Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

The photograph showed a young man, perhaps late twenties, in jeans, t-shirt, and trucker's cap, smiling at a little ponytailed girl who was propped up on the hood of a tractor.

"He gave me the shotgun and told me that if he ever tried to break into the attic, to shoot him." Katie was studying the picture, holding it close to the campfire light. Simon and Isaac moved close to her to look at the photo.

The children were in a ravine, wrapped close to the sides that rose steeply some fifty feet over their heads. The stars shone crisply, and nearby, a creek flowed gently over a bed of cobblestone.

"At first, he tried to take us someplace safe. But we didn't get farther than Lake Road because a whole bunch of 'em appeared and started tearing at the truck. So he drove me back to the house and waited with a shotgun in his hands."

"How long was it before he became… like that?" asked Isaac.

"Not long. That first day, he tried to make it as normal for me as he could. He made me toast and put peanut butter on it the way I like, and I read my books. Everything kinda seemed... normal. But later that night, I seen him start scratching at his throat and complain about being too hot and then too cold. I guess he realized what was happening to him 'cause he took me into the attic and gave me as much food as he could find and told me to stay up there and not to come down no matter what.

So that's what I did. That night, I heard him screaming and tearing up the house. In the morning though, everything fell quiet. I thought he was dead. I was sure of it. I was so scared that I didn't know what to do, so I just… started to cry. I must've cried all night. I guess he heard me, because the next morning, I heard him call my name.

Katie… I'm here. I'm still here. I brought you food. I'm going to leave it in the closet, but I don't want you to open the hatch until you see me outside.

So that's how we did things for a long while. He would bring me stuff, like food and clothes and books. Then leave them in the closet, and go outside, but always too far for me to get a good look at him. But when I saw him through the window, he would wave his hand, and I would go down to the closet and get whatever he left me.

He would also sit in the closet at night and tell me stories until I fell asleep. About his life, how nervous he was asking my mom out on their first date, the time he got sprayed by a skunk when he went hunting. Anything to make me laugh. One time, when he left me food, I didn't wait until he was outside. I just opened the hatch and went down to him. I didn't care what happened. He was angry that I did that at first, but I could tell he was happy to see me because he kept hugging me and telling me how much he missed me."

"I bet he looked real creepy by then," said Simon.

Isaac shot him an annoyed look.

"He was different, but I could still tell it was him, and that was enough for me," Katie replied.

"So when did he get… like that," asked Isaac.

"Well… you know how when you don't see a friend for a long while, they look completely different the next time you see them? But then, if you're together, you don't notice any changes at all. I guess it was sort of like that, because I didn't really see him change. I know it's funny to say, but he still looked like my daddy to me. Until…"

Katie stared at the photo one last time and carefully tucked it away into her backpack.

"One night," she continued, "I guess I was making too much noise. I was trying to clean up some of the mess, and I broke a dish, and… he got angry. Like I've never seen him before. He came up to me and grabbed me real hard by my arms and lifted me to his face. He didn't look much like himself then.

"The next day, he gave me the shotgun and told me to go back into the attic. I guess he was worried about what he had done too. He still brought me food, but there were no more stories from him. I would see him go out and not come back for days. I don't know where he went, because I never talked to him or really saw him up close again… until you guys came."

The children stared silently at the restless flames.

"I'm glad he's dead," said Simon.

"Simon!" Isaac chastised.

"Well, I am!"

"You shouldn't say that! She just lost her father!"

"That's alright," Katie responded. "My dad died a long time ago."

The wood popped and red embers wafted lazily into the air.

"Where are your parents?" asked Katie.

"They're in the city. At least, that's where we think they are," replied Isaac.

"Have they, you know..."

"No! They haven't!" Simon shouted. "My dad was just fine when he dropped us off at the cabin! Tell her, Isaac!"

But Isaac didn't answer.

"That's good," Katie said, nodding her approval.

"Tell her!" urged Simon.

Isaac fixed his gaze on the fire as a log sizzled and tipped onto its side.

"My mom got real sick the night we left," he said. "My dad wouldn't let us go into their bedroom, but once, he was coming out to change the bowl of water, and we saw her. She was tied to the bed by her arms and legs, and she was screaming, and pulling on the ropes. My dad closed the door quickly and told us to get back into our room. But... we saw."

Simon pressed his hands over his ears and squeezed his eyes shut, like he used to do to make the whole world disappear, with all its sharp noises and baffling sights, but that didn't work anymore.

He rose and made his way to the creek, wiping away his tears. He sat next to the bank and tried once more to block out the thoughts of the last image of his mother that he had ever had. She was not the mother who would move mountains for him. No, she was far different. And when he closed his eyes at night, it was this woman whom he had seen tied to the bed, screaming out in rage, that would visit him in his dreams, with her dark hair and eyes like burning coals, who would sit next to him and caress him with yellowed fingernails, smelling of death and calling him by name. Simon heard light footsteps approaching, and he knew it was his brother.

"I know I promised I wouldn't, but I want to scream so bad," said Simon, his words coming out choked and his hands balled up into angry fists. "What do I do, Isaac? Tell me what to do."

"Go ahead. Scream. Just make sure it's not too loud. That's all."

"How?"

Isaac thought for a moment.

"I guess like how you used to do with Mom. Remember?"

"Okay." Simon crawled onto the lap of his brother, buried his face in his brother's shirt, and cried out in anguish.

Isaac could feel Simon's tears soak through his t-shirt and his whole body quiver. The only thing Isaac could think of doing at that moment was to rock him gently, like his mother used to do, until his screams turned eventually to sobs and then to sniffles.

"Better?" asked Isaac.

Simon got off his brother's lap and nodded, wiping his face.

Isaac stared down and noticed something on his shirt.

"Hey, Simon, do you want to see something funny?"

"What?"

"Look." Isaac spread his shirt where an imprint of Simon's face, with wet spots for eyes, nose, and mouth, stared back with a bewildered expression.

The boys started to laugh, which quickly turned to breathless wheezing and rolling on the ground, clutching their stomachs.

Katie came down to see what was happening.

"What's going on?" she asked with a confused expression.

Simon pointed at her face and the boys laughed some more.

"I don't get what's so funny," Katie said.

As the campfire died down to embers, the boys tried to explain to her about the face on the t-shirt and how this could have been the funniest thing they had ever seen, but Katie remained unconvinced, long into the night, until they all drifted into a sleep without dreams.