by Amy Cross
Silence.
“Great,” I mutter, leaning back and still watching the door. I'm going to give them hell for this when they get back. They will get back, though. I mean, they have to come home soon.
***
“Come on!” I shout, lifting the bedside table and letting its legs bang on the wooden floor again. “You guys! Seriously, what the hell is going on around here?”
It's late now, almost 9pm, and I'm starting to get really worried. All my earlier explanations, all my theories about them going out to explore the area, are starting to fall apart. There's just no way they'd leave me alone to fend for myself for so long, especially without letting me know first. Even if I was asleep and they didn't want to wake me, they could have left a note and brought some food up. Instead, I've been making do with a solitary glass of water and a few pickings from the dinner Dad brought up for me last night, but that was almost twenty-four hours ago and now I'm hungry and thirsty.
With tears in my eyes, I look out the window again, but there's only darkness.
I switch off the bedside lamp, to better see the view. Far beyond the empty lawn, the line of trees has become a thick, dark shape and it's getting harder and harder to believe that the others are out there somewhere. Figuring that I don't want to be left without light, I switch the lamp back on and turn to look at the door again, and then I settle down on the bed and stare at the ceiling. There are still tears in my eyes, and although the last thing I want is to start crying like some kind of baby, I'm starting to feel seriously worried and alone.
All I can do is tell myself that my parents and Scott will be back soon.
Then they'll explain where they went.
Then we'll work out who the woman was.
And then everything will be okay.
I wait.
Silence.
And then a click, from somewhere nearby. It only lasts for half a second or so, but I immediately know what it is. Slowly, I turn and look across the room.
My bedroom door is opening.
Slowly.
So slowly, I didn't even think a door could open that slowly.
As it creaks open, the door reveals the dark landing on the other side.
Holding my breath, I wait as the door continues to swing open. I'm convinced there's going to be someone out there, someone looking in at me, but a few seconds later the door is open wide enough for me to see that there's no-one.
Finally, the door bumps against the dresser. Open all the way now, the empty doorway seems to be staring in at me.
I don't move.
I don't dare.
Listening to the silence, I keep expecting to hear another creak on the floorboards. Although I try to tell myself that Scott is pulling a prank on me, or that the door opened of its own accord even though it was properly shut a moment ago, deep down I know that it's neither of those things.
I wait.
And wait.
And wait, until I start to feel as if something else is waiting for me.
“Hello?” I say finally, keeping my voice low. I sound terrified, but there's a good reason for that: I am terrified. “Hello?” I say again, a little more loudly this time, as I sit up in bed. I want to sound confident, not afraid, in case someone's listening, but it's not easy.
Silence.
And then, slowly, a creak from one of the floorboards on the landing.
Someone's out there.
“Mom?” I call out, no longer able to hide the emotion from my voice. I'm too scared to cry, but I can't help gripping the bedsheets and pulling myself along until my back is against the wall. “Dad? Scott? Are you out there? Please, if you are, just let me know.”
The empty doorway continues to stare at me.
“Who is it?” I ask, even though I'm terrified of receiving an answer.
Nothing.
“What do you want?”
I'm getting desperate now, but I know I have to stay calm. I look down at my plaster-clad legs and realize that there's still no way I can walk. If Dad had left the wheelchair or the crutches in here, I might have had a chance, but right now my only option is to get down and drag myself across the floor. I'm not sure I'm ready to do that, though; I don't want to admit that something's seriously wrong, not yet.
“Is anyone here?” I call out, my voice cracking with fear. “Please, if you're here, I don't want any trouble. If you just tell me what you want, maybe I can help you.”
I wait.
“Please?” I whisper, swallowing hard.
I sit in silence, waiting for something, anything to happen, but I'm starting to feel more and more as if something's out there waiting for me. I keep clinging to the hope that this is all a huge misunderstanding, but I'm also starting to think that maybe there's been some kind of accident. If Mom, Dad and Scott went out into the forest, they might have got hurt and now no-one's coming to help me, or worse still, maybe someone hurt them and now that person is here.
There's one other thing I want to call out, but I'm worried about what might happen. Then again, I have no choice.
“Annie?” I say finally, staring at the empty doorway. “Annie Garrett, are you there?”
Silence.
Taking a deep breath, I try to stay calm. One thing's certain: I can't just sit here forever, waiting to learn the truth.
I have to do something.
Scooching over to the edge of the bed, I look down at the bare floorboards. This whole idea feels crazy, but at the same time I have no other options left. I turn a little and then lean down, propping myself on my elbow before inching away from the bed, making sure to bump my legs as little as possible. It's not exactly a graceful endeavor, but I have no choice. Once my hips are clear, I start to lower myself down and then I roll onto my back and use my elbows to inch toward the wall, while letting my legs slide down as slowly as possible. Finally I lean forward and grab my right thigh, and then I carefully move my leg down so that it's resting on the floor. I do the same with the other leg and, after a few more awkward grunts and twists I'm out of bed and flat on my back.
A little out of breath, I turn and look at the door.
It's still open.
Still waiting.
After carefully rolling onto my front, I prop myself on my elbows again and start to make my way forward, wriggling like some kind of ungainly worm. My legs, packed tight in the plaster casts, are heavy as they drag behind me, but fortunately there's not much pain, just a hint of discomfort. I reach the doorway and look up. On the frame, the words 'Annie's room' are clearly visible scratched into the wood. I have no idea what to do, but I figure there's no turning back now so I inch forward and lean through to the landing.
Looking both ways, I realize that the whole house, apart from my room, is in darkness. I can see a light-switch over on the far wall, but there's no way I can reach up there. I was hoping to spot my crutches somewhere nearby, or the wheelchair, but Dad must have moved them further away. There's still no sign of anyone, and while the area immediately outside my bedroom door is bathed in a little low light, the other rooms are dark and I can barely make out the top of the stairs at the far end of the corridor.
Still using my elbows, I crawl out onto the landing and make my way over to the nearest door, which I think leads into Mom and Dad's room. It's closed, of course, so I knock hard and wait for someone to answer, before realizing that I need to get inside. Propping myself up with my left elbow, I reach for the handle and manage to get a few fingertips onto the side; after a couple of attempts, I'm just about able to turn the handle and get the door to click open, and then I push it all the way and look through into the dark bedroom.
“Hello?” I call out, hoping against hope that Mom and Dad will turn out to have been in bed all along.
I wait.
Nothing.
Craning my neck, I can see that the bed is neat and made. I look around, squinting in the darkness as I see various unopened packing crates, but there's clearly no-one in here.
I bang my fist against the floor, hoping to attract a little attention, but of course no-one comes. I feel like there's a knot of panic in my chest, and with each passing second the knot is twisting tighter and tighter.
“Great,” I mutter, backing out of the room awkwardly until I'm on the landing again. My first instinct is to head to the stairs, but I figure I should check Scott's room so I crawl along, already feeling tired in my arms. When I get to the door, I reach up and turn the handle, and after pushing the door open I'm able to see through into the darkness. Scott's room, like all the others, has barely been decorated since we arrived, although I can see his bed that we brought from the old house. There's no sign of him, but the air smells musty and after a moment I realize that the smell is vaguely familiar. Against my better judgment, I crawl over to his bed and sit up, and sure enough the smell is stronger here.
There's a dark, wet patch on the sheets. It's been year since Scott last peed the bed, but there's no doubting what happened in here.
Turning, I start crawling back toward the door. Once I'm out on the landing, I make my way to the top of the stairs and look down, but there's no light and no hint of movement from below. The house is clearly empty.
“Hello?” I shout, even though I know they'd have been able to hear me long before now if they were around. “Mom? Dad? Please, can you just...”
I hold my breath, before letting out a gasp of frustration. There are tears in my eyes again, but I'm determined not to cry. Instead, I focus on how the hell I'm going to get down these stairs, since they're steep and there's no carpet to help cushion my journey. Figuring that my best bet is to use the railings and go head first, I reach out and make sure to get a good grip. If I slip and fall, I could end up badly hurt or worse, but at the same time I have no choice, I have to get downstairs and then maybe I can find a phone and call for help. Even if Mom and Dad come back with a reasonable explanation, I think I'm well within my rights to be freaking out by now.
Taking care to move slowly, I inch forward over the top of the stairs and start lowering myself down. I work carefully and methodically, going down one step at a time despite the growing pain in my arms. Once my waist is over the edge, I have to take even more care, since the last thing I need is to knock my damaged legs. The whole process is achingly slow, and around the halfway point I start wondering whether I've made a mistake; still, I keep going and it must be at least ten minutes before I manage to get all the way down. I let out a sigh of relief as I stop and take a brief rest in the hallway, with the light of the moon shining through the glass panel and at least allowing me to see my immediate surroundings.
Even down here, Mom and Dad haven't really done any decorating. A few familiar pieces of furniture from the old house are dotted around, but the place feels very alien still and very uncomfortable.
It take a moment for me to turn around, but I manage to crawl through the nearest doorway, finding myself at the foot of a table with several wooden chairs around the sides. I glance past the table and see the kitchen, which means I'm directly beneath my bedroom. Crawling around the table, I let out a gasp of pain as I realize my elbows are starting to get sore, but I keep going until I reach the middle of the room, at which point I stop again and look around. There are a few items on the counter, and the dishwasher has been left open with a clean load still waiting to be taken out. That, in itself, strikes me as odd, since unloading the dishwasher has been Scott's job since time immemorial.
It's as if everything in the house just stopped.
“Hello!” I shout, looking around the room. “Is -”
I stop suddenly as I see that the porch door has been left open, allowing a cool draft to blow into the house. Thinking back to the woman I saw on the lawn earlier, I realize that since the door is open, she could have entered the house without making a noise. I turn and look over my shoulder, back toward the hallway, but there's still no sign of anyone. Hell, if there is another soul in the house, then they certainly know that I'm here. I start to crawl forward, making my way past the stove until I reach another door and look through into what turns out to be the front room. There are packing boxes everywhere, which strikes me as odd since I'd have thought Mom and Dad would have at least got everything in place by now. After all, it's been five days since I arrived home, and Mom said they were working hard.
Outside, a light rain has started to fall in the darkness, tapping against the windows.
Suddenly I hear footsteps.
Turning, I look around frantically, and then as if from nowhere a figure walks past the door at the other end of the kitchen, straight across the hallway. Almost as soon as I see it, it's gone again. In the dark, I can't make out any of the figure's features, but it was definitely a woman and I'm certain it wasn't Mom.
I freeze, but the sound of footsteps is gone now.
Opening my mouth, I'm about to call out when I realize that whoever it is, they must know I'm here by now. I turn and look the other way, toward the door that leads down to the basement.
I wait.
The only sound comes from the window, where more rain is falling.
Crawling forward as quickly as I can manage, I ignore the pain in my elbows and make my way past the sofa. After a moment, however, I let out a gasp of pain as I catch my right leg on the sofa's trailing edge, and I have to stop for a few seconds as the pain throbs and then fades. Although I'm trying to not make any noise, I can't keep my breathing under control and I feel certain that anyone else in the house can hear me. I look around, hoping against hope that I might spot something I can use as a weapon, but finally I realize my only chance is to get out of here and try to find help. Turning, I crawl back through to the kitchen, heading for the porch door while glancing over my shoulder to make sure that there's no sign of -
Suddenly I hear a sobbing sound nearby. I turn again, and to my stunned relief I see that Scott is in the corner, next to the open door. He's crying while sitting with his knees drawn up toward his face, and his whole body is shaking, but at least it's him!
“Scott!” I hiss, crawling over and immediately putting my arms around him, giving him a huge, tight hug. After a moment, I pull back. “What the hell's going on here, where are Mom and Dad?”
His eyes dart in my direction, but tears are streaming down his face and he makes no attempt to answer me.
“Scott,” I whisper, reaching out and putting a hand on his shoulder to make sure that he's real, “what's wrong? Scott, you have to -”
Smelling something familiar, I look down and see that he's soiled himself again. There's a patch of urine on the floorboards, but he's made no attempt to move and his pants are soaked.
“Scott,” I continue, “you have to listen to me. We need to get out of here and find Mom and Dad, do you understand? We need to get help.”
He stares at me for a moment, his bottom lip trembling as if he's on the verge of saying something. It's almost as if something has broken him, and when I look into his eyes I see pain and fear staring back at me.
“Scott, I can't do this without you.” I wait for him to reply, but a moment later he turns and looks past me, and I can immediately tell from his shocked expression that he's seen something.
Turning, I see that the figure from before is walking out of the room, quickly disappearing into the hallway.
“Did you see that too?” I ask, turning back to Scott. “Where have you guys been all day?”
“Here,” he stammers, his voice choked with tears.
“Here?” I stare at him. “You've been right here all day, like this?”
“I...” He stares at me, but he's shaking too much to say anything.
“Did you hear me calling out?” I ask. “I was in my room, I was trying to get someone's attention.”
“I couldn't do anything,” he sobs. “I heard you, but I couldn't move.”
“Did you -”
Before I can finish, there's
a loud bumping sound from one of the upstairs rooms. Someone's definitely up there.
“Where are Mom and Dad?” I ask, turning back to Scott. When he doesn't answer, I crawl closer and put my hands on his shoulders. “Scott, I know you're scared but right now you have to listen to me, okay? I need to know where Mom and Dad are, and I need to -”
“She's coming,” he replies, his voice sounding a little firmer this time.
“Who's coming?” I ask.
No reply.
“Scott,” I continue, “who's coming? Is it Mom? Is Mom coming?”
He shakes his head.
“Then who?” I ask.
He opens his mouth, but the tears are running more freely than ever.
“Who's coming?” I continue, trying to stay calm. “Scott, tell me!”
“Annie,” he whispers, his voice so tense with fear, it's as if he might shatter. He turns and looks out through the open porch door. “Annie's coming.”
“Annie? Scott, I'm Annie, I'm right -”
I stop suddenly, before turning and looking out toward the lawn. In the distance, the line of trees can just about be made out in the darkness.
“Annie's coming,” Scott says again. “The first Annie.”
“The...” Figuring that he must mean Annie Garrett, I turn to him. “Have you seen her?”
He shakes his head. “She's coming.”
“Scott,” I continue, “I need you to work with me, okay? Just answer a couple of questions. Where's Mom?”
He stares at me, before looking down at the floor.
“Scott, answer me! Where is she?”
I wait, before suddenly realizing that by staring at the floor, maybe he is answering me.
“In the basement?” I ask. “Scott, is Mom in the basement?”
“Dad was really mad at her,” he continues, sniffing back more tears. “He was so mad, he...”
I wait for him to continue.
“He what?” I ask finally, refusing to believe that Dad would ever do anything truly bad. “Scott, what did Dad do? Where's Mom now?”
“I don't know,” he replies, breaking down into a fresh wave of sobs. “Dad had a shovel.”