Other Voices, Other Tombs

by Joe Sullivan

  “What’s wrong, baby?” Mom asked. “You’re shivering. Are you cold?”

  “Yes,” Penny said through chattering teeth, but that wasn’t true. No, she was terrified of the thoughts forming in her head. Nothing like that had happened before. She needed to run away from her parents, to keep her secret away from them, and yet another part of her wanted to climb into Mom’s lap and be held until the horrible darkness in her mind went away.

  Mom picked her up. “It’s no wonder. You’re soaked. Let’s get you dried off. I’ll make hot chocolate, if you like.”

  Penny let herself be carried. She buried her face into Mom’s shoulder and took in a long sniff of her vanilla-lavender shampoo. The horrible thoughts vanished.

  As they went inside, Penny craned her neck and peered back at the forest. She looked for orange eyes peering back at her but saw only leaves and branches.

  #

  Penny was not sick, not in her body at least, but something bad had gotten into her. It was affecting her thoughts, and she didn’t know how to tell anyone.

  Her grounding was not yet finished, and she felt squeezed by the ever-shrinking rooms of her house. She would have swung from the ceilings to burn energy if she could. Penny craved YouTube and visits to Sarah’s house, and not only because she missed them. They also would have been welcome distractions from weird ideas and emotions that kept sliding inside her ears like hermit crabs disappearing into shells.

  A lot of those thoughts were aimed at Mom and Dad, whom she blamed for the cat’s escape. Penny cried over her loss, and when her parents asked why, she told them, “I’m just sad.” She accepted their hugs, but secretly she was furious toward them, and her anger wandered into dark places. She imagined herself slapping her parents. Pushing them out a window. Cutting them with the little axe that Dad said was too dangerous for her. Her parents would cry, or scream, or bleed from the tops of their heads.

  Those brief thoughts scared Penny more than any nightmare ever had, and she had to hide when they made her shiver and struggle to breath. She could not face her parents while those scary scenes were playing in her head, nor would she be able to answer their questions. Penny knew they would be afraid of her if they knew the truth, or mad at her, or hate having her as a daughter. She had been grounded for a week after hurting Mrs. Gladfelter—what would be her punishment if they knew she was thinking about hurting them?

  The bad thoughts never lasted more than a few seconds, but the hours of hiding tears were adding up. If only she could get away from her house for a day, then she might feel better.

  Three days after getting caught in the woods, Penny was lying in bed. Dad had read her favorite bedtime story, Do Unicorns Dance on the Moon, and that had made her laugh. Mom had tucked her in like a human burrito, just the way she liked it, and then kissed Penny on the cheek. That had made her smile. She was feeling as peaceful as she had in days, much better than during that afternoon when she had hidden in her blanket tent, claiming to be playing with her stuffed animals while actually sobbing into them.

  “Mommy?” Penny asked as her mom reached for the light switch.

  “Yes, baby?”

  “Can I have a cat?”

  Mom sighed. “We’ve been over this before. Your daddy has allergies, and I don’t know that you’re ready yet for the responsibility of having a pet.”

  “Okay,” was what Penny said. It was not what she was thinking as she rolled to her side, her back to the door.

  The ceiling light went out. The dim night light took over.

  Later that night, Penny bolted upright in bed, biting off a scream, arms raised in defense. Normally she would have sprinted to her parents’ bed for comfort, but in that nightmare, it had been Mom and Dad who attacked her.

  A mew sounded from the back yard, loud enough to be heard through the closed window above her bed.

  She wiped her eyes with her pajama sleeves and stood to peer through the glass. Had she imagined the noise? Had it come from one of the neighbors’ cats?

  The entrances into the woods were blacker than a chalkboard, but everything else was surprisingly well lit for the middle of the night. The grass and trees glowed with cold, blue light from the full moon. Penny could make out the picnic table, and her swing set, and the scooter she had left by the old, leaning shed. The missing boards and hex pattern on the shed were visible.

  Penny spotted two copper circles at the edge of the forest. At first. they hovered in the shadows, and then part of the shadows emerged from the rest. A black shape with orange eyes leapt from a tree branch. It elongated during the fall, then squished into a ball when it hit the ground. The wide brim on its head folded, and two arrowhead ears popped up. The animal glanced toward Penny’s window, and then it swam through grass to the open door of the old shed. Its dark, flexible shape disappeared inside, out of sight of the moon.

  Another unique mew came from the back yard. It sounded like a kitten trying to impersonate an owl.

  A smile stretched Penny’s lips and lifted her cheeks. The adorable kitty from the woods, the one with magical copper eyes, had returned.

  Copper. That was what she would call it. How perfect. Her name was Penny, and Dad had told her pennies were made of copper.

  Copper mewed, then again, and again. Each cry barely faded before the next one sounded, almost like a fire department siren rising and falling. The noise was so loud that it almost seemed to be coming from inside Penny’s head. She was certain it would wake her parents, but when she threw off her covers and ran to the doorway, she saw no lights down the upstairs hall. Her parent’s bedroom door, faintly visible because of the moon peeking through the skylights, was still closed. The gap beneath the door was dark. Her father, who had once yelled at cats fighting behind their house, made no sound.

  She was not far from Copper. That realization surprised Penny, almost as if it were someone else’s idea handed over to her. She was already out of bed and leaning in the hall. The stairs were only a few steps away, and the bottom of the stairs was so very close to the kitchen, and the kitchen led to the back door, which led to the yard.

  And Mom and Dad were asleep.

  And the neighbors were asleep, too. They wouldn’t catch her and call her parents.

  And Copper was close. She had a second chance to get him. He wanted her to come get him.

  She provided all these explanations to herself while she collected her Paw Patrol flashlight from her toy bin. A quick test proved the batteries weren’t dead.

  A part of Penny, maybe her conscience, was telling her to go back to bed. That part of her quoted Mom: I don’t know that you’re ready yet for the responsibility of having a pet. That obedient part of her, however, was not in charge of her legs. Penny’s bare feet were tiptoeing to the stop of the stairs. Her free hand, the one without the flashlight, was grabbing the railing on its own. A good girl would hold the railing just like Mommy told her, and if she pretended to be a good girl, she wouldn’t get in trouble if she got caught out of bed.

  The creaky fifth step was a tattletale. It complained when Penny put her weight on it. Look who’s a naughty girl sneaking out of bed. She’s a horrible alpkatze girl. Penny wanted to kick it, but that would only make more noise. Instead she crouched into the railing’s moon shadow and stayed very, very still. She heard loud thumps from someone running on a hard floor, but then realized the thumps were her own heartbeat.

  Mom and Dad’s door did not budge.

  Penny slunk backwards on all fours to the bottom of the stairs, then snuck to the kitchen. She noted the cup she had left on the counter earlier, which could serve as a good excuse if Dad came downstairs. I wanted a drink of water, Daddy. There’s my cup. Her hands trembled as she pinched the lock on the back door and turned it.

  She was an alpkatze girl. Only an alpkatze girl would sneak out of the house like this, but it was Mom and Dad’s fault. They were the ones who had grounded her. They were the ones who told her she couldn’t have a pet even though lots of o
ther kids in her class had cats or dogs. She was the alpkatze girl, but her parents were the bad ones. They deserved to be punished.

  The grass licked Penny’s feet with cold dew as she crossed the yard. Two orange eyes were peering at her through the missing board high on the shed, the one that split the faded hex symbol in half. Copper was waiting for her.

  “Here, kitty, kitty,” she whispered.

  Wind descended on the woods, simultaneously setting on all the branches, causing them to pop and crack. The wind also played with loose boards on the shed, wiggling them like baby teeth ready to come out in a final, bloody yank. Penny’s hair and pajamas flapped.

  Mee-eeww came Copper’s long, sad cry.

  “C’mon, kitty. I’m here.”

  Orange, unblinking eyes sunk deeper into the shed’s dark interior.

  Penny paused at the door. She flicked on the flashlight, which was wrapped with cheerful cartoon puppies. The beam was vague compared to the one that Dad’s metal flashlight put out. The beam could not really be called a “beam” at all. Instead, a faint yellow hue spilled on the black forms possessing the shed. The riding mower, or rather its scarier nighttime doppelganger, loomed in the center of that space. To the left, an axe and shovel leaned against the wall. To the right stood the ladder and cans of paint from when Dad repainted the house.

  From when he removed the barn star.

  Penny never liked the shed by day, but she hated it now. It smelled of mildew, bird nests, and oil. Cobwebs had stuck to her hair the last time she was inside. That rotten, old building scared her a little, which meant it probably scared Copper, too. He needed her help.

  “Copper, come here, kitty.”

  Something let out a long, hissing sigh. Penny followed the sound to shelves high on the wall. Two orange discs stared down at her. A surprising number of pale, needle-like teeth reflected Penny’s light, but only for a second. After Copper’s yawn ended, his mouth, which was astoundingly large for his body, snapped shut.

  Penny let out a relieved giggle. “There you are. You’re hungry, aren’t you?” She could understand what Copper wanted by his voice. He was better at communicating than other cats and even better than many of her human friends. Every little noise and glare seemed to call her name and announce what was on Copper’s mind. He was such a special kitty. Probably the smartest kitty in the whole world. The only one who could almost talk.

  And she loved him more than anything or anyone.

  When Mom and Dad got to know Copper, they would understand how special he was. They would understand he was different, that their rules against pets regarded other, regular cats.

  Penny pocketed her flashlight, stretched on tiptoes, and reached for the cat. Her fingertips got no further than the bottom of the shelf he was sitting on.

  “Jump down, Copper. You’re too high.”

  The cat crept to the edge of its perch and dove. It landed not in her arms as she hoped, but on the floor behind her. Nails clicked and scraped across the shed floor.

  Penny whirled, panicked that her pet was making an escape, but Copper just wanted to play. He hopped on and off the paint cans, then wormed his way under a propped-up hand trowel. When Copper arched his back, the trowel moved closer to Penny. She recognized it. She had cut her finger on its serrated edge while helping Dad in their little garden. He had warned her not to play with it.

  “No, Copper. We should leave that here.”

  She scooped up the cat and hugged him to her chest. His left ear tickled her nose and she sneezed. His fur was soft as cotton candy, and he was light as a feather. Penny noted the two long wrinkles that ran from the corners of Copper’s mouth, down his jaw, ending at his chest.

  The warmest, most adorable pet ever was draped in her arms. His purrs were so strong that they made her fingertips numb.

  After a second, firmer hug, she repositioned Copper closer to her neck. Copper enjoyed her warmth, at least at first. He draped his body over her shoulder, but as they neared the house, he grew tense. He stiffened his legs, his long claws snagging on Penny’s pajamas. She stroked his fur to try and calm him down. But now his body felt rubbery and slick with water or oil, the way she imagined an eel would feel.

  Why did it feel like his fur was gone—

  Because, another thought interrupted, he got damp from grass dew. That’s why he feels slippery.

  Of course. That made a lot of sense.

  Whatever was making Copper nervous ended as soon as she carried him through the door, or “over the threshold” as her dad once said when he described his wedding day with Mom. The cat wriggled onto Penny’s other shoulder and leapt onto the kitchen counter. She tracked him to the corner, where six black rods jutted out of a wood block. They were Mom’s big knives. Copper curled under them in a wave, scratching his body against the handles.

  A can opener hung from the side of the knife block. “Are you hungry? We might have tuna fish, but I don’t think I know how to open the cans. Do you like sandwich meat? I can get that.”

  Copper raised a perfectly adorable paw and placed it on one of the knife grips. His claws were as thin and shiny as the cutting edge of a stainless-steel boning knife. Penny reached for the same grip, felt its texture with her fingers, imagined what it would be like to hold it. How much did the blade weigh? How sharp was it? Playing with a knife in the kitchen was against the rules, but it was probably fun. It would make her a bad girl, but not as bad as if she carried it upstairs.

  You’re an alpkatze child, came Mrs Gladfelter’s warning.

  Penny retracted her hand. “I can’t touch those. They’re dangerous, and I already broke the rules when I brought you in here.” Her curiosity, as well as Copper’s stare, were coaxing her hand back to the knives, so she took a step away. Her fingers longed to wrap around the rough texture of the grip. “But I’ll be in big trouble if I’m caught.”

  Copper’s eyes were so bright, almost glowing, like candles dancing behind orange glass.

  Mom and Dad had been too mean, and they never let her have fun. Penny knew they deserved to be made upset. She giggled at the thought of Mom discovering her in their bedroom, standing close to her, knife in hand. Mom would scramble out from under her covers and yell at her. Penny would be in trouble for a little while, but then her parents would realize she could carry a knife all the way upstairs without cutting her own skin. They would then understand that their daughter wasn’t a baby anymore, and they would finally let her have things they once thought were too dangerous.

  Plus, if they were busy being mad about knives, would they still care about a cat in the house? Wasn’t rescuing Copper a less bad thing than sneaking into their bedroom while they slept?

  Penny found herself with two hands gripped around the carving knife, the blade half withdrawn from its slot. What if it was as dangerous as her parents had warned and she cut herself? Cut her hand? Cut her throat? Stabbed her heart? What then? How much trouble would she be in? They would never let her do anything risky ever again.

  She let it go, and the knife slid back into place with a thud.

  “We don’t need that,” Penny said firmly, as much to herself as to Copper. She scooped the cat off the counter and headed upstairs. “I have to hide you in my room.”

  Penny pretended she was a cat as she climbed the stairs. She moved so softly on quiet, quiet feet that even the tattletale fifth step barely noticed her. At the top, Penny crouched into a sneaky tiger ball and craned her head around the post. Her silly kitty did the same.

  Her parents’ door was still closed.

  Once in her room, Penny dropped Copper onto her bed and curled a nest of blankets around him. Her night light provided the best view yet of her new pet. His hair bristled into points, almost like a porcupine, and his lower jaw seemed able to split in ways it shouldn’t. Penny shook her head, shutting off her frightening imagination. When she looked again, Copper was once again her cute kitty, who was pawing at the fuzz balls on her dolphin blanket.

  Co
pper mewed. Penny’s fingers craved the texture of the knife grip.

  “Stay here.” She patted Copper’s head so he would understand the command. “I’ll get you a snack.”

  Penny stole through the house like a practiced burglar. She started down the stairs, but a loud mew from her room stopped her. Had it been loud enough to wake her parents? She made herself very small, then smaller still, and waited.

  Why should she wait there? If she were to open that door, just a little, she could check on them. Penny moved in a crouch to her parents’ bedroom and raised shaking hands to the nob. She was being naughty, naughty enough for Mrs. Gladfelter to call her names, and it…excited her. Her heart was jumping rope. The door was in on her prank, and the hinges opened without a single squeak. The gap was just wide enough for her to stick her head through. Just wide enough for her to see lumps under the blankets, illuminated by the moon and the blinking alarm clock light. The mound closest to her would be Mom. Dad slept on the far side.

  She could have screamed then and gave them a wicked scared. She smiled as she imagined them leaping up and thrashing their arms, protecting themselves from a monster that wasn’t there. Or maybe she should run in and throw Copper on the bed. Instead of a secret, he could be part of a fun joke.

  If it scared them, then good. They had been mean to her and had grounded her.

  Hadn’t they forced Penny to act like a naughty girl when they told her she couldn’t have a pet?

  Another mew came from Penny’s room. She ought to feed her cat first, and then she could decide what to do.

  Penny made her way to the first floor. As she passed beneath the upstairs hall, she heard a noise that made her heart pound hard enough that she thought it might bruise itself. Little thumps, quick as a drumroll, played on the ceiling above her. They were followed by a startling slam, then a cry from Mom.

  “What is it?” came Mom’s muffled voice from upstairs.

  “I don’t know,” answered Dad.

  “Penny?” Mom called.

  Penny was finishing her mission. She tiptoed to the refrigerator and opened the door. The unleashed light forced her to squint. Escaping cold gave her goosebumps, or were those due to her anticipation of something to come? Something she had been a part of? She was such a good helper, and friend to Copper, and such a horrible alpkatze child.