by Nick Clausen
Actually, the idea has already occurred to her several days back, maybe all the way back to the night she first saw the moonlight shining in from the closet; she just hadn’t realized what it meant until now.
It’s obvious, really, when she thinks of it.
It’s like a sign from heaven.
Her way out.
And besides, what other way is left? Now that the creature won’t even let her out of the room, all of her other options are gone.
She will escape through the closet. The hole at the top leads right onto the roof. And from there, she can make it to the tree. And via the tree, she can climb over the fence and jump down on the other side.
That’s the plan, anyway.
If it’s doable, she has no idea, and she doesn’t really concern herself with the question. She’s going to try—that’s all that matters. In a couple of days. As soon as her feet are healed enough for to walk again.
There is only one last thing she needs to figure out: how will she bring Doris?
She hasn’t seen her since the old man came. The creature won’t allow her into the room anymore. Rebecca hears her several times a day, whining from the bottom of the stairs.
Rebecca won’t run without Doris. She won’t leave her here with the creature.
So, she begins to think out a plan. That’s how Andy would do it. Andy is brainy and very meticulous when it comes to problem-solving. He loves riddles and always finds a solution to difficult challenges, using only his mind. Rebecca tries to think like Andy would.
It’s going to be difficult getting Doris up here since she can’t leave the room, and the only time the creature unlocks the door is when it brings food and empties her toilet-bucket.
Rebecca spends an entire afternoon sitting by the window, gazing down into the garden as she broods. Once or twice she sees Doris, as she comes out through the dog hatch in the terrace door, strolls about the garden, pees, then goes back inside.
Slowly, an idea starts to form.
DAY 104
The next day, Rebecca sets her plan into motion.
She begins to leave a small portion of each meal. A bit of scrambled egg, small pieces of sandwich and three bits of bacon. She hides it in a sock which she places under the mattress.
She spends a few hours by the window every day. As soon as she sees Doris in the garden, she whistles three times, then drops a little food from the open window.
To begin with, Doris has trouble catching on, and she doesn’t notice the food right away. Then, the fourth time Rebecca does it, the dog looks up and sees the food falling. After that, she quickly figures out what the three whistles mean.
DAY 107
Rebecca continues the training the next day and the day after that. By the third day, she can get Doris to come running out from inside the house by whistling three times.
Rebecca also spends the days on another part of her plan: making a rope.
She collects all sorts of things: the string from the blinds, the wire from the desk lamp and a thick thread from the carpet in the corner where it’s already unraveled. She binds everything together to form a single, long piece, until she’s confident it can reach all the way down to the ground. It’s very thin and definitely not strong enough to carry Rebecca’s weight—but it’s not supposed to carry her.
Finally, there’s only one last piece to the plan: the bucket. The one Rebecca uses as a toilet.
The creature empties it every night as it brings dinner. Five minutes later, it comes back and drops the bucket on the floor. It’s been rinsed out and smells of sanitizer.
Rebecca worries the smell might scare off Doris. She can only hope the smell of the bait is more prominent.
Rebecca hides the makeshift rope under the mattress as the creature comes on the third day to bring her evening meal. It puts the plate on the desk, takes the bucket and closes the door again behind it without even looking at her.
Rebecca immediately goes to eat, plucking away three bits of bacon and devouring the rest of the meal.
When the creature returns with the cleaned-out bucket, Rebecca has already stuffed the bacon away and is sitting on her bed, looking innocent.
Normally, the creature would have found out. It would have looked at her closely and figured out she was hiding something. But because it’s still punishing her and hasn’t spent any time with her lately, its ability to sense that something is up seems to have weakened.
Yet this time, it suddenly hesitates in the doorway. Rebecca doesn’t look over at it, but she senses how its eyes rest on her.
“Alice,” it whispers.
Rebecca doesn’t move. Sweat is prickling her back. Did the creature figure it out after all? Did it hear her whistling for Doris through the window? Or has it been in here when she slept and found the rope? Does it know she’s planning to flee?
“Alice,” it whispers again.
Rebecca turns her head halfway towards the door and, for the first time ever, she answers to the false name by saying: “Yes?”
She’s surprised at how sincere her voice sounds.
The creature doesn’t say anything else. It just stands there, staring at her. Then, it closes the door and goes downstairs.
Rebecca begins breathing again. What did that mean? Was it a warning?
The creature didn’t sound either angry or threatening—in fact, there was almost warmth in the voice. Maybe it didn’t figure out her plan after all. Maybe it just wants to make peace.
Rebecca can’t tell for sure. But she knows she needs to make the plan happen now, tonight.
DAY 108
Never before has time gone by so slowly.
Andy twists and turns. He keeps checking his phone. Every time he does so, only a few minutes have passed since he last looked. If time would just hurry up so he could get going.
Finally, he can’t wait any longer. It’s only 0:23 AM, and he meant to wait until 1:00 AM, but he’s pretty certain both Mom and Dad are sleeping by now.
So, he gets up, gets dressed and arranges the bed like he has done hundreds of times before.
But this time is special. This time might be the last.
He checks his phone. The address is a fair way outside of town—way too long for him to have ever found it on his nightly outings, anyway—almost twelve miles. It will take him most of the night just to reach it. His legs are in pretty good shape, but he’ll probably still get very sore muscles tomorrow.
Andy doesn’t care if he’ll walk sideways for the rest of his life. Rebecca is at the end of the twelve miles, and that’s the only thing that matters.
He takes out his bag from under the bed. It’s loaded with crackers, a Mars bar, a water bottle, The Wendigo and a boxcutter.
He’s not exactly sure why he brings the book, but he somehow feels braver knowing it’s with him. He picks up the boxcutter and slides out the blade. It shines up at him. Andy swallows dryly. He really hopes he won’t need it, but he might end up in a position where he has to defend himself or Rebecca, and it was the best weapon he could find in Dad’s toolbox.
He zips up the bag and swings it over his shoulder. Then, he crawls out of the window, uses the drainpipe to slide to the ground, runs around the house and remembers to duck as he passes his parents’ bedroom window, even though the curtains are drawn.
He sneaks into the garage but leaves the lights off. He knows the surroundings well enough to locate his bike in the dark. He pulls it out to the driveway and is just about to head off, when he notices something is wrong. He looks down to see the back tire completely flat.
“Oh, crap,” he whispers. “Not now!”
He gets back off the bike again and looks at it for a moment. He doesn’t know how to fix a flat tire—Dad always does it for him. Which means he needs to postpone the whole thing till tomorrow.
The thought of waiting another day makes him very ill at ease. He goes back into the garage and takes out his phone, using its flashlight to look around.
&nb
sp; Mom’s bike is dismantled because Dad is in the progress of fixing the gears. Dad’s bike is too big for Andy. And Cindy doesn’t own a bike.
Andy moans and feels like kicking something out of frustration. He feels so close, but now he has to wait.
Then he sees Cindy’s scooter.
Andy hesitates for a moment. He did actually try it once, last summer, where Cindy let him have a go on it without Mom and Dad knowing about it. He even knows how to start it—and he knows where to find the key, too.
Andy decides to do it.
He sneaks into the house. In the entrance hall the key for the scooter hangs from the rack among other keys. Andy steps over and carefully takes it, when suddenly, there’s a sound from the bathroom.
Andy freezes. Steps are coming this way. There’s nowhere to hide.
The door opens, and Cindy appears. She jumps a little when she sees him. “Oh, you scared me, Andy. What are you doing up at this hour?”
Andy tries to reply, but only a dry croak comes out.
Cindy looks down and notices Andy is fully dressed, shoes and all.
She sighs. “Goddamnit, Andy. Are you still sneaking out at night? Mom will kill you if she finds out.”
“I … I have to, Cindy.”
“No, you don’t, actually. You need to move on. Rebecca won’t come back, okay?”
The words connect with Andy’s stomach like heavy blows. He forces down a deep breath, reminding himself that Cindy means well. And she doesn’t know what he knows.
He keeps the key for the scooter hidden behind his back and hopes she won’t notice it missing from the rack.
“Come on upstairs with me, Andy,” she says pleadingly, stepping closer. “You can sleep in my room if you like.”
For a moment, Andy is so surprised at the offer, he almost feels tempted to go with Cindy. He hasn’t slept in her room since he was very little. Before Rebecca was born. Back then, he and Cindy still played together.
“Cindy,” he says, not even considering what he’s about to ask her. “Why aren’t you sad that Rebecca’s gone?”
The answer is obvious from Cindy’s face right away, as she struggles to not let it crumble.
Instead, she shakes her head. “How thick are you, Andy? Of course I’m sad. I cry myself to sleep every night. I just … I just don’t wear my emotions on my sleeve.”
“I … I didn’t know,” Andy says, feeling stupid.
Cindy sighs again. “How would you? We’re all wrapped up in our own shit right now, aren’t we?”
“I guess so,” Andy says, looking at Cindy in a completely new light.
The haircut, the makeup, the new clothes. It all happened after Rebecca disappeared. And maybe it wasn’t at all about Cindy’s looks after all.
“I’m sorry, Cindy,” he says, realizing his sister might have been suffering just as much as he has over the loss of Rebecca.
“It’s fine,” Cindy says, managing a smile. “Come on upstairs with me, won’t you?”
Cindy makes as though to go, putting a hand on Andy’s shoulder, but Andy stays firm.
“I need to go, Cindy,” he whispers.
Cindy is about to answer, when she looks at him and sees the tears in his eyes.
“This will be the last time,” he says. “I promise.”
Cindy eyes him, a look of deep sadness coming over her face. “All right,” she mutters, nodding.
“You won’t tell Mom, will you?”
“I guess I should, but …” Cindy shrugs. “If this is your way of dealing with things, then who am I to tell you otherwise? Just promise me to be careful. Put the lights on your bike, okay?” She squeezes his shoulder, then heads upstairs.
Andy breathes out. His entire body is trembling. The key is sweaty in his clutched hand.
* * *
Rebecca can’t sleep.
She lies awake, staring at the ceiling. She knows this will be the last time she lies here. The last time she sees this room. One way or another.
The hours drag on. She doesn’t have a watch, but she listens to the grandfather clock downstairs, counting the chimes. Finally, she decides it’s time.
She sits up, already dressed. She finds the rope and the sock full of food, moving as quietly as possible. She ties the rope to the handle of the bucket and empties the sock into the bucket. There’s almost an entire meal. She hopes it’ll be enough to tempt Doris.
But first she needs to take care of something else.
Rebecca slips over to the closet and opens it. The moon is full and its light is streaming in through the crack in the roof. Rebecca steps up onto the lower shelf and reaches up with one hand. It takes some medaling, but she manages to pry one of the roof tiles loose. It’s very heavy. She carefully lowers it and places it neatly on the floor, before stepping back up and loosening the next one.
When three tiles are gone, the hole is big enough for her to fit through. A rectangular piece of black, starry sky is visible, and the cool night air seeps in, inviting her.
Rebecca steps out of the closet and closes the door again. Her heart is thumping away; the creature might open the door to the room at any point and ruin everything. But so far, it hasn’t. And Rebecca moves on.
She opens the window and picks up the bucket. Then, she whistles three times. It sounds very loud in the silence. She waits a minute or so, but Doris doesn’t show up. Rebecca knows the puppy is sleeping in the living room right below her, and the creature’s bedroom is way over at the far end of the house. But which of them sleeps deeper?
Rebecca whistles again, a little louder.
Still, no Doris.
She whistles a third time, as loudly as she dares.
And then she hears the dog hatch open. Doris comes trundling out, shakes her fur and looks up at Rebecca with sleepy eyes.
“Hey, Doris,” she whispers and waves.
The tail starts wagging.
“Don’t make any noise now,” Rebecca instructs her. “The creature mustn’t hear us.”
Doris sits down and waits patiently for her treat.
“I’ve got something special for you this time,” Rebecca whispers and lets the bucket slip out of the window, lowering it carefully with the rope.
Doris looks curiously at the bucket as it comes closer. Rebecca lands it gently next to the dog. Then she makes a few sideways jerks with the rope, causing the bucket to tip over on the side.
Doris steps a little back. She whimpers and sniffs the bucket suspiciously. She can obviously smell the food, but isn’t quite sure if it’s safe to dig in.
“Just go for it,” Rebecca whispers. “It’s okay, just take the food, Doris.”
She glances back. The door is still closed.
After a little more sniffing around, Doris decides to chance it and tentatively reaches into the bucket. Rebecca can hear her eating.
“Just a little farther,” Rebecca breathes, staring at the dog and the bucket.
Doris takes another step forward. She’s halfway inside the bucket now. Still not enough. If Rebecca tries to lift the bucket now, and Doris slips out, she’s afraid the puppy will be too scared to go near the bucket again. She only gets one shot.
“Just a liiitle more …”
Finally, Doris steps all the way into the bucket, only her tail is showing now.
Rebecca jerks the rope upwards. The bucket tilts back upright and lifts off the ground. Doris gives off a little yelp of surprise. Rebecca hauls the bucket up quickly. Doris jumps to get out, and the bucket sways dangerously. For a terrible moment, Rebecca is sure the puppy will fall out and hurt herself badly on the stone terrace below.
But Doris falls back into the bucket and a moment later, Rebecca grabs the handle and pulls it into the room.
“You did so good,” she whispers and lifts up Doris. “Good girl, good girl.”
The puppy licks Rebecca’s face and whines happily at the reunion. It’s been several days since they last were together.
“Sssh,” Rebecca
shushes. “We need to be very quiet now.”
She buttons down her shirt and places Doris inside it. The puppy is warm against her stomach, and it settles in immediately, giving a satisfied yawn.
“That’s right, you rest. I’ll do the work.”
Rebecca goes to the closet. So far, so good. Now comes the tricky part. She breathes deeply, opens the closet and climbs up the shelves. She sticks her head up through the hole and surveys the roof for a moment. It’s steeper that she thought, and it’s also wet from dew.
I can make it. I just need to be careful.
Rebecca steps up onto the top shelf and raises herself up onto the roof. She’s really high up. Luckily, she has never been scared of heights. Still, a fall from up here might results in several broken bones.
She tests the roof with her foot, the socks slipping easily. She takes them off and tries with her bare feet. The burn wounds hurt a little, but the soles of her feet have a little more grip without the socks.
Slowly, she begins the climb. The tree is on the other side of the house, which means she needs to scale the rooftop. A few times she almost slips, but then she figures out a method where she grabs the edge of the tiles. They are pretty sharp and rough on her fingers, but she ignores the pain.
Doris is sleeping calmly against her stomach.
Rebecca reaches the top of the roof and moves along the ridge until she’s right next to the beech. Now, she only needs to get down to the branches.
The biggest problem with her plan, she realizes now, is that the tree is right outside the creature’s bedroom, and she will be climbing right over it. Which means she needs to be extra silent.
Rebecca begins the descend. It’s a lot harder than going up. After only a few feet, she loses her grip and slips. She almost screams out as she slides down the slippery roof, her buttock giving off small bumps with every tile, moving faster and faster, the branches rushing towards her, and then she meets them, groping wildly for something to catch on to. One or two of the thinner branches break off, and she is very close to sliding right through, when, at the last moment, she grabs a branch thick enough to halt her.