And the Trees Crept In(36)

I slide from my bed and check on Nori, but she is huddled under her blanket and hasn’t stirred. I leave Cath alone. Whatever she’s screaming about, I’m too much of a coward to find out.





GIGGLES




The girl, Silla, assumes Nori sleeps while she sits in the library reading my books. But while she leaves her little sister to dream sweet summer dreams, Nori is in the basement again, playing with a man made of shadows.

And in a house that doesn’t speak, Nori begins to talk.

She stands in the corner.

And covers her eyes.

“… nine… ten… ready or not… here I come…”

The Creeper Man is hiding, and Nori giggles.





I heard it again, I know I did. A child’s laughter. To be sure, I open the library door, which I had barricaded with a chair, and peer out. And listen.

There

is

only

darkness.

Creak.

“Stop.”

Creak…

“Stop it.”

Creeeeaaaaakkkk.

“STOP IT!”

I slam the door closed and bar it again with the chair. I grip my head and huddle on the floor.

“Mama,” I whisper. “I don’t like this. Please make this stop. I don’t want to be here.”

Cath’s screaming is the only reply.





15


all about the poison



Python striker, Python tree

please don’t let the man get me

python striker, Python tree

let me sing this melody.





BROKEN BOOK ENTRY


I have another theory, and this one is worse. Don’t say it out loud, don’t think it—don’t write it. That’s what I tell myself. Would you write down a mortal dread? Make it real? But I do wonder about it and I have to write it to see if it’s true. To understand why. Closure, maybe? To see if it sounds as ridiculous to you as it does to me? I never thought of it before, but it makes sense. I think my father might be in this house. I think he might have been here for a long time. I think that he—the granite beast—has been toying with me, punishing me with my fears. It’s the only theory that makes sense. I mean: Curse? Or evil father? What’s the answer?





The storm complains like a petulant child, worrying at the windows and the walls. I’m stowed safely in the library, while Nori is out there, being infected by this house. Being swallowed up, masticated like a piece of— [SAY IT.]

Like a piece of meat.

I wander the library slowly, feeling fragile as brittle bones. My mind is heavy, though. My heart, too. Why won’t he come?

The books lull me into calmness, if not a sense of security, and I find myself wandering the rows. I stalk along the ground floor, then take the spiraling side stairs up to the next level. I wander that floor, too.

A thump and a crash from above. I flinch, shoulders raised defensively.

A shadow moves along the edges of the far bookcases. It is distorted through the glass ceiling. I go up, my body tight as a guitar string, ready to snap.

It’s on the third level that I spot him.

He’s huddled like a ball of cloth by two corner bookcases, his head pillowed on La Vita Nuova: The New Life. He’s shivering and twitching, lost in some terrible dream. He’s knocked several books off the shelf to his left, his arm still raised, as if in defense or defiance.

Something inside me breaks to see him and I feel irritation

exultation

rage

fear

confusion

joy

relief. I am so relieved to see him. I step closer, minding my feet on the floorboards, and then kneel down, quite close. His breathing is deep, but not steady. He is distressed, eyes flighty beneath the membranes of his eyelids. I want to wake him, to save him, but fascination stops me.

His breathing intensifies, his face twitching, and there is a fine sheen of sweat on his torso—which is bare. “Uhn… AH… No… No! No, please—NO!” And he wakes. He presses his fists to his eyes, teeth bared.

“Shit.”

I feel bad for watching him, and want to sneak away. But I’m right beside him, and when he lifts his head and sees me, his surprise becomes brightness, and then caution in less than a split second.

“Silla…”

I have to bite down on my lip to keep myself from calling his name.

He left you, Daddy’s voice says, the whisper floating beneath the crack in the door. Don’t forget that. He left you all alone.

Gowan crawls to me and wraps his arms around my waist, clinging to me so tightly that I gasp with the closeness of it. I clench my fists at my sides, fighting my urge to hug his head closer, kiss the top of it, tell him I’m here to stay. Instead, I get to my feet.

“You left me,” I say as he stands up too, his hands still on my hips, and his cheek twitches—the merest little flicker, but I know I’ve hit some kind of sore spot.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and his voice trembles and for a moment I think he wants to hurt himself.

I recognize self-loathing.

“I’m sorry, Silla, I am sorry—”

“How long have you been here?”