Malorie(61)

As the train carries her farther north, she rises and faces south.

“Mom,” she says.

Because if there’s one single item that Malorie Walsh would never lose, would not let off her person, if there’s one object in all this mad world that defines her more than any other, Olympia holds it now.

She knows the worst has come. Something has happened to Malorie.

The proof is not in Malorie’s absence…but in what Olympia holds, what flaps, black and angry, in her hand.

Her mother’s blindfold.





TWENTY-FIVE


Malorie hides in a cluster of trees at the far end of her home’s property. The pond is between her and the house where her parents and Shannon are, hopefully, desperately looking for her.

She’s upset.

Mom and Dad insist she read the kids’ book for class, the book the teacher assigned her, but she doesn’t want to read the kids’ book, she wants to read the adult book, the one Mom is reading, the book written by an adult woman with an adult brain. She doesn’t like the idea of what she calls a pretend book, a book geared for someone who’s supposedly not as developed, not as smart, as her parents. And isn’t she? Isn’t Malorie as smart as her parents? And what’s worse than them denying her is the fact that Mom and Dad are usually so encouraging. Yes, that’s what bothers Malorie most of all. It’s that they’re siding with Mrs. Cohn when it’s so obvious that Malorie is right.

It’s why she ran away. No, she didn’t get far, but it’s far enough to let them know that what they’re doing, what they’re saying, is wrong.

From where she hides, she can’t hear them anymore. Can’t see them at all.

That’s good. They can’t see or hear her, either.

She sits on the fallen needles and cones but discovers it’s too wet, so she gets up.

Does Mom know where she is? If she does, she’s going to have to walk out here and scold Malorie to her face. Malorie isn’t going back inside. Not for anything in the world.

She hears a stick crack, and she thinks aha, Shannon is coming to talk. An ambassador for their parents. Shannon will come and say come on, Mal, come on, they’re just doing what’s right, it’s just Mom and Dad, you know them, come on. But Malorie won’t come. This is the moment she’s growing up. The exact moment. Can’t they see that? Can’t everybody tell that the world has changed?

But when Malorie peers between the trees she doesn’t see Shannon or her parents at all. She sees no one. Nothing. Not even an animal.

So what’s made the sound? Something surely stepped just outside the cluster. It was clear as day, even as day wanes, as the sun goes down, as it gets colder yet where she stands and has her thinking momentarily about the comfort of her coat inside, her blankets, the couch, the heat of the house.

But no. She’s not going. Not right now. Not until Mom and Dad say she can read an adult book for her book report and not the one about the dog who travels to outer space.

Another crack and Malorie actually steps out of the cluster. Shannon’s got to be here, about to leap out, scare her. Or maybe it’s Mom or Dad, come to talk after all. Maybe they’re watching her, spying, waiting to see what she does.

Should she run farther from home?

“Shannon,” she says, because her sister has got to be messing with her. It’s just like Shannon to pick a weak moment, to come out all smiles, to scare her, to poke fun, to roll her eyes at the meager distance Malorie actually got away.

But Shannon isn’t there.

Nobody is.

And nothing.

Malorie feels a chill. Is the sun going down faster than it normally does?

“Damn you all,” she says. It’s a phrase she heard on TV. It struck her. It feels like the exact kind of thing she wants to say to her parents right now.

She sits down again, just as the sky gets really dark. She hugs her knees to her chest.

She should’ve worn something warmer, should’ve taken the fifteen seconds to pack. Gosh, why did she leave in such a rush? And do Mom and Dad even know she’s left? Or do they think she’s only in her bedroom, quietly stewing?

She should’ve told them she was leaving. Yes. For full effect. But it felt like her anger was enough, felt like the whole world could feel it.

A crack. Again. This one so close Malorie gasps a little and turns to face it. She has no doubt something is about to leap through the trees, a hand coming for her, a face, barely lit, in the dark.

She’s seen stuff like that on TV, too. Scary stuff. Ghosts and demons and, for Malorie, worst of all, creatures.

The inexplicable kind, the ones that don’t fit neatly into boxes like vampires or werewolves, goblins or ghouls. It’s the abstractions that scare her deeply, for she has no reference for these.

“Go away,” she says. Then, “Please.”

Because who knows? Maybe whatever inches closer will listen to her just as Mom and Dad will not. Maybe whatever is out here with her will honor her wishes. Maybe, maybe, maybe— “Mal.”

She leaps to standing, arms out, ready to box whatever’s close, a thing that must’ve watched her run away, followed her to the far end of the property.

“Can I come in?”

Her instinct is to say no, no, but she recognizes the voice.

“I’m not in the mood for a lecture, Dad.”