Girl in the Walls

by A. J. Gnuse

  It’s hard to tell exactly what someone is thinking when you can only look at him in the briefest, safe glimpses. When you could only catch some of the small movements he made. How can one tell if he is deciding whether to look at the room around him, empty as it should be, and ask, “Hello?”

  Outside Is Reaching

  SOME OF THESE DAYS, WHEN ELISE THOUGHT OF THE OUTSIDE AND when she remembered her parents, thinking of one felt like thinking of the other. The sun through the dormer window warming her face and neck and shoulders was the heat of her mom’s arms. The breeze that came at night through that same window, cracked open at the bottom, which blew across the floorboards and dried her sticky, hot skin—that was her dad. Like the way he used to check on her at night when she lay in bed in her room, her overhead light still on and her bedsheets kicked down around her feet. She’d sense him there in the doorway. He’d leave, and then she’d hear the click and rumble of the air-conditioning coming to life. When he came back, the sheet was pulled over her, and the light turned out.

  Sometimes, the house itself could seem like a ghost. The squeal of the screen door coming open—she’d heard it a thousand times—but each time, for a moment, it was her mom, that time her arms were full with a bag of boiled crawfish, and she held the door open for Elise with a hip.

  And when the doorbell rang, the chime was the same. Elise could tell herself every day how things were different, but that wouldn’t stop the expectation that her parents’ voices would soon follow, greeting whoever had come.

  Footsteps above. Voices, out in the yard. At times, they could be anyone.

  This massive, cumbersome house. The Masons might try to cut holes in it, or they might rip up carpets, or fill it with their furniture and cover the walls with their own photos, but when Elise hid behind a column in the foyer, or crouched in a closet in one of the rooms upstairs, or bent low to peer down the length of the stairs? It might still be them she was hiding from, in a game. Soon, she’d hear their voices calling for her again, from some room far from hers, when finally they’d given up seeking.

  “Okay, where are you?” her mom had once called to her. “Elise, are you even in here anymore?”

  Months ago, when she had first moved back into the old house, Elise had figured calendars meant nothing more to her. The shadows would drift across the floor, and weeks would pass, like planets swooping, invisible, across the daylit sky. After all, the Girl in the Walls no longer had a birthday. She no longer would need to count the days until school ended. Holidays meant nothing to her. But here she was, tracking the days on the kitchen wall calendar, increments of life, by what the Masons marked: the weekend, the household projects, Eddie’s upcoming birthday, the beginning of the boys’ summer vacation, the start of summer school and hurricane season. She adjusted her routines around them. She looked for opportunities to listen. This week, she’d spent her mornings—her time—waiting, looking over the wrapped birthday gifts that had appeared this week in the nook of the library’s fireplace. She studied Eddie’s castle, waiting to see when he’d remove the witch she’d placed in the tower. Elise kept returning, wanting to see if he’d done anything with it. It looked like he hadn’t touched the castle since.

  She didn’t know what to think about any of it.

  She was living in a holding pattern. Her life was a film put on pause while the rest of the world churned relentlessly on. As if she were a ghost.

  You’re not a ghost, though. That voice in her head. A warning. You know that, right?

  She knew.

  You have to be more careful.

  Birthday Party

  SATURDAY, THE MASONS CELEBRATED EDDIE’S BIRTHDAY. MRS. Laura cooked pancakes and eggs for the family, but Eddie still ate his meal alone in the dining room as he always did. No friends invited over and, by the sound of it, there wouldn’t be any plans for later in the afternoon, besides a trip to Zack’s Frozen Yogurt after lunch. A low-key birthday, but it seemed to be how he wanted it.

  Elise could understand that. Her last two birthdays, for ages ten and eleven, she had celebrated with her parents alone. Besides presents and a cookie cake, she only requested a drive through Uptown. With the windows rolled down, she wanted to see all the old, colorful homes draped in their Halloween decorations. But even so, Elise had been hoping for a party a little more sizable for Eddie. Or, at least, something more interesting for her.

  While Eddie opened his presents (careful, slow, unfolding the seams of the wrapping paper instead of tearing), Elise hid in the living-room coat closet. In that deep, narrow space, Mr. Nick had stored, for most of the week, a large computer desk. He had fit the desk in it longwise, so the square foot-space had parted the hanging jackets and raincoats, which swaddled it on either side. A perfect spot for Elise to curl up, her feet propped against the desk’s drawers like an infant in her mother’s womb. As Eddie opened his gifts, Elise listened in and played a guessing game of what he opened.

  “Oh,” he said, after the plop of a cardboard box’s lid being removed. “Thanks.”

  Something useful, but unexciting. Clothes? Pants. Underwear. Probably a pair of underwear.

  “Try it on! See if it fits!” Mrs. Laura said.

  Not underwear.

  Eddie tried on the shirt and modeled it for his mother, standing in the middle of the room, until Marshall cried out that she was embarrassing him. Eddie was quicker about opening the next gift. It must have been one of the smaller ones she’d seen; perhaps the book-shaped one. Elise was interested in this.

  “Nice,” Eddie said. “A book.”

  Elise pumped a fist. Yes!

  “Oh, it’s a chess book!”

  Rats.

  Why not something more fun? Even a book on history—like African or Native American. Those would have been fun to flip through. But at least it was better than the next one he opened: a pack of spray deodorant. “Essential for any teenage boy,” Mrs. Laura said, practically as an apology.

  Marshall’s gift was last. Elise had seen it, laid beside the fireplace in the living room: a large ball of blue tissue paper Scotch-taped together. The wrapping job was so poor that even without a tag the gift-giver had been obvious.

  “No need to say who this one’s from,” Mrs. Laura said, walking across the room. She must have been holding the present carefully in both hands so that the wrapping didn’t prematurely slough off. Eddie had it opened almost instantly.

  “A backpack,” Eddie said. “Thanks, Marshall. Now, I’ve got two.”

  “Now, you’ve got one,” Marshall said. “You can throw away that little kid purple-stripe one you’ve been using. It’s too small anyway.”

  For a moment, the family was quiet and the only noises were from the large nylon balloon, caught by a draft, scraping against the ceiling, and from the tissue paper as Eddie tried to wrangle it into a ball.

  “I like that backpack,” Eddie said.

  “Yeah,” Mr. Nick added. “It isn’t that bad yet, is it? We only bought that for you a couple years ago.”

  “Maybe it’s not bad for a child, Dad,” Marshall said. “A little kid. Maybe I’m the only one who realizes he’s not one anymore.”

  “Marshall,” Mrs. Laura said, in a placating tone. “It’s a great gift. It’s a great thought. I’m sure your brother appreciates it.”

  “He can speak for himself, you know,” Marshall said. “Eddie—I mean, he’s thirteen now. You don’t always have to coddle him like a baby.”

  “That’s enough, Marshall,” Mr. Nick said. “Quit it.”

  “Whatever.”

  Marshall couldn’t seem to remember it was Eddie’s birthday. Take a hint, Elise thought, and shut up. If that’s what being a teenager was, she might just have to forget her own age, so when she became one herself, she wouldn’t know to change.

  “In fact,” Mr. Nick said, “we’re well aware that the youngest Mason here is now officially a teenager. And, accordingly, we decided to go a little big for the milestone. So, we got you one mo
re birthday gift.”

  “Really?” Eddie said.

  Good. Each of the presents he had opened so far had been a disappointment: outside of the book, they were all practical gifts, clothes and things for school. Something fun. A book. Or Legos—something new to build—maybe a pirate ship.

  “Where is it?”

  “It’s right there in the closet,” Mrs. Laura said. “Go open it. Check it out.”

  Elise’s eyes went wide.

  When she had entered the closet hours earlier that morning, she hadn’t seen any present for Eddie. No wrapping paper or bows. Nothing that even resembled a gift. There were only the cardboard boxes in the far back, old picture frames, a storage container of light bulbs and extension cords, and that desk that was being kept there.

  The desk.

  Oh no.

  Eddie’s footsteps padded to the door. She heard its hinges creaking open.

  “A desk?” he said.

  “Like your brother’s,” Mrs. Laura said.

  They wouldn’t see her. The desk’s drawers blocked her from view. There was a narrow space to either side, but one of the Masons would have to squeeze through and bend over to see her.

  “I’ll pull it out,” Mr. Nick said, coming closer.

  Elise felt the vibration along the length of her back as his hands gripped the desk’s corners. He pulled, jerking with enough force to free the desk from the friction of the carpet it rested on. The wood thumped hard against her back, and she held in a yell.

  Mr. Nick tugged at the desk again, and this time Elise dug her feet into the carpet and braced herself. The desk moved an inch. Half an inch.

  “We thought,” Mrs. Laura said to Eddie, “now that you’re going into high school, you’d appreciate a bigger working desk. Nick, be careful not to tear the carpet with that thing.”

  “It’s stuck on something,” he said. He pulled again, and it thumped audibly against the spokes of Elise’s spine. She gripped as much of the carpet as she could with her hands. Her back throbbed. He tugged on one corner, then the other. Elise pulled back, equally on each side. Her fingers burned as she felt threads of the carpet in her grip tear loose from the floor.

  “Do you like it?” Mrs. Mason said.

  “I, uh,” Eddie said. He made a noise in his throat.

  “Marshall,” Mr. Nick said, “get back in there and help me pull this thing out.”

  Elise heard Marshall sit up in the recliner across the room. The chair squeaked as the footrest returned to its base. He dragged his feet across the carpet toward her.

  “Well, do you like it?” Mrs. Laura said.

  They would see her, the whole family, when Mr. Nick and Marshall picked the desk up and carried it out into the living room. There was nowhere for her to go. No escape in the back of the closet. Mr. Nick and Eddie blocked the only exit. Only the desk covered her. Nowhere else to hide. They were standing right above her—they all were.

  “I don’t want it now,” Eddie said.

  “What?” said Mrs. Laura.

  Elise could almost hear his mother and father turn to look at him.

  “I don’t really want it now,” Eddie said. “Later. I want it later. I want it out later.”

  “Why?” Mr. Nick said. Elise felt his hands grip the corners of the desk again, ready to pull once more. Marshall was in the doorframe now. He tapped on the desktop with a fingernail. Elise gripped the carpet with her fingers and toes tight. She’d been holding her breath, and her lungs were beginning to burn.

  “I don’t want it now!”

  There was a moment of quiet. Right now, Elise wouldn’t know how to breathe without gasping for air.

  Mrs. Laura spoke. “Hon, it’s okay. It’s Eddie’s birthday. We can take it out later if that’s what he wants.”

  Mr. Nick took a step back from the closet. “I mean, sure,” he said. He sounded puzzled. Frustrated but trying to hide it. “I guess we’ll give it to him later.”

  Marshall wasn’t subdued. “We can pull the thing out now. Dad, let’s just take it up to his room. He can be weird on his own time.”

  “Marshall, stop.” The father’s voice was resolute. The hinges squealed, and the closet door shut with a click. Their footsteps moved across the room.

  Dark again. The muscles of her back quivered. It would be some time before Elise let loose her grip on the carpet.

  What Had Happened Here

  THE FLOOR HAD FALLEN OUT. LIKE A JAW UNHINGING. TRAIN SQUEALING to a sudden halt. The Masons all above her, and the whole world pivoting to see. She felt it throughout her entire body. Picked up by a gust of wind and thrown.

  She’d been careful.

  You hadn’t.

  No way she could have known they would come looking in the closet.

  No reason you should have been so close.

  Spying

  AT EDDIE’S REQUEST, THE MASONS ATE PIZZA AND CAKE ON PAPER plates on the back lawn by the garden. The boy stood and paced while he ate, away from the others, a patch of dark, curly hair passing through the frames of windows in the sun-stained yard. When they’d finished, the Masons came back inside and took the desk from the closet. Bringing it up to Eddie’s bedroom was no easy task, with Mr. Nick and Marshall and Eddie all grunting and stumbling as they maneuvered the desk up the stairs. Sounded like three people were too many—that the extra body only complicated the process of moving the heavy oak desk around the curving staircase. But Mr. Nick, in what must be some attempt at a finale for Eddie’s birthday celebration, insisted they all do it together.

  “You’re a man now, Eddie,” he had said. “Help us out with this guy. You can tell us where you want it.”

  Once upstairs, there were the moans of furniture dragged and rearranged throughout his room. Another set of lumbering footsteps climbing the attic stairs. When the Masons finished, they each returned to their routines. The attached garage soon shrieked with Mr. Nick’s table saw. Mrs. Laura watered plants in her garden. Marshall watched television until he’d be taken by one of his parents to his afternoon shift at the car wash. Eddie, the only one upstairs, was in his room.

  The whole length of the horseshoe-shaped hallway was still and quiet: the parents’ side, the boys’. Passing clouds made the outer lines of shadows on the floor grow dim, and sharp again. Eddie’s door was slightly ajar. Inside, a curtain flapped against the molding.

  What was he doing?

  Through the crack, she saw Eddie’s window was open, and he sat in a chair before it, hunched over, his arms and chin resting on the sill. The curtains filled with wind, plumped like the chests of overgrown toy soldiers guarding him on either side. Unmoving. He might have been asleep.

  A floorboard popped beneath her feet. Eddie stood up.

  Elise froze in place.

  But Eddie only went into the bathroom, shutting the door slowly behind him.

  Elise looked around her. She took a breath and went into his room.

  Eddie’s furniture had all been rearranged. The oversized armchair taken out, the squat dresser in its place, bottom drawer open and gaping at her. Everything had been moved. The huge desk stood where the bookshelf had been, the bed had been turned toward the center of the room, away from the wall.

  Elise dropped to her elbows and crawled through the dust ruffle to hide beneath his bed. There was no sound of water running yet from the other side of the door. Could Eddie sense her in there? No matter how hard she tried, there was always a little noise. The soft press of a body against the plush carpet makes sound. The fabric of the dust ruffle brushing against her jeans.

  After what happened that morning, after she had almost been found, Elise should be hiding in the attic, in the walls. She knew that.

  But Elise couldn’t wait. Something had expanded inside of her, like a balloon filling with air. She couldn’t take it. She needed to hear, to see a sign, though she wasn’t sure exactly what it would be.

  That voice: Does he know?

  The sink faucet in the bathroom ran fo
r a few seconds. The towel rack rattled. Eddie opened the door and sat back down in his chair by the window.

  Outside, the trees rustled in the breeze. The hiss of Mrs. Laura’s hose. Downstairs, Mr. Nick’s power saw wailed on and off again.

  Through the sliver between the dust ruffle and the carpet, Elise saw his new chess book lying on the floor. Beside it, Eddie’s bare heel rose up and down, slow as the second hand of a clock.

  The breeze must have felt cool through the window, moving across Eddie’s face, through his hair. Voices now outside—amplified but broken by static. The words hard to make out, but coming over the levee from the river. Two tugboat captains talking to one another, piloting their barges along the river’s shore.

  Eddie had saved her this morning. When Mr. Nick and Marshall were about to wrench her from her hiding place in the desk, he stopped them. The thought wasn’t at all comforting for her. But there was a kind of relief, too. Like the breeze.

  If Eddie knew, he would keep her secret. He had already shown that this morning. He wasn’t afraid of her. What if he had known for a while? Those times he could have turned and looked as she moved behind him, the mistakes he made when he played the piano when she moved through the walls. Was it the plastic witch she had left for him?

  A part of Elise wanted to share things with another person again. Things she’d seen: the owl perched on the oak tree outside the hallway window one night, looking inside with its big, yellow eyes. The cat that was hiding beneath the house. Or the secret things about the house itself—the hidden laundry chute, the nook beneath the floorboards in the attic, the spaces between the walls, and its entrances. There was something nice to seeing someone else react a certain way, like to a glimpse of a coyote skulking through the front yard at night—to see that excitement and fear on that person’s face, to know what you are feeling is really worth feeling.