Rats in a room
Everybody's scared
So dance in the dark
-- Au/Ra, Dance in the Dark
His mother had always said that he wasn’t haunted, that these monsters he saw only existed in his imagination and would go away as soon as he grew up. He believed her, but for some reason, she still needed doctors to evaluate him and tell her how right she was. They reassured her that it was normal for kids Theodore’s age to see these creatures and that they should disappear in a few years, except these few years had passed and the creatures had remained, black and bloated, lurking in the shadows just out of sight. They kept him from falling asleep like other kids, very often petrified in his own bed. The surrounding darkness shifted, shaping itself into terrifying aberrations, smooth limbs in the shadows, strands of hair backlit just inches from his face.
Sneaking off into his parents’ room was only an option when his father wasn’t home, despite how much his mother disliked it. She told him he’d been getting too big to climb into her bed like that, so he’d stopped doing it, heart squeezed tight in his chest. Unable to fall asleep, he’d turned to distractions; anything to keep his mind occupied until the shadows thinned out and the corners of his room lit up with the first rays of dawn. He’d read, study or do his homework, always very quietly, sitting at his desk with a single lamp on so his parents wouldn’t know. On good nights, he’d fall asleep right there, on the chair. On bad ones, he’d watch the sunrise, shower, and pretend to have just woken up. His mother never noticed.
His brother stayed up late too, but never quite as late as him. Theodore wasn’t sure what Ryan did on his computer that required so much of his time. If he wasn’t out, then he was locked in his room, staring at the screen. Sometimes, Theodore would sneak into Ryan’s room with a question on the tip of his tongue or a discussion in mind, but sometimes, he just did it for the companionship; sitting on Ryan’s bed, watching him type on his keyboard.
One particular night, Ryan came home accompanied. Theodore heard the footsteps up the carpeted stairs, noisier than the shuffle of two feet, snickering shushed. His bedroom door was always open, and moving in the darkness, he could peek his head into the hallway to see the figures that climbed the stairs, evenly blended with the shadows. His blood grew cold, but only for a moment—these weren’t the creatures that terrorized him at night. Slightly hunched over and stumbling on their feet, the group walked down the hallway and disappeared into Ryan’s room. Morbid curiosity ate him up inside. Ryan hadn't mentioned making any friends since classes had started, but maybe he was just afraid their parents might find out about them.
Even though Ryan’s door was closed, Theodore could still hear distant laughter and the rhythmic beating of a song. How could they be having so much fun this close to danger? Ryan knew that, if even one of his parents got up and heard them, the fun would be over; Henry would kick them out and save him the belt. Theodore’s heart raced as memories flooded his mind. That hadn’t happened since Ryan’s eighteenth birthday, though. Then again, he hadn’t misbehaved since, barely spending any time at home these days. College was very demanding.
At half past one, Theodore got up from his desk; there was no reason to stay here if he couldn’t concentrate. Quiet footsteps took him down the hallway. Close to Ryan’s door, he could hear the group a little better, talking about something he couldn’t make heads nor tails of. The words Alvorada and Gorgons came up, but unfortunately, he didn’t know enough Spanish or Latin to know what they meant. There was something entrancing about the laughter behind the door, in how thoroughly the group disregarded the rules of this house. Without thinking, Theodore twisted the doorknob and walked in.
His eyes quickly fell on the Syrian sitting on the nightstand, back against the wall. He had a cigarette between his lips, two fingers protectively around it, and sharp green eyes that found Theodore just a moment later. They held the stare in perfect silence, heart frozen in his chest. The dark, warm tones of his skin and the jet-black hair that fell elegantly over his forehead brightened the emerald of his irises, an enthralling intensity that Theodore couldn’t look away from. As the cigarette left his face, smoke exhaled out of his nose. It was the coolest thing Theodore had ever seen. Still staring at him, the Syrian passed the cigarette over to Ryan, and that was when the rest of the room seemed to take notice of Theodore.
“Oh.” Ryan’s eyes were wide on his face, arm outstretched toward his friend. This cigarette smelled differently from what Ryan usually smoked, not as ashy. Herbal, even. “Hey, Theo. Close the door.”
“Does mom know you have guests over?” Theodore asked, taking a step into the room. The door shut without a sound, his hand on the knob.
Ryan and his friends snickered.
“How about we make this our little secret, huh? Take a seat.” Ryan motioned to the rest of the room as if there were any seats left. It must be why the Syrian was on the nightstand.
Everyone here dressed like a tunnel rat. While they didn’t wear black from head to toe, their fashion choices were enough to label them, Ryan included. He’d started dressing that way a few years ago, and for as much trouble as it’d caused him, he’d never stopped. Their mother said it was just another one of his phases, specifically tailored to attack her, but as time went on, she’d given up on trying to reason with him. Ever since Ryan’s birthday, it’d been relatively quiet in the house. Theodore often wondered if that had to do with Ryan’s absence throughout the day, or if their parents had learned to respect his choices now that he was an adult.
With nowhere to sit, Theodore leaned against the door, hands behind his back.
Green eyes glanced him up and down. “Does your mommy dress you, Theo?” the Syrian teased. A smirk sharpened his lips, malice in his voice.
Theodore’s shoulders raised to his ears, heart beating out of his chest. He should’ve changed out of his pajamas before coming here.
The question put every pair of eyes on him as the room filled up with barely muffled laughter. Theodore’s face burned.
“She does, actually,” Ryan spoke around the cigarette just before puffing on it. The others snickered.
“She has good taste,” Theodore rebutted. His voice had no bite, words barely leaving his mouth.
“Did we wake you?” the only girl asked. She leaned forward, peering from behind the redhead. Dark makeup circled her eyes and black lipstick gave her a Cheshire cat grin, creepy yet kind of cute. Her hair was a bob that ended just under her ears with straight bangs that brushed her eyebrows; one of them had a piercing going through it. She and her redhead friend both sat on the edge of Ryan’s bed.
“No, I stay up most nights,” Theodore told her.
“Can’t sleep?” the Syrian asked.
Theodore could only look at him for a second; the intensity of his stare quickened his pulse, gaze dropping to the sleeveless jean vest that he wore, pins and spikes near the collar, a fern leaf tattooed on his neck. He leaned back on one arm, a tattoo of the comedy and tragedy masks near the inside of his elbow, a bracelet over his wrist.
“The dark isn’t safe,” Theodore commented.
“Yeah, it is,” the Syrian corrected him. He sipped on a glass bottle. Beer. “What lurks in the dark is what you should be afraid of.” Black eyebrows bounced as he drank, a scar cutting through one of them, very old.
Ryan rolled his desk chair closer to the bed to pass the cigarette.
“I don’t think that’s gonna be a problem when he’s clearly never even broken curfew,” the girl commented, a bottle in her hand as well. Everybody had one. Her friend puffed on the cigarette as she talked.
“How old are you, Theo?” the redhead asked, smoke blowing with every word. He was the only other white person in the room; blue eyes peeked through his red hair, freckles over his nose. There were gauges in his ears, leather bracelets on his arms and a band t-shirt partially hidden under a dark green flannel.
“Fourteen,” Theodore answered.
“What do you do all night?”
As he opened his mouth to answer, Ryan cut him off.
“He studies for exams and writes music. During the day, he cooks with mom and plays baseball. He’s the perfect son.”
The Syrian scoffed. “You sound bitter as hell, my man. Do better.”
“What kind of music do you write?” the girl asked, one hand taking the cigarette from her friend, metal rings shining over her fingers.
Theodore pointed at Ryan’s computer where music flowed from, a band he couldn’t recognize. “Something like this, but less… complicated. I only play the guitar.”
“What do you write about?”
“Just… whatever’s on my mind. It’s not serious; I’m not even good.”
“I play the bass.” She smiled, beautiful, dark lipstick stretching across her face. It complimented the color of her hair, a few shades darker than her skin, black eyes long and thin. “I’m not good either; I just do it for fun.”
“She’s a lot better than she lets on,” the redhead chimed in, passing her a glance. She shoved him playfully, grinning. The studs on her choker caught the light.
“I like other types of music too,” Theodore added, something inside him a little braver now, more comfortable around the two people on the bed. They glanced at him curiously. “70’s pop and, you know, love songs, like the throwbacks that play on the radio sometimes.”
“He just listens to what mom listens to,” Ryan explained.
“That’s not true,” Theodore retaliated, heart jumping to his throat. “I like other stuff too. I like punk and alternative rock. I listen to it in bed.”
“So the stuff I showed you.”
His face burned.
“Chill out, Ryan.” The Syrian sounded annoyed, knocking back the rest of the bottle with a scowl on his forehead. He waved at the cigarette, so the girl passed it to Ryan instead.
“I usually listen to music when my family isn’t home,” the redhead commented. “I have an awesome record collection, but only the cows like it. Sometimes I play it just for them.”
“You have cows?” The revelation made Theodore’s eyes shine.
“He lives on a farm,” the girl told him.
“Well, I’ve been staying with my mom recently. She’s a little more chill about that stuff than my dad’s family.”
While the others talked, the Syrian got up from the nightstand and crossed the room. Theodore watched him walk over with his heart in his mouth, back leaning flat against the door.
“Can you move?” he asked, a good foot taller than Theodore. The atmosphere in his immediate vicinity was rich with tobacco and amber, a hint of something spicy tying the two together.
Without a word, Theodore pulled the door open.
The Syrian only took one step out before turning to him again. “Where’s the bathroom?”
“Right across the hall.”
When he left, Theodore breathed in deep, enraptured by the strength of his cologne.
As soon as the door closed, Ryan turned the music up, prompting the others to get up and start dancing. They moved like no one was watching, flailing their arms and kicking their feet, delight in every move. Theodore had never seen anything like it. His eyes widened with wonder, chest full of an unnamed feeling. In time, his feet began to tap and his shoulders started to shake, shy, hidden in the corner. New to this sort of thing, he wasn’t sure if there was a right or wrong way to do it.
At one point, Ryan jumped into the middle of the room, playing an air-guitar with such extravagance that he might as well be part of the band. That was when Theodore realized no one was paying attention to each other; they danced for themselves. The lack of observant eyes allowed him to loosen up and have some fun, moving like never before. If his mother were here, she’d call him an idiot for dancing like that, even if this was the most alive he’d ever felt.
When the Syrian came back, he took the dancing right in stride, sliding into the middle of the circle, pushing Ryan off to the side. He danced a lot like everybody else, hair flowing with his movements, metal spikes glinting under the light. Even though he was right in the middle of the room, no one seemed to take much notice of him, each in their own world.
A loud honk interrupted them, coming from outside. Ryan was the first to reach a window and look down at the cul-de-sac. A car pulled up to their driveway. The driver leaned out the window and shouted a greeting. Everybody seemed to know her, visibly excited at her arrival, yet smart enough not to shout back. Ryan tossed an empty bottle in her direction, missing by a mile; it shattered on the sidewalk. Theodore didn’t think that was funny, but it made the others laugh. With a promise to join the girl, they left the room.
Despite everyone’s increasing difficulty in keeping quiet, they managed to take the stairs without waking up the adults. Theodore didn’t know where they were headed, but knew he wasn’t coming along. His heart squeezed.
Everybody put their masks on and bid Theodore quiet goodbyes. There was no deliberation to leave, front door falling shut behind them. The click of the lock echoed in his brain as he watched through the glass panel. He stayed in the foyer for a long time afterwards, watching the quiet of the night. Where could they possibly have gone this late? The answer was obvious, but still his blood cooled, hands on the icy glass.
Ryan had never said he was a rat. Theodore wasn’t sure how long phases like that lasted, or if Ryan’s friends were also going through a phase. When did acting like a rat cross into becoming one? Maybe they just didn’t go into the tunnels. Maybe they dressed the part and acted it out too, but never actually went into the tunnels.
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