approached his bedroom. The door was opposite the stairs
and now indecision cut through him. Wouldn’t it be wise to check
and make sure the men were still there before trying to wake his
mother?
Sure it would. But what if
they weren’t there? It might mean they’d left, their staring game
spoiled now that he’d moved away from the window, or it might mean
they’d moved, looking for a way into the house to get him. The
thought chilled him. But not nearly as much as the one that
followed it: What if they’re already inside?
Ryan swallowed, braced a
hand against the wallpaper to steady himself. He listened to the
sounds of the house. Creak, groan, sigh,
creak , all in time with the soughing of the
wind through the eaves. But weren’t those creaks like footsteps
mounting the stairs? Wasn’t that groan like a stubborn door being
carefully shut? The sigh – the inexorable breath released at last
by someone who’d been holding it?
Ryan began to tremble.
Creak, groan,
creak…
Someone on the stairs.
Creak, creak,
sigh…
“ Hello?” Ryan’s voice was
tiny and quickly swallowed by the shadows hanging in the corners of
the hall.
Creak. Creak.
CREAK .
“ Who’s there?”
The wind answered him.
“ Ryyyyaaaannnn ,” he
was sure it said.
The footsteps drew closer.
This was not imagination either. Ryan
felt his bladder let go, soaking his pajama bottoms as tears welled
in his eyes. Not imagination at all and that was unfortunate, for
at that moment, the lights flickered, just as the maker of those
creaking sounds reached the top of the stairs and stepped onto the
landing.
And there was no one there.
Lights buzzed. Shadows leapt, but the
hallway was empty.
And from his father’s bedroom, the
suddenly reassuring sound of a hacking cough quickly became a
gurgling snore once more.
Shivering, Ryan looked down at the
puddle between his feet. He would have to clean it up before he got
in trouble, but that could wait. He was already in trouble, but
this kind of trouble was the very worst kind. The kind of trouble
where you’re not sure who’s after you or why. All you know is that
they are.
He stepped around the puddle, hand
still splayed against the wall, the floor creaking and cold, the
wallpaper he’d always hated whispering beneath his fingers, and
swung into his room. The moonlight was splashed across his bed,
smothering darkness in the folds where he had thrown back the
covers when something had woken him up and drawn him to the
window.
As it drew him to the window now, his
body tensed, eyes wide and still moist.
They won’t be
there , he knew. They won’t be there because they’re in the house with me,
probably creeping up the stairs right now .
His certainty was reinforced by years spent watching horror movies
at his best friend Larry’s house on Halloween. Horror movies he
knew his parents didn’t approve of. Larry’s parents didn’t care.
Sometimes they even joined them in watching them. In horror movies,
the Thing That Was After You always stood motionless when you
caught sight of it. Then, when you brought your parents back,
babbling and screaming about the monster in your closet/on the
ceiling/under your bed/outside your window and pointed at where
you’d seen it, it would be gone. Making you a victim of something
almost as bad as the monster – enraged parents. It would wait then
until Mom and Dad were sound asleep before creeping out to kill
you.
Now, he slowly stepped up to the
window, his breath held, the feel of the wet pajama pants
unpleasant against his skin.
They won’t be
there .
But they were.
In exactly the same
positions as before. A sudden need to throw open the window and
shriek what do you want why are you
standing in my yard? down at them struck
Ryan hard in the chest and he almost acted on it, until reason
kicked back in and he stopped himself. That would be crazy. Opening
the window might be just the move they were waiting for. His breath
fogged against the glass
and now indecision cut through him. Wouldn’t it be wise to check
and make sure the men were still there before trying to wake his
mother?
Sure it would. But what if
they weren’t there? It might mean they’d left, their staring game
spoiled now that he’d moved away from the window, or it might mean
they’d moved, looking for a way into the house to get him. The
thought chilled him. But not nearly as much as the one that
followed it: What if they’re already inside?
Ryan swallowed, braced a
hand against the wallpaper to steady himself. He listened to the
sounds of the house. Creak, groan, sigh,
creak , all in time with the soughing of the
wind through the eaves. But weren’t those creaks like footsteps
mounting the stairs? Wasn’t that groan like a stubborn door being
carefully shut? The sigh – the inexorable breath released at last
by someone who’d been holding it?
Ryan began to tremble.
Creak, groan,
creak…
Someone on the stairs.
Creak, creak,
sigh…
“ Hello?” Ryan’s voice was
tiny and quickly swallowed by the shadows hanging in the corners of
the hall.
Creak. Creak.
CREAK .
“ Who’s there?”
The wind answered him.
“ Ryyyyaaaannnn ,” he
was sure it said.
The footsteps drew closer.
This was not imagination either. Ryan
felt his bladder let go, soaking his pajama bottoms as tears welled
in his eyes. Not imagination at all and that was unfortunate, for
at that moment, the lights flickered, just as the maker of those
creaking sounds reached the top of the stairs and stepped onto the
landing.
And there was no one there.
Lights buzzed. Shadows leapt, but the
hallway was empty.
And from his father’s bedroom, the
suddenly reassuring sound of a hacking cough quickly became a
gurgling snore once more.
Shivering, Ryan looked down at the
puddle between his feet. He would have to clean it up before he got
in trouble, but that could wait. He was already in trouble, but
this kind of trouble was the very worst kind. The kind of trouble
where you’re not sure who’s after you or why. All you know is that
they are.
He stepped around the puddle, hand
still splayed against the wall, the floor creaking and cold, the
wallpaper he’d always hated whispering beneath his fingers, and
swung into his room. The moonlight was splashed across his bed,
smothering darkness in the folds where he had thrown back the
covers when something had woken him up and drawn him to the
window.
As it drew him to the window now, his
body tensed, eyes wide and still moist.
They won’t be
there , he knew. They won’t be there because they’re in the house with me,
probably creeping up the stairs right now .
His certainty was reinforced by years spent watching horror movies
at his best friend Larry’s house on Halloween. Horror movies he
knew his parents didn’t approve of. Larry’s parents didn’t care.
Sometimes they even joined them in watching them. In horror movies,
the Thing That Was After You always stood motionless when you
caught sight of it. Then, when you brought your parents back,
babbling and screaming about the monster in your closet/on the
ceiling/under your bed/outside your window and pointed at where
you’d seen it, it would be gone. Making you a victim of something
almost as bad as the monster – enraged parents. It would wait then
until Mom and Dad were sound asleep before creeping out to kill
you.
Now, he slowly stepped up to the
window, his breath held, the feel of the wet pajama pants
unpleasant against his skin.
They won’t be
there .
But they were.
In exactly the same
positions as before. A sudden need to throw open the window and
shriek what do you want why are you
standing in my yard? down at them struck
Ryan hard in the chest and he almost acted on it, until reason
kicked back in and he stopped himself. That would be crazy. Opening
the window might be just the move they were waiting for. His breath
fogged against the glass
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