Collection by John Rector

running in every direction.   He looked at it for a moment.   “It’s not getting better.”
                “How do you feel?”
                Nathan shrugged.   “Cold.”
                “You should rest tonight.   We’ve got a long drive tomorrow.”   She reached for the leather belts tied to the headboards.   “Give me your hands.”
                Nathan moaned.
                “I can’t watch you all night.   I can’t take the chance that you might hur—”
                  “I’d never hurt you, Mattie.”   Nathan stared at her.
                Mattie looked away.   “I know,” she said.   “But you could hurt yourself.”   She patted the bed with her hand.   “I just want us both to be safe, okay.”
                He lay back in the bed, and Mattie tied the leather straps around his wrists.   They were long and allowed him to move a little, but not too much.
                Mattie closed the door and arranged her blanket on the floor along the side of the bed.   She leaned up against the wall and watched the sunlight fade outside the window.
                “Where do you think dad is?”
                “Nathan, don’t.”
                After a moment he spoke.   “I bet he went on ahead.   He’s probably already at Uncle John’s.”
                Mattie was quiet.
                “I’m sure that’s where he is,” Nathan said.   Mattie heard his breath wheeze in his chest.   “How long does it take to get up there?”
                “Not long,” Mattie said.   “Go to sleep now.”
                Nathan shifted on the bed, and Mattie closed her eyes and listened to the sound of his breathing.   Wet and slow and fading.
     
    ~
     
    Fading…  
    The gun was lighter now, and as she walked up the steps to the porch she barely felt it in her hands.   She looked down to make sure it was there.   It was, and she squeezed it against her chest as she walked.   The boards on the porch bent and moaned under her feet.   She opened the screen door to the house and reached for the doorknob.   There was a buzzing behind the door, and Mattie stopped.   It was quiet, almost inaudible, just a low, rhythmic hum.
    Mattie pushed the door open and stepped inside.   The entryway floor was covered with dirt, and the wallpaper flayed off the wall in long strips.   There were cobwebs along the ceiling that pulsed back and forth above her head.  
    And there was music.  
    She held her breath and listened.   It was coming from the living room, slow and easy, a waltz, her dad’s favorite.   She moved toward the sound, and felt her stomach twist.   She walked faster.   There were voices coming from the room, a woman’s voice, somehow familiar, and the unmistakable rolling sound of her father’s laughter.
      Mattie turned the corner to the living room.   She saw them for a second—she did—and then nothing.   The room was empty.   The picture window was cracked and boarded over.   The chandelier, broken and detached, lay in pieces on the floor.   And all around her, the room buzzed.  
    Mattie looked at the fireplace against the wall.   There were ashes and soot falling in from the chimney.   A shadow passed in front of the boarded window, and Mattie jumped.   She raised the gun.   The buzzing was louder.   Rocks and ashes bounced from the fireplace into the room, and she heard scuffling in the chimney.   Something was there, trapped behind the brick, trying to get free.
    “Mattie!”   She heard Nathan’s voice.   It came from outside, and she backed into the hallway and ran to the front door.   It wouldn’t open.  
    “Mattie!”   She heard him scream, and she let go of the gun.   She grabbed the doorknob with both hands and pulled.   The door opened and she ran onto the porch.  
    There was no one.   The