The Narrows(30)

4



No matter the season, nighttime always came early to Stillwater. The mountains were to blame, prematurely blotting out the sun and casting a dark pall over the sleepy little town. Livestock were ushered back into their pens after a day of grazing. Out along some of the more remote roadways where power had yet to be restored, generators kicked back on, one after another, until a sustained deep-bellied growl gently shook the earth. The old grain silo in the field off Gracie Street, which served as a fairly reliable if overlarge sundial throughout the afternoon, was now shrouded in the deep, black shadow of Haystack Mountain.

Come five thirty, Brandy had already contemplated calling her mother at the diner, twice. Both times, however, she fought off the urge, knowing damn well that the second she had her mother on the phone, Matthew would come bounding through the back door, his knees skinned, his hands grimy, his hair damp with sweat. But at five thirty she could no longer pace around the house deliberating about phoning her mom; she had to get over to the Olson place by six.

She changed into jeans and a long-sleeved, loose-fitting blouse then left a note for Matthew on the kitchen counter, telling him there were leftovers in the fridge and to stay home until their mom got back from work. Then she locked up the house and walked up the road until she reached the grid of manicured streets where the Olsons lived. By the time she got there, the sky was a cool lavender color and a chilly October wind shuttled down from the mountains and bullied the trees.

“We won’t be late, hon,” Mrs. Olson promised as she ushered her husband out the front door.

Their daughter, Tabby Olson, was five. She was a timid little thing with pigtails and she never gave Brandy a hard time, so Brandy didn’t mind babysitting the girl. They watched a Pixar cartoon on DVD and Brandy made popcorn. By the end of the movie, Tabby had fallen asleep on the sofa, her head cocked at an awkward angle, one leg dangling over the sofa cushion. Gently, Brandy slipped her arms around the girl and carried her down the hall to the girl’s bedroom. The walls were the color of Pepto-Bismol and pink stuffed animals kept watch over the room from every available perch.

Brandy rolled the girl into bed. Tabby stirred and her eyes blinked open.

“Go to sleep,” Brandy told her soothingly.

“Can you leave the door open a crack?”

“Yes.”

She shut the light and closed the door only halfway before returning to the living room. Popping the Pixar DVD from the player, she replaced it in its case then surveyed the collection of DVDs on the higher shelves. Most of the movies looked boring—by her own observations, she figured the Olsons to be a relatively boring couple—but she finally selected a film that had a blood-drenched bride on the cover. It looked old and was probably less titillating than the box art promised, but she figured what the hell and dropped the disc into the DVD player.

Before the opening credits had ended, Tabby Olson appeared in the living room doorway clutching a tattered panda bear to her chest.

Brandy paused the DVD. “What is it, honey?”

“There’s a boy outside my window.”

“Come show me.”

She followed the little girl back down the hall and into her bedroom. The stuffed animals were rearranged and the curtains at the window had been pulled aside. She told Tabby to get into bed then went straight to the window and peered out. Tabby’s bedroom window looked out onto the Olsons’ side yard, which was as black as the interior of a cave. The sky was moonless. Beneath the window, holly bushes scraped along the siding of the house.

“There’s no one out there,” Brandy told the girl, who had crawled back into bed and pulled the covers up nearly to her neck. The tattered panda bear was propped on one pillow.

“He’s out there,” Tabby said.

“It’s the bushes making noise in the wind.”

“Brandy, I saw him.”

Brandy sucked her lower lip. She looked back at the window, that rectangle of infinite blackness. “Okay. Come here and show me.”

Tabby flung the blankets off and hopped down from the bed. The little girl padded across the room and stopped at the window, both her tiny pink hands perched on the sill. A look of intense concentration came across her face as she surveyed the darkened yard.

“Well?” said Brandy.

“He’s not there anymore.”

“Okay. Good. Now you can go to sleep.”

Tabby didn’t immediately let go of the windowsill.

“Come on,” Brandy said, playfully tugging on one of the girl’s pigtails. “Back into bed with you.”

Looking disappointed, Tabby left the window and climbed back into bed. Brandy tucked the blankets in all around her. “Good night, squirt.”

“Don’t forget the door,” Tabby warned.

“I won’t,” she said, leaving the door partway open again when she left.

In the kitchen, she filled up a glass with ice cubes and Coke then reclaimed her seat on the sofa. She restarted the DVD and watched about twenty minutes of the movie—as she’d suspected, it was a bit slow and boring—before she thought she saw someone or something pass by one of the living room windows. The sight caused her to jump and her skin quickly prickled with sweat. Again she paused the movie then got up and went to the window and looked out. She could see no more from here than she could from Tabby’s bedroom.