Sheltered

by Debra Chapoton

  Mrs. Beridon answered as she put the car in park. “They visited Friday. Once a week, same as you, dear.”

  Megan opened the door and cut across the yard. She noticed again how her boot marks weren’t much bigger than the ones made by the foster family’s two biological kids. That made it easier for her to hide her surreptitious visits. She wasn’t a peeping tom, but watching Simon through the windows in the early winter evenings was probably just as bad and wouldn’t get her any points with the judge.

  If only her parents hadn’t made things so hard.

  Chapter 10

  Chuck’s vacant stare sheltered the inner ramblings of two souls. One half-dead, one half-alive.

  Sometimes Chuck forgot who he was.

  Sometimes he remembered. His twin brother, Adam, dropped dead of heart disease on the very day that Chuck finally beat him in a race. It was the 6th grade field day, five guilty years ago.

  Chuck gazed out the window seeing not the early bus, not the winter jogger, not the Goth girl he loved who was ditching school. His lips moved wordlessly. Wretchedness and angry grief made him pitch his head forward and down onto his arms.

  ***

  Cori signed in to last period and then left as soon as the substitute’s back was turned. She sauntered away from the school as if she were entitled to an early dismissal, then ran the last block and slipped on some ice as she crossed the street. She went down hard on her right hip, cursed the winter, and limped to the kitchen door.

  She headed straight downstairs to get the step ladder and a flashlight. She ignored the flutters in her stomach as she remembered the previous night’s events. The unnatural was becoming natural. The utility room’s light bulb was burning as usual and, on impulse, she pulled the string. It wasn’t as dark as she expected. Just gloomy. There was a gray illumination from the small window; it was half blocked with snow. She spoke to the shadows, partly to break the death of stillness in the old house, partly to warn the ghosts that she, Corinne Adele Bish, was not afraid.

  She pulled the string again and the light winked on. She located the step ladder, but not the flashlight. She’d have to check the kitchen for it.

  Cori scraped the walls of the narrow staircase to the second floor as she man-handled the ladder upwards. She set it up under the attic entrance and rushed back down to find a flashlight. She found one, but of course the batteries were dead. She considered the living room lamps, but none had a cord long enough.

  A candle, she thought. She took the stairs two at a time and barged into Emily’s room; the useless little whiner had left it unlocked. The pine candle and a book of matches were in plain view. She snatched both.

  Balancing on the top step of the ladder she pushed the attic door aside, lit the candle and stuffed the matches in her pocket. As her eyes adjusted she found a spot to set the candle and then she pulled herself up and through the small opening. She sat with her legs dangling through the ceiling until her eyes fully accepted the shapes and outlines of the low attic.

  There were boards loosely set across beams to provide sections of flooring able to hold boxes, bins, and trunks. She hunched over and picked her way around a few objects, trying to decide where to start. If she had any luck at all, there would be something of value here that she could pawn. If she wasn’t lucky she could at least make a trade with some jerkoff at school.

  She ran her hand over the most promising item: a leather trunk the size of a dog crate. The dust was thick. She wiped her fingers off on her leg and then played with the clasp. She couldn’t see well enough and quickly got frustrated. She rubbed the sore spot on her hip and wished, or rather cursed, for better vision.

  There were tiny specks of light at various points in the haphazard flooring where ceiling fixtures below were allowing pinpricks of daylight through. They reminded Cori of the tips of white Christmas tree lights.

  Not as stupid as they think! She lowered herself back down through the opening and trespassed again into Emily’s room. Yes. Two strings of Christmas lights were wound up and sitting in a box in the bottom of the closet. Perfect.

  Cori plugged them in an outlet behind her own bed and ran them up the ladder. She placed them up and over as many objects in the attic as they would reach, then sat back and allowed herself a bit of smug self-satisfaction. Then she pushed aside the leather trunk and dug instead into the largest box, using a handful of the little lights to illuminate the treasures.

  Photo albums, sequined purses, yellowed papers, and . . . pay dirt: an old jewelry box. She lifted it out and snapped it open. She was expecting to find it filled with gold and silver charms, rings, necklaces, cameos, and brooches. Instead there was a single pin, still wrapped in its original packaging. She kept feeling around the edges of the box’s felt lining. Nothing. But under the upper shelf she felt some tape and pulled. A double ring fell out. A diamond engagement ring and wedding band, soldered together, sparkled faintly in the low light.

  Cori wasn’t curious about its past. It only meant money to her. The sooner the better. But how much? If the ring was super old it might be worth more. She squinted at the yellowed documents and scanned for dates. The 1960s. Pretty old. She stuffed the rings along with the wrapped pin into her pocket.

  She sneezed twice as she looked around the attic. Now she could see the sides to an old crib leaning against the far wall, a Christmas tree stand sat beside it, and a child’s rocking chair. And something else. She rose up to as tall as she could with the limited head room. There wasn’t a way to reach the item without balancing on the rafters. She was smart enough to know that if she stepped off the boards she’d crash through the ceiling. She needed to move a couple of boards, stand on one, and move another in a crab-walking effort to reach the other side.

  She’d leave it for later; her hip was throbbing some more. She returned her attention to the leather trunk. She pushed it closer to the edge and then lowered herself to the ladder and struggled to get the trunk down without crashing.

  In the light of her bedroom the age of the chest was apparent. The corners were worn, two of the five clasps were broken, one hinge dangled, and the leather straps hung frayed and tattered. It was at least a century old.

  She unclasped the outer buckles, but the middle one was locked. The small keyhole challenged her. She tried paperclips and safety pins, but without success. Prying it with a kitchen knife failed. Kicking it with an angry boot was also ineffective.

  New girl, she thought. The new girl had found a way into Mrs. Kremer’s room, Ben’s pretend Mrs. Kremer, that is. Ben was trusting Cori with a secret. Could Cori trust Megan with one? Why not? She already had something on her.

  She glanced at the ladder and Christmas lights. Well, she’d unplug those and close the closet door and only let Megan see the trunk. She’d better wipe it down, too. She smirked to herself; Emily’s pajamas would make a nice dust cloth.

  Cori heard the kitchen door slam. Crap, she’d used up a whole hour. She needed to get to the tattoo parlor or Jason would be furious with her. She could skip school, but skipping work had worse consequences.

  ***

  Mr. Felker drove down Elm Street late Monday afternoon and stopped to see how Megan was doing. He had an important looking letter for her from the County Courthouse. His mail was already being forwarded, but this arrived special delivery this morning. No one answered his knock at the kitchen door so he lifted the metal top of the mailbox and put the letter in.

  ***

  Megan left Simon in the arms of his foster mother and followed Mrs. Beridon to the car.

  “You okay?” the social worker asked as she started the engine. The wipers smeared away a coating of light snow.

  Megan sniffled a yes and kept her face turned toward the house.

  “I’m sorry. That didn’t work out the way I’d hoped.” Mrs. Beridon turned on the heat and the defroster. “But your folks mean well. It sounded like they want to make amends . . . patch things up between you. Didn’t you think?”

&nbs
p; Megan swiped a gloved finger under her eye and gulped. “I hate my life.”

  “Simon seems to like them,” Mrs. Beridon ignored the comment, “and I’m sure they didn’t mean to make what they said come off as a threat.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Come on, Megan,” Mrs. Beridon tried her best to be encouraging, “let’s look at the bright side. If you can go back and live with them, you have a better chance of gaining custody.”

  “Why? I’m doing great on my own. I have a job. I get my school work done. My new place is awesome . . .” her voice faded away as she thought of the not-so-awesome night before.

  “Oh, that’s right. You changed places. I was heading back to your friend’s house. Which way do I go?”

  “Just go to University Drive and I’ll tell you where to turn.”

  “All right. Well, anyway dear, having your folks there for half the visit wasn’t so bad and it’s a step in the right direction. You’ll see; things always work out for the best.” She smiled with her voice. “And remember this: child care is expensive. If you get Simon back how will you afford sitters for him while you’re at school and work? You’d hardly see him any more than you do now.”

  Megan sighed. Some supernatural help would be preferable to turning to her parents.

  “Turn right on the street past the next light.”

  ***

  Mrs. Beridon drove away one-handed. She couldn’t waste a moment; the others would want to know the change in the status of her number one project: Megan.

  “Hello. Hey, can you call the others? Set up a meeting for this week? I think we need some extra support on this case.” She listened to her friend’s response as she braked at the intersection. “You know what? Maybe we better meet tonight. These things can get out of hand so quickly. I sensed a real susceptibility tonight.”

  She headed south on University. “No,” she laughed at his comment, “we will not be needing garlic. Very funny.” The conversation retrieved its somber tone. “Right, I’d prefer that. Thanks. See you soon.”

  ***

  Megan’s entrance through the kitchen was met with Adam’s solemn bow.

  “Oh, hi Adam. Am I the last one home?” She kept her hand on the doorknob, ready to turn the lock.

  Adam swung his head left to right a single time, but said nothing.

  “Okay, then, I’ll leave it unlocked. All right?” When he did nothing more than stare she whispered the answer to herself.

  The kitchen held no after dinner smells though the sink was piled with dishes; perhaps Monday was the cook’s night off. She wasn’t hungry; she was grateful for the fast food her parents had brought to the visitation. Maybe Mrs. B was right and her mom and dad were trying to make amends.

  She took her bag to the dining room and flung it on the table. She had math and English homework, but with all she had on her mind now doing the dishes was a better option.

  She turned around and thought why not? Adam was still standing like a statue in front of the sink so she asked him to move, found the no-brand dish soap, and ran the hot water.

  Standing at the sink, looking out the window at the brick house next door, and washing the gunk off the cheap stoneware was preferable at this instant to doing anything else. She needed time to think about the visitation, the problem with her folks, Mrs. B’s advice . . . life was hard. Maybe thinking about nothing at all was what she needed.

  She could see Adam’s reflection in the window; he was standing with his hand on the knob of the tallest cabinet. Good chance that’s where the potato chips were.

  She focused through the reflection back to the neighbor’s house where an upstairs light blinked on. She leaned forward to see better, both hands working underwater on a crusty bowl. She could clearly see someone walking around their room. Was she so visible to the neighbors when she was in her room?

  Megan bent her head to her task, rinsed the bowl, and set it in the rack. Too bad these old houses didn’t have dishwashers. She stuffed the dishrag down a large glass that had a lipstick mark. Cori’s, no doubt. She spoke over her shoulder to Adam, “Hey, where is everybody? Are we the only ones here?”

  When he didn’t answer right away she rinsed the glass, set it down, and turned.

  A single nod up then down gave her the chills. Hadn’t Ben said Chuck was the nutcase? Maybe Adam was just as crazy.

  Maybe this was Chuck and he was wearing Adam’s hat, acting like Adam, and not talking so he wouldn’t give away the deception.

  A little cough helped straighten out her heartbeats. Wild.

  Maybe he was lying about nobody being here. She started on another plate and watched the neighbor’s light switch off. It was pretty quiet here. No TV. No washing machine. No other voices, but Emily could be shut up in her room.

  A pair of headlights flashed across the window. Maybe Ben was arriving.

  No, they went on by. She finished the plate and started on a pan.

  And in the reflection she saw Adam. His hand was still on the cabinet, but both feet were off the floor.

  Megan spun around holding the pan like a weapon.

  “What!? How?!”

  Adam’s entire body was arched between ceiling and wall.

  And he moved. Like a spider. Across the ceiling.

  Megan ran out of the kitchen and into the dining room. She sprinted to the front entry and lunged at the door. She got the deadbolt turned, but Adam’s hand reached out from above and pushed against the top of the door. His legs were splayed between the walls of the tiny foyer, blocking her retreat.

  Megan shrank to the floor.

  ***

  Carla Beridon looked at the people who so devotedly helped her even on the spur of the moment in the dead of winter: two nurses, three teachers, and a day care worker. The seven of them all bonded together for one supernatural purpose.

  They joined hands before they did anything else and stood still. No chanting, no incantations or strange spells, no summoning devilish spirits, though devilish spirits were foremost on their minds.

  ***

  Megan looked up at Adam’s snarling face. She closed her eyes against the evil she saw, but she couldn’t close her ears. A raspy growl strained his vocal cords then a second sound emanating from deep within matched her thick scream with a demonic shriek.

  She felt for and found the handle of the frying pan. She whipped the heavy pan up and over her head in a hysterical motion. She hit Adam’s arm and then his head, but still he snarled and shook and quivered above her like a chained and rabid dog.

  The urge to fall back and submit to whatever mauling the demon-possessed Adam was set to launch pushed at the edges of her panic. A smell like rotten eggs assaulted her nose and drew a groan from her lips. She had to fight.

  She swiped at his head again and screamed. “Get back!” The pan connected against his ear and he screeched louder, more in anger than pain. Then the growls stopped abruptly and the unexpected silence was accented by a far away horn.

  Megan threw the pan at his head and reached up to pull his leg down, hoping to unbalance his attack. For an instant he froze in the air, much like Cori’s victim of the night before. Then his body flopped down on her and pinned her to the floor.

  “Help!”

  She thrashed and pushed and wiggled her way out from under the dead weight.

  “What’s wrong with him?” Emily asked from a safe distance.

  Megan started to laugh and cry. She wasn’t alone.

  “What’s wrong with him?” Emily repeated. “Is he having a fit?”

  Megan looked from Emily to Adam. He was frothing at the mouth and his whole body was experiencing a seizure. Epileptic?

  “I don’t know,” Megan whimpered. “Adam attacked me . . . from the ceiling.”

  Megan looked up at Emily and held her hand out for help, but Emily simply stood and stared. “That’s not Adam. That’s Chuck.” She tucked her fingers up her sleeves.

  “From the ceiling, Emily! He could walk on
the walls and the ceiling!”

  Emily tightened her elbows to her body. “The seizure’s over. He’s probably okay.” She turned and headed back to the stairs.

  “Wait!”

  ***

  Carla Beridon’s group of seven finished their “service”, trusting that all was well with Megan Blakeney, the girl that Carla had presented to the group for supernatural protection.

  “Anything else we can do, Carla?” one of the nurses asked.

  “Just the usual. I have to do a little more intelligence gathering first. This new place where she’s living is kind of off the grid as far as foster homes and the like. I wish she could have stayed with the other family or, better yet, move back with her parents.”

  The day care worker nodded her head. “Yeah, that’d be ideal. Sure would.” She paused and then decided to share a story about a six year old. The others listened intently, wondering how such a delicate situation could be handled. They circled up again.

  ***

  Ben beat Cori home by half an hour. He carried in two bags of groceries, noticed the clean dishes, and set the bags down on the counter. He went into the dining room and saw a new assortment of textbooks on the table, must be Megan’s. He crossed to the living room, shoved the front entry rug back into place with his foot, and tossed Adam’s hat onto the table. Then he heard a sniffle and hoped it meant a runny nose and not a sobbing girl.

  “Em? Meg?”

  He went to the den and there sat Megan at the computer, a pile of used tissues on the floor.

  “Hey, Meg, what’s up?”

  She wiped at her eyes and leaned aside so he could see the screen. “This . . . I almost called an ambulance.”

  Ben peered at the site she had on the screen. “Epilepsy?”

  “Adam . . . or maybe it was Chuck . . . attacked me and . . . Ben, he was crawling on the walls and ceiling. And then he had a seizure and Emily saw that part and didn’t think it was any big deal.” She blinked hard. “Has this happened before?”