by Laurel Dewey
The girls, save for Mary, erupted into a rowdy chorus of laughter. The raucous sound brought Emily partly back into reality.
“Heather!” Mary said. “That’s mean!”
“I’m just kidding!” Heather said offhandedly. “She knows I’m kidding! Right, Patty?”
Emily was still not completely back inside her body. “Yeah . . . Sure . . .”
Heather nonchalantly sat back on her sleeping bag and stole a glance toward the kitchen. In the glow of the kitchen night-light, she saw Jane lighting a cigarette and opening the sliding door. Jane stepped outside and closed the door behind her. Heather turned back to the group with a devilish grin. “Okay, Mary. It’s your turn. Remember though, that you have to ask the question to the person on your right-hand side.”
Mary looked to her right where Emily sat. “Can’t I go to the left for a change.”
“No! We always go counterclockwise, which is to the right!” Heather said impatiently. “Go!”
Mary turned to Emily and reluctantly asked, “Truth or dare?”
Emily remembered Jane’s words regarding not letting anything slip out of her mouth by mistake. As much as she didn’t want to kiss another girl, she had only one response for Mary. “Dare?”
Heather looked both relieved and brimming with sinister intent. She snuck another quick glance toward the kitchen and saw that Jane had moved farther into the darkness of the backyard. “Go on, Mary! Make up a dare!”
Mary hemmed and hawed, which irritated Heather. “I don’t know. I’m not good at making up dares.”
“I’ll help you out if you want,” Heather quickly said.
“Okay.”
“How ’bout ‘Blind Man’s Hide and Seek’?”
“Yeah, that’s a good one,” Mary agreed.
“What’s that?” Emily asked.
“We put a blindfold over your eyes, spin you around and then we hide and you try to find us without taking off the blindfold,” Heather explained.
The whole thing sounded fine to Emily. “Okay,” she said, standing up. “What are we gonna use for a blindfold?”
“How about a dish towel?” Heather forcefully suggested. The girls agreed. “I’ll get it!” Heather announced, popping to her feet and creeping into the darkened kitchen. Taking a quick look around the room, she grabbed a dish towel. Heather then hunkered near the floor and saw Jane standing outside in the center of the backyard with her back to the closed sliding door. Reaching to the side of the wall, Heather took the wooden dowel and inconspicuously placed it in the track of the glass door to prevent the door from opening. She slowly backed up out of the kitchen and returned to the living room. “Here’s the towel!” she said, tossing it to another girl who affixed the blindfold to Emily. Heather sidled up to Mary. “You know,” she said confidentially, “I think she can see through it.”
“Naw,” Mary said. “Spin her around!” Mary announced to the other girls.
The girls twirled Emily in circles. Emily could see nothing as she felt her head becoming lighter. The mesmerizing “Nessun Dorma,” along with the soothing sound of crashing waves and blowing wind joined together to pull Emily into another realm. Gradually, the music and smooth sound effects captured her senses, leaving the girls’ voices far in the distance.
Heather turned to Mary, speaking in a hushed, anxious voice. “I’m telling you, she can see and it’s not fair!”
“Okay, what do you want to do?”
“Let’s put her in the hall closet and then go hide.”
“Whatever,” Mary said, beginning to tire of the game.
Heather crossed over to Emily’s side and started to spin her around as she guided her toward the hallway. “You’re spinning . . . you’re spinning . . .” Heather said in a melodious tone. The other girls followed, with Mary lagging behind the group. Emily didn’t say a word. All the girls, except for Mary, were giddy with anticipation as Heather moved Emily closer to the closet door. Heather opened the closet door. “Okay, one more spin and then we go hide.” Heather gently spun Emily into the closet before quietly closing the door. “Shh!” she said in a hushed tone to all the girls. “Wait here.” Heather disappeared down the hall, returning seconds later with a chair. After securely wedging the chair underneath the door handle, she turned to the girls. “Okay,” she whispered, “everybody except for Mary go hide.” The girls scattered down the hall and into the living room.
“What are you doing?” Mary said uneasily. “How’s she gonna get out to find us?”
“Stop worrying about that!” Heather said in an angry hushed tone. “I want you to go into her bedroom over there, get the line dancing trophy sitting next to her bed and hide it in my duffel bag!”
“What?”
“Do it!” Heather commanded with angry bile.
“Why?”
“Because! It belongs to me! I’ve won that trophy for three years straight. I should have got it this year but she had to go and ruin everything! Go get it!”
“Is that why you wanted to come here? To steal her trophy?”
“Mary, I’ve got to stay here and watch the door. Go get my trophy!”
Mary stood her ground. “No. I won’t. She won it fair and square.”
Heather moved closer to Mary in an intimidating stance. “If you don’t get my trophy, I’m gonna tell everybody here that you’re a bed wetter!”
The blood drained from Mary’s face. “How . . . how did you know that?”
A wicked grin crept across Heather’s face. “I didn’t. You just told me! Go get my trophy or I’m telling everyone that you’re a little baby who still wets her pants. When they find out, you will have no friends and you will be all alone!”
Mary was panic-stricken. She hated the idea of stealing Emily’s trophy but couldn’t bear to have her dreaded secret revealed. Reluctantly, she walked down the hall and went into Emily’s bedroom. Within seconds, she emerged, trophy in hand and dutifully placed it into Heather’s bag without any of the girls seeing a thing.
Heather smiled, a sense of victory engulfing her. She turned around and spoke with her lips close to the door. “Hey, Patty? Time to come out.”
Emily sat inside the closet in the pitch-black, the blindfold still covering her eyes. For several minutes, all she heard was the sound of her beating heart. Gradually, her heart beat faster. Her respiration increased until she was gasping for breath. In the distance, she could hear the muffled sounds of her father yelling and her mother screaming out into the echoing darkness. Instinctively, she sunk farther back into the closet until her back was flat against the wall. She suddenly heard the distinctive thump of footsteps climbing the stairs to her bedroom. Her heart pounded and her breathing became more frightened. The blindfold irritated her face. She grabbed at it and tore it off her head.
Emily looked up and gasped. She was back in her bedroom closet, buried underneath her pile of pillows. The scene captivated Emily, and, at the same time, she was completely unsure of what was happening. Her Starlight Starbright was aglow and playing the haunting refrain from “Nessun Dorma,” along with the crashing waves and gentle wind. Sensing that something wasn’t right, she quickly grabbed the switch and shut off the projector, leaving herself in total darkness. Suddenly, she saw the light in her bedroom quickly flash on and reflect underneath the closed closet door. There was the sound of heavy breathing coming from just outside the door. Emily held her breath. With a abrupt jerk, the closet door swung open. A male figure stood less than five feet from where she hid. She was able to make out the individual perfectly. He was dressed all in black, including black gloves. His shoes were tightly protected with sturdy red cloth covers. Emily was drawn to his left, gloved hand. In it, he held a glimmering knife that dripped with fresh blood. She followed a single crimson droplet as it drifted down the metal surface and fell onto the pink carpeting.
Emily looked closely at the masked man. He appeared highly agitated. Emily watched as he peered into the closet, let out an aggravated grunt, s
pun around and checked under the bed. Realizing no one was hiding there, he struggled to his feet. In doing so, he knocked over a box of colored pencils that sat on the bedside table. Emily watched as the pencils bounced to the ground and spread out on the carpet. The man got to his feet, slammed his gloved hand against the side of the bed and mumbled under his breath, “Goddamn fucking kid! Where the fuck are you?” Emily listened carefully, realizing she had never heard his voice before that moment. “Shit!” the man said, pulling at the nylon mask around his face.
Emily, eyes wide open and heart racing, focused on the distorted face underneath the black, nylon disguise.
“Fuck!” the man said tearing at the mask, approaching a panic state. Emily never took her eyes off the man. In one fell swoop, he grabbed at the mask and rapidly peeled it off his head. He turned toward the closet, standing in full view of Emily and rubbing his cheek frantically with his gloved hand. Emily etched every inch of his face into her memory. “Goddamnit!” he said loudly, plunging the bloodstained knife into the sheath on his belt buckle.
At that point, Emily stared at the man’s sturdy cloth shoe coverings. She instantly realized that they were not naturally dyed red. The original beige color could be seen underneath the moist scarlet top layer. She watched as the man’s feet turned toward the open bedroom door and walked out of the room. Emily listened intently as his footsteps creaked and then pounded down the stairs toward the front door. She waited to hear the front door slam but heard nothing. So she waited, still silent and not moving a muscle. A branch from the sycamore tree outside her bedroom window tapped against the glass. Another strong gust of wind swooped across the yard. Emily watched as her closet door gradually swung back and forth. She sat silent and motionless. Waiting . . . Waiting. The wind roared outside and her closet door creaked open several more inches. Sitting there between the bright light of her bedroom and the dark recesses of her closet, Emily realized that the front door was wide open and funneling a draft of air up the stairs and into her bedroom.
Gradually, she moved forward, dislodging her body from the massive pillows that surrounded her. She crept along the closet floor on her knees, stopping every few inches to listen for anything that sounded suspicious. She crawled outside the closet and knelt at her open bedroom door, bending her head around the edge. The front door was, indeed, wide open. All the lights in the living room were on, casting an odd shadow across the stairway that led to Emily’s bedroom door. The wind howled outside, moaning and whirring like a distant siren. Her eyes glanced down at the carpeting that led from her door down the stairs. Cherry juice, she kept thinking to herself. Somebody spilled cherry juice.
She drew her body to a standing position and craned her head around the door. “Mommy?” she said, in a half-whisper. The wind responded with a punishing gale that slapped the sycamore tree branch hard against her bedroom window. Emily jumped at the sudden crash. The wind died down and she turned back toward the stairs. “Daddy?” she said, this time a little louder, her voice tightening with fear.
All was silent.
Emily carefully made her way onto the landing and looked down into the brightly lit living room. The staircase and hallway wall obscured her full view of the scene. “Mommy?” she said, her voice shaking. She started down the staircase, purposely walking to the side of the crimson footprints that stained the carpeting. Her right hand cupped the banister. Emily stepped down two more steps and then another three. She grabbed the banister with all her might as she felt the air being sucked from her lungs. The gruesome scene lay in front of her.
At first, she couldn’t connect to it. Her father was facedown in a growing pool of his own blood. His head was turned just enough so that Emily could see his throat slashed down to the bone and muscle. Emily watched as pinpoint jets of blood issued forth from where the knife entered his aorta. The scarlet puddle of blood crept across the carpet toward Emily’s mother who lay face up within arm’s reach of her husband.
Emily noticed that her head was positioned slightly off-center due to the deep cut across her throat that wound its way up to her right ear. Exposed tissue and muscle fused with the blood that poured forth from over seventy stab wounds to her face.
Emily stared at her mother’s face. Patricia’s right eye stared back at her daughter while the left eye dangled outside of its socket. Her mouth was open and frozen in an awkward, lopsided position. The upper lip had been sliced off completely, opaquely revealing her front teeth and upper gum that were shadowed by the thick veil of plasma and serum draining from her mouth.
A violent burst of wind blew through the front door, upsetting loose papers and a single silk flower that danced in its vase. Emily walked down the stairs until she reached the wooden floor by the entry. Silently, she walked toward her parents, stopping only inches from the expanding vermilion pool. The wind exaggerated the scent of death—an acrid blend of urine, feces and fear. Gradually, the puddle of blood inched toward Emily’s toes, encircling her bare skin. It felt warm and strangely comforting at first to the child. She dropped her head and followed the gory trail as the blood from her mother’s body curled around her right heel and joined with the blood from her father’s body that quickly surrounded her left foot. For one, unexplainable second, Emily felt safe.
But then, the graphic horror of the scene gripped her body. Far in the distance, she heard a bloodcurdling scream—the same scream that had tricked her memory since the murder. The scream loomed closer, growing in intensity and terror. Suddenly, in one shock of energy, the scream was no longer outside of Emily, but inside of her. It plunged into her throat and projected its horrific timbre into the air.
Emily continued screaming, as she turned on her heels in a frenzied attempt to reach the staircase. But the blood against her bare feet caused her to slip. She fell, landing palms down in the red puddle between her two parents. Blood splattered against the front of her nightgown. The shock drilled through her body and she lost control of her bladder. Emily frantically spun around on her knees and crawled toward the staircase, still screaming at the top of her lungs. Once she reached the first step, she struggled to her feet and fled up the stairs to her bedroom. She flung her body into the closet, swinging the door closed behind her. The door didn’t quite make it shut, allowing an inch of light to seep through into the safety of the closet. Emily screamed like a wild child as she pressed her body against the back wall of the closet. Her heart raced and her respiration reached hyperventilation as the walls caved in.
Without realizing it, Emily was now back in the hall closet, secured shut by the chair that Heather had wedged under the knob. Her terrified screams filled the house, drawing the visiting girls one by one out of the living room and back into the hallway. Heather turned to the group with a mischievous smile and let out a mocking scream to match Emily’s wail. The other girls, save for Mary, quickly joined in as the house shook with their shrill, contemptuous screeching.
Jane, still standing outside in the backyard, darted to the back door. She instinctively grabbed for her gun and came up empty-handed. “Emily!” Jane yelled, as she attempted to open the sliding glass door. However, the wooden dowel that Heather placed along the tracks prevented any movement.
Almost simultaneously, Dan drove by the house, immediately noting the coded warning sign of the porch and garage light turned on together. He screeched his truck to a halt, slammed it into park and bolted from the vehicle. The piercing screams from inside the house spilled onto the street. He reached into the bed of his truck and brought out a baseball bat. His mind raced with the various scenarios as he sprinted toward the front door. The house was pitch dark inside, except for the eerie glow of Emily’s Starlight Starbright projector illuminating the living room. Dan threw open the screen door and tried the front door only to find it locked. He slammed his body full force against the door in an attempt to enter the house, but nothing budged. Inside, the shrieking chorus persisted. He slammed the baseball bat against the glass windowpane in the cen
ter of the front door. It took only three hard swings of the bat before the front pane completely disintegrated.
Inside, the crashing glass shocked the girls. Their fake screams turned very real as they saw Dan’s arm reach through the broken glass to unlock the door. Jane reacted to the piercing sound of breaking glass and tore around the house. Dan successfully unlocked the front door and burst into the house. The girls backed themselves into a tight group and continued their terrified shrieks.
Not knowing what he was about to encounter, Dan slammed his bat against the wall. “Get outta here, you son-of-a-bitch!” Dan yelled into the darkness. Jane was halfway around the house when she heard Dan’s chilling words echo into the night air.
Dan slapped his hand across the light switch, flicking it on and then raising the bat above his head in a predatory stance. The burst of light flooded the hallway as the girls’ screams escalated. He froze with the baseball bat raised high in the air. In a matter of seconds, he tried to sort out everything. There were the girls packed tightly against the hallway wall. There was the chair propped up against the hall closet and the muffled screams of Emily trapped inside. “What in the hell’s goin’ on?” he shouted.
The girls’ shrieking petered out as Heather yelled, “We’re playing a game!”
“Who else is in here?” Dan yelled.
“Nobody!” Heather said with a bratty tone.
Dan looked toward the closet and the muffled screams. “Who’s in there?”
“That’s Patty!” Mary replied, as Heather shot her a dirty look.
Dan heard rapid footsteps racing toward the front of the house. He turned, baseball bat ready to strike, just as Jane leapt into the house.
