Child's Play

by Andrew Neiderman

  “No, that’s OK. If you’re not feeling well, it’s just as well you stay home. It’s terribly depressing here. I’ll be around for a few days after the funeral…to straighten things up.”

  “When is the funeral?”

  “It should be today, but we’re having it tomorrow. They had to do an autopsy, and all of my family hasn’t arrived.”

  “Oh, God. What can I do to help you?”

  “Nothing. I just wanted to thank you for being a friend to my mother. Whenever we talked, she talked about you and what you and Alex are doing, especially with the children. I won’t bother you anymore.”

  “Oh Leona, it’s no bother. I’ll see you. I’ll see you soon.”

  “OK,” Leona said. Sharon heard her start to cry just before she hung up.

  She continued to hold the receiver in her hand even though the line was dead. She didn’t think she’d be able to unfold her fingers. Her body had locked in position. Gradually, in small, jerky movements, she returned the receiver to the phone carriage and sat back. The stillness in the house was more intimidating than ever. She looked over at the glass of juice and Alex’s note.

  He knew. He had to have known all day yesterday. Such an event would be a big story here.

  Why hadn’t he said anything?

  Four, Leona said. Four wounds.

  Drink the juice, the note commanded. Drink the juice.

  The realization shot through her with electric ferocity.

  She swung out to knock the juice from the table. The glass smashed to the floor, spilling its contents. A few moments later, she struggled to stand and made her way to the bathroom. She needed a cold shower. She had to revive herself.

  She had to end this nightmare before it was too late.

  13

  The shower gave her a false sense of energy. She wasn’t as revived as she thought she was, but her eagerness to confront Alex filled her with determination. She dressed as quickly as she could, putting on a pair of dungarees and a blouse. She didn’t bother with her hair. How she looked wasn’t very important right now. What was important was getting herself together and getting out of the bedroom.

  When she stepped out to the hall, she listened. There was still no sound of anyone in the house. They hadn’t returned from wherever they had gone. She had looked outside and had seen that Alex’s car was gone. They weren’t working outside.

  She started toward the stairway, but stopped. Something occurred to her, something she hadn’t done since the children had arrived. They were all so particular about their rooms, and Alex made such a big deal of respecting their privacy. She was not to go in any without permission. Each of the children was responsible for the cleaning and maintenance of his room.

  She began with Richard’s room. She didn’t really know what she was looking for, but she sensed that going into these rooms and looking at their things might be very revealing. Besides, she felt violated herself, violated by both Alex and the children, and she had the need to retaliate in some way. Crossing the boundaries that Alex had set up for her in her own home was a start. She opened the door abruptly and stepped in. The shades were drawn, so she had to snap on the light.

  The room was as clean and as neat as she could ever have wanted it to be. The bed looked as though it had been made for a boot camp inspection. Everything was arranged orderly on his desk, and, unlike what she suspected was true of every other teenager’s room in America, there wasn’t one piece of discarded clothing lying about.

  She opened the closet and looked at the neatly hung pants and shirts. She opened the top dresser drawer and saw how perfectly Richard had folded his underwear. She closed the door quietly and looked around in frustration. What did she expect to find?

  She went to the desk and opened the top drawer. Even his pens and pencils, his paper clips and stapler looked geometrically arranged. Where were his flaws? Where was the evidence that this was one of four sly and deceitful children? She wanted to find something to confirm this. She needed something to confirm this.

  She closed the drawer softly and started away, but stopped because something caught her eye. There was a small paper bag under the bed. It was the way it was situated: pushed toward the rear so it would be out of sight, that made it look suspicious. She listened for a moment. Satisfied that no one had returned, she knelt down and pulled out the bag. She opened it slowly and looked within. The tiny chill that had formed at the back of her neck dropped like an icicle down her spine.

  Some of the blood that had been on the knife had stained the inside of the bag. Carefully she pinched the knife with her forefinger and thumb and took it out. Even closed, the switchblade looked ominous and deadly. Leona’s words came back to her: “She was stabbed four times.” Four times…could it mean what she thought? Not little Donald, not someone as small, so birdlike.

  She dropped the knife back into the bag and put it where she had found it. She didn’t want Richard to know; she didn’t want any of them to know. She got up and went out to the hall, but she turned to the left and went to little Donald’s room. There was the same sense of order and neatness, but by now the sight of that annoyed her. She wanted to find a mess. He was too small to be so responsible.

  It occurred to her that they did everything alike, that they had become more like quadruplets than four individuals. That was why she was so sure that if little Donald had such a knife too, it would be in a paper bag, and the paper bag would be in the same spot under his bed. It was. She took it out and looked inside, shocked by the confirmation of her theory. As she had done with the other, she put this one back.

  There wasn’t any point in going into the other two rooms. She was positive she would find the same thing. The combination of these discoveries and the residual effect of the sedatives made her feel faint. She leaned against the wall to steady herself. What would she do now? What would she say to Alex?

  For the first time she realized that she should be afraid for herself. A bigger and more important question now was what might they do to her once they found out what she knew. Would Alex protect her, or would he turn them against her? In a sense he already had. Poor Tillie, she thought. She meant only good, but Alex saw her as a threat, and then the children…children? They weren’t children; they were monsters.

  There was no question now that they had killed Dinky. They were sadistic. And Mr. Knots…that plastic bag she had seen in the wastebasket. Alex had brought home the murder weapon, and then, realizing she might discover it, he had removed it. Maybe he had buried it in Pa’s secret room. The room! Oh my God, she thought, they knew she had uncovered the skeletons. They knew she had accused them of manipulating Alex, and they knew she believed they had killed Dinky.

  How long could it go on? How long would it be before they turned Alex completely against her, or he came to believe she was totally against him and his children? She had to flee from this place. She had to seek help, perhaps go back to Mrs. Hoffman and tell her all these things. But then she thought, she wouldn’t believe me. She would never believe such stories about Alex. She’d think I was making it up because I was jealous or…or who knows what Alex made up about me, she thought. He might have her believing that I’m suffering from that nervous condition he fabricated.

  The sound of the front door opening jolted her out of her deep thoughts. She moved away from the wall and listened to them. They were all laughing. In a few moments they’d be upstairs and they’d find her standing outside their rooms and they’d all know. She couldn’t let that happen. Despite her unsteadiness, she hurried back to her room and closed the door. The smashed juice glass was still on the floor, but she didn’t have time to clean that up. Instead, she pulled the clothes off herself and slipped on her nightgown again. She got under the covers just as Alex came to the bedroom door.

  “Hey,” he said after entering, “what went on here?”

  “Oh, Alex, I spilled my juice.”

  “I see that.”

  Richard and Elizabeth came up beh
ind him and looked in.

  “I’ll get the vacuum cleaner,” Elizabeth said, and hurried down to get it.

  “Where…where were you?” Sharon asked.

  “I took the kids to McDonald’s for breakfast. Have you been awake long?”

  “No.”

  “How do you feel?”

  “Better, Alex. I think I’ll get up and get dressed.”

  “Oh now, I can’t allow that. Dr. Konica would have my head. One more day’s rest, Sharon. You’ve barely started reading anything I brought you.”

  “I think I’ll feel better moving around, Alex.”

  “Are you going to overrule the doctor? And me? What sort of an example does that set for the children? Sharon, it’s not going to be the end of the world if you rest one more day, is it? Is it?” he repeated when she didn’t reply.

  “No,” she said in a tiny voice. Alex smiled.

  “Good. I’ll make you some hot cereal and coffee. How’s that sound?”

  “OK,” she said. Elizabeth came into the room and began cleaning up the smashed glass.

  “Be careful with the pieces of the glass,” Richard told her. She smiled back at him.

  “I will. How did you do this, Sharon?”

  “I was reaching for it and I knocked it over.”

  “Sharon’s a little unsteady,” Alex said. “But once she has some hot food in her…”

  “Should I make it?” Elizabeth asked.

  “No, you finish here. I’ll cook it up and Richard will deliver it, right Richard?”

  “Yes, I will,” he said, looking intently at Sharon. She thought it best to smile, but he didn’t return the smile. He turned abruptly and followed Alex out of the room.

  “Where are Carl and little Donald?” Sharon asked Elizabeth after she shut off the vacuum cleaner.

  “Outside, trying to fly a kite. Alex bought a big plastic kite for us,” she said.

  “Oh.” Sharon pretended interest in one of the magazines. Elizabeth studied her for a moment and then she left with the vacuum cleaner. A moment later she reappeared in the doorway, the vacuum cleaner still in her hands.

  “You should say thank you,” she said, “even though I was glad to do it.”

  “Oh, of course,” Sharon said. “I’m just not able to think clearly right now, but you’re right. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” Elizabeth said, and left again.

  How horrible they are, Sharon thought. How detestable they’ve become. Four creatures living in the same house as I am. They turned Alex; they made him into something horrible, too. She was sure of it now—the blame ultimately lay with the children. Maybe they were the Devil’s very own, enticing Alex to take them in. She would stop it; she would end it. She would bide her time, but she would do it.

  For the remainder of the day, she felt like a prisoner in her own home. It seemed to her that they were listening for every sound she made, that the four children and Alex had placed themselves on some kind of rotating guard duty. Every time she got out of bed, one of them was at the door moments afterwards to see what she was doing. Of course, they were there under the guise of seeing if she needed anything, or if she was all right.

  She tried not to eat any of the food. While Alex stood by her, she nibbled, keeping as much of it as she could in her mouth without swallowing. It was impossible not to swallow some of it. She knew if she refused to eat, he would insist and remain there until she had eaten. This way, after he left and she was alone for a while, she scraped as much of the food as she could off the dishes and put it into a towel she had placed under the blanket for that purpose. When she was able to, she emptied what she could into the toilet.

  The most frightening moment of all came when she decided to chance using the phone to call Mrs. Hoffman to see if she could get the woman to believe anything of what she said. But when she lifted the receiver to begin dialing quietly, she was greeted with a dead silence. There was no dial tone. The phone had been either disconnected or put out of order. All of this convinced her that they indeed might have something terrible in store for her. She debated attempting an escape by getting up, putting on her dungarees and blouse again, and merely running from the house. But she didn’t think she had the strength to get away. Even little Donald could catch her, and then, of course, they would know how she felt and what she knew.

  So she lay there under great tension, her heart jumping every time one of the children or Alex looked in on her. Each time the door opened, she expected them all to enter and stand around her bed. She closed her eyes and imagined a terrible scene. It would be dark and they would all carry a candle in one hand and those horrible knives in the other. Some ritual words from Alex’s father’s writings would be pronounced and then they would all be at her, tearing her apart like vultures, while Alex, paralyzed by his own beliefs and the power of the children, stood by helplessly and watched.

  She shouted out; she couldn’t help it. A few seconds later, Carl was at the door. Never had he looked more rodentlike, his eyes beady, his upper teeth pressed down on his lower lip. He held his hand up against the opened door, his fingers curled inward. His hair was down over his forehead and his face was suddenly pale as a corpse’s. Or was that her overworked imagination’s fault?

  “What is it?” he asked. “Should I call Alex?”

  “No, no, it’s all right. I had a bad dream, that’s all.”

  “Bad dream?” She thought he nodded, as though what she said confirmed something.

  “It’s nothing,” she said again. “Where is Alex now? What’s he doing?”

  “He’s reading,” he said. “And everyone’s studying.”

  “Shouldn’t you?”

  “I don’t have a test tomorrow; they do.”

  “Oh.” She stared at him, but his look was so intense she had to turn away. They had power, these children, she thought; they were not to be tampered with openly. “I’m tired,” she said. “I think I’ll stop reading. Could you turn on the television for me?” she said, indicating the small table model on the top of the armoire. Carl looked at it and then shook his head.

  “I’ll ask Alex,” he said.

  “About what? Turning on my television set?”

  “I’ll ask,” he repeated, and ran from the room.

  Incredible, she thought. What were they doing? Her sense of danger was intensified. It wasn’t wise for her to lie here and do nothing, she thought, and yet, what could she do now? She heard Alex come up the stairs.

  “You’re fighting it, Sharon,” he said. “You should try to rest.”

  “I’m just a little bored, Alex. I thought I’d fall asleep to the sound of a television program. You know how I do that often downstairs.”

  He thought for a moment.

  “All right,” he said, “if that’s what you want.” he turned on the set. “Anything in particular?”

  “No, it really doesn’t matter. Thank you.”

  He studied her for a few moments and then stepped closer to the bed.

  “Are you all right?” he asked. “You look kinda high strung. Your face is red and your eyes are somewhat bloodshot.”

  “No, I’m OK,” she said, but she couldn’t smile and she couldn’t slow her heartbeat. He continued to study her and then his gaze moved over the bed to the telephone.

  “Did someone call while we were away?”

  She looked at the phone. She hadn’t forgotten to put the receiver back in its cradle, but she must have moved the whole phone some way, and Alex remembered every little detail about the room. He was so perceptive. It wouldn’t be long before he’d realize she was lying anyway, she thought.

  “Yes,” she said. She pulled herself further into a sitting position. “Someone did call, Alex. Leona Zorankin. At least, that was her maiden name.” He didn’t change expression. “Why didn’t you tell me, Alex?”

  “I’m sorry she called,” he said. “You’re under a great emotional strain. It was better to keep it from you as long as possible.”


  “Is that why the phone is dead, Alex?”

  “They’re working on the line,” he said, but she knew he was lying.

  “Why have I been so tired, Alex? It’s not because of some emotional strain, is it? Alex?”

  “You’re letting your imagination run away with you, Sharon. That’s not wise.”

  “I want you to tell me the truth, Alex. What have you and the children done?”

  “We do only good things. How many times do I have to tell you that?”

  “It’s not true, Alex.” She reached for his hand. “Please, listen to me.”

  He stepped back as though her hand would burn him. At that moment there was a knock on her door. They both turned to Richard.

  “Excuse me, Alex,” he said, “but everyone’s finished with their work.”

  “All right,” he said. “Go on down and wait for me in the hallway.” Richard nodded and closed the door.

  “Where are you going?”

  “It’s just our session,” he said. “We won’t be long,” he added. He had a far-off look in his eyes that sent a chill through her, but he snapped out of it quickly and considered her again. “You’ve got to take your pill now.”

  “No, Alex. No more pills. And don’t go there with them tonight. You mustn’t do it anymore.”

  “You’re talking nonsense. No,” he said quickly, “maybe you’re not talking at all. Maybe someone’s talking through you.”

  “Alex!”

  “You have to take your pill,” he repeated. He turned and went into the bathroom. In a moment he returned with a glass of water and her sedative.

  “No, Alex. No pill.”

  “Why must you be so contrary? It’s for your own good. It’s for everyone’s good. If you’re not well, we all suffer.”

  “Alex, it’s gone too far,” she said. She sat up completely. “This thing has gone too far. It must be stopped.”

  He just stared at her. She could hear the children going down the stairs. He listened too, and then he held out the pill. She shook her head. He put the glass of water down on her nightstand slowly and then reached forward with his free hand to seize her by the chin. She started to struggle, but his grip was so tight it quickly became painful. She had to open her mouth. The moment she did so, he dropped the pill onto her tongue; then, still holding her by the chin, poured in some water. She gagged on it, but she was forced to swallow.