We're Ghosts in a Hail of Bullets

I awoke some hours later. The sunlight that entered through my windows was replaced by the moon and it's family of stars. I saw it's crescent face from my bed, but there were no stars in the black sky. The array of bright streetlights hid the twinkling diamonds from human eyes. The house was quiet beside the sound of my cell phone vibrating next to me. It buzzed over and over with the same name popping up. My mom was calling me.

"Hello," I groaned.

"Oh, finally. Are you okay? I've been trying to call you for hours," Mom said in a worried tone.

"I'm fine, Mom. I'm at home. I've just been sleeping," I said.
This has happened before.
Back in Vermont I would fall asleep while my parents were gone and they would call me, but since I was sleeping I wouldn't wake up. Sometimes they would rush home to see if I was still there.

"Okay, well, your dad and I went out to this restaurant I found online. We'll be home in about an hour. I'll bring you home some cheese sticks," she told me.
I sat up in my bed, saying okay and 'mhm' a few times. She said I love you and I muttered it in return. I felt a little scared. It's a new house and I was now sitting in it, alone. The silence was so eerie. The creeks in the floorboards and the roar of the furnace came back to haunt me.
My head felt heavy but I couldn't let myself fall back asleep; my heart was beating so fast. I thought that I had anxiety issues sometimes, but doctors never diagnosed me with anything. Once I got over the fear of silence and made my way over to my light switch, the weight of irrational fears was lifted off of my chest and head.
I left my room and it's blank walls to explore the house. I turned on every light on my journey. The first door I came across was the up stair's bathroom. It was nothing special. The next was my parents bedroom. I knew better than to explore in there. There was an extra bedroom down the hall before the stairs, but I knew it was empty. Above my head, I saw a string. A trap door kind of thing. It was an entrance to the attic.
I wrapped my hands around the string and tried to pull. I tugged harder and harder but it wouldn't open. I didn't have the will or patience to fight a door so I carried on to the ground floor. There was a long hallway that lead to many things such as the kitchen, the parlor, the living room, the front door, the dining room, and probably more. A lonely door remained closed. It was a door that lead to the basement but like the attic door, it wouldn't open. The house wasn't ready for me to explore that part yet but I had been everywhere yet. My efforts to explore had been defeated although I didn't want to go back upstairs and sit in my room for another hour.
I searched through a few boxes in the living room to find a half filled composition notebook and a pen.
Writing was always a thing I loved to do. I turned on the porch light so I could sit on the steps and write myself a song to sketch a little doodle. For a few minutes I sat there with the tip of my pen barely touching the paper, motionless. I couldn't think of anything to create.
A few sentences ran through my head but they were quickly forgotten. There were images that popped into my mind, but they were imposable to draw. At the top of the page I began to write the date.

"10/25/11," I wrote with a small dash, "We Arrive," I then took the pen two lines down and began to write about my experience in this place so far. "So many people have died in this house," I began. I missed the way the pen moved smoothly across the page. "I'm beginning to feel the irrational fear of the dark. Those eyes that aren't there. The feeling is faint but it still lingers around me like a whisper in the dark. I'm hearing things already. I saw a boy today, twice. Each time I spot he runs away. I can understand what it's like to be shy but he's creepy. He's there one moment and then he's gone with a second glance. I just want to meet him and ask him if he's okay," a figure appeared in my peripheral vision as the pen flew threw words. I looked up, examining the body of the man standing in front of me. It was the boy from the first two times. How nice.

"Hi," He said bluntly with a nervous smile. I closed my notebook with the pen inside and returned the subtle greeting. "I'm sorry for running earlier and before that," he apologized awkwardly.

"It's okay. I sort of understand," I replied in a hush voice.
I didn't get the chance to look at his face before. He was rather attractive. His eyes were a dark brown instead of black like I thought before and his blonde hair was more shaggy than curly. His skin was almost as pale as mine, but the blush that flushed through his face gave it color. He wore a long sleeved, gray, thermal shirt that hung on his thin lean body with a pair of light blue jeans.
I looked at my shoes, raggedy, torn, and used in order to look at his. He wore converse like I did only his were white and mine were black. The white had been stained with age and dirt. I could see his black socks through the tiny holes on the sides.

"My name's Tate," he smiled, extending his hand to shake.

"Annalee, but call me Anna," I took his hand in a light grip and shook it once.

"That's a nice name," he complimented with a one sided smile.

"Are you one of our neighbors?" I asked. I wanted to know his business around our house. He looked over to the house across the street.

"I live over there," he pointed to Constance's house. She must have been his mom. "You'll see me around here a lot though. You guys have a beautiful garden and it's quiet here. It helps me when I'm reading," he explained, "Do you mind?" he pointed the spot next to me on the steps. I shook my head, feeling my vocal chords go numb.

"What were you reading earlier?" I asked slowly. My shyness was coming out as my throat felt tighter. I hated that nervous feeling where it's hard to speak and your throat hurts.

"Catcher in the Rye. I heard it was the favorite of most serial killers but it's really boring," he replied.

"I read that book," I tried saying faster, but my self consciousness wouldn't allow it, "I hate Holden. He's so annoying,"

"I know right?" Tate rejoiced as we continued to agree with each other.
We sat on my porch under the fluorescent light, talking about Catcher in the Rye and how much the book bothered us. We both agreed that it was repetitive and bland, but he used more words than I did. My voice only let me speak in small sharp sentences.
He explained that his old English recommended the book during an independent reading assignment but he didn't want to read it because he thought it too overrated. After flipping through the pages and learning that it was the favored book of David Mark Chapman, he read it. Now he hated it.
The way that Holden Caulfield was reusing phrases over and over again through out the book bothered me the most. But soon our conversation grew thin and stopped. We sat in silence for a minute.

"Where are you from?" he asked, starring off into the darkness.

"Burlington, Vermont. It's the opposite of this place. It's a big city, but it's like a really big small town. Everyone knows everyone in some way. There are trees and hills everywhere. So far all I've seen here are buildings, big houses, and roads. The only people I've met are you, Miss Langdon, and our weird housekeeper," I explained.
A couple old memories replayed in my mind as I spoke of home. Faces of my friends flashed in the back of my head. Sitting in class with kids I've known since day care. I lost all of that because we moved here. It hurt me, but nevertheless I didn't loose my positive outlook. It was strange that I could only speak casually when I talked of Vermont.

"Yeah, this place is empty. Everyone wants there space and so they lock everyone out. You won't meet many people until school starts," Tate replied.

"Do you go to Westfield?" I asked hopefully. He looked at the pavement, twiddling his thumbs, and licking his dark red lips.

"No. I graduated. Actually I was kicked out and home schooled, but that's a story for another time," he answered almost embarrassed.
I didn't want to question him about anything at the moment. It was funny because I had a list of questions made up in my head, but they didn't seem befitting for a first meeting. I did want to get to know him better. "It's getting late," he said out of the blue.

"I suppose," I muttered, starring at my shoes again. Tate stood up, looking down at me with a small smile.

"I'll see you around," he said before vanishing into the shadows.
It seemed to be what he did best. Even though Tate was gone, I could feel his soft brown eyes watching me as I slept. I knew it was only in my mind but it made this house feel more cozy and warm. For once since arriving I felt safe.