books, and writers who became revolutionaries, and writers who stood up for people.

But last Thursday when he yelled at Lola in class, he acted like he didn’t know what books she was talking about.

I didn’t know what books she was talking about, not really, but they were arguing about a lot of books.

He kept saying, “We have to let parents decide what books their children can read.”

And she kept asking, “Why?”

Mr. Henderson didn’t sound upset that he was saying something that seemed like the opposite of what he would normally say. Normally he would say something like, “Parents’ wishes should be respected when it comes to what books their children should read. However, if you would like me to talk to your parents to give them clarity about what books are appropriate for your reading and developmental levels, let me know, and I will give them a call.”

And then he would put up lists of banned books.

I think his list of banned books got taken down.

But I don’t remember when that happened.

I know he used to have a list of banned books on the wall beside his desk in September. I know that he replaced it with bats.

For Bat Appreciation Month.

Someone who put up lists of banned books switched to Bat Appreciation Month instead of National Book Month or World Bullying Prevention Month.

Does it make sense to celebrate Bat Appreciation Month?

If you’re a second-grade teacher yes.

He didn’t even talk about Indigenous Peoples’ Day for Monday.

I don’t know if I want to fold this page over or not.

It’s a piece of paper, and folding over the page only matters if I trust Mr. Henderson not to unfold the page, and not to show it to other people.

Do I trust Mr. Henderson not to unfold this page?

No.

I am still writing in this journal, though. I can tear out the pages or just say that I lost the journal later. I don’t want to write anything on Stepdad Dave’s computer and I want to make sure that I remember how I thought and felt now.

What if I become like Mr. Henderson?

I don’t want to think about it. I have to think about it.

Everything I am writing is stupid. It doesn’t make any sense.

Mr. Henderson didn’t get replaced. What would he even get replaced by?

If this were a movie or a book, I could say, “Oh, Mr. Henderson got replaced by a robot,” or an alien, or he was hypnotized, or he was possessed by a demon.

But there are no demons or ghosts. Even the ghost cat is fake. I made him up.

The truth is that when Paige walked by my old house, I asked

I’m not going to write that down.

💀

Another example.

Mom has been sad for a long time, since Dad died.

I am sad, too. But she is sadder.

I don’t understand why she got married to Stepdad Dave. Okay. But she got married to him and even when she was getting worse and worse she would do what he told her to do, to take care of herself.

Now she seems better.

Today she seems better.

The last time I checked on her, she seemed better.

She took a shower and got dressed and made breakfast this morning and called me “honey.”

But when Stepdad Dave came downstairs, she acted like she couldn’t see him or hear him.

Stepdad Dave always looks angry.

Impatient.

Mean.

Like he’s trying really hard not to say something icky all the time, and he wants to get a cookie and a sticker for it.

A real jerk.

I don’t understand why Mom got married to him at all. I don’t understand why Mom got married to him right after Dad died.

Paige said it was because she cheated on my dad.

That’s why I did the stuff I’m not going to write about. She saw that it hurt my feelings when she said things about my mom and dad and even Stepdad Dave. Even if it was true, she could have stopped saying it after ONE time.

But she didn’t.

I made her stop.

I thought she was my friend.

When I found out who she really was, I made her stop talking to me about it. I made sure she knew that the next time she tried to hurt me she would get it back, ten times as much.

And everyone got upset at me.

Except Stepdad Dave.

He just looked at me with his normal jerk-face and said, “Next time, don’t get caught.”

Mom said, “Dave!”

He said, “Jayla needs to know that it’s all right to defend herself.”

“She didn’t need to—”

And he looked at my mom and the look made her shut up and I hated that he could do that.

He said, “She gets to defend herself. No matter what. No matter who. No matter how.”

“David—”

He kept looking at her. And finally she nodded.

They never talked about it again, that I know of. I wanted to talk to Mom about it but I also didn’t want to. I didn’t want to talk to Stepdad Dave about it, but I also wanted to.

Sometimes I feel like he’s still waiting for me to talk to him about it.

Maybe I should.

Today when Mom pretended he wasn’t there, he looked upset for the first time. He leaned against the kitchen counter and took off his glasses and put his hand over his face, then rubbed his eyes and put his glasses back on.

Then he looked normal. Except he looked less angry and more cold and secret.

It makes me worry about mom.

Something is wrong with her.

After Stepdad Dave left, I tried to go into the back kitchen.

She stopped me again.

💀

Another example.

Something is wrong with Lola, too.