Four bodies lying side by side, facedown on the ground, long hair covering their faces and intermingling with the person’s hair beside them. Sick.
I feel sick.
“Ugh.” I turn away.
Deep in my gut, I understand how the little girl feels the moment she sees the stranger. The emotion is real, visceral. Where are these videos coming from? Who is creating them?
As the video ends, I try to find the arrow to replay it, but when I click on the screen, the pop-up disappears.
“Damn it!”
I shut down my computer, return to bed, and reach up to turn off the light. A purplish bruise forms a perfect oval on my forearm. Next to it is another, and next to that one, another. All of them are small, close together—like finger marks. I try to remember who might have grabbed me. One of the girls? No, the marks are too big. Steel? No, I would have noticed them before now.
I drop back onto the mattress and bury my arm under the covers. I decide to sleep with the light on.
19
Whitney sits in front of me, legs crossed, her hands positioned over her knee.
This is our third session together, and she seems a little more at ease. I mostly listen. I’m too tired to do anything else. A week of no sleep has severely worn down my reflexes and the sharpness of my brain.
“I’ve sort of met someone,” Whitney says.
I sit back and fold my hands. “Really?”
She smiles a very white, even grin, and her cheeks flush a pleasant shade of rose. “I mean, we’ve only been out once, but I really like him.”
I smile a little. “Sounds promising.”
“It’s terrifying, actually.”
“Why’s that?”
She rubs at her nose as though a violent itch assails her. “Well, you know. After everything that’s happened—starting over with someone else. Ugh. I just didn’t think I wanted to do this again. And it hasn’t been that long since my divorce. Everyone says it’s too soon.”
“Everyone has to move at their own speed. Like I said before, healing takes time. You shouldn’t feel pressured one way or the other.”
“Oh, I don’t.” She bites her lower lip.
“Are you worried about getting hurt again?”
“Of course. Who wouldn’t be?”
I readjust the pillow behind my back that’s pressing on one of several bruises—additional ones I discovered in the bathroom mirror this morning. “You can draw boundaries, Whitney. You said you’ve only seen him once—so you can take things slow.”
The rose flush in her face deepens, and she looks at me from under lowered brows. “It’s a little late for that.”
“So you’ve slept with him?”
She nods.
I shift, settling further into my seat. “How do you feel about that?”
“Like I’ve been a really bad girl.” She sputters, laughs.
I relax my face, my cheeks. I show no emotion. I wait.
Whitney sobers, and her eyes dart to the floor. “But my girls—my youngest doesn’t like him.”
“That’s normal.” I smile, thinking of Paris. “Are the girls happy otherwise? Do they seem to be coping?”
She pauses, looks up at the ceiling. “My youngest daughter keeps telling me she’s hearing and seeing things.”
My brain clicks and turns like the inner workings of a clock—the toothed, round gears oscillating together. Just like our first two sessions, Whitney could be talking about my life, my children. “Things?”
“I know this may sound weird, but she says she sees, like, shadows and voices.”
I uncross and recross my legs. “Where does she see these things?”
“In our house.”
“Hm.” I suddenly realize I’m pulling at my fingers, trying to crack my joints. I grasp my hands together, clear my throat. “Kids create all kinds of stuff to derail their parents’ relationships. They don’t want anyone replacing their mommy or their daddy. Your ex-husband has just remarried, so this makes sense.”
Textbook. Classic divorced kid reactions. Just like mine. Easy to diagnose.
“You said you don’t believe in God anymore, Claire—isn’t that right?”
I roll my shoulders back, frowning. “Right.”
“What about demons? You said your father was an exorcist, so do you believe in demons?”
No, no, no, no... I shake my head, a reflex. “No. I never really believed my father was fighting demons. I think he was dealing with people who had untreated mental disorders. They needed hospitalization, not an exorcism.”
Whitney doesn’t blink. “I believe in them.” Her emerald green eyes move from side to side. “And I think they’re in my house.”
I cock my head. “What makes you think that?”
She tips her head back, speaks to the ceiling. “My kids aren’t the only ones who’ve seen things. I’ve seen and heard some stuff too.”
“Like what?”
“I hear my name. My children’s names. I see shadows moving.” She brings her head back to neutral and stares at a framed print on my wall, huffs out a short laugh. “Or maybe it’s just like you said. Maybe I’m going crazy.”
I think back to what I saw during the one exorcism I witnessed. Then I consider the medical diagnoses that could accompany such hallucinations. “I don’t think you’re crazy, but I also don’t think these things are demons. The mind is more powerful than you know. When we’re tired or stressed, it can trick us into hearing and seeing things.”
“Can it trick us into bruises as well?” She pulls up the sleeve of her sweater to reveal a deep purple discoloration on her inner arm. “This is just one. I have them on my back, my legs, my side.”
Looking at Whitney’s arm is like looking at my own. My breathing stutters. “You don’t know how any of them got there?”
She shakes her head. “Vacuuming is about the extent of my physical activity right now. I’m still trying to find a teaching job, so I’m home most of the time.”
I consider the contusion on my shoulder. Someone would have to wallop me to leave a bruise like that. Five or six others mark my ribs, the backs of my legs. “Have you seen a doctor about them? To make sure you don’t have an underlying condition that’s causing them.”
Whitney nods. “Maybe I should.”
“Yes,” I say firmly. “I’d make that a priority.” Then I wonder why I haven’t made it a priority for myself.
AFTER WORK, AS I WALK down the back stairs to the parking lot, I call Annalen. “I got stuck longer than I thought. Are you girls okay by yourself?”
“Mom, I can barely hear you.”
Cell reception is spotty in the back stairwell. “Are—you—okay? I’m running late.”
“Sure, Mom,” Annalen says. “We’re fine.”
“I’ll stop off on the way home and pick up Jolly burgers. I’ll be there in forty-five minutes or less.”
Annalen seems unfazed by my lateness. I wouldn’t have called at all, except it’s getting dark, and with everything that’s been going on lately, I’m nervous about the girls at home alone.
As I exit the building and move toward the parking garage, I pass the giant outdoor chess game sitting dormant and shadowed under dim safety lighting. A horse whinny stops me.
I whip my head around, searching for the source. My gaze settles on the rook—the open-mouthed horsehead with its mane flying in the wind. As far as I know, the giant chess pieces do not emit sound.
I walk faster. Somewhere off to the right, a branch cracks. I crane my head around and stare into the woods that flank the property. A light breeze blows, ruffling my hair. As if carried on the wind itself, an intense feeling of abject terror rolls through me. Someone is watching. Maybe even several someones.
No. I’m just paranoid. There’s no one.
Clutching my coat around me, I quicken to a jog. A few more steps and I run toward my car. The parking garage lights flicker and then go out, and the cavernous silence of the structure is m
arred only by the sounds of vehicles a floor above me rolling toward the exit. Reaching into my pocket, I grasp my key fob and squeeze it several times, drawing multiple beeps before I grip the handle.
Flinging myself into the driver’s seat, I shut the door and slam my hand down on the automatic lock. Relief rolls over me as my head tips back against the headrest. A second later, the car bucks like someone has given the front bumper a shove, jolting my body.
I glance up through the windshield, and my heart squeezes. A man stands against an orange barrel, arms crossed as he stares at me. He wears a leather hat, and the corners of his mouth twist into a sinister smile.
I look away, start the engine, and when I glance up again, he stands in the stream of the headlights, his hands on the front of my car. It takes a second for me to process what I’m seeing. Minutes ago, I felt terror. Now, I’m looking at it. Throwing the car into reverse, I blast out of the space and hit the brake again.
The man takes a step back, and then another and another until the car’s headlights no longer touch him, and he blends with the darkness. I beam my lights, trying to reveal his hiding place in the shadows. But there’s no one there.
Gunning the gas, I turn the wheel, and my tires squeal as I peel out of the garage. My head pounds in time with my heart. I’ve never seen that man before around the office or the parking garage. Maybe I need to request better security for the building.
20
I readjust the pink tissue paper poking out of the top of the bag and tie a purple ribbon around the carrier handles.
Gen’s shower. She’s not really calling it that, claiming that after two children, there’s no point in acquiring more stuff. It’s more of a Friday night wine gathering with a few of us attending. That’s if she’ll still let me in the door after our sidewalk argument the other day.
As I cross the street and walk toward Gen’s house, I watch Linda and Hyo enter ahead of me. Dawn strolls across the yard, waving and smiling. I pause and wait for her.
“Hey, woman. Where have you been hiding out?”
“I’ve been around.”
She bumps my shoulder as we fall into lockstep. “Anything else happen with Steel?”
“We’ve talked a little,” I say quickly. “He’s going to rebuild my shed.”
“I’ll bet he is.”
“Dawn.”
She slaps her hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry.” She muffles her words. “Did I just say that out loud? Actually, you know I can’t help it. I have a dirty mind.” She drops her hand. “Are you taking the girls out for Halloween?”
That’s right. Halloween. It’s tomorrow. “They’ll be at their Dad’s, so that’s on him.”
We enter the foyer, where everyone greets and hugs Gen. When it’s my turn, I hesitate. She visibly tenses when she sees me, her face clouding. May as well face the conflict head-on.
“I’m sorry, Gen,” I say. “I wasn’t myself the other day.”
Her expression is blank at first. Then a smile inches over her lips, and she reaches out to hug me. “It’s okay. I forgive you. I’m not myself either—weeks away from giving birth. You know how that is.”
“I do.”
We settle into the living room, where we congregate for book club, but I don’t sit in my usual spot. I gravitate to the lone stool by the window and let the other women take the couch, the loveseat, the overstuffed chair.
Champagne is served, and we play a game. Each of us receives a bingo board filled with girls’ names. Then, as each name is called, we strike it from the board. Eventually, we get down to the last two—Paisley and Primrose, which both seem horrible to me.
Gen reads out, “Primrose!”
The winning name is Paisley.
“I won!” Dawn waves her board in the air. “I knew you’d pick the least common name on the list, but I didn’t think you’d go with Primrose.”
Dawn wins a gift card to a local restaurant. Cake and more champagne follow while we watch Gen open gifts.
Linda moves over to stand beside me at the window and lightly touches her fingertips to the glass. “How’s work?”
“Oh, it’s fine. Busy.”
“Jin Hee.” Hyo’s short-statured form appears behind Linda, and her eyes settle on me. “Tell Claire what you saw the other night.”
“I will, Hyo, give me time,” Linda says, irritation tipping her voice.
“Tell her.” Hyo’s gray-streaked hair is pulled back severely from her face, revealing the lines on her forehead.
Linda speaks through barely moving lips. “I don’t want to freak you out or anything, but I saw Annalen walking around in the middle of the night—up and down the street.”
“She was talking to someone,” Hyo calls out. “I heard her too.”
I’m sure I’ve misunderstood them. “What?”
“This is bad,” Hyo says. “She shouldn’t talk to him.”
“Talk to who?”
Linda swings her hand toward her mother-in-law. “Hyo, look, can I please talk to Claire about this—alone?”
Wordlessly, Hyo moves away and rejoins the others, but I feel her eyes boring into me from across the room.
“She’s driving me crazy.” Linda puts a palm to her forehead. “Anyway, this was really late—or really early, depending on how you look at it. Hyo and I were binge-watching some shows, and she kept saying, ‘There is someone in the street—go look,’ so I went to look out the window, and I saw Annalen walking, barefoot and in her pajamas.”
This can’t be right. I shake my head. “It must have been someone else. What time was this?”
“Um,” she rubs her forehead, “maybe two or three in the morning? I can’t really remember.”
“No, Annalen was asleep.”
Linda tightens her mouth into a smile. “She talked to me, Claire. When I saw her, I went outside and asked if everything was okay. She said she was looking for someone.”
“Who?”
“She said she was waiting to talk to Steel.” Her inflection escalates at the end, like a question. “But I made sure she went back inside.”
My stomach drops as I remember the smudges on Annalen’s pajama bottoms—like she’d been kneeling in the dirt. Suddenly, I want to get home, question her. Why would she have wanted to talk to Steel in the middle of the night?
“Did you see Steel?”
Linda shakes her head. “No one was in the street. Maybe she was sleepwalking?”
“Maybe. She’s never done that before.”
Linda pivots back to the window. “Looks like Steel is working over at your house today.”
I stand beside her and gaze out of the pane. Steel’s truck is backed into the driveway, and he’s pulling wood from the bed, carrying it on his shoulder around the side of my house.
“Yeah.” All I can think about is Annalen.
Linda presses her finger to my forearm, right beside a dark purple bruise. “How did you get that?”
I pull my sleeve over my arm. “Um, I don’t know. Probably banged it on the counter or something.”
“Looks like it hurts.”
“It does.”
They all do.
ANNALEN SLEEPWALKING, leaving the house without me knowing? And why would she want to talk to Steel? I feel like I’m falling through the air, catching little glimpses of my life on the way down that I never knew anything about.
Hammering vibrates through the house, and I glance out the back windows at the sawhorses Steel has set up.
Upstairs, Annalen and Gretchen argue, their words of protest echoing through the high ceilings of the foyer. As I trudge up the steps, their voices grow in volume.
“Stop it, Annalen, that is not funny!”
“What? I didn’t do anything.”
“Yes, you did, and if you don’t shut up, I’m going to scream for Mom.”
I swing around the threshold of the room. “What are you going to scream for Mom about?”
Both of the girls jump back, their eyes
wide. Gretchen points at Annalen. “She’s doing it again. Talking in that weird voice.”
Annalen raises her upper lip. “I wasn’t.”
Gretchen puts her hands on her hips. “Yes, you were!”
“What weird voice?” I ask.
“Don’t ask! She’ll do it again!” Gretchen shrieks.
My right eardrum vibrates, and I clasp the side of my head. “Gretchen, stop screaming.”
“Well, that voice is freaking me out.”
I turn to Annalen. “What voice are you using that’s freaking your sister out?”
Annalen’s mouth slackens. “I don’t know. I don’t remember any voice. I just have these moments where I feel funny, and then I don’t remember anything—and Gretchen starts screaming at me.”
“What do you mean you don’t remember anything?”
Annalen shrugs. “I just don’t remember anything.”
I stare at her. Memory lapses at fourteen?
“I think she’s making it up,” Gretchen says.
“I am not!”
I pivot toward Gretchen. “Gretch, what kind of voice is she using?”
Gretchen wrinkles her nose. “It’s not her voice—it’s like a man’s voice.”
I imagine she’s talking about one of those play-acting vocals achieved by dropping into a lower register. Still, Gretchen seems distraught.
“What does she say?”
Gretchen’s face is serious, her eyes round as she lowers her own voice. “Someone’s going to die soon.”
I COAX ANNALEN OUTSIDE with me. I know the other girls will listen in, and I don’t want them to hear our conversation. My head is reeling as Annalen and I sit on the front step with a wool blanket wrapped around us. We each hold onto an end.
“Mom, I swear I don’t know what voice she’s talking about.”
“Okay. But I’m more concerned about you saying you have blackouts.”
“I’ve only had a couple. They just started a few days ago.”
I touch her forehead as if checking for a fever. “Are you having headaches?”
“No.”
I wriggle my mouth back and forth. Could be hormonal. Onset of puberty can bring on fluctuations that cause fainting spells and other physiological effects. “Well, if it happens again, then we should take a trip to the doctor. See what’s going on.”
The Neighbor: A terrifying tale of supernatural suspense Page 9