Nightwatching Tracy Sierra
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AnimprintofPenguinRandomHouseLLC penguinrandomhousecom
SimultaneouslypublishedinhardcoverinGreatBritainbyViking,animprintofPenguinRandomHouseLtd,London,in2024
FirstUnitedStateseditionpublishedbyPamelaDormanBooks,2024
Copyright©2024byTracySierra
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APamelaDormanBook/Viking
LIBRARYOF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATIONDATA
Names:Sierra,Tracy,author
Title:Nightwatching/TracySierra
Description:[NewYork]:PamelaDormanBooksViking,[2024]|
Identifiers:LCCN2023023443(print)|LCCN2023023444(ebook)|ISBN9780593654767(hardcover)|ISBN9780593654774(ebook)|ISBN9780593832219 (internationaledition)
Subjects:LCGFT:Thrillers(Fiction)|Novels
Classification:LCCPS3619I393N542024(print)|LCCPS3619I393(ebook)|DDC813/6 dc23/eng/20230524
LCrecordavailableathttps://lccnlocgov/2023023443
LCebookrecordavailableathttps://lccnlocgov/2023023444
Coverdesign:DavidLitman
Coverimages:(toptobottom) woman,Yolya/GettyImages; trees,DejanIlic/GettyImages; house,DenisTangneyJr/GettyImages
DesignedbyCassandraGarruzzoMueller,adaptedforebookbyCoraWigen
Thisisaworkoffiction.Names,characters,places,andincidentseitheraretheproductoftheauthor’simaginationorareusedfictitiously,andanyresemblancetoactual persons,livingordead,businesses,companies,events,orlocalesisentirelycoincidental
Acknowledgments About the Author
For
Catherine My mother
Therewassomeoneinthehouse.
Shestoodinherson’sdarkbedroom.Throughitsopendooranddownthelonghallway,thelandingatthetopof thesteepkitchenstairswaslitbythedimglowofaplug-innight-light
Thelightwastheresothechildrenwouldbeabletoseethestairsintheirnighttimewanderings.Topreventthemsilently, helplesslyfallingastheypaddedfromtheirroomstotheirparents’bedroomovernightseekingwater,orcomfort,orafterawet bed
The old house let the wind hiss through and crack its ribs The sounds of it bracing against the storm, its staggered breathing,werefamiliar.Butthroughitallcamenoisesthatrootedhertothespot.Alsofamiliar,butnotatthistimeofnight. Notwhenshehadbeensureshewastheonlyoneawake.
Inthebriefhushbetweenthefrozengustscamethewheezeofweightonthestairs
You’re imagining things.
Herdaughterlayasleepinthenextroom.Hersonwasalreadysleepingagainafewstepsawayfromher.
Foramomentthehopethatitmightbeherhusbandliftedher
Stop it That’s impossible
Butitcouldbeherdaughtersleepwalkingagain.They’dboltedthedoorofthegirl’sroomthatledtotheoldfrontstairs a place too dangerous to let her sightlesslywander But it was possible her daughter had gone out the other door to her bedroom The one theyleftunlocked despite the girl’s sleepwalkingand the danger ofthe kitchenstairs The door theyleft opensoshecouldusethebathroomatnight,sothatsheunderstoodshewasstillabiggirl,theytrustedherandsheshouldtrust herself.
Yes, that could explain it!And you wouldn’t have heard the baby monitor go on Her husband had mounteda motion-activated babymonitor outside their daughter’s unlocked bedroomdoor after three nightsoffindingthelittlegirlstandingattheirbedside,stillandunwakeableinthedarkness.
“WhatcanIsay?”Herhusbandhadshrugged “CamerasarewhatIknow”
Click, fizz, beep!Themonitorwouldspringtolifeintheirbedroom,andtheirdaughterwouldpassonthescreen,looking blurryandbleachedonthenightvision,retinasgivingananimallikemirrorflash.Oneofthem(her,alwaysher)wouldgetup andintercepttheirdaughterbeforethegirlhadachancetoaccidentallyhurtherself Shewouldguideherlittlegirlbacktobed, strokethedarkhairawayfromtheemptyopeneyes,awayfromtheslackmouth,sitwithherdaughteruntilshelaybackonher pillow.
That must be it Sleepwalking
And yet, she couldn’t make herself move Couldn’t unfasten her eyes from the distant night-light A part of her remembered that the sound ofher daughter onthose stairs was simplydifferent. Apart ofher acknowledged that inall her daughter’s nighttime drifting, the little girl had never actuallygone downthe stairs. And the sounds were comingfromthe stairs
Atwistedbitofnurseryrhymeechoedthroughherhead,oneoftheendlesslyrereadchildthingsthatnowpermeatedher consciousness.
If wishes were fishes we’d have some to fry If wishes were fishes we’d eat and not die Alowthump,apause.Acompleteandinstantswitchinherthinking. He’s hit his head.
Itsometimeshappenedtopeoplewhowereunfamiliarwiththeeccentricitiesoftheoldhouse Anyonetallerthansixfeet hadtotilttheirheadorducktoavoidthelowcutoftheceilingattheturnofthekitchenstairs
Therewerethin,scrapingsoundsasthispersonreadjusted.Recalculated.Movedagain.
Shesawfingerswrapthebanisterlikewhitespiderlegs.
The intruder pulled himself up slowly until he stood at the top of the stairs, features washed to invisibility by the darknessandthewaythenight-lightshonelowbehindhim.Forthebriefestofmomentslookingatthatsilhouette,shesawher husband.Openedhermouthtocalltohim,askhowhe’dgottenhome.
But your husband wouldn’t hit his head Not tall enough
Withthisthoughtcameclarity.Thefigurewentwrongaroundtheedgesandunfurledintoastranger. It’s a man.
Hewas tall His arms hunglooseandlong His presencehadthedistantlyfamiliar rancidness ofsomethingwrongand rottenshe’dtastedbeforebutcouldn’tquiteplace.
Do you recognize him? Who is he?
Hetippedhisheadandstareddirectlyatthepoolofdarknessdownthelonghallwaywhereshestoodshrouded She knew objectively, logically, thatitshould be impossible for himto see her. How manytimes had she stood inhis precise spot, inhis exactpose? How manytimes had she looked downthe dark, off-kilter hall toward the oldestpartofthe house,whereshenowstoodinherson’sroom?Tryingtotellinthemiddleofthenightifthedoorwasopen,ifherlittleboy wasstandingthere,neveronceabletoseeanythingbutshadow.Becausethatnight-lightonthelanding,closetothefloorand faintasitwas,blindedhertoanythingbeyonditsdimreach.Always,everytime,shehadtobealmostattheboy’sbedroom doorbeforeshecouldbesurethatyes,therewasherson,backoutofbed,silentlywatchingher.Insteadofsafeasleep.
The light has to it must blind him
Theman’sfacewasmadeaskullbytheshadows.Solidblackwhereeyesshouldbe.Thelightsnaggedonhislipstocut anover-grinningsmile.Hiswholeselfseemedtohersohugeitwasbeyondtheboundsofreasonable.Sosubstantialitwasas thoughevenhismouth,hisnostrils,hisears,mustbefilledwithflesh
She struggled for air. It was the reality of him, the human details, that choked her. His short, sandy hair stuck out sideways the way a child’s does after pressing flat against a pillow overnight. His dark shirt was only half tucked in. He shiftedhisweight Scratchedatthesideofhisnose,thenrubbedatthespotwherehemusthavehithishead
Hereyeswentwide.Herbloodsurgedthickandpoundedherearstodeafness.Sherealizedshewasshaking,hadaflash ofshameathertotalinabilitytocontrolherownbody.Sherememberedthisshame.Sawinmemoryalinoleumfloor.Nofight, noflight,justcompleteanduttershudderingimmobility
Andtime Tick, tick, tick,aclockmustbesayingsomewhere Tock, tock, tock,uncountablesecondspassing
One minute, two? Ten? Breathe. Think. He sees you. Can he see you?
Theman’ssizewasasuffocatingreminderofhowsmallshewas.Hisshadowstucktotheceiling,casthighbythelow glowofthenight-light
He’s in your house. Your house!
Thiswaswhyherearsweredeafenedbyblood.Whyterrorhollowedheroutweightless.
Someonewhowouldtakethatstep,someonewhowouldsnapasidethatcurtain?
Oh yes Someone like that is serious
But maybe he isn’t real? Maybe you ’ re seeing things.
This idea melted throughher The mancould be a vivid nightmare Or one ofthe fears she rubbed betweenthumb and forefinger,oneoftheworriesshewouldrumbleandburnishtosmoothmorbidfantasystaringsleeplessatthebedroomceiling
Where do you come up with these awful things? That’s it, that’s all. Overactive imagination. Adream. One-two-three, air in, air out, open your eyes. Then, poof!He’ll disappear. You’ll see.
Butwhensheforcedhereyesclosed,forcedthemopenagain,themanhadn’tvanished Forthefirsttimeshenoticedhe waswearingsneakers.
She understood the implications somewhere deep and visceral. He couldn’thave walked throughthe blizzard inthose sneakers Sheimaginedhimsittingonthebenchintheentrywaydownstairs Takingoffhissnowboots Placingthemneatlyon the floor, side byside. Pullingthe sneakers outofa bagand puttingthemon. Aconscientious houseguest. Planningto staya while.
He is very, very serious
Her eyes skittered to the side to see the snowflakes still falling. Their whiteness was the only thing visible outside, touchingthenspinningawayfromthesliverofwindowglassvisiblebetweenthecurtains,restinginandsofteningthecorners ofthepanes.Beforethenor’easterbegan,there’dbeenatleastafootofaccumulation.Bybedtimethere’dbeenalmosttwofeet ontheground Now well,shecouldn’ttellfromwhereshestood Butsheknewthatherhouse,thewholeproperty,thewhole world,waswrappedtight.
Nexttothewindowwasherson’sbed.Thelittleboywascurledintoatiny,soft,sleepinglump,hischestmovingeverso slightly up and down under his green blanket Abit of hair and a curve of his ear were the only things discernible in the
Asshelookedatherson’sshape,herheartwassqueezedbysuchloveandpanicshenearlygroanedwiththepainofit. Shethoughtofhissoft,fullcheeks,howtheyintersectedwiththetinyboneofhischin.Thesweet,cartoonishproportionsofhis littleself Thetender,potbelliedgourdofhistorso Histhinlimbsandstraighthips Herownsmall,perfectboywhowasfully andcompletelyaperson,howevertiny.Howevernewhere.
And now?
What’s going to happen to that little person now?
Shedraggedhereyesbacktotheman. Ten seconds? Ten minutes?
He’dbeenthereforjustamoment He’dbeenthereforever But it can’t happen This can’t happen Not to you These things happen. These things happen every day. It must be your fault What did you do?
Apullofdespairtuggedthebackofhertongue
You did everything right, didn’t you? You locked the doors. The windows. What did you do to deserve this?
But she knew better than most that deserving had little to do with getting She was sure almost no one got to give permissionfortheworstthingsthathappenedtothem.
The manstood patientlyinthe splashofweaklight. So awfully, jaw-achinglypatient. She watched as he listened for eventhelightestsoundsoflife Shewatchedhimchoosinghisnextsteps
Inherson’sdarkroom,shekeenlyfeltthepresenceofthedoorbehindhertothetoplandingofthefrontstairs.Onceupona time,they’dbeenthehome’sonlystairs.Ontheothersideofthatlandingwasthedoortoherlittlegirl’sbedroomthatthey keptboltedfromthelandingsideforhersafety
Hermind’seyesaweachofthemasacomponentinaschematic.Hersonhere,herdaughterasleepinherroom.Theman waitingatthetopofthestairsthatleddowntothekitchen.Hestoodbetweenherandthemodernadditionattachedtotheback oftheoldhouse Betweenherandherbedroom,heroffice,thegarage Whichmeanthestoodbetweenherandherphoneonher bedsidetable Thecarinthegarage Thegunlockedsnuginitswallsafe Thebulletsforthatgunhiddenhighinherhusband’s closet.Betweenherandhercomputer,setupintheguestroomthatdoubledasheroffice.Therehestoodbetweenherandall possibilityofhelpandaidandrescueandcommunicationandstrength.
Shefeltaneedtoclawatsomething
Hold still, hold still!He’ll see you.
Inwondermentsherealizedshewassoakedcompletelyinsweat.Aviscousamphibianflopsweatthatletthecoldcling toeverybitofherskinwithachingpressure AlreadythedampnessofitsoakedintotheT-shirtandunderwearshe’dwornto bed.Itmadetherobeshe’dthrownoverherselfasabarrieragainstthehouse’sperpetualwinterchillsticktoher,clammy.
Themanfishedsomethingoutofapocketonhisimmensechest.Heletitdanglefromahand.Anoblongobject,heavyyet loose,aslightswingtoit
SLAP! He swung it and it hit his other palm The unexpected noise, the weight, the reality, the implications of the unidentifiableweaponheheld,sweptthetensionfromherkneessothatshehadtofighttostand.
Thatthemanwasn’twearingamaskturnedthingsallthemoresurrealinthisnew worldwhereeveryonedid.Andhim here,doingthis,withhisfaceexposed?
Buthewaswearinggloves.Whiteplasticglovesthatglowedfromthedimshineofthenight-light.
Fingerprints matter but not if we see his face, because he’s going to kill us.
Sheshookherheadsoquickandtightsheheardtheocean
Stop that!Don’t be ridiculous, calm down, think clearly
No. You are thinking clearly. This is serious. There are stakes. Everything is at stake. Don’t pretend otherwise. Look at him No mask Gloves Dry sneakers Weapon He’s prepared He will hurt them Hurt you Anything else is a fantasy You know it You know the lines he’s crossed already Being nice, thinking positive no
Witha wave ofdespair she saw itwas alreadyover. Whatcould she do butoffer up a softneckand pretend she was elsewhere? There was nowaytofighthim.Noweapon,nohelp.Twosmall childrenandher short,weakened,waifishself. There was no way to win, defend, protect She folded inward with the hopeless acknowledgment that she’d done the calculations,sketchedoutalltheoptions,andwassimplynotequaltothetask.
The fear ofpain,the terror ofwhathe coulddo,was anunbearable anticipation.The surgingpanic inher frozenbody turnedherintoalivewirestrippedbarebutunabletoreleaseacharge
This is the part of the movie you aren’t allowed see. What’s about to happen is what forces them to cut to black.
Themanleanedbackandcrackedhisspinelikearunnerpreparingtostartarace.Thepeculiarweaponseemedtopullat hishandwithalimpheaviness
The wide face slowly turned as the man looked away fromher toward the hall of the modern addition. His shifting weightmadethefloorgroanbeneathhim.
Stillwishful,stilldeeplyhopingthatshewasslippingintomadness,thatitwasallimagination,shetoldherself, That’s a nice touch, brain, remembering how the floor creaks right there
He took one step, then another. She blinked in disbelief as he moved away fromher. He went down the hall of the additionbeforewalkingthroughthedoorofherbedroomanddisappearing.
Becauseheturnedawayfrominsteadoftowardher,arazor-thinhopezappedandfizzedtolifeatthebaseofherneck Do something.
She was awake in the middle of the night because of her son He’d woken her as always in a most disturbing way Scratchingafingernailalonganeyelid.Pokinghisthumbintoherear.Deftlypullingoutasinglehair.Tonight,he’dpinchedher noseshutuntilshewokewithaninwardgasp,battinghandspatheticallyatemptyair.She’dfollowedherlittleboydownthe hall,histiny,capablebodybarelyvisibleinthedeepdarkness Sheknewbetterthantoaskaboutthenightmarethathadcaused him to wake her. Her son had almost always already forgotten it. All that was left was the feeling of horror, a residual strangeness,aneedtohavesomeoneelseawake.Tonight,asusual,she’dlightlyscratchedhisscalptosoothehimtosleep.
Thelittleboy’snightmareshadstartedafewweeksafterlockdownbegan
You think you hide your fears from your children, but they absorb them like they absorbed your blood
“Does anyone get any sleep in this house?” her husband complained. On his fingers he counted out the issues. “Sleepwalking,nightterrors,insomnia,nightmares,toowarm,toocold,toowet,toothirsty Tootired!”
“Well” sheyawned “atleastyou don’thaveanytroublesleeping.”
“That’s true,” he said.“I’ve gotthe mama wall protectingme.Whywake lame oldDadwhenyoucanwake the mama bear?Bringoutthebigguns?”
“Whoareyoucallinga‘bear’?Andthat’sthefirsttimeanyone’severcalledme‘big’”
Her husband shother his charming, hooked smile. “The little mama, then. Better to wake up the little, tiny, attractive mama.”
Sohersonwouldwakeher,neverherhusband,andshe’dfollowhimsilentlythroughthedarkness,bundlehimintobed, Twinkle, twinkle, little star, how I wonder what you are. She’d brushthe blackhair awayfromwhere it stuckto his long lashes,awayfromthecornersofhisalready-sleepingeyes.Andshe’dbeleftwideawakesittingattheendofhisbed,waiting toseeiftheabsenceofhertouchwokeherlittleboy,asitsooftendid,requiringsherepeattheprocess Thenshe’dpadback downthehall,liedown,andstareattheceiling,wonderingatthestrangenewfearfulnessoftheworld.Thinkingofthethings she’ddonewrong.Ofthethingsshemighthavebeenabletocontrolifshe’dthoughtfarenough,carefullyenough,ahead.She wouldimagineotherworldswherethingshadgonedifferently Better Worse
It’s not your fault
It’s all your fault.
Themandisappearingthroughherbedroomdoorwaslikewakingfromherlittleboy’sdream.Anightmareshufflingoff, leavingbehindanuncannilyemptyquiverofair
Yesterday, upon the stair, I met a man who wasn’t there. Herskincracked.Herteethunclamped.
What are you going to do?
Shehadavisionofwakingthechildren,pullingthemintothesnowouttheoldfrontdoorsdownthestairsbehindher,a five- and eight-year-old, both barefoot, in pajamas, her in a robe and slippers, because shoes, coats, the car, everything everything! wasontheothersideofthehouse
He’d catch us Easily Immediately Crossing the house or, if we tried to run, through the snow And it’s so far to the nearest neighbor. Half a mile? At least. At least! And in this storm. And through those drifts. Record cold, they said. Record snowfall.
No time, no time Do something
Shewasbrieflyawedbytherealizationthatforthefirsttimeinalongtimeshefeltalive,andevenmoreastonishing,she desperatelywantedtostayalive.Buthersurprisewaspairedhorriblywithdeepfear.Fearoftheman’skineticviolence.What hemightdowiththatstrangeweapon Fearofthatpotentialenergyreleasedonherchildren Fearofpain Shehadneverdealt wellwithpain.
Does anyone?
Then,apossibility Inthegrippingswirl ofher animal frenzy,adrenalineandhelplessness,sherememberedthehidden place.
Later,she’dthinkofitlikebeingpossessed.Whenshesawthemangothroughherbedroomdoor,whensheremembered thehiddenplace,itfeltasthoughshe’dbeenpluckedoutofherbody.Shewatchedherselffromtheoutside,confused byherownactions,thinking, Hey, look at what she’s up to You couldn’t do that Yetdespitetheremove,shestillfelt herhandsshake.Stilltastedacidterror.
She watched herselfput the sippycup her sonused for bedside water into one robe pocket, shove Fuzzydoll into the other Watched herselfcarefullyfold the blanketback, liftthe sleepingboyinher arms He stirred, thenrelaxed againsther body Hissmall,pudgylegsdangledfree,headsolidonhershoulder Hebreathedfamiliarmamasweatinandout,armsloose andtrusting.
Hersonsmelledlikedrool.Likewarmth.Asmelluniqueanduniversal.“Iloveyou,”shewhisperedmuffledintohishair assheheldhim,alreadyhurryingtoherdaughter’sroom “Iloveyou”
She slid open the sleepwalking bolt on the outside of her daughter’s bedroom door and went in. Her daughter was snoring.Flashofthegirlasababy,sheandherhusbandsuppressinggigglesoveraseriesofmassivefarts,ofhonkingsnores, allcomingoutofsuchatiny,angeliclittleinfant
“Takesafterherfather,”she’dwhisperedwithateasinggrin,andherhusbandhadputhishandsonhiships,releaseda blastingsnoringnoise,andsaid,“Betterbelieveit!”She’dnearlywokenthebabywiththesuddenbleatofherlaughter.
She sat onthe girl’s bed Withher sonrestingonher lap, she reached out and touched the little girl’s shoulder Her daughterimmediatelyrolledover,ballingherfiststorubbotheyesroughly,thesamewayshealwaysdid “Mommy?”
“Shhh,shhh,angel,”shesaid,strokingher daughter’shair toofast,toofeverishly.“Quiet.Please.Ineedyour help.We needtogodownstairs Downthefrontstairs”
Herdaughterlookedup,bigeyesconfusedandsearching.
No comfort in your hands, your voice. Can’t be helped.
“Why,Mommy?”
Why, why, always why, all they ever ask is “Why?” Why can’t they just do what you say? Why can’t they just listen?
She wanteddesperatelytolie.Toshieldthe girl fromfright.Fromreality.Butshe stoodup,holdingher boytight,and heardherselfsay,“There’ssomeoneinthehouse Someonebad We’vegottohide Now”
Thegirl’sfacestartedtocrumpleintocrying.
“No,no!”Shemanagedtogripthegirl’sshoulder.“There’snotimeforthat.”
Herdaughternoddedandliftedbacktheblanket.Thecovershadpulledherlongrednightgownuptoherthighs,showing skinnylegsandbulbedknees Thepatchesofwhiteskinwherethepigmenthadfadedfromthegirl’sfeetandanklesappeared luminous even in the storm-thinned moonlight. On standing the nightgown fell into place. The girl clutched her tattered Pinkbunnytoherchest.
Sheswallowedafreshlumpoffearatseeingherdaughter’sbeauty Thegirlhadawillowylovelinessthathoveredatthe edgeofthatawful,quakingbridgeleadingoutofchildhood.
It’s a problem.
Thiswasnotanewworry,butinthesecircumstancesitwasmoreurgent,moremanifest Moreterrifying Abig problem
Herdaughtertrailedhertothelanding,softlyclosingthebedroomdoorbehindher.
Shehardlyeverusedthisstairway,becauseshesorarelyneededtogofromherhusband’sofficeortheotherfrontroom theyusedasaplayroomuptothekids’bedrooms Butthechildrenoftenusedittogofromtheirbedroomstotheirplayroom, and signs of themwere everywhere. Clouded moonlight throughthe window at the top of the stairs and the transompanes abovethedoorbelowallowedforadimvisibility.ALegoknightstoodproudontherailing.Astuffedbearwasface-planted inacorner,hadclearlyfallenfromloungingonthewindowsill Aribbonwoveinandoutofthebanisterrungs Thesethings stabbedherintheheartasifherchildrenhadbeenlost,asifshe’dalreadyfailedtoprotectthem,andtheseobjectswereall thatwasleftofthem.
Herskinprickledinthecoldairthatwaftedupthestairs Theblizzardblastedfrozenbitsofitsviolencethroughthegaps aroundtheolddoorsbelow.Shewatchedherselfandwasshockedtofindthattuckedsomewhereinthefoldsofhermemory was eachweakspot onthese little-used stairs, eachplace that might make a noise. Carryingher son, she stepped onlight slipperedtoes fromstrongspottostrongspotonthe treads,a kindofdancingdescent,evendeftlysteppingover the loudest stair.
How strange, how strange, how’d you do that? That’s not something you can do.
Butherdaughter’sfootlandedsquarelyinthemiddleofthefirststep Thenoiseofitsurroundedthem,anechoingdoom
Withthebedroomdoorstothelandingclosed,withthelowsoundofthewindscrapingthroughthehouse,maybetheman hadn’t heard it? How close was he now? There onthe other side of the house, he must have immediatelyseenher covers thrownback,heremptyplaceinthebed,thephoneonitscharger
He might be moving this way already to find you Or he’s searching downstairs, thinking you fell asleep on the couch “Quiet,soquiet,steptothesideofthestairs,tiptoe,”shewhisperedatherdaughter.“It’sokay,angel,youcandoit!” “Okay,Mommy.”Thelittlegirldescendedcarefully,avoidingthemiddleofeachstair.
Yes What a good kid What a brave little girl The best little girl
They took a right at the bottom of the stairs and went into her husband’s office. He liked its dark moodiness. She preferred her setup under the blindinglybrightoverhead lights ofthe guestroom. Outofeverywindow was snow. Drifting, blowing,collecting
Shelaidhersongentlyonthearmchairinthecorner,andhecurledintoawarmball,stillasleep.
Inthedarknessshegropedatthewallaroundthefireplacetofindthepanelthathingedinwardwhenyoupusheditjust so
It’s here, isn’t it? Wait it’s lower Now, how do you do this?
Onherkneesshepaddedfingertipsaroundthepaneluntilshepushedatthejustrightspotinthejustrightway.Itswung opentowalled-inemptiness
Thespacewasirregular Itbeganbehindthebeehiveovensetintothelivingroomfireplaceandendedunderthestairs Shetriedtomapitoutofhermemorybutcouldn’trecallitsdimensionswell.Notquitethreefeetwide.Tallattheback,low neartheentrancewherethefrontstairsmadeupitsceiling.Maybeninefeetlong.
She’d been inside only once The sellers showed them the hidden place the day they closed on the house They demonstrated how to pushopenthe panel witha firmpress onits bottomleftcorner. How to hookyour finger ona slightly warpedpartofthetoplefttoyankitclosed.Aspecial,secretgift.
This reveal of the hidden place had relieved her In that nearly three-hundred-year-old part of the house, her mathematicalbrainhadmeasuredtherooms,andasidefromalittlesagging,alittlebowing,eachhadthesamedimensionsas theroomimmediatelyaboveor below.Theroomsweresoidentical stackedaboveeachother,soeven,therewassomething unnervingaboutit Somethingunexplainableandhardtopindownthattippedallthatrationalityintotheirrational
Whenthesellersopenedthepanel,she’dunderstood Themassivecenterchimneybranchedoutitsmessyflues,efficient astheveinsandarteriesofahumanheart.Thehome’slong-deadbuildershaddisguisedthisunbeautiful,suspiciouslyanimal anatomybywallinginthetwistingbrick.Thisleftbehindapleasing,evencolumn andemptyspace.
SherememberedfromhistoryclassthewayearlyAmericansrootedoutthenative,theorganic,thewild Theybreathed theashofthePequotandunderstooditasareminderoftheirownanointment.Theywatchedwitchesgolimpandknew their actsrighteousbecauseGodpermittedthem.OldNewEnglandpreachedefficiencyandthrift,butthoseidealsweresecondary topurity Andpurityrequireswaste
So behind those Puritan walls, dead space waited. A knock on the old wood paneling, and she heard hollow reverberation. Pull outa chinkofplaster, poke a finger through, and she’d find itwrigglinginnothingness. And behind that panel,underthestairs,aroundthechimney’sintertwiningarteries,thebuildersleftthelargest,mostmysteriousspace
“Whydoyouthinktheyputinthisroom?Putinasecretdoor?”herhusbandhadasked.
“TheUndergroundRailroad,ormaybeaplacetohidefromnatives,”thesellershadguessed.“Ourkids,ofcourse,say it’shaunted.”
Herhusband’seyeshadlitupatimaginingtheprotectedfamilies,thebesiegingnatives,thewatchfuldead
She’d said nothing, but thought otherwise. Access like this made anypatchingofbricks and mortar easier, should the needeverarise.ThehousepredatedtheUndergroundRailroad.AndinthispartofNewEngland,conflictwiththenativeshad movedelsewherelongbeforethehousewasbuilt
“Whysealit?”thoseearlybuildersaskedinherimagination “Itcouldbeuseful,someday”
Aftermovingin,herhusbandhauledoutashopvac.Thespacehadbeenlitteredwithmortardust,curledpaper,general rubble, and a few desiccated mice. Beingso muchsmaller, she was the one to crawl inand vacuumoutthe mess while he screwed the hinges ofthe panel inmore securely She remembered she hadn’t beenable to stand, butthat ithad beeneasy enoughtomovearoundthespaceonhandsandkneesgiventheamountoffloorbetweentheroughfaceofthechimneyfluesand thesplinteredsideofthepinewallpaneling.
She had called her husband’s attention to an old electric heater that vented out the stairs, wires frayed and insides blackenedwithsignsofburndamage.Heawkwardlyjimmiedhiswideshouldersintothehiddenplacetodisconnectitandrip itout, rumblingand happilyragingover the unsafetyofthe thing. Always anger over the irresponsibilityofothers. Always pleasure over fixing something, making it safe Protecting them, after all, was such a part of the way he saw himself that tangibleevidenceofsuchpurposewasasparklingandbeautifulthing.Nevermindthatshe’dbeentheonetofindtheproblem. Todiagnoseit.Hewastheonetosayproudlyonthephonetohisparents,“You’llneverbelievethefirehazardItoreoutfrom underthestairs….”
“Idon’tknowwhatwe’lleverusethespacefor,”herhusbandmused “Giventhetemperaturethesebrickslikelyheatto whenyougetthebeehiveovengoing,Idunno.Probablyweshouldleaveitalone.”
Theother hiddenspacescreatedbythewalled-inchimneyhadbeenfilledover thecenturieswiththingsthatincreased comfort Ducts,wires,andpipeswerevisiblethroughsmaller,lesshiddenaccessdoors Withthisoneexception,practicalities like closets, shelves, indoor plumbing, and electric lighting had done away with the secret spaces that accumulated superstition,speculation,andimaginings.
Thatsnowynight,thehiddenplaceseemedaltogetherdifferentthanithadonthesunnydaythey’dcleaneditout Theface oftheopenpassagewaspurestblack.Soblackthateveninthatmidnightroom,shesawitasadarkerpit.Adeadmouthwitha throatdeeperthanflint.
Somehow,thedepthofthatdarknessmadetherestoftheroommorevisible Shesawhersonstirringonthechairinthe corner She lunged, butbefore she could getto him, the little boywoke up and wailed She slapped her hand over his tiny mouth.Herson’ssurpriseandhurtwasatangiblethingthatvibratedoutofhisbodyandsockedherinthestomachwithshame.
“Shhh, it’s all right, butwe have to be quiet, quiet!Look, your sister is here, see? And we all have to be brave, and quiet”
Thelittleboy’sfacekeptonwithitsmelt.
Oh no, oh no.
She recognizedthe beginningofscreaming,ofpainedfearfulness,loudandbawling The injustice ofwakingup,inthe dark,andMamaputtingherhandovermymouth,somean,I’mcold,whereamI?Yes,allthatreadableinthecurlofherlittle boy’sface.Herhandpressedtighter,andhersongrabbedandscrabbledatherwrist.
“Wehavetobequiet,”shewhispered “Wehavetobequiet!Ifwe’renotquietthemonsterwillgetus!”
Bothchildrenreactedasthoughherwordshurt Ifshe’dsaiditatanyothertime,oneofthemwould’vepulledasmile, said,“Nooooo,Mama,you’reteasing!There’snosuchthingasmonsters!”Butwakingthemup,bringingthemdownstairstothe officetheyweren’tallowedtoplayin,puttingahandoveramouth,pleadingforquiet,surroundedbythedarkness,thecold, thestorm,sensingthepulseofher fear Amother’sfear Itcametogether inakindofhorror thatmadethemrecoil Andthey weresilent.
Thank goodness. Thank God.
She took her hand away from her son’s mouth, illogically terrified that because of his silence, his stillness, she’d somehowsuffocatedhim.Butno,hemadesmallsnufflingnoises.
Thenbothchildrenbegantowhimper,tocry.Frustrationrolledoverher.
There’s no time for this
“No!No!Look,here’sthehidingplace,here’swherewehidetobesafe.”Shepointedtotheopenpanel.“See?Look! And,see?”Shesnatchedtheblanket,thepillow offthearmchair,heldthemup.“Thesewill becuddly,right?Andwe’vegot Fuzzydoll,andPinkbunny,andwe’regoingtosnuggleinhereandhideuntilthemonster’sgone.CuddlewithMama.Allright?” Clutchingtheblanket,thepillow,shelookeddownattheirwide-eyed,fear-filledfaces
This is a tough fucking sell.
How longhaditbeensinceshe’dfirstseentheman?Minutes?Onlyminutes.Butstill far toolong.Whatwashedoing now?
Move Move!You have to hide
Anytime she showed impatience, urgency, the childrenreacted withsuspicionand slowness. She saw herself intheir eyes. Keyed up, whispering, drenched insweat, shakingina wayshe couldn’t control, tryingto lure theminto a dirtyand unfamiliarplace
Because what, you ’ ve got a throw pillow? Acouple of stuffed animals? Act calm. Get them inside.
Behind themshe saw her husband’s computer onthe desk. Grimaced resentfullyat its unhelpful bulk. He’d somehow disabledtheinternetonit Saidotherwiseitwastootemptingtobrowse,connecttothewi-fi,procrastinate,totakehimselfout ofwhathecalled“workmode.”Hewouldn’tevenbringhisphoneintotheoffice.
“Idon’twannagointhere.”Herdaughterstaredatthegapingmawofthehiddenplace,whichseemedtoexhaleadusty breath Thegirlcrossedherarmsoverherchest,huggingherselfwarmer,protectingthesoftplaces
I don’t want to go in there, either, kid, Christ Move, hide!
Be patient Be patient and calm and they’ll listen That’s how it works “Iknow,”shewhispered “Butwe’regoingtobebraveandsafetogether,okay?” “No,Idon’twanna.”Herdaughterbackedawayastep.
“No,”saidherson,hidingbehindherleg.Hepeekedoutattheopeningasthoughsomethingcouldspringoutofitatany minute Eathimup
Inherdesperation,herimpatience,sheunderstoodtheimpulseofmotherpreyanimalstodevourtheirchildrentoprotect them,feelingahorribleneedtoswallowthemwhole,toholdherchildreninsideheragain.
I’ll eat you up I love you so
Then,simultaneously,all threelookedupattheceiling.Fromabovethemcametheunmistakablesoundoffootsteps.A familiarnoiseinthehouse,buttwisted.Becauseitwasanun-familysound.
Themanwasinherdaughter’sroom Together,theystoppedbreathing Theylistened,headstippedup,eyesunblinkingasifthatwouldletthemseethroughthe ceiling.Allthreefrozeninthefearfulrealityofthemoment.
Sheknew itwasimpossible,butdriftingdownlikedustloosenedfromthefloorboardscamethecertaintythatthesteps had a personality Theywere strong Impatient Angry Theywere the movement of someone who had beenpromised total control, and was beingdenied whathe saw as his due. Someone who wanted to tinker withthe things thatreallymattered. Wantedtoplayagamewithstakes.
Theyheardasoftthumpofsomethingbeingdropped thrown? asitlandedonthetoo-smallarearug Theyhearditroll ontothewoodfloorwithametalclatter.
Then,aroar,agutturalfury.
Becauseherdaughter’sroomwasempty Becausethelittlegirl’sbedwasstillwarm “Getin,”shehissed,“rightnow” Thistimetheydidn’thesitate.
Shethrew theblanketandpillow throughthedarkopening,vanishingthem.Crawledintothehiddenplaceandreached handsouttohelpherson,thenherdaughter,inside.Toldthequietlycryingchildrentomovefartherin,tomakeroomso shecouldclearandclosethepanel,franticallyshushingthem Sheswiveledonhandsandkneestopullthepanelshut Butsheturnedtoofastandhitherheadhardonthecornerofsomethinginvisible.Hititviolentlyenoughthatshethoughtshe’d besick.Brutallyenoughthatshesawcolors.
Anger,pulsinganger,drippeddownher body Itmadeher fingertipsspasmandher spinethrobdeepthewayitalways didwhenshehitherhead Stubbedatoe Whackedashin Theneedtoblamesomething,anything,forherownthoughtlessness Forthepain.Anythingotherthanherself.
Goddamn stupid…thing.
You have to move You have to get it shut Did you bite your tongue? No Then why do your teeth hurt? Why do you taste copper?
Sheputonehandinfrontofherforeheadtoprotectherself,movedslowerthistime,andhitnothing.Shepushedthepanel closed Inthestunninglycompletedarkness,sheslidherfingertipsaroundthepanel’sedgestocheckitwaslodgedjustright, feltitstightandevenseal.Shewasgratefulathowunexpectedlyeasyithadbeentoshut.Recalledhowdifficultitwastoclose thepanelfromtheoutside.
We’re invisible now
Sheleanedtheunhurtsideofherforeheadontheroughwoodofthehiddendoor,exhalingwithrelief Alittle rest.
Howlonghaditbeen?Timestretchedandpulled.
Think it through You heard him, then it was less than a minute before you saw him He stood maybe two minutes on the landing before walking away from you. And you grabbed the kids. What, another two, three minutes before you got down the stairs, got them in here? That’s all it was. The whole world shattered in less than ten minutes.
“Whereareyou?”shewhispered
“Here,Mama.”
She stayed low, stretched outher arm, and flailed blindlyto protectherselffromanyother unseeable things thatcould hurther
“Don’tstandup,” she whispered.“Tryandstaystill.Snuggly.Youdon’twanttohityour headlike Mommydid.Here, let’swrapupinthecozyblanket.”
“Snuggly” “Cozy” Yes, calm, safe words How can you speak so quietly and be heard? Thechildrenflankedher Shewrappedherarmsaroundthemandbroughtthemclose “Ow,Mama.”
“Sorry,sorry.”
Calm down, be gentle, you ’ re scaring them
Scaring them more.
“Mama’shere,Mama’shere,”shewhisperedastheysnuffled.
I’m here You’re here This is real “Nomorewhisperingnow,okay?Nomorecrying.Wehavetobequietasmice.”
Shethoughtoftheloud scritch-scratch soundsofrodentsintheattic.
“Quieterthanmice,”shesaid
Together,buriedbehindthewall,absorbedintotheancientemptyplace,theysatandlistened Itfelttoherthatthingsweresettlingaroundthem.Thedust,thehouse,thedarkness.Atfirst,therewasonlythepulsing thwap, thwap, thwap ofbloodinher ears,ofbloodhammeringthegrowingtenderness oftheknotonher head.Sheblinked, disoriented bythe fireworks ofher eyelid undersides, how there was more lightwhenher eyes were closed thanwhenthey were open. It made her remember touring a cave with her mother as a child, a roadside attraction somewhere along the highway.Theguidehadturnedouthislighttothiskindofdarknessandgivenaspeech.Beforetoolong,he’dsaid,suchlackof
light would cause your eyes to die, retinas zapped by disuse “Bullshit,” her mother had muttered to her in the complete blankness of that darkness. The profanity had made her smile, feel so adult, so much smarter than the guide. But in this particularmoment,thisparticularplace,losingherabilitytoeverseeagainfeltlikeacertainty.
Three blind mice, three blind mice
The pained throb ofher head expanded outward, and she resisted the urge to touchthe bump. The quiet grew thicker aroundthemasthesoundofherbloodabated.Thehitchesofthechildren’scryingslowed.Itwasdifficult,sodifficult,toresist theurgetocrushthemcloseagain
Babies, my babies
It’s so cold in here. Need to wrap the blanket around the kids better. What’s that lump? The sippy cup in your pocket, right, yes Can you lean back? Feel around a little The floor is cold, but with the blanket
Then,thefootstepsbeganagain.Together,thethreeofthemstiffenedanddrewintheirbreath.
When did the footsteps stop? How did you not realize that? He’s been quiet. Listening?
Hersonletslipa“Mama!”
“Shhh”
Thelittleboyburiedhisheadagainsther,fuzzyandfamiliarintherobe.Nosedhimselftodeafnessbetweenherarmand middle. She pulled the blanketup around his shoulder awkwardly. Thather little boyso clearly, so incorrectly, thoughtshe couldprotecthim,thathefeltsaferthecloserhewastoher,stabbedherintheheart
How is it possible all they have is you?
Boom. Crick.Alongcrackletraveledfrombehindthem,crossedabovethem.Yes,sheknewthesesounds.Theoriginof eachnoise,eachweakspot,wasclear inher head Thethousandsuponthousandsofeverydaysoundswereburrs,pickedup andstucktohermemoryduringherinnumerableovernighttripstothechildren’sroomsoverthelasttwoyears.
Don’t wake them. Don’t step here or there, close the door like so, watch out for that hinge, careful of the latch. If you wake them up, you have to get them back to sleep
The man had left her daughter’s room and was walking to her son’s room He’d stepped on the patched upstairs floorboardabovethelivingroomthatalwaysgaveanemptyecho.Thenhe’dputafootonthelong,thinboardthatrannearly thewidthofthehouse.Everytimeshesteppedonitinthehall,she’dhearitbuckletenfeetaway.Onmovinginshe’dwoken hersonahandfuloftimesbeforemusclememorysetin Trainedbythehousetoavoiditsweakspots
Itfeltrepellenttobeabletotrackhimthisway.Tofeelhimwalkingoverthingsthatwerehers,triggeringmemoriesof creaksandmiddle-of-the-nightmother’smissteps.
Herdaughterflinchedlowerandlowerwitheachnoise,aturtledrawingitsheadincrementallyintoitsshell
Sheleaneddowntowhereshethoughtherdaughter’searmustbeinthedarkandquietlybreathed,“It’sallright,you’re verybrave.”Thegirlclungtoher.Shenuzzledherdaughter’shairwheresheknew theglossofblackmettheshockofwhite thatframedonesideofthegirl’sface Shegreedilysmelledthehoneyshampooherdaughterliked,andunderneathitthethick babymuskofscalpandoilandskinthathadn’tyetbeenscrubbedawaybyage
When does that smell fade? Maybe for a mother, never. And he wants to snatch it away.
Nextcame the thuddingmuteness ofsteps onher son’s carpeted floor, vibratinglike a distantearthquake. Thatstrange shuffleintheair,wasthathimopeningthecloset?Thatrattle hemighthavebumpedintothesidetablethatdidn’tsitlevel
You’re grinding your teeth.
Sheopenedhermouthwidetostretchherpainedjaw.Sherolledherheadtoreleasethecreepingtensioninherneck.It wasuselesswiththepoundingknotdizzyingher
A distant whoosh. A vague rolling noise. She couldn’t identify these sounds, and she strained to hear better, to understand.
Herdaughterbreathedslowernow Calmer Upanddown,inandout Listening
She was flooded withgratefulness thattheywere here, hiddeninthis little den, instead ofoutthere, withthatintruder standing over her daughter or her son, like he would’ve otherwise been this very minute. Using that vague weapon. Other weapons.
But now you ’ re trapped
Herchestfeltasthoughitwerebeingcrushedbysomeenormoushand.
You’ve trapped them.
Thewallsmovedcloser
There was no other choice No other choice but to hide Shestretchedandsearchedtohearanythingmore.
Maybe somehow things didn’t creak and he walked out. Out of the room, out of the house, gone, gone, gone. If wishes were horses then beggars would ride If wishes were fishes we’d eat and not die BOOM.
Theyallthreestartledlikedeer,flanksjoltingtostiffness.Thelittlegirlcriedoutweakly,doveherfacedeeperintoher mother’srobe
The manwas immediatelyabove them. The sound was a footonthe same step thathad made sucha racketunder her daughter’s only a few minutes ago. An eternity ago. Inside the hidden place, it was like a thunderclap after a just-missed lightningstrike,overcloseanddeafening
Hadheheardherdaughter’sthinwail?Themanstoodstill,soundless.
Andthentherewaslight.Onwentthesinglecandelabrabulbthathunginthelittlechandelierdanglingatthetopofthe stairs. Maybe he’d turned it onto avoid hittinghis head again. Maybe without her familiaritywiththe stairs, withonlythe cloud-choked moonlight through the windows to guide him, the man had been taken aback by that first booming sound, surprisedbytheunmodernshallownessofthetreads.
Thelightdrippedthroughchinks betweenstair stepsandrisers.Fell throughcrackshereandtherearoundwoodknots. Flowed brightestofall throughthe vent, the one thathad beenconnected to the dangerous, burnt-outheater her husband had proudlytornout.Theventthey’dleftlodgedinthestairriser,becausewhynot?Eventhoughtherewasnoheater,eventhoughit was justa window into the hiddenplace, mightas well letair circulate. Mightas well be sure the useless space didn’tget moldy,becomeaproblem Apaintopatch,anyhow,ifyoudon’treallyneedto
Thelightseemedtoheranawful,world-endingthing.Ithurtthewaylightdidwhenaquicksweepofcurtainwokeher, drawinganarmuptoshieldherfacelikeablack-and-whitemovievampire.Hissandburn.
Will he be able to figure it out, now that the light’s on? Will he be able to see us?
Therectangleoflightthroughtheventsplashedontotheedgeoftheblanket Slowly,watchingherhandshakesoheavily she could barely pinch its corner, she pulled the blanket toward her so that the light illuminated only brick and dust. Nothingness.
Shecouldfeel herdaughter’sfear,theshakyheavingthegirl wassilencingagainsther,againsthersoftrobe Herson’s heartbeatlikeatinycaughtbird’s.Hewascrying.Butquietly.
Quietly enough?
BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM
Downhecame.Eachfootstepapressonherheart,herlungs.Herstomachtwisted,bubblingandsloshingsoloudlyshe wascertainitwouldgivethemaway.
You need a bathroom
How ridiculous How urgent Hold it Like you have a choice? BOOM.BOOM.BOOM.
Dustsifteddownonthemfrombetweenthestairtreads.
Don’t sneeze BOOM.BOOM.
Shesawhissneakersthroughtheventcover.
Hisfeetweresolargeontheshallowstairshehadtowalksidewaysdownthem,likeanelderlymandescendingasteep hill.Thesneakerswereyellowedandlightlyfissured.ShesawafaintUnionJackontheside.Droopinggrayedlaces.
The light could be a good thing. Blind him again. Even if he noticed that vent, even if he peered through it, it would be hard for him to see anything BOOM.BOOM.
Shekeptherarmsaroundthechildrenasgentlyasshecould,rubbingtheirbackswithhandssoquakyeachfeltlikeits ownseparate animal. Withthe lightshe could see the childrentrembling, tightand fearful. She leaned close toone ear, then another,andwhisperedbelowsound “Shhhhh…” BOOM.
Themanwasdownthestairs Shesawbitsofhimhatchedandfragmentedthroughthevent Darkpants Adarkshirt Pale skin.Thebackofhishead,dirtyblondandmessy.
Againtherewasaclawingsomewheredeepinher brain,awhiffofsomethingfamiliar inhisimmensesize,hisshape, thesensethatthemanwassomeoneshe’dknownlongago Itwasthesamefeelingshegotwhenshesawsomeoneacrossthe streetwhosefacesherecognizedbutcouldn’tplace.
Where’s his coat?
Shepicturedhimtakingoffajacket,hangingitneatlyabovethesnowbootshe’dchangedoutof Sopolite Hefacedawayfromthevent,towardtheolddoubledoorsonthefrontofthehouse.Therewasalumpinhisbackpocket. The weapon?
Brightpink,rectangular
Your phone He has your phone in his pocket
Sherubbedhermouth,herlips,totrytomakeitfeelmorereal.
At least you saw it At least you know Because what if you made a run for it, tried to get to your phone, only to be cornered in the bedroom, no escape, no way to phone anyone?
Cold comfort.
He stood still. He was probablynoticingthat the double doors were locked and bolted fromthe inside. Dead doors, unusedduetotheirobviousimpracticalitygiventhelargerentryatthebackinthemodernaddition Themanpulledthethick ironboltwithaloud chunk.Fiddledwiththeancientlatch.Sworeinaquietwhispersonormalandhumanitdisorientedher. Sheknew theproblem,ofcourse.Thehousewasfull ofdifferentantiquelatches,eachirritatinginitsownway.These particulardoorswerefastenedtogetherwithalatchlockedbyalittleironbarthathungonanail Itwasalwaysfrustratingto dealwith,thatbarlooseonthatnail,becauseifyoudidn’tkeepholdingthebarupwithonehandwhileliftingthelatchwiththe other,thebarwouldfall,swingdownonitslittlenail,andinterrupttheliftofthelatchsoyoucouldn’topenthedoors.
Themangavealoudgruntofannoyancebeforefiguringitoutandswingingthedoorsopen Thefreezingairwhooshed throughtheventandhittheminthehiddenplace,theshockofitmakingthechildrenstartleandshiver
Heleanedoutintothestormasflakesswirledaroundhim.Thenhestraightenedandclosedthedoors.
Click,wentthelatch. Clunk,wentthebolt.
Herindexfingertorerapidandroughatthecuticleofherthumb,andherstomachtwistedsickeningly
Who is he? You can’t know, because you can’t even see him. Not fully. Didn’t see his face, so shadowed in the dark upstairs.
Themanmoved,vanishingfromherviewoutoftheventgrate Sheheardandfelthimopenthedoortothesmallcloset nexttothestairsandrummagethroughwhateverwashangingtherewithaswishingnoise.Apparentlydone,hissoundstraveled towardtheplayroom.TherewasawaterfallclatterofLegossweptasidebythesweepofthedoor.Aclick ofthelightswitch, andtheywereagainthrownintodarkness
Sherecognizedthesoundoftoyskickedaside Overthelasttwomonths,detachedandfindingitdifficulttocareabout muchatall,letalonehowcleanthehousewas,she’dstoppedmakingthechildrentidyregularly.Asaresult,theplayroomhad grownwellbeyondtheboundsofitsusualmess.Sheknewthefrustrationofsteppingontoys,oftryingtonavigatethatroom. Buttheman’spassagethroughthatchild’sspacewasdifferent Forher,indifferentannoyance Forhim,seethingindignation Asmash.Somethingburstingintopiecesagainstthewall.Somethingelsefracturedintothefloorboardswithacrunch.
“Mycreations!”herdaughterbreathed.
Yes, probably
Themanhadmostlikelydestroyedoneormoreofthespecial,oversizedLegoconstructionsherdaughterkeptassembled aroundtheperimeter oftheroom.Thecastlethattaperedandwidenedagain,theshippeopledwithfantastical creatures,the spiralrainbowstairsthatclimbedhighasherdaughtercouldreach,tiptoedonastool
Sheimaginedtheseflightsofimaginationleveled.Feltasurgeofimpotentangerassherememberedthequiethoursher daughterspent,headtilted,chewingherlip,buildingandenlargingandspinningthepiecesoutofpatientfantasy.
Itwasanevergreenpain,knowingthatthingsthattooksolongtobuildhadbeen,couldbe,soeasilydestroyed. Shedrewthechildrencloser
“They’rethings,andthingscanbefixed,”shewhispered.“I’llhelpyoufixthem.Shhh.”
“Thatwasn’tDaddy,”herdaughtersaidsolowitmighthavebeenmeantonlyforherself.“IthoughtitmightbeDaddy.”
Her throattightenedwithlonging,withthe illogical hope her husbandmightsomehow come home throughthe stormto rescuethem.
Don’t cry.
“It’snotDaddy,”sheagreed “Thatisabigman.”
Thepitinherstomachcratereddeeper.Sheurgentlyneededtousethebathroom,toexpeleverything,herwholechurning gut
You’ve been thinking of yourself as the lone witness But you ’ re not You’re not! The way they stared at the ceiling, tracked those footsteps. Remember how they hopped to, right into the hidden place?
You’ve been hoping you ’ re just crazy, all this time, part of you has still been hoping you were just losing it Closing your eyes and wishing it away
“It’sallright,”shewhispered.“Mommy’shere.Shh.”
Howniceitwouldbe,tobecrazyinsteadofcorrect.Foritalltobeapsychoticbreak.Tohaveherhusbandcomedown thosestairs She’dpopoutofthehiddenplace,relieved elated! tomeethislookofconfusion She’dwatchhisexpression transitionintohorrorasshebabbledexplanations.How couldshelockherchildrenawaybehindwalls?Frightentheminthe middle of the night? She faded warminto picturing those plodding, everyday consequences. Anger, and psychiatrists, and divorce, and a padded cell How lovely, how comforting, to live in that alternate reality a moment, where her mind had unhingedandtherewasnodangerofviolencefromanyonebutherself.Thosestakesweresolow!Sobeautifullylow.
Reality can be more disorienting than dreams.
“Mama?”Herson’svoicehadawaterysound,quaverofsuppressedtears What a brave boy The best boy “Mama,yousaidmonstersdidn’texist.”
Sheloweredherhead,feelingagreatweightdescend “I’msorry,”shewhispered “Ilied”
Findingherselfwalledintoherownhomewasn’tthefirsttimeshe’dbeenforcedtoacclimatetoanewreality,wishing thatherownmindwastheproblem.
Nearlytwoyearsbefore,herhusbandhungupacallwithhisparentsandtoldher,“Mymomhascancer” Shefeltasthoughshe’dsteppedoutofherself.Sheblinkedathimstupidly.
No, not that word. You must be hearing things. Imagining things. Something wrong with you.
“What?She’s what?”
Herhusbandpausedalongtime,staringintomiddledistancebeforeadding,“Mydad’llbeanightmare” “Your yourpoormom,”shemanagedtostammer.
Herhusbandrestedhisheadinhishands.“Anightmare.Hedoesn’tevenknowhowtorunthewashingmachine.”
Her ownfather livedalone Her mother hadbeenproudlythrifty,repairingbrokenappliances,computers,andbicycles forfriendsandneighbors.Butaftershedied,hefocusedobsessivelyonfulfillinghiswife’s“wastenot,wantnot”admonitions. Hecollectedbrokenthings,clogginghishousewiththemasifhethoughtthattherightthing,theperfectlyimperfectthing,might lure his wife back from oblivion Over the years his walls of split wicker chairs, speakers bristling fuzzed wires, dusty motherboardsgrewsoimpenetrablethatwhenshetookthechildrentovisit,theystayedatahotel,pushedfromthehousebythe pilesofhisbeloved,molderingmemorials.
Yetevenherfatherknewhowtouseawashingmachine
“Yourdadwasasuccessfullawyer He’scapable Maybehe’llrisetotheoccasion?”Sheknewthiswaspuredenial,and hervoicefaltered.“Notthatweshouldn’thelpyourmom,obviously,I’mnotsayingthat.”
Herhusbandshookhishead.“He’snotgoingtoliftafinger.”
She nodded She knew For years she’d silently observed her father-in-law, trying to understand him, trying to comprehend the vicissitudes of his moods. She’d focused close, as if the older manwere a specimenunder a microscope, acting and reacting to this or that stimulus. She’d eyed him from afar, hoping to get a whole, telescopic picture. She’d experimentedwithquestionsabouthischildhood,hisbeliefs,theoldermanacowheart,afetalpiglaidonametallabtable,in needofdissectiontomakesenseofhim.
Whenher husband (thenboyfriend) introduced her to his parents senior year ofcollege, a flutteringhope pounded her heart
Areal family Mother, father, child
Physically, her husband, compact and darklike his mother, barelyresembled his tall, fair, thinfather. But at that first meetingsherecognizedclearsimilarities.
Both talkative Athletic Confident Loud Quick to laugh Able to wick a smile out of even the most pinched-faced stranger.
“YouknowwhatIlikeaboutyou?You’vegotconversationenoughforthebothofus,”she’dteasedherhusbandearlyin theirrelationship
Butitwas true.Nexttoher gregarious husbandshe felta partofthings,despite beingquiet.Despite beingchronically incapableofsmalltalk.
Hermother-in-lawwasquiet,too,onlychimingintocomplimentthefood Notetheweather Promptingherhusbandand sontodiscusstheirday.
Is she the opposite of you, quiet because she’s onlycapable of small talk? Or is she like you, instinctually holding her cards close to her chest?
Afewweeksafterheintroducedhertohisparents,shewasstudyinginherhusband’sroomwhenhetoldhisfatherover thephonehewouldn’tbeapplyingtolawschool. Crack! wentthesuperficial,candy-coloredveneerofherfirstimpressionas theolder manscreamedadmonitions aboutexpectations,wastedmoney,his bellowingtinnyover thephone.“You’velostall respect!WhatthehellamIsupposedtotellthemenattheclub?”
Amonthlater her husband told his father he’d switched his major frompolitical science to photography a decision effectivelymadeyearsbeforeashe’daccumulatedartcreditafterartcredit.Thecallsbecameaconstant,thephonevibrating
withtheolderman’sfury
“You don’t know what real work is. You want to swan into what some wussy little art world? Be famous? It’s humiliating.”
Whydidherhusbandalwaysanswerthephone?
“He’llgetoverit.He’sallsmokeandnofire.”
Buther husband’s father refusedtopayhis tuition.Whenhis sonstill didn’tbackdown,still didn’tagree togotolaw school,tookoutloanstopayforhislastyearofschoolhimself,hisfatherrefocusedhisvenom
“Ididn’traiseyoulikethis.We’veworkedtowardyoubeinganattorneyyour wholelife.Younever behavedthisway beforeyoumetthat girl.Christ.She’sdisfigured!”
Her husband hungup onhim Buteventhen, fumingand pacing, he picked up the phone whenthe maninstantlycalled back,apoplectic.
“Howdareyouinterruptme?”
If that’s what his family thinks of you, it might end this relationship His father might wear him down Or wear you out And do you really want someone like that in your life?
“They’remyfamily.I’mtheironlyson.OnceIstartearningmoney,he’llrelax.”
Herhusbandhadtoberight.Familymustbeworthit.Whatdidsheknow,really?Thereweretheninebeautifulyearsher motherwasstillalive,idealized,shewassure,toaluminoussheenofperfection TherewerethestableyearswhenGrandma movedfromAlabamatolivewiththem,fullofstrict,loyalloveandclearexpectations.ButeversinceGrandma’sdeath,she’d beenalone,herfatherdedicatinghimselftotheshatteredfragmentsofthingshe’dneverrepair.
To her surprise, the conflictredoubled her husband’s commitment, as thoughshe were the symbol ofhis newlygrown backbone.Anddespiteherownreservations,sheclosedhereyestoseefamilyhoveringaspirationallyinabeautifulfuture.
Every relationship has challenges, she told herself, whichwas true. Family is earned, she told herself, which, she’d cometolearn,wasmorecomplicated
Andalwaystherewasherhusband Thewayhekissedherforehead Wipedthecornerofhiseyesafterlaughingather jokes. Bragged abouther work, framingand hanginghis favorite ofher patentillustrations. His armrested lightaround her waistwhentheyenteredacrowdedparty,andshewouldthink, I belong.
Herhusbanddidn’tjudgeher becauseofherdad’sfortressesofwreckage Whyshouldsheendthingsoverhisfather’s blazingvolatility?
After college, father and son reached a détente that required everyone to tensely pretend there had never been any conflict,anapproachdiametricallyopposedtoherstraightforwardargumentswithherownfather
Invariablywhenher in-laws visited, she andher husbandwould seize gratefullyonthe banalityofdiscussingthe rain. ThePGATour.Cleaningproducts.
Eventually she tacitly understood the boundaries of their civility Understood why her mother-in-law only seemed capableofsmalltalk,takingrefugeinitsdullsafety Herhusband’sprogresswithhisphotographywasofflimits Securingher jobatalargefirmasapatentillustratorwassimilarlyaforbiddentopic,herfather-in-law’sfacehardeningatthereminderof hercareerbeingbetterpaidandmoreintellectualthanhisson’sattemptstosellhisphotos.Yearslater,herhusband’ssuccess, thewayhisaerialphotographybecametheirmainsourceofincomeandallowedhertogofreelance,topickuptheirchildren fromschooleveryday,couldn’tbeacknowledged;itwasuntouchableproofoftheoldman’sfallibility.
Sometimes they’d accidentallystumble across the unmarked margins of a conversational minefield. Her father-in-law was certain that something unidentifiable was being slowly stolen from him, imperceptibly siphoned away The lightest reference to any news caused himto sputter vagaries about the way certain people had become unacceptably shrill, overrighteous,uptight,perverse anendlesslistofoften-conflictingeuphemismsthatdidheavylifting.
Atanydarkeningofhis weather, her mother-in-law’s voice dropped to a soothingregister “Youare so right, dear Of courseyouare.”
Unlikehismother,herhusbandsilentlylethisfatherrage,waitingouthisstorm.
Ignoring him is probably better than trying to argue, isn’t it? Anyway, your husband fought for the most important things Partner Career Life
Overthecourseofyears,theyearningforfamily,foracceptance,incrementallyworeaway,astoneerodedbywaves. “Sometimestherejustisn’tanywaterinawell,”Grandma’srememberedvoiceremindedherinitssoutherndrawl.“You gottadrawyourbucketrightonup,hon”
Whenher daughter was born, her mother-in-law’s joywas visiblytainted bythe old man’s irritationwiththe baby’s crying,overhowthebaby’smereexistenceconstantlyinterruptedhim.Withinhalfanhouroftheirvisittothehospitaltomeet theirgrandchild,herfather-in-lawwordlesslystrodeoutintothehall,red-facedastheinfant,hermother-in-lawhurryingafter him,apologizing
“Weshould’vemadehimfeelmorewelcome,”herhusbandinsisted.
Good riddance. There’s no water in that well.
Atherson’sthirdbirthdayparty,herfather-in-law eyedhisgrandsonthroughnarrowedlidsasthelittleonecuddledin herarms,suckinghisthumbandgigglingasshemadesillyfaces.
“Quitethemama’sboy,isn’the?”
“Imean,yeah,”shesputtered “He’satoddler”
Herfather-in-lawraisedaknowingeyebrow.“Youcan’tspoilhimlikethegirl.Boyswillripawusstoshreds.” White-hotfuryburnedanyresponseoutofherthroat.
Herhusbandsighed.“Wearen’tspoilinganyone,Dad.”
Shesaw theolder man’s words hadbeendesignedtostickaknifeinher side Twistit Worse,sherecognizedthather father-in-law had sliced open a worry about the future she’d shoved away, embarrassed at how it chewed at her heart, insidious. Since the dayhe was born, her sonhad beensoft and pliant. He nursed easily. Snuggled close. Stared up at her adoringly,tinyhandsreachingforher,alittlearmtighteningbehindhershoulderinahug,hisheadrestingblissfullyagainsther necklikeitbelongedthere.Hesleptwithoneofhissister’sdiscardeddolls.Carrieditwithhimeverywhere.Weptwhenhe sawanyonehurtorifsheraisedhervoice.Hecriedateverypreschoolmorningdrop-off,sadtoseeherleave.Andsheloved it,shedid Hisopenaffection Hissensitivity Hisunselfconsciousneedforcloseness
Butsheworriedabouttheworld.
Mama’s boy. Wuss. They’ll rip him to shreds.
Sheseethedwiththepossibletruthoftheolderman’swordsassheturnedawayfromhisgaunt,goadingface
Don’t let him bait you
Buther father-in-law had found a bruise to press. Everyvisit, she’d sweep her sonawayfromthe old man’s gravelly voice,hiswaggingfinger.“Youneedtomanup.Stopcrying.”
Shefeltthemolderingdecayofhatredsproutinginherskull
Don’t let him make you a worse person.
“You’remytoughlittleguy.Andyou’rekind,too.Youcanbebothatthesametime,”she’dtellherteary-eyedsoninthe wakeofhisgrandfather’seviscerations
Thespacebetweenvisitsallowedhertopretendtheoldermandidn’texistformonthsatatime,areliefthatuntensedher jawjoints,letherhatredgodry.Buttherewasnomorepretendingafterhearing,“Stagefour.Aggressivebutoperable.Years left,withluckandpropercare”
She’d tasted bitter resentment at the news Because just like her husband, her first reaction wasn’t concern over his mother’scomingpain,fright,andevendeath.No.Herfirstthoughtwasthatshedidn’twanttodealwithherfather-in-law,the wayhewouldinevitablypullallgravityinhisdirection.
This isn’t about him Or you
At her husband’s urging, they looked at real estate close to the senior living community where her in-laws were ensconced,outwheresuburbanmetrural.They’ddiscussedmovingbefore thekidsweregettingbig,goodschools,roomto play but the cookie-cutter suburbanhomes they’d toured had never beenenoughto lure themout of the city Then, not so unusually for New England, on a meandering street of large properties populated by nineteenth-century farmhouses, 1980s split-levels,andpre-crashMcMansions,theydiscoveredablackenedcenterchimneycolonial,builtin1722,situatedonfive acresofopenpasturerimmedbywoods,completewithitsowngraveyard
Everything proportional but nothing square Wrinkled window glass distorting the outdoors to the flux of water No floorboard the same width, same length. No stair level. Unique, beautiful, worn.
Of course you like it It’s as marked as you are Yes,thehousewas creaky,impractical,hardtoheat Yes,sheandher husbandwerebothnervous aboutthecaregiving ahead. Butthe prospectofbeingpartofthe home’s history, patchingits brokenplaces, gave her a purpose for movingapart fromhermother-in-law’sillness.
So theybought it Theymoved Theydedicated themselves to helpingher mother-in-law while theyslowlymade the housetheirown.
Andnowthewood,brick,andmortarofthehouse’sinnermostrefugewasallthatstoodbetweenherandtheintruder.
Aftertheswishofthedoor,thedestructionofherdaughter’screations,theman’sfootstepsfaded.
Alocker-roomreekhither, and she realized itwas the smell ofher ownsweat. Thatshe was still sweating whilemiserablytremblingwiththefreezeofthehiddenplacewasyetonemorebitofunreality Thechildrenwere theonlywarmthingintheworld,bodiesnuzzlingcloseagainsther.Theirhummingbirdheartsvibratedintheirtinychests.Her mouthfilledwithdustandterrorassheimaginedthemanwithaneartotheirwall,listening.
He might be in the office He might be right on the other side of the paneling
You can’t know that, don’t be ridic
Thencamethedistinctcrackleoftheweakestfloorboardinthehouse,wornsothinoverthecenturiesthateverytimeshe putafootonitshe’dthink, You’ll have to replace that, it’ll only get worse.
Thatfloorboardwasattheentrancetotheoffice Theman’sunseeablepresencecrawledthroughherheart,herblood
How thick is this wall? Just simple pine boards, the decorative paneling nailed over it. Yes, the hidden door’s surround was about an inch deep when you crawled through, maybe a little more.
An inch of wood between us and him
Anotherstep,thenquiet.Shetriedtopicturewhathewasdoing.Takinginthedetailsoftheroom.Lookingforwherethey couldbehiding.Riflingthroughthefiledrawers.Goingthroughtheprintsherhusbandstoredintheoakmapchest,thelarger ones rolled in the corner, the framed patent illustrations and photos of the vacant highways, the empty cities on the walls Maybehewassittinginthearmchair Takingaloadoff Havingabreather
Alighttwangtraveledclear andwarmthroughthe woodofthe wall.He’dbrushedthe strings ofher husband’s guitar, proppedonitsstandnexttothedesk.Notaccidentally,either,butthewayapersonwhoknowshowtoplayaguitardidwhen theysawone Sheimaginedhisflatthumbonthestrings Intimate Itforcedhereyesclosed Athousandhappymemoriesofher husband’sfirm,stronghandstravelingthosestrings,thosesamesounds,andherewasthisman,claimingit,capsizingall that beauty.
“Hello?”hesaid
Thechildrenrustledinsurprise,asifoutofhabittheywantedtoanswerandwereresisting.Shechokedonherownspit andshock.Herthoughtsraninpanickedcircles,andherbonesfeltemptyasabird’s.
He knows we ’ re here!
“Hello?”hesaidagain,louder.
How?
“Shhhhh,”shesaidtothechildren,solowshewasn’tsureifthey’dhearher.
“Iseeyou,”hesaid,voiceasingsonginglilt
No, no, no. Her daughter groaned into the robe, muffled. Her sonstarted to quietlycry. She rubbed his back, shushingunder her breath
Of course he’s found us. Of course he knows we ’ re here! Once he saw the front stairs, he must have figured out we came down that way from the kids’rooms.
Thedespaircrackedoverherhead,tricklingdownthroughherbrain
So it’s over, it’s all over It’ll begin now You’ve failed them
“Iseeyou!Timetostopplayingthislittlegame.”Againthechildlikewarbleoftheman’svoice,allthisjustforfun,all thistoamuse,wassoincongruouswiththemiseryofherrealitythatshesqueezedhernailsintoherpalmsuntilthehalf-moons dugdeepenoughtohurt
This is real. You are here. Breathe. You need to get ready. You’ll have to wedge yourself between the bricks and the hidden door. That will make it almost impossible for him to open. And he’s big. He won’t be able to get in easily even if he destroys the panel Keep him out as long as you can Kick him in the head That’s it, that’s all that’s left And if he gets in scratch his eyes out.
Butshecouldn’tmove Couldn’tmakeherselfunhookthechildrenfromherrobe,couldn’tforceherselftoriskrevealing wheretheywerehiding.Notuntilshewassuretheywerelost.
Theman’svoicewassoftandround,asthoughheweretalkingtoabeloveddog.“Idon’twanttohurtanyone.Ofcourse not!It’sjustthatalittlebirdietoldmeyouhadasafe,that’sall
Justwantyoutoopenthatsafe,givemealittlemoney,andI’ll beonmyway.Okey-dokey?”
Althoughshedesperatelywantedthistobetrue, just money, here you go and bye-bye,uppoppedthememoryofalongagocoworkerwhohadbeenrobbed
“We woke up and our laptops were taken,” the coworker told the group thatgathered to hear the story. “Wallets, even prescriptionpainpillsgone.Thescariestthing,though,wastheystoleourphones,hisandmine,bothpluggedinrightnextto whereweweresleeping,onournightstands”
Yes,theycouldallseeit.Theobjectsliftedfrombesidethesleepingfaces,pulledawayfromdreamingbreaths.Justthat close.Justthatvulnerable.
Thecoworkerhadnervouslytwirledherlonghairaroundafinger,said,“Thepolicetoldusitwasgoodwedidn’twake up Thepolicesaidwhenahomeownerwakesup,that’swhenyougettrouble Burglarswanttotakethingsintheeasiestway possible. Theydon’twantwitnesses. Imagine? Imagine ifwe’d wokenup?” Faces had gone blankwiththatimagining. That visionofviolence.“Inaway,”thecoworkersaidweakly,“wewerelucky.”
He must know we ’ ve seen him No way he just wants money If that’s all he wanted, he’d be hiding his face He wouldn’t have a weapon ready. And he probably saw the safe upstairs. It’s not like it’s well hidden. He’s using that as an excuse.
Liar
“Littleones?”themansoundedplaintive,evenlonely.“Won’tyoucomeout?I’mnotabadguy.Ijustneedsomehelp. I’mnotasluckyasyou.Mymommyneverlookedoutforme.JustwantyourmamatohelpmewithsomemoneyandthenI’ll go”
Thewordsshotthroughherbodywithanelectrichum Themanknewherhusbandwasn’tthere hewasspeakingonly to her and the children. Butthe children’s bodies relaxed slightly. She imagined their feelingthe same hope she had fought, thinkingthiswasn’tamonsterafterall.Justsomeonewhowouldleaveifhegotwhathewanted.
“Shhh,”shewhisperedclosetooneear,thenanother
Nextcamethefamiliarsqueakoftheoldloungechairinthecorner,itsspringscomplainingoftheman’senormousweight ashesatdown.After alongpause,hesaidsullenly,“Idon’tlikeithereanymore.Thisplacecrawlswhenit’sempty.Every roomhas toomanydoors,andall thestairs areuneven Therearevoices,noises,andnoone’s there”Hewaitedamoment, thenaddedloudly,“IjustwanttogetwhatI’mowedandleave.”
Afteralong,silentpause,shewasonlybarelyabletohearthemansayalmostwistfully,“Thisisn’thowit’ssupposedto go Itshouldallbehappening”
Another wheezeandcrackfromthechair themangettingup Lightcreaks penetratedthewall as hewalkedbackand forthacrosstheroom.
“Youdon’t want me to bringout the bad guy, do you?” She could almost see himgivinga showytilt of his head, an overexaggeratedshrug,thewayshedidwhensheexplainedtothechildrentheconsequencesoftheiractions You don’t want a time-out, do you?
“IfIhaveto,Icanbringoutthebadguy.Idon’twantto,butyoujustaren’tlistening.”Themansoundedacutelyregretful, asthoughthiswereathingbeyondhim,theinevitableresultoftheirnoncompliance
As her childrentrembled and buried their whimpers againsther, etchingdeep throughher mind came the thought, He’s very good at scaring children.
Shepulledhersonanddaughtercloserasifitwerepossibletocomforttheminadvanceofwhateverhemightsaynext Shewaited,strainingtohearthroughthequiet.Hetooksolongtospeakagainthattimepulledaroundandoverherlikeawet sheet,draggingandcatchingoneverycreak,everygroanofwoodandbrick,collectingawfulanticipationandsnaggingonthe illogicalhopethathehadleft.
Atlast,soclosetotheirwallandsolouditmadethechildrenstartlelikefawnsagainstherbody,hecalledout,“Come out,comeout,whereveryouare!”
Hisvoicehadtickeddownanoctaveandraspedwithimpatience.Itssoundwassochanged,sootherworldlyandfullof tauntingmalice,thatshehadtoshakeoffthesuddenconvictionthatadifferentpersonentirelywasspeaking
“Don’tyouwanttocomeout,littlepiglet?Awayfromthatdirtyoldsow?”
Herfearforcedsomethingsimultaneouslysolidandsoft,thesizeofapea,fromherstomachintothebackofherthroat. Sheswalloweditbackdownandtastedbile.
Please, please let them stay quiet
She lightly rubbed the children’s shaking bodies with her shaking hands. She tried to protect them from this new strangeness bymufflingthe barbed-toothedhorror ofthatvoice,embracingthemsothateachhadanear pressedtoher side, eachhadherarmovertheirotherear
“Stuck-upoldpig,”scratchedthecurledtinfoilofthisnewvoice.“Justlikealltherest.Don’tseewhat’srightinfrontof you.Thinknothingwatchesyoufromdarkcorners.Astrongmanwatchesfromacorner.Heseeseverything.Thetenderlittle piglet Theoldspottedsowwalkingontwolegs”
Herdaughtermoanedaloudintotherobe,asifthesewordspainedher.
Then,aslippery,skippingnoise,thesoundofinfectedlunglaughter.
Aslew of her grandmother’s Southernisms jumped up unbidden. He’s half off plumb He’s nuttier than a five-pound fruitcake Loony as all get-out Mad as a wet hen
Yes,themanmustbesplittingapart,hismarblestumblingoutandaroundhim.
“Astrongmanseespiggiesaredelicious.Heseesalltherestforwhattheyare.Weakmenwithweakdesires.Urgestied up Defeated Civilized”
Aforkedtonguestrokedovertheword“civilized.”
“Aweakmanwhimpersattheslimmestfemaleobstacle.Hethinksshe’ssomethingmorethantheused-upnothingsheis.”
Sheburiedherfaceforcomfortclosetothescalpofonechild,thentheother
Of course he’s crazy! Who else would be here, doing this? Who else would have hunted us down except someone not right in the head? Twisted and warped and strange.
“Butastrongman?Hestepsover Stepsoverall yourprissylittlerules Free Agentleman?Hetakeswhathe’sowed Whathedeserves”
Her head swiveled involuntarilyto trackthe pathofthe voice. Its frantic, disembodied route penetrated the wall here, thenthere,highthenlow,inawaythatdizziedher.
He’s pacing, that’s all
Sheimaginedthevoiceslippingoutofflabbylips,astretchedrictus smilethatmatchedthecruel joyoftheinstructive tone.
“All thesethingsyoudototryandmakemesoft,tomakemeasheep Totakemypill andlikeit No Istepover I’ve steppedover.”
He’s stepped over rules. Sheep and pigs. That’s what you are to him. Oh God.
Silence Silence from the children, silence on the other side of the wall Her head pounded in pain, swam with disorientation;her heartbeatreverberated inher ears as she listened, fightingthe sureness thatthe manhad transformed into someunknowncreaturethatcouldmatchthehorrorofthatvoiceanditsbizarrewords.Shetriedtoshooawaytheconviction thatshecouldphysicallyfeelthismonsterlisteningevercloserforherandthechildren.
Stop it It’s just a man Don’t let him scare you He’s trying to scare you into making noise
“Littlegir-rl?Littlepig-gy?”
Herdaughter’sfingerstightenedaroundherarmtothepointofpaininresponsetothesummoningliltofthatvoice.Her protectivenessflared,andshefeltthedepravityoftheman’sintentionsbumpinglikebrailleunderherskin
“Don’tyouknowyoushouldbegrateful?Onceitstartsyou’llsee.It’sinyournature.Don’tyouknowthewholepointof littlepiggiesistobe delicious?”
The word “delicious” was exhaled with such a drawn-out sibilant hiss of deep desire that her heart contracted She plungedherfacetoherdaughter’sbelovedcheek,inhaledthegirl’ssmell,huggedhernarrowhipboneandtrembling,birdlike limbs.Shepulledthesoftandbonybodyclosertoprovethatherdaughterwaspresent,real,safe,alive.
Maybe he’s crazy Maybe not He’s trying to frighten us into giving ourselves away Don’t let it work It’s not a monster It’s a man
“Enough of quietness.” His voice was a low, threatening rumble. “Awoman learns in full submission. I’ll find you. You’remine,andthat’sallyouare.I’llfindyou.Becauseyouwantmeto.”
Thewordsweresosteady,sofilledwithpredatoryresolve,sheclosedhereyesagainstthem
Footfallsmovedheavyacrosstherug Theneeds-replacingboardgroanedasthemanlefttheoffice Shebecameaware ofthesilent,stillattentivenessofthechildrenbesideher.
How do you explain this? How do you keep them quiet after that? Breathe, breathe. Shecouldfeelthespacethemanhadstoodinontheothersideofthewall Shehadaclearpictureofhisdemonsmile Couldsmellhisinhumanreek.
Instinctivelyshe flinched, registeringthe voice again. But it was distant; it traveled fromanother room. She slouched withrelief Shemadeouttheword“piggy”Theword“delicious”
Stop Stop thinking of him as some creature He’s a man Which is worse He’s doing a voice “I’ll get you, my pretty!” “Why so serious?” “My precious.” That’s all. That’s it. Playing the part of the bad guy. Which he is. He’s very, very bad. Is he in the kitchen? Is it possible that he never knew you were here? That he’s going to do that same fucking terrifying song and dance in every room to try and scare you out?
Yes. Because he doesn’t know where you are. It’s all right. It’s all right.
Butasthewallspressedinaroundher,asshefeltherminddisjointedbyterror,felthowtightlysheandthechildrenwere wrapped,deadended,noescape,thewaytimeexpandedsohorriblylongandnarrow infrontofthem,sheknew thatnothing wasallright.
Thingsmightneverbeallrightagain.
Herdaughterpulledathersleeve.Breathedintoherear,“Mommy,whatishe?”
Intohermind’seyesprungafullyformedimageofthemanturninginsideouttorevealmattedfur,yelloweyes, needledteeth
Stop it
“It’s just a man,” she whispered. She rested her cheekonthe part of her daughter’s hair, pulled her little boyclose, inhaledtheirpreciousfamiliarity Felthersonrubhiswet,dribblingnosedryonherrobe “Itwasjustthemandoingascary voice”
“But I know him.” Her daughter’s voice dripped desperation. “I know that voice. The man in the corner. From my dreams.”
Her head throbbed No matter how she forced her thoughts toward reason, she felt overtaken by the nightmarish strangenessandphysicaldiscomfort.Theotherworldlinessofthatvoice,describinghowitwasowed,howitwasbetter,clung toherlikeanoilyfilm.
“Fromadream?”shewhispered “Whatdoyoumean?”
“It’shisvoice.”Her daughter grippedher wristtightlynow,terror lappingcontagiouslythroughthedarkness.“Hesaid hewatchesfromthecorner,Mama!Justlikethemaninmydreams.TheCornerman.”
Dreams,notonedream Arecurrentmonsterthathadbeenhauntingherlittlegirl
“I have bad dreams, too,” she said, thinking of her own nightmares and the shadows that stalked her there “We all sometimesdreamscarythings.Butthis,it’s he’s aman.”
“No.TheCorner hesoundeddifferent.”
Herdaughterwasright ThescrapingthreatoftheCornerwasaltogetherunlikethebizarrelychildishpatterofthevoice thathadprecededit.
Don’t be crazy, letting yourself get sucked into a little girl’s dreams. Stop thinking of him as this Corner. He’s a person
“Mama,”hersonsoftlycried,“Mama,Idon’tlikeit.Isitaghost?”
“Shhhhh,please,loves.Wehavetobequiet.There’snosuchthingasghosts.It’snotaghost.Notanightmare.Notthis Corner thing,fromyourdreams It’sjustaman I’msosorry,sosorrythisishappening Butwe’rehere,together” “Yousaiditwasamonster,”hersonsniffled.“It’samonster.”
You shouldn’t have said that. Why did you say that?
Because it’s true
“I it’snotarealmonster,”shesaid “It’sabadman Amonstrousman”
“Hehidesinthecorner,”herdaughterinsisted.“Hesaidso.Iknowhim.Hewatchesmefromthecornerwhenhethinks I’masleep.WhenI’msleeping.”
Why didn’t she tell you this before? She can’t know him But don’t you know him? There’s something familiar, something what is it? Isn’t there something?
Hersensethatyes,she’dseenthisCornermanbefore,heardthatvoice,rippedatthebaseofhernecklikeapinleftin fabric
Shefeltsickwiththehorrorofthevoice’sunidentifiablefamiliarity,ofthedarkroom,ofbeingstalked,theunrealityof thesituation.Thewaythingsfeltlikethemselvesbutalsonot,familiarbututterlydifferent,asindreams.
It is like a dream But it’s real And it’s happening to you
And you have to make them be quiet
“Iknowitwasscary.Iknowitdidn’tsoundlikethesamepersontalking,butitwas.He’snotamonsteroraghost.Nota dream.NoCornerman.He’saperson.Anangryperson.Itwasscary,likenightmares,butitwasjusthimdoingascaryvoice.”
“Why?Whywouldhedothat?”
“Honey,he’sabadguy,likehesaid.He’stryingtofrightenus.Sothatwemakenoise.Sohecanfindus.Wehavetobe quiet.”