Dave Seville was always patient.
That’s what everyone said. Through the chaos, the endless “ALVIIINNNNN!!” moments, Dave kept it together. Mostly.
But something changed one day.
It started small. Alvin missing rehearsals. Laughing when Dave snapped. Ignoring Dave. Alvins usual antics, just… sharper somehow. Like Alvin knew exactly how far he could push before Dave broke, and wanted to find out what happened after.
“Alvin, I mean it. One more time- just one more time I swear-”
Alvin grinned. “Relax, Dave. You worry too much.”
Simon noticed first. The way Dave’s voice didn’t just get louder, it got colder. The house, once full of chaotic warmth, started to feel… tight. Like the walls were listening.
Then came the night.
A crash. Glass shattering. Simon and Theodore froze in their room. Dave’s voice echoed through the house, not shouting this time.
“Alvin… I told you.”
There was no joking reply. No laughter. Just silence….and then a loud thud and snap.
Simon opened the door a crack. The hallway light flickered. He could see the living room, chairs overturned, cheese balls scattered, Alvin’s red hoodie lying crumpled near the couch.
“Alvin?” Theodore whispered.
Dave stepped into view.
His shirt was wrinkled. His face.. empty. Not angry anymore. That was the worst part.
“Boys“ he said softly, “it’s late. You should go back to bed.”
Simon didn’t move. “Where’s Alvin?”
Dave paused.
For just a second, only a second, then he gave a them an empty smile.
“Alvin won’t be causing any more trouble.”
The lights flickered again. Theodore started crying. Simon slowly closed the door. They didn’t sleep that night. The next morning, everything was… normal.
Too normal.
The house was clean. The broken glass gone. The furniture back in place. Pancakes on the table.
“Eat up.” Dave said, smiling like nothing had happened. Simon stared at Alvin’s empty chair. Theodore wouldn’t look at it at all. “Dave,” Simon said carefully, “we need to talk about-”
“About what?” Dave interrupted, still smiling. “Everything’s fine.” From somewhere deep in the house… there was a faint sound.
A scratch.
Simon’s head snapped up.
Dave’s smile twitched. “Just the pipes,” Dave said quickly. But the sound came again.
Scratch.
Scratch.
Slow. Rhythmic. Like something small… trying to get out. They never spoke Alvin’s name again.
But sometimes, late at night, when the house is quiet….You can still hear it.
Scratch.
Scratch.
Scratch.
And if you listen closely,You might hear a faint, muffled voice
Calling for Dave