Thing Bailiwick

by Fawn Bonning

  Placing Wolly on the bed, she covered him with the bleach-mottled Batman sheet and stood back, shaking her head at her own stupidity. Behind her, in the hallway, she could hear Jeff trying to console Trevor, his voice soft and soothing. He seemed to have succeeded somewhat. Trev was down to just an occasional shuddering breath.

  She looked down at the lump that was Wolly beneath the sheets. It had been moving…slithering. Hadn’t it? She’d been so sure. And the humidity…suffocating. And the smell. Had she imagined all of that?

  She ran her eyes around the room, coming full-circle to the bed, where her eyes focused in on a dark moving speck. An ant. She felt her heart begin to race. Placing her hands on the bed, she leaned in for a closer look.

  It was pivoting in a confused, sporadic manner, its antennae oscillating erratically. It appeared to be an ordinary black ant. Maybe a bit on the large side, but there was something about its behavior…something…

  She was doing it again. Making too much out of something that was perfectly ordinary, perfectly commonplace. A mountain out of a molehill. It was only an ant, for Christ’s sake, not a damned elephant!

  She snapped the sheet, giving the already dazed specimen the somersault of a lifetime. Snatching Wolly from the bed, she tossed him angrily to the corner of the room.

  Damn the Goodmans and their goddamned curse! Trevor’s freaky sleepwalking had her on edge, had her flipping her wig over nothing. And Trevor. Poor, sweet Trevor. He was so young.

  She stepped back into the hall to find he and his father gone, but quickly discovered them again tucked away in the master bed, Trevor safely coddled in daddy’s arms.

  He’d ceased his crying, but, even in the darkness, she could see his puffy, glazed and dazed expression. He looked absolutely crushed. Like he’d just received the whipping of a lifetime. Even worse were Jeff’s scathing ‘how could you be so stupid’ eyes presently drilling her.

  Climbing under the covers, she slid toward Trevor to kiss him on a forehead that was warm and moist. “Sorry, sweetie,” she whispered, and watched a shiny tear slip from the corner of his eye. She brushed damp curls from his forehead, running her fingers softly through his silky-fine hair, caressing him until his lids grew heavy and closed.

  She met Jeff’s eyes briefly over Trevor’s small frame, before he angrily turned his back on her, leaving her to stare at the wall over his shoulder.

  She pulled the covers to her chin. He had no right to be angry with her. This was all his fault. The whole blasted Goodman legacy was a damned plague as far as she was concerned. A genetic disorder, not something to be proud of. So maybe she shouldn’t have wakened him. But she was only concerned for Trevor’s safety. Was that such a crime?

  One thing she knew for certain. She would never wake him up again. Not unless his life depended on it.

  ~~~~

  The whistling wind was buffeting her in the face, stealing her breath away and cracking her saturated hair like tiny whips. She kept her place in the raging storm, brushing the water from her eyes so as not to lose sight of her son upon his gallant steed.

  From deep in the ravine, she watched as Trevor raced across the plateau above her, sitting high upon the sleek, black stallion. He sat the large beast remarkably well for a child so small, a steed so black, it was barely discernible from the night which surrounded them. Its gait was flowing and its muscles were rippling and its mane whipping.

  A bolt of lightning lit up the dark night, accompanied by a deafening crack of thunder, and the magnificent beast slid to an abrupt halt on the rocky crest above. Rearing up with a shrill whinny, it pawed at the air and tossed its head till she feared its tiny rider might tumble over backward. But she needn’t have worried. Trevor held his seat skillfully, shifting his weight forward to compensate.

  As the stallion pranced, a large stone was put into motion beneath its hooves, tumbling down the steep hill to the ravine below. She was startled when it came to a halt at the feet of a dark shadowy figure not twenty yards to her right. A flash of lightning afforded her a better look—a tall man with long, dark hair and a black cape that flapped like raven wings in the whipping wind. His neck was craned back as he watched the prancing stallion above…before he turned his face to her…

  She awoke, her heart racing. Pressing her head back into the pillow, she tried to slow her breathing and to force the disturbing icy-blues from her mind. His face had been different. His hair was longer, and he had sideburns that were long and bushy. And his clothing seemed to be from a different era, maybe even a different country.

  Beside her, Trevor stirred.

  She rubbed her hands wearily over her face, feeling as if she could use an additional twenty hours of sleep. But according to the illuminated numbers of the alarm clock, Trev was right on schedule.

  ~~~~

  Trevor was unusually grumpy and irritable throughout the day. A trip to the mall to do a little sheet shopping couldn’t even raise his spirits. Instead of pointing and chattering excitedly about all the colorful clothes and toys and stuffed animals in the display windows, he’d shuffled quietly along beside her, barely uttering a syllable. He even went so far as to turn down a yogurt sundae at his favorite ice cream parlor, something he’d never done before.

  After they returned home, his gloomy disposition continued throughout the remainder of the day, with him curled lethargically upon the sofa, watching videos.

  “What’s the matter, honey?” she asked, leaning over the back of the sofa to feel his forehead. “You still mad at me?”

  Though he shook his head, his sad little eyes wouldn’t meet hers. “Mommy’s very sorry, baby. I would never scare you on purpose. You know that, right, sweetie?”

  He nodded, his eyes still glued to the television.

  That night, he ate very little of his favorite dinner, macaroni and cheese with fish sticks, complete with ketchup for dipping. And, as if Trevor’s solemn demeanor wasn’t bad enough, Jeff sat across the table from her pushing the food around on his plate as well. She was getting the silent treatment from both of them.

  Great.

  ~~~~

  As she lie in bed that night, staring at the wall over her husband’s shoulder, she felt her anger flare at his thick-skulled audacity. If anyone was to blame for last night’s traumatic episode, it was him and his damned family curse. Oh, the Goodmans could make it out to be some sort of divine gift if they wanted to, but as far as she was concerned, that was just a big fat smoke screen so that they wouldn’t have to see it for what it truly was—a frightening, disturbing disorder. A gift didn’t scare the crap out of you. A gift didn’t make you want to puke your guts out. And that’s just how she felt, like she was going to barf macaroni and cheese all over the place if she didn’t get into Trevor’s room this very instant.

  When she was certain Jeff had fallen asleep, she slipped silently from the bed and padded down the hallway, pillow in hand. She just needed to be with him…in case. In case he needed her to help him out of any…unusual circumstances. But she wouldn’t wake him. No way. Just wanted to be there, just to be there. To…supervise, if you will.

  Creeping into his room, she knelt by his bed to peer down at his peaceful countenance so deep in slumber. She adjusted his new Ninja Turtle sheets, pulling them to his chin, and he tilted his face toward her, smacking his lips, before sighing deeply and falling still. If she tucked him in nice and tight, perhaps he would be less inclined to crawl out of bed. It was just a thought, but what the heck. Any small deterrent was worth a try.

  Pulling the sheet taut, she began to tuck it firmly between mattress and box-spring, when an odd ‘eek’ escaped her, and she quickly jerked her hand out.

  Checking herself, she lifted the mattress corner and studied the suspect object her hand had brushed over. Lifting it tentatively, she held it at arm’s length. It was black and pliant, and unidentifiable, until she put it to her nose.

  A banana peel.

  Her heart began to pound as she remembered how skil
lfully Trevor had mimed the peeling of a banana before Cheetah had so rudely snatched it away.

  Now Cheryl, don’t do this, she chided. You’re gonna get yourself all worked up again over nothing. This peel could be a week old for all you know. Heck, it could be a month old.

  Then why did her knees suddenly feel weak? Why was she suddenly having trouble swallowing? And why were her eyes constantly being drawn to the black stallion across the room with its flaring nostrils and wide eyes?

  She contemplated taking the peel to the garbage can and thought better of it. The incident from the night before was still gnawing at her brain like a big, fat rat. She could still see the serpentine figure slithering under the sheets.

  Tossing the peel toward the door, she situated herself on the floor, pondering on her newest find. Could it be possible? Could it? The mere suggestion seemed outrageous, but the proof—the beach sand, horse hairs, the beetle, the confused ant, and now this. Was it proof, or could all these things easily be explained away? She did buy bananas occasionally, but not very often. They weren’t one of Trevor’s favorites.

  She rubbed at her forehead. She needed more concrete proof. Otherwise she couldn’t approach Jeff. He would think she was a lunatic. And maybe she was. Maybe she was going crazy, worrying herself sick over this blasted Goodman curse. It was a possibility she had to consider, she supposed.

  No. Other than being slightly overtired, she felt perfectly lucid, perfectly sane. But then again, did an individual who was losing his or her mind realize that they were losing it? Did they feel something amiss, something slipping, a door deep within the confines of their psyche creaking open as the pin slowly worked its way from the hinges?

  Probably not, she decided. If they did detect a problem, they would simply correct it, right? Therefore, if a person was losing their mind, they must not realize it, otherwise there would be no such thing as insanity.

  So maybe there was the possibility that she was losing her mind and just didn’t realize it. She supposed it was possible.

  But she would just have to give herself the benefit of the doubt this time around, for Trevor’s sake. More than likely she was just a bit overstressed about this whole creepy sleepwalking business. It was quite bizarre seeing Trevor maneuvering about effortlessly in his sleep, riding horses and sharing bananas with chimpanzees, and the like. Though sleepwalking in this fashion wasn’t unheard of, it wasn’t exactly the norm either, and no parent wanted their child to be abnormal, a freak almost.

  So maybe she was overreacting a bit, reading danger into things that were as ordinary as a common black ant and a few black hairs and a stupid banana peel that Trevor had probably stuffed under his mattress weeks earlier.

  Yawning, she rolled to her side, facing Trevor, watching his chest rise and fall, rise and fall…

  Trevor was atop his gallant galloping steed, and once again the night was stormy, the wind wildly whipping the treetops that monopolized the steep craggy plateau above. There was a loud crack of thunder, and when the night sky was illuminated by a vein of lightning that zigzagged across the entire breadth of the heavens, Cheryl craned her neck around, searching the ravine.

  He was there, watching Trevor just as she was.

  His long dark hair was fashioned differently this time, short tufts on top and braided down the sides. White feathers were attached to his braids, twirling like whirligigs in the wind. He was bare chested and wore leggings and moccasin boots reaching clear to his knees.

  He turned his face toward her, and she felt her heart quicken. The sky cooperatively illuminated, showing three red streaks of hastily applied paint along his left cheek, starting at the corner of his lip and sweeping upward to his cheekbone.

  In the next flurry of flashes, she saw something she hadn’t noticed—a body sprawled face-down beneath him, one moccasined foot planted on its back. Squatting nimbly, he grasped a fistful of hair, yanking up the head.

  A woman. The lightning flashes revealed her as plain as they did the knife in his hand.

  It was Cindy, her mouth drawn back in a silent scream and her wide eyes filled with terror.

  Putting the knife to her forehead, he promptly removed her scalp…

  Her eyes popped open as she gasped in air so frigid, it was painful in her lungs. Slowly her disorientation cleared. She was in Trevor’s room, but it was freezing. Her feet and hands felt like solid blocks of ice and she smelled something… pine… pine trees.

  She sat up, searching frantically for Trevor, and found him by the window, his small form crouched and tense, and in a stance that said he was holding a rifle. It was aimed at his own reflection in the mirror of the sliding closet doors on the opposite side of the room. He seemed to know exactly what he was doing, the butt of the rifle propped against his shoulder, his finger poised on the trigger, his head tilted slightly so to get a clear view through his sights.

  She’d seen that stance somewhere and recently. Yes! Trevor had been watching a documentary just that morning. Wild World of Animals, or something. It had been a tranquilizer gun. That’s right. A tranquilizer gun.

  She tried to think.

  There had been a group of researchers, and they’d been tracking this lone arctic timber wolf and—

  A low, deep-throated growl came from within Trevor’s closet, sending the flesh down her arms and legs crawling with goose bumps so pronounced they were painful. She slowly exhaled, a thin ragged breath, and a foggy mist roiled eerily about her face.

  With her eyes riveted to the closet doors, she witnessed Trevor’s reflection ripple as they were nudged from the inside.

  A weak whimper escaped her.

  There was something in Trevor’s closet. And she had a strong suspicion that that something was a wild Siberian timber wolf.

  A snuffling sounded where the two doors came together, something within snorting and prodding and making Trevor’s reflected image waver.

  She wasn’t imagining this. She wasn’t.

  A whine sounded from within the closet, and then a frantic pawing, sending the doors to vibrating and shuddering, and she watched in horror as the door on the left side slid open about half an inch.

  Scrambling frantically on hands and knees, she shoved the doors shut, holding firmly while peering into two wide, frightened eyes, her own reflection of sheer terror. There came a snorting along the bottom slide, and she felt something push against the door from the inside.

  “Oh God, God…God!” she whimpered weakly, and the movement within the closet halted abruptly. A growl filtered through, the low rumble mere inches from her face, the sound removing any doubts she may have harbored.

  There was a wolf in Trevor’s closet. And with only a set of flimsy, mirrored, sliding doors between them. It was too much. She needed to wake him, and now.

  “Shhh,” Trevor whispered behind her. “Nice and steady, now.” She was watching his reflection as he pulled the trigger, the recoil staggering him backward.

  A violent commotion erupted in his closet, yelps of pain and snarling as something within collided with the doors in a whirling frenzy.

  A high keening eked from her throat as she leaned her weight in, her cheek pressed against shuddering glass.

  Just as suddenly as the commotion commenced, complete silence did the same, the only sound her labored breathing as she leaned heavily on the doors, her breaths of billowing mist condensing into moisture on the mirrors.

  “Thanks,” Trevor replied proudly behind her as if in answer to praise, a huge grin plastered on his thin face. Hanging the rifle strap over his shoulder, he stumbled to his bed, where he proceeded to crawl under the sheets and pull the covers to his chin.

  ~~~~

  Her teeth had stopped their chattering and she could no longer see her breaths. As a matter of fact, it was positively sweltering. The sweat trickled down her back and between her breasts, and several times she was forced to wipe the sweat from her brow onto her sleeve so that it wouldn’t trickle into her eyes. She needed to ke
ep her vision clear. Needed to be ready.

  Her knees hurt from kneeling and her shoulders ached from holding the doors shut. The muscles in her neck and back were bunched into tight little knots, and the muscles in her thighs were beginning to cramp.

  In the mirrors, Trevor was sleeping soundly, had been sleeping for hours, yet she couldn’t bring herself to loosen her death grip. She leaned heavily against the doors, her cheek pressed against the smooth glass. It could still in there laid out on its side, a tranquilizer dart protruding from its hind flank. She didn’t want to see that. Couldn’t. Wouldn’t.

  As the new day dawned, brightening the room and sending the shadows skittering into hibernation, she struggled to her feet and stood back on wobbly legs, rubbing her aching shoulders and eyeing her haggard reflection. She looked pale and waxy, her eyes dark and sunken.

  Reaching to the closet door, she slid it slowly open, recoiling as a strong musky scent assaulted her, a smell conjuring up images of a large, wet, dirty dog. But other than that, the closet was empty, no huge, hairy beast leaping out, fangs bared and ready for the kill. Just Trevor’s toys and shoes strewn about as usual.

  Sagging to her knees, she buried her face in her hands and wept.

  ~~~~

  Cheryl studied her sister’s face as she sat watching the video of Trevor’s wild horse ride, watching her expression turn from awe to horror to just plain bewilderment.

  “That is weird,” Cindy said, furrowing her brows and crinkling her nose. “Holy Moly,” she breathed, rubbing her arms briskly, “it gave me the chills.”

  Ejecting the tape, Cheryl slid it back into its jacket. “I need help, Cindy.”

  “With what?” she asked, a genuine look of concern monopolizing her face.