Housewarming

by Jennifer Bowen

  “Thanks.” Shannon took another drink. “Everyone’s on meds these days. Sometimes we just need a little help to cope.”

  “Well, I don’t think I’ll need it, but thanks.”

  “I’m not taking it back. Keep it,” Shannon said, and so Kara slipped the pill into her jeans pocket. “Have you heard from your mom?”

  Kara shook her head, picking up her cellphone and scrolling through Margaret’s texts. “Nothing new.”

  “Any sign of the ex?”

  “Nope.” Not that I’ve noticed, Kara thought.

  “Relieved?”

  Kara laughed. “Yes.”

  “Good. Just be careful.”

  Shannon left an hour later with Kara assuring her she was fine, already felt better, and that she intended to turn in early for the night.

  “You’re sure?” Shannon had asked. “I can stay longer.”

  “I’m fine. Seriously.” Kara had offered a tired smile, ushering the blonde to the door.

  After Shannon had been gone for an hour, John called. He was working another all-nighter.

  Kara hung up, instantly uneasy, just like that. She had refrained from telling John her energy had been zapped and that she would rather not be alone with the kids overnight. Instead of admitting her current state, she joined the kids in the great room. Her eyes followed the cartoon characters on the TV screen, but her mind was elsewhere. No one was out there trying to get her; there was no proof. It was all that overactive imagination of hers. Surely, she was too mentally exhausted anyway to worry that night, and she would be a grownup: the kids would sleep in their own rooms.

  She tucked Lilah in bed first, averting her eyes from the statue laying beside the girl’s head, then went to Jack’s bedroom. He was already in bed, his light off.

  “Goodnight, Jack,” she called from the doorway. She paused, waiting for him to say goodnight, but when he didn’t respond, she started to pull the door closed.

  “Mom?” he said, halting her.

  “Yeah?”

  He paused before asking, “Do you believe in ghosts?”

  Kara froze. “Why?”

  Softly, he said, “I do.”

  “You believe in ghosts?”

  “Yeah.”

  She didn’t ask why, but instead assured him, “Nothing will hurt you. Do you know that? Me and Dad are here to protect you always.”

  But Dad’s not here, she bit inwardly.

  “I know.” He shifted to his stomach, his face turned toward the wall.

  She didn’t want to ask, not without John there, but she did anyway because this was her son. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  There was no hesitation. “No.”

  She wanted to ask why he was asking, what had prompted him, but she didn’t dare. Not tonight when the house was already too quiet and too dark.

  “Do you want me to keep the door open?” Kara asked.

  “Sure.”

  “Okay…Goodnight, Jack.”

  “Goodnight, Mom.”

  She stepped into the dark hallway, her eyes settling on the bonus room. She strained to see the outline of the door frame. Remembering the small silver ball she had found, she felt her jeans pocket as if it were in there. It wasn’t. She couldn’t recall where she had placed it. The boxes were still piled in front of the replaced window, a shadowed building blocking a trace of moonlight that barely touched the room. An image of the dream she’d had where she looked from the faceless woman’s bedroom back into this room rose in her mind. Her eyes scanned the room, but it was too dark to see beyond that mountain of boxes. But she didn’t really want to see. She held her breath and went downstairs, consciously pushing aside Jack’s question.

  * * *

  Jack’s mom had taken an awful long time to settle down in the great room. That’s how Jack felt anyway. It was getting late, but he wasn’t tired yet. When he heard the TV channel switch, he flung off his blanket and pulled on his sneakers.

  Hearing footsteps, he spun around.

  “Where you going?” Lilah stood there, clutching her ugly statue. He didn’t care that she carried that thing with her like a security blanket. It was so boring-looking and bland and looked like it was a hundred years old. Of course, he didn’t know why girls liked dolls and frilly things anyway, not that this doll was frilly. But it was still a doll, same thing.

  “I’m going outside for a minute,” he said. “Don’t tell Mom.”

  “Where? The truck?”

  “Shhh!”

  “I want to go too!” Her voice was low, but hardly a whisper.

  “You can’t. I’m not going to the camper. I’m just going out for a minute.” The thing was, he didn’t know where he was going; he just knew he had to go outside. Not to the pool, though. Something itched at him to come out.

  Come and see!

  “Jack!” she hissed.

  He mulled it over, however, not taking long to concede. There might be wild dogs outside, definitely raccoons. It couldn’t hurt to have somebody with him.

  “Okay,” he relented, his voice conspiratorially low. “We’re just going out for a little bit. We can catch lightning bugs.”

  “I know where we can go,” Lilah said a little too loud.

  “Be quiet!” he hissed. “Mom can’t know.”

  “Why?” she whispered.

  The question gave him pause. Why did he need to go out? He couldn’t give her a reason, but something urged him to come and see, and he was too restless to lie in bed, dwelling over things he didn’t understand.

  “I know where we can go,” Lilah said again. She held up her statue, the ugly one Jack frowned at now. “She likes it there.”

  “Sure,” he said, just to get her to stop talking. He helped Lilah put on her rain boots, the only shoes in her closet.

  They crept down the staircase and paused, hearing the TV channel switch again. Jack nodded his head, signaling it was time to make a break for it. He carefully unlocked the front door and without looking back, they slipped outside.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  A bang, like an explosion going off in her head, caused Kara to sit up straight, flinging her legs from the couch onto the floor in one fluid motion. Canned laughter came from the TV. Her glazed eyes combed over the great room.

  Where is everybody?

  Her head was so heavy. The room was dark, the only light in the house coming from the foyer. Something had woken her. She stood, the sudden movement making her dizzy. Her heart thumped faster and off-rhythm, knocking within the confines of her chest. The room was spinning; even the kitchen was set on a rotating tilt.

  She stretched her arms out and closed her eyes, trying to steady herself, but that just made her feel nauseous. She opened her eyes and as she lowered her arms, she felt as if she was moving them down through molasses. She was in slow motion, looking around the room.

  “John?” she called. But then remembered he was working through the night. That was tonight, right? And the kids…they were in bed.

  She lumbered to the switch plate beside the backdoor and flipped on the light. She moved slowly through the bright hallway and up the staircase, forcing her leaden legs up the steps. She stumbled over one, so reached for the railing, her fingers barely skimming it, until she was in the hallway.

  She flipped on the hall light and popped her head in Jack’s bedroom before entering. His bed was empty, his blankets shoved to the footboard. She glanced around and, seeing he was not there, went to the hall bathroom and flipped on the light. Nobody there.

  She looked in Lilah’s bedroom, finding crumpled blankets at the foot of her bed. Kara turned on the light and flung open the closet door. Her eyes ran over the floor, the bed, and the dresser. The room was empty and the statue was gone.

  Her heart raced. Leaving the light on and moving a tenth of the speed she wanted to go, she returned to Jack’s room and looked in his closet and under his bed. He wasn’t there. She staggered back to the hallway, paused to look in the bonus room,
but it was spinning and the floor rippled beneath her feet. She covered her mouth with her hand in case she got sick and dragged her other arm along the wall as she trudged downstairs. She looked in the garage, finding only her car. She checked her bedroom and bathroom, pausing to look up at the skylight. She was struck still, mesmerized by the moonlight, solid white light beaming down onto the tiled floor. She toed the light with her bare feet, flexing them in the spotlight before looking up again and noticing a ring circling the five points of the skylight: had the leak returned?

  Her head flinched back as if someone had yanked on her hair, returning her to the crisis at hand: where were the kids?

  She moved like a buffalo into the kitchen. The clinking of the backdoor’s bolt sounded like a faraway echo; she wasn’t even sure it had been her fingers turning the lock.

  “Jack? Lilah?” she called, desperately. Escaping the stuffy house and entering the chilly night lessened some of the weight. Something tugged, urging her toward the woods. She padded barefoot through the dewy grass, then entered the darkness where she moved blindly through the trees. Branches reached out and bushes grabbed at her. She was being scratched, but didn’t register any pain. She was lighter now, hurrying along, narrowly avoiding a wizened maple that was slowly dying, being eaten alive by invisible pests that gnawed at its insides.

  There was a flash of white lashing out just ahead of her. She ran, grabbing it, soon realizing it was a scarf billowing in the breeze. It was tied around the base of an ash, either mocking her for her troubles, or signing to her some much-needed encouragement. She yanked on it, wanting to tear it down. Her fingers groped until they felt the knotted bunch at one of its ends.

  Using both hands, she loosened the knot and opened the pouch, revealing a soft fuzz center. She pulled at it, massaging it with her fingers, then stilled. She recoiled, dropping it, realizing it was fur or hair.

  She started to turn away but stopped, hearing a voice. She couldn’t discern whether it came from her thoughts or from someone lurking in the darkness. She was fairly certain it wasn’t her kids. There was no childlike tone in those words.

  Not safe. Not here.

  They still think this is theirs.

  She backed up, stumbling. Straightening, she sensed something swaying just beyond her line of sight. Slowly, she turned her head. A few trees ahead, mere feet in the choking woods, something thick and rounded, undulated with the wind. There was suddenly a hitch in the rhythm and Kara’s eyes widened, zeroing in on it, a mallet, swinging at eye-level with her.

  The voice hissed, They didn’t do it. It wasn’t them.

  She pushed back her wind-whipped hair from her face.

  It wasn’t a mallet at all. Realization crept in as she registered what it was. There was no mistake, even there in the night. As if moonlight had caught it just right, she recognized the heel of a swinging human foot. It peeked out from the torn hem of a light-colored dress.

  Kara gasped, unable to scream like she wanted to, and spun around, awkwardly stepping back. Hearing it—her?—creak in the death sway, Kara glanced back around, facing it through strands of hair that acted like a blindfold.

  Don’t look!

  But she did look. She peeked through strands of dark hair hanging in front of her face.

  It wasn’t a human that swung, after all. Something small and, extended, a dark shape, hung from the limb, instead.

  Kara gasped, tearing her eyes away and backing up.

  Please don’t be Blacky.

  She didn’t want to look, but had to. Intelligently, she knew it couldn’t be Blacky. That had been years ago. Finding a human out there—that would’ve been surreal, but that would’ve made more sense.

  Now you’re telling yourself it makes sense to stumble upon human corpses in the woods!

  Kara looked up again at the tree. The corpse was gone. She could just make out the outline of the tree in the darkness, but saw nothing hung from it. She glanced at the other trees, in case she had looked at the wrong one, but no one hung from the trees.

  Kara backed up, tripped, and fell down. She was caught. She twisted, shifting her legs to free herself. Finding it was only a thick vine drooping from a tree over the ground and not a madman vying to string her up, she scrambled back to her feet. Her eyes darted over the trees, noticing the white scarves that whipped in the wind. The trees were spinning; Kara bent over, willing the sickness to come out, but it festered until it rolled further into the depths of her stomach. She finally staggered away from the waving scarves. A fog was rolling in, quickly edging around her and the encroaching trees. She spun around and around, stumbling over tree roots, wondering where she was, which way was out.

  After a moment, she stopped, noticing yellow dots of light cutting through the mist. They came toward her, at least a dozen of them, rhythmically swinging right and left. She backed up until she struck. She pressed against it, waiting. As they neared, she realized the dots were actually lanterns. The cloaked figures holding them kept to the shadows. They made no sound and, moving as if they glided just above the ground, they circled her and the tree she leaned against, the glow of their lanterns shining on her. She held up her arms, shielding herself, as if she could hide. Finally, the lights turned away and the shadowed figures passed by. She lowered her arms, watching them slip by. Just as quickly as they had come, the lights and the strangers had disappeared into the fog.

  In her stupor, she was on the search again.

  She didn’t call out for her children this time, not with them wandering through the woods. Her eyes were alert as she combed over the ground and trees. Then the fog broke just enough, so she could make out Diane’s form.

  Kara hung back, ducking behind oaks, and watched. Her neighbor was in her garden, doubled over, rocking back and forth. Kara was at least thirty yards away, but she could see the old woman sobbed, a hand at her throat.

  She started toward Diane, to offer comfort, but the strangers reappeared, sweeping closer, blocking her. They formed a line that separated them. However, Diane seemed oblivious to them.

  With a pang of guilt, Kara turned in the opposite direction and trudged away, Diane’s sobs fading until they were no longer heard. An animal screeched; something scampered near Kara, smacking against saplings and brush. Kara moved faster until she found the exit and escaped into her backyard. The crisp night air wrapped around her.

  “Jack!” she screamed. “Lilah!” Wildly, she raced to the front yard and down the hill to the road. It was empty and not a soul was outside. She stopped abruptly, breathing so hard it rocked her.

  Where were they? Had someone taken them?

  A scream, high-pitched and short, pierced the air. If she hadn’t been outside and hadn’t been straining to hear, she would’ve missed it. It had come from down the road.

  She took off with a jolt.

  The soles of her feet slapped against rough pavement. She nearly fell three times as she raced down the center of the road. Fog gathered ahead of her. Adrenaline pumped wolfishly through her, filling her until she was practically seeping with the stuff. Finally, she saw the sagging barn greet her like a deformed being, a monster. She loathed it now, but she couldn’t discern if it was because of its ugly face or from what she would find inside.

  Slowing down, she stepped onto the grass bordering the barn. She gritted her teeth, entering the building. “Jack!” she cried. “Lilah!” It was nearly pitch-black inside. She winced as decayed straw stabbed her feet. “Are you guys in here?”

  “Mom! Over here!” Jack called from deeper inside.

  She choked back a sob in relief. “Is Lilah with you?”

  “Yeah! She’s here.”

  “Mommy, Jack hurt his leg!” Lilah called from the darkness.

  “His leg?” Kara, her arms stretched in front of her, slowly followed their voices. It was like playing Blind Man’s Bluff in a stranger’s basement. “Where are you guys?”

  “Under the loft. I fell out of it. Mom, I think I broke it,” J
ack’s voice was calm.

  Taking one step at a time, each foot sliding ahead of the other, stirring up straw, it felt like it took forever for Kara to find them.

  “Here I am,” Jack said, his fingers finding her arm in the darkness.

  “Do you think you can walk out of here?” she asked him.

  “I can try.”

  She moved her arm blindly under his and gingerly helped him up. He groaned.

  “Mommy, where are you?” Lilah called.

  “Right here, baby. Can you feel for my hand?” Kara reached toward Lilah’s voice. Invisible fingers plunged into her palm. “Is it one leg, Jack, that hurts?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay, try to put all your weight on the other leg. Try to walk out of here.”

  “Okay.”

  She felt all of his weight push down on her as he pressed against her. Slowly, cautiously, Kara led her offspring out of the barn. The path was free of obstacles, which was an answered prayer. A three-person body, they kept in a straight line, sliding their feet along until they felt grass.

  Kara hadn’t realized her eyes had been closed. She opened them and collapsed onto the ground, pulling her kids down with her. Relief flooded her, the emotion raw and overwhelming. She cried, resting her wet face in her hands for a moment, willing herself to calm down and take control of the situation.

  Composing herself, she asked Jack which leg it was and he pointed at the right, which was turned unnaturally. “It hurts.” He gritted his teeth, tears welling in his eyes.

  “Okay, we have a little ways to walk to get back to the house.” She thought for a second. “I can hurry back to the house and bring the car down. Are you okay sitting here for a few minutes, or do you want to try to hike back? You can lean on me.” She looked around, her eyes settling on the silhouette of the farmhouse next door, dark and still as always. Her eyes darted again and sought out the porch-lit house across the road.

  “I don’t think I can make it that far.”

  “Okay, that’s okay.” She turned to Lilah, who had been so good and quiet sitting there beside her brother. “I need you to sit here with Jack. I’ll be right back with the car.”