Chapter Text
From his bedroom window, Michael would often watch the people that walked by. He liked to watch all kinds of people and often imagined what their lives were like, learning all that he could about the ones that passed by more than once or twice. His favorite people to watch, however, were the kids around his age; With heavy backpacks and clothes that looked clean and fresh and new in the fall, slowly showing signs of wear by the springtime. Kids his age caught Michael’s attention in particular because they went to school and school was an idea that was novel and endlessly fascinating to the young Afton. His father was a genius, after all, and insisted that his children get a better education than what the common public schools in the area could provide. At least, this was the story the public knew, whether from his father’s own mouth or parroted by his oh-so-darling (more like naive, Michael often caught himself thinking) big sister, Vanessa. However, Michael knew that was only half true. In reality, his father found them more useful when he had constant access to their whereabouts. That, and through homeschooling, there was less of a threat to the careful web of secrets that his father spun to present their family’s outward image of perfection.
It was that very image of artificial perfection that loomed over the young boy as he stared out the window. A polished wooden frame that held, behind a pane of glass, a photograph of his father, Vanessa, and himself… as well as the other photographs that lingered behind it. Those other photographs, however, were not to be acknowledged. Michael had asked his father once, back when four Aftons became three Aftons and Michael’s world had become much lonelier, why the man kept the old photos instead of throwing them out. He’d received a sharp slap to the back of the head, along with an admonishment of “Don’t ask stupid questions, Michael.”
There was one kid in particular that Michael liked to watch more than any other person that passed their window: A boy, with dark hair just like his, though that was where the similarities ended. This boy was messy - with his hair uncombed, rips in his jeans, and both his face and his shoes streaked with dirt. He often dragged along a younger boy, likely a brother, behind him in a little red wagon filled with various toys. Michael smiled whenever they passed the house. They always looked like they were having so much fun. If Michael closed his eyes real tight and concentrated, he could imagine himself running along and playing with them at the park, or wherever it was the two would go off to. Michael liked to pretend he was right there alongside them.
Sometimes, though, after a bad day, Michael would watch the two come back from their adventures and he would feel an ugly emotion bubbling up from his chest. It burned but somehow at the same time, it made him feel like all the blood in his veins had been replaced with ice-cold water. It made him think awful thoughts about his sister, wondering why all she ever did was avoid him. Why couldn’t he have a sibling that would play with him? He did, once, but she was gone. The other, well, he’d ruined any chance at that.
Summer came and then it went, as all summers do, but what this summer brought with it was a change that Michael wasn’t quite ready for. This change started in late July, when his father returned from a trip that he never really explained what it was for. Having heard the crunching of gravel under tires as his father’s car pulled into the driveway, Michael leapt out of the chair he’d pulled up to the window -being careful to put it away before his father could see it- and ran to the front door.
He must’ve been too slow in putting the chair back, because as Michael turned the knob to open the door, his father shoved it open with such an aggressive force that it knocked the little boy over, right into the coffee table behind him. Though he could feel pain blooming in his shoulders and back, as well as the sting of tears welling in his eyes, Michael pushed himself back to his feet and scrambled to pick up what had been knocked over in the fall. Once he finished, he looked back up at his father, who was looming over him with an expression that fit in somewhere between contempt and annoyance.
It made Michael feel incredibly small as soon as he saw it, and he cowered, as if trying to avoid his father’s cold gaze.
“I-I’m sorry, father! I didn’t mean to make a mess, I just heard that you were home and I-“
“Shut up, Michael,” His father snapped, interrupting his frantic apology, “I will be in my workshop for the rest of the night. You are not to bother me. Am I understood?”
Michael gave his father a timid nod and the man’s expression changed. While his gaze didn’t soften, remaining as intense as ever, the deep scowl on his lips was replaced by a pleased smile. Placated, really. The kind that his father would wear after solving a particularly bothersome problem. The man reached over slowly and gave Michael’s hair a quick ruffle, muttering something to himself before turning to climb the staircase.
It was a few seconds after, when all the giddiness from that little bit of affection had worn off, that Michael noticed a few strange details: The coat his father was wearing, meant for rain when there hadn’t been a drop the entire week; The bag that he’d been dragging behind him - it seemed heavy, even for his father’s strength and gave off a weird smell; and the dark stains that seemed to cover the man from head to toe. The overall mix of smells that came from his father and the bag, metallic and earthy and something else he didn’t quite recognize, overwhelmed Michael and made the boy feel like he was choking until the source of the smells were fully shut behind the door of his father’s workshop.
Once Michael felt he could breathe, he noticed a weird feeling from where his father had touched his head. He reached up to investigate, drawing his hand back once his fingers touched what were definitely clumps of his own hair, wet with… something. What he found was some kind of sticky, paste-like substance. It didn’t take long for Michael to recognize it as blood, though it was old and coagulated, so dark in color that it was almost black… and now it was stuck in his hair. He quickly rushed to the main bathroom and turned on the shower faucet. After all, if he left his hair like that, his father would surely be angry with him later. He put himself to bed shortly after his shower.
The next morning, he saw his father at the kitchen table, sipping from his usual coffee mug as if nothing notable had happened the night before.
He didn’t see the two boys for the rest of the summer. Michael began to wonder what happened to them, even worrying if they’d moved. Over the next couple days with no sign of them, he started feeling a heavy weight in his chest that lingered for weeks. That is, until the kids with their backpacks and new clothes started showing up again. As he peered out the window, he felt that sinking feeling turn to excitement as he saw the boy at the end of the street.
Something was different, though… the boy walked slowly with his head down, sulking, even. As he got closer, Michael could see his expression. He could tell from the empty look in the boy’s eyes alone that something was wrong. Where was the other boy, his little brother? Michael felt himself start to panic a little for the friend that didn’t even know he existed. Was his brother missing? Was he in the hospital? Did something happen-
Michael went still as a sense of dread crawled up the nape of his neck. Everything clicked into place in his mind and he slowly turned his head up to the staircase, through the wooden banister and at the door at the end of the hallway. The weight of the sudden realization made Michael feel sick to his stomach. Without another word, he pulled the curtains back to where they were and turned his eyes away from the window.