The sidewalk in front of the new houses was wide, and it was closer to their house than Susie’s mom wanted it to be. Susie didn’t mind that. She liked watching people go by, especially from the tire swing. A big laurel hedge along the front of their yard blocked the view of Oliver’s lower trunk and the tire swing. Susie liked to stay there and play “spy,” watching people through the hedge without them knowing she was there.
The group going by now had five kids in it. She was pretty sure they were in Samantha’s class. Three of the kids, all girls, were walking bikes. A fourth kid, a tall boy, was messing around on a skateboard, and the final one, a smaller boy, was on a scooter. It didn’t look like he knew exactly how to use it.
“Hurry up, Drew,” one of the girls snapped at the small boy.
He was blond, and his hair stuck up all over on his head.
“Yeah,” another of the girls said. Both girls had dark hair, and they wore jeans and blue hoodies. “This place is spooky.”
Susie slowed the tire swing and listened to the kids. Spooky? Did they sense it, too, that thing that Susie didn’t understand?
“Hey, Professor!” the third girl called out. This girl had reddish hair, and her black leather jacket hung open to show a light pink shirt underneath.
Susie knew “professor” was Samantha. Even if the word hadn’t been said in a sarcastic tone, Susie knew it was supposed to be an insult. Ever since Samantha started grade school, her classmates had made fun of her for being too serious. Susie hated that the kids did that, and the first time it had happened, she’d tried to stick up for Samantha.
“What’s wrong with being smart?” she’d yelled at the kids taunting her sister. “You’re just jealous that she knows more than you!”
Susie had thought Samantha would appreciate this support, but Samantha got upset. “I don’t need you to take care of me,” she told Susie. “I have to stand on my own two feet.”
Susie knew Samantha had gotten this expression from their grandma, but she didn’t argue. And she never again tried to stop the kids from their teasing.
So she didn’t speak up now when one of the girls called out, “Freak!”
“Come on, Drew,” the boy on the skateboard said to the boy with the scooter.
“I hate passing this house,” the leather jacket girl said.
“Yeah,” one of the other girls agreed, shivering.
The third girl said, “I used to play with them when I was in kindergarten. She was always serious,” she pointed to Samantha, “but she at least would talk to you. Now it’s like she’s …” She shrugged. “I don’t know.”
The kids had passed the house, but Susie turned to watch them, and she kept listening. “You can’t really blame her,” the small boy said.
“Come on, Drew,” the leather jacket girl said. “Let’s just get by, huh?”
When night came, it dropped on the house like someone up in heaven abruptly threw a black blanket over everything. The girls got ready for bed as usual, and as usual Samantha didn’t protest when Susie got into her bed. She knew Susie hated to sleep alone.
Even so, Samantha always slept with her back to Susie, and she always slept as far from Susie as possible, especially now. Susie faced the window. Even though the window had a shade, it was never pulled. Susie’s mom said the house should have as much light as possible—sunlight or moonlight. Susie liked to lie awake and look at the way the moonlight brought things to life in the room. The eerie glow cast shadows over Samantha’s bins, making them look like big mouths trying to gobble the moon. She also liked to look at the stars and name them.
Tonight, the stars were hiding, and only the faintest gleam from the moon’s sliver managed to push through the clouds. The only light coming into the room reached dimly from the porch lights over the front and back doors.
The room was cold, and the cold bothered Samantha more than it did Susie. So the girls lay under two thick, soft blankets. Susie shoved the blankets away from her mouth.
“Are you awake?” Susie asked her sister. She kept her voice at a whisper.
Samantha didn’t answer. This wasn’t unusual. She didn’t like talking at night.
But that didn’t stop Susie. “I keep having this bad feeling, like something’s wrong,” Susie whispered. She didn’t wait for a response.
“The world smells funny,” she told her sister. She twisted up her mouth, trying to describe the smell. “It reminds me a little of when we leave leftovers in a container too long and then Mom tells us to clean them out and we have to hold our nose and talk like this.” She held her nose and talked in the funny voice that resulted. She giggled at herself.
Samantha remained silent. She never thought Susie’s funny voices were all that funny. And maybe she was actually asleep. Susie held still so Samantha’s smooth, blue sheets wouldn’t make that shushing sound they made when you shifted in the bed. She focused on Samantha’s breathing. It was deep and even.
Susie pulled her legs up tighter and nestled her head further into the pillow. “And Oliver’s leaves aren’t the right color. They’re not bright enough.”
Samantha breathed … in and out.
“And Mom is acting strange. You know?”
Samantha did not respond.
Susie sighed. She closed her eyes and tried to go to sleep.
Thump.
Susie’s eyes shot open.
Had she fallen asleep? Did she dream that muffled sound she just heard?
She lay perfectly still, listening.
Thump … thump … thump.
No, she didn’t dream it. Someone … or something … was walking around on the porch. The sound was that of a big foot hitting the wooden boards.
Susie sat up, clutching the smooth sheets and Samantha’s soft white blankets.
She cocked her head to listen closely. That’s when she heard the taps between the thumps.
Thump … tap … thump … tap … thump.
Susie didn’t move, but suddenly Samantha sat up. She immediately swung her legs over the side of the bed, but she didn’t stand. She just sat there, her back rigid.
“You heard it, too,” Susie whispered.
Samantha didn’t reply, so Susie decided she had to do something on her own. She made herself let go of the covers, then dropped her legs out of the bed. She ignored the cold air that hit her ankles, and she padded out of the room and down the stairs to the kitchen.
Susie paused by the island and looked at the pale yellow glimmer creeping in through the kitchen window. It radiated from the porch light above the back door.
The digital clock over the stove glowed red in the darkened room: 11:50. The refrigerator hummed. The faucet dripped. It had dripped for quite some time, Susie knew—one drip every ten seconds.
She waited through two drips while she listened to the continued thump-tap sequence outside on the porch. When the sounds faded enough to make her think that whatever was making the sound was on the opposite side of the house, she went to the back door, took a deep breath, and opened it.
Just then, Samantha reached over Susie’s shoulder and slammed the door.
Susie whirled toward her sister.
Samantha’s eyes were huge. Her lips were compressed. And for the first time since she’d said goodnight to their mom, Samantha spoke, “There’s nothing out there. Back to bed.” She turned and marched out of the kitchen, making it abundantly clear that Susie was supposed to follow her.
Jeanie’s voice was so warm and strong that, even though it came through the phone line, it sounded like she was in the room. “You’re more than Susie’s mom, Patricia,” she said.
Patricia held the phone to her ear with one hand while she brushed her limp hair with the other. She sat on the edge of the king-sized bed, the bed that was far too big for her alone. But it had been far too small for her and her husband. That’s why he had to leave … so they could stop intruding into each other’s space. Although why they’d needed all that space was never clear to he
r.
“And more than Samantha’s mom,” Jeanie continued. “You’re you, and you’ll find yourself again. Eventually.”
Patricia sighed. “Samantha won’t talk to me, except to order me around.”
Jeanie laughed. “She’s her own woman.”
Patricia wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry at that. The idea of her eight-year-old daughter acting like a woman was amusing. But the idea that her daughter had been forced to turn into a pint-sized woman was not amusing at all.
“It will get better,” Jeanie said. “It always does.”
Patricia nodded even though Jeanie couldn’t see her. Jeanie would know she’d nodded.
Patricia and Jeanie had been friends since they were Samantha’s age. Together, they’d gone through school, college, and grad school, both in art. When Patricia married Hayden, Jeanie was her maid of honor, and when Patricia had her girls, Jeanie became their godmother. Jeanie was like the sister Patricia never had.
“I don’t know if I’m doing this right,” Patricia said.
“There is no right,” Jeanie said.
That made everything harder somehow.
“I wish …” She stopped and froze.
What did she just hear?
Did that come from outside or inside?
“You there?” Jeanie asked.
Patricia stayed silent, listening.
“Patricia?”
Patricia shook her head. She was imagining things.
She blew out air. “I’m here.”
Susie had followed her sister back to bed, but now she was creeping away. This time, she paused for a second outside her mom’s room. She was probably on the phone with Jeanie. They talked pretty much every day, either in person or over the phone. If Jeanie was in town, she’d come by, but she traveled a lot for her job. Her job was buying art for people. Susie thought that sounded like a very fun job.
Susie lurked in the hallway, hoping to hear her mom laugh. But a laugh never came.
Instead the footsteps sounded again. Thud … tap … thud … tap.
Susie put her shoulders back and turned toward the top of the stairs.
Descending slowly, pausing on each step, Susie looked over the top of the waxed oak banister to the paned window at the front of the house. Sheer curtains blurred the outline of the porch rails and beyond them, Oliver’s solid presence; he stood like a tireless guard in the middle of the front yard.
But the sheer curtains couldn’t block the shape that Susie saw stalking past the windows on the front porch. The shape was too big to hide. All the curtains could do was distort it and disguise what it was.
The shape moved slowly, deliberately, lurching in sync with the sound of its step: thud … tap … thud … tap. As it moved, its head swiveled. Every few steps, Susie could see the reflection of sharp eyes as they searched the interior of the house. Every time those eyes looked her way, Susie turned into stone, willing herself to disappear into the background.
Even though she wanted to hide, Susie didn’t go back to bed. She couldn’t. She knew that.
So she continued down the stairs, managing one step for every six footsteps she heard on the front porch. By the time she reached the first floor, the shape was passing the last of the tall windows on the left side of the house. Susie tiptoed ahead of it.
Ducking into what used to be her dad’s office, she watched the shape outside pass the office window and head toward the kitchen side of the house. Hesitating only a moment in the empty room lined with dusty shelves, Susie pushed off the doorjamb and went into the kitchen for the second time that night.
She crouched behind the island as the shape passed through the yellow light outside the kitchen window. Once it had moved on, heading back toward the front of the house, Susie stood. She clenched her fists then released them. And she went to the front door.
The front door was as old as the house. Built of thick wood and stained so many times the door always wanted to stick when you tried to open it, the carved front door reminded Susie that time couldn’t be stopped, no matter how much you wanted it to be.
The footsteps paused.
Susie listened. She heard nothing at all.
She reached for the front doorknob, and she opened the door.
She opened the door in increments. Two inches. Six inches. A foot. She took a deep breath, stepped around the door … and looked up.
She waited. Like she always did. Every night. Frightening. Familiar. Persistent.
Susie didn’t cringe or tremble or jump back, even though it would have been reasonable for her to do any or all of those things. Instead, she said, “Is it time to go back already?”
Chica held out her yellow hand. Her mouth didn’t move.
Susie knew Chica wouldn’t answer, because Chica didn’t talk to her.
Susie turned away from the man-sized animatronic chick standing in front of her. She looked back up the stairs. Longing.
But longing didn’t do any good.
Susie looked back to the animatronic chick. Ignoring the gaping metal mouth with all the teeth, Susie focused on Chica’s bright yellow body and the big white bib hanging around Chica’s neck, the one that said, “Let’s Eat!” Then she looked at the cupcake Chica held. Susie thought the cupcake was scarier than Chica. It had eyes and two buck teeth, and one candle stood up straight from the middle of it. Susie didn’t know what the candle was for. One day? One year? One child?
Letting Chica take her hand, Susie walked away from her house. Every step made her feel less like herself. By the time she passed Oliver’s still-falling leaves, she was lost.
Patricia stared through the open front door at the oak tree that was dropping its leaves all over the front lawn. She had a feeling she’d just missed something important.
Several minutes before, she’d heard the sound again. This time, she couldn’t talk herself out of it.
She’d left her bedroom and come out into the hallway. When she’d looked down the stairs, the front door was standing wide open.
Heart racing, she’d run to Samantha’s room and peered in. One glance slowed her heart rate. Okay. Her worst nightmare wasn’t playing out.
But why was the door open? Grabbing a pair of knitting needles and holding them in front of her like a knife, she crept through the house, checking for an intruder. There was nothing.
Patricia closed the door, turned the deadbolt, and pressed her hands against the door, pushing with all her strength as if she could shove away reality, maybe press it into some other form.
Pulling her hands back abruptly, sucked in her breath. There was something she hadn’t considered. What if someone had come through the still-open door while she searched the house?
She turned and ran up the stairs to Samantha’s room.
She nearly collapsed in relief. Everything was okay.
Samantha was awake. She sat up in bed, the covers pulled up to her neck, her fists clenched and her knuckles stark white. Tears made her eyes sparkle in the faint light from her bedside lamp.
Patricia sat down next to her daughter. She wanted to pull Samantha into a tight hug, a never-let-you-go hug. But Samantha wouldn’t like that. All she tolerated was the slightest touch.
So Patricia briefly placed her hand on Samantha’s shoulder before she said, “I know you miss her. I miss her, too.”
Samantha blinked and two tears escaped her eyes, meandering down her lean cheeks. She didn’t bother to wipe them away.
Patricia sat next to Samantha for a long time, but neither mother nor daughter spoke again. Finally, Patricia stood, kissed the top of her daughter’s head, and returned to her huge bed.
Samantha waited for her mother to leave before she moved. She lay on her back watching the light and shadow play cat and mouse on her ceiling.
If Susie was here, she’d make up some story about the shadows and light, about them fighting each other or dancing or something. She was always making up things.
Susie got that from their dad.
Even though their mom was the artist, and their dad was the one who went to work in a suit and tie and did stuff for “business” that neither Samantha nor Susie understood, he was the one who loved stories. In his free time, he was always either reading a book or watching a movie. He could make up good stories, too. When he was home, the girls had always had an original story at bedtime. Their mom wouldn’t even try to make up a story. “I’ll read you a story instead,” she would say when their dad was out of town. Now she didn’t say, “instead.” She just asked what book she was reading tonight.
One of the stories their dad made up was about a little boy who had a secret place in a hidden room in his house. From that room, he was able to solve all his problems, no matter what they were. He told hundreds of these stories, making up a new problem for the boy to solve each time.
Susie was convinced these stories meant there was a secret room in their house. She was always asking their dad about it. His answer was always the same; he’d pretend to zip his lips shut and throw away an invisible key.
Susie said she thought the way to the secret room was in their dad’s office at the back of the house. Samantha thought it was just a story, and she was glad the office was always locked so Susie couldn’t talk her into getting in trouble looking for the secret room.
Now, the office wasn’t locked because her dad was gone. But Susie no longer talked about looking for a secret room.
Step Closer Page 11
