Whisper Down the Lane

by Clay Chapman

  To sacrifice me.

  I’m trapped. A rabbit in a cardboard box. I rub my eyes, kneading the sleeplessness from them. The sheer weight of exhaustion. Everything’s blurring. The sun stings.

  A bird in my pocket begins to trill.

  My phone.

  I don’t want to answer—but how can’t I? This is never going to end. They know where I am. They’ve always known. I answer without saying a word, bringing the phone to my ear.

  “It’s time, Sean,” Mom whispers. Her voice sounds so compassionate. There’s a tenderness to her words, I can hear it. “Put an end to all this. It’s for your own good, son.”

  “Why are you doing this to me?” I sound pitiful. Such a frightened little boy.

  “Come home, Sean. Come back to me. I’m waiting for you, honey.”

  The line goes dead.

  I need to run. Hide. Get as far away from these people as humanly possible. I sense them following. They’re right behind me, just at my back, keeping a safe distance so I won’t notice. But there’s more of them now. More eyes. All of them saying my name. Whispering it.

  They know my name. They all know my name.

  Sean.

  Sean.

  Sean.

  School. I can hide in my classroom. It’s the only place. There’s nowhere else for me now.

  Nowhere safe.

  DAMNED IF YOU DO

   SEAN: 1983

  “Wake up, Sean.”

  First he felt fingernails. Then shaking. He couldn’t wake up. He was tired. So very tired.

  “Sean, wake up…Sean!”

  His eyes snapped open. The room was dark, but he could just barely make out his mother kneeling right next to him, her hands clinging to his Star Wars sheets. It almost seemed like she’d never left his side after they said their bedtime prayers. “What time is—”

  “Ssh,” she hissed. Sean felt her fingernails dig into his skin, leaving their mark. She glanced around the room as if to make sure no one heard. “Don’t say a word. They’re here.”

  She took his hand. Her breathing was erratic, chest rising and falling. “I woke up when I heard something outside my window. Scratching. Claws. I peeked out and I—I saw them.”

  Mom’s grip tightened, crushing his birdlike bones.

  “Mom, you’re hurting me.”

  This seemed to bring her back to the room. To Sean. She blinked once, twice, looking at him, almost as if she had forgotten who she was talking to. “They’re trying to find a way in.”

  Sean had a nightlight next to his bed—a plastic mold of Papa Smurf that glowed a dull blue. There wasn’t nearly enough light to illuminate his whole room, but it was adequate at keeping the shadows at bay around the headboard of his bed. To protect you from monsters, Mom had promised when she first plugged it in. Bathed in this blue light, Mom looked a little like a monster herself. Her skin was drained of blood. Her eyes were sunken, her cheekbones hollow.

  “We have to get out of here,” she whispered. “We have to go. Now.”

  She leapt to her feet and yanked Sean out of bed, almost dislocating his arm.

  “Ow!”

  “Quiet,” she hissed again. They made their way into the hall. Pressing her back against the wall, Mom slowly slid down the darkened corridor. She kept one hand against Sean’s chest, shielding him from whatever danger might be hiding a step or two ahead, a mother bear protecting her cub.

  They passed the kitchen. Mom had stopped doing the dishes weeks ago. Stacks of dirty plates and bowls rose up from the sink, spilling onto the counter. Sean could just make out the faint buzz of flies. The lingering smell had a greasy sting to it. Rotten fruit and spaghetti sauce. When did they last eat spaghetti? Wasn’t that a week ago?

  The days blended together by now. When was the last time he’d left the house? Sean didn’t want to tell Mom she’d missed his sixth birthday. He was pretty positive it was a month ago by now, but maybe he was wrong. The last time he mentioned it to her, she merely stared off into space, not focusing on him but drifting into a thought that she didn’t want to share.

  The curtains in the living room were always closed now. If Sean ever went near them, Mom slapped his wrist. Even during the day, she insisted they stay down. Sunlight never made its way into their house anymore. The family remained sealed behind the blinds for fear that one of the lingering news crews might be right outside their window, ready to capture them on camera. They wouldn’t leave Sean alone. Whenever the two of them stepped out for an appointment with Miss Kinderman, the reporters swarmed. The women in their pencil skirts, mics in hand, shouting their questions. The probing lens of their cameras, zooming in on Sean’s face.

  The longer the trial dragged on, the more interest there was in Sean. There were always a half dozen roving eyewitness-news vans stationed on the block, barricading their driveway. The network call letters seemed like complicated math equations Sean wasn’t equipped to calculate. K12 TV. UH89 NEWS. KBCW-TV + WGBO-4. But once the sun went down, the reporters left.

  So who was Mom so afraid of now? Who was outside?

  “Stay away from the windows,” she said. “If they see you, they’ll know we’re here.”

  “Mom, I’m scared…”

  Mom knelt before Sean. “I know, baby. I know…I’m scared, too.” She tried to put on a brave face for him, but it looked so flimsy. A maternal mask that didn’t quite fit. Even in the dark, he could tell she was pretending. She held her hand up but hesitated to touch him, struggling to find the most consoling spot on Sean’s body. She settled on combing the hair out of his eyes with her fingers, just the gentlest brushing back of his bangs from his brow. It had been so long since he’d gotten a haircut. Mom used to do it, tried to, at least, but the last time she had taken a pair of scissors to his hair his bangs came out completely lopsided. He can’t look like a weedwhacker attacked him, the prosecutor scolded her. Here’s five bucks. Take him to the barber and fix it. That had been months ago.

  “I need you to be brave for me, okay?” Mom said, snapping Sean from his thoughts and back to their living room. “I need for you to stay here while I go get a few things, okay?”

  “Don’t leave me.”

  “It’ll just be for a little while, okay? Less than a minute.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “It’s not safe here anymore,” she said. “They know we’re here. We need to get out of the house. Just stay here, sit on the couch, and stay very, very still. I’ll be right back.”

  “No!” He grabbed her this time, wrapping his arms around her and holding on. She pried free from his grip, holding him at an arm’s length.

  “Just don’t make a sound. Do you understand? Be brave for me.”

  Sean nodded.

  “Good, baby. That’s good.” She wrapped her arms around him and squeezed, forcing the air from his lungs in a little puff. “I promise I won’t let anything happen to you. Not this time.”

  This time.

  Sean didn’t understand what she meant by this, not at first, but after she left him on the living room couch and he was all alone, all by himself, with nothing but the silence of the room and his own wandering thoughts, it dawned on him, slowly but surely…This time meant Mr. Woodhouse. The other teachers. She meant Sean’s story. About them hurting him.

  She believed him. Always believed him. Believed every word.

  His words.

  Sean slowly turned his head toward the window. Just on the other side of the curtain was…what, exactly? More teachers? More of these bad people?

  That’s what his mother believed. Did he believe it, too?

  All the bad people from his testimony were closing in. Mom heard them, she said.

  Right now. Outside. Trying to get in.

  Was Miss Kinderman outside? Was she one of them? Had she been helping them all alo
ng? Perhaps this was part of her plan. First, she would replace his mother. Swap bodies with her. Then she’d have Sean all to herself. She could do whatever she wanted with him.

  Sean slid across the couch until he could reach the curtain with his fingers. He slowly lifted his hand. Pinched the fabric. He peered outside and didn’t see anyone.

  The street was empty.

  Nobody was there.

  Mom seized Sean by the wrist, wrenching his hand back from the curtain. “Don’t,” she yelled, trying to keep her voice low but failing. “Don’t let them see you!” She yanked him into the center of the living room. On one knee, she leaned into his face and whispered, “Listen to me, Sean. Listen. I need you to be brave for me, okay? I have to get the car out of the garage. But as soon as I start the engine, they’ll know we’re trying to run.”

  Even when she couldn’t focus on him, jumping at every stray sound, Sean gave his mother his undivided attention. Whatever game she was playing, it felt safer to play along.

  “I need you to hide in the back seat, okay?” she said. “Don’t make a sound.”

  How could he tell her none of this was real? How could he make her believe him now? If he told her The Truth, what would she say? Would she believe it? Believe him?

  “Once we’re out of the house, there’s no coming back. Never again.”

  “But what about—”

  “Ssh.” She brought her finger up—but instead of pressing it to her own lips, she forced it against his. He felt her index finger settle into the divot of his upper lip. “They’re listening!”

  This was wrong. He knew that. This felt all wrong. But he couldn’t stop it. Stop her.

  “I’m going to protect you this time,” she said. “I promise. We’re going somewhere where they’ll never, ever find you. Never again.” She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him so tight, it almost hurt. Her breath was warm against the side of his face, the heat of her exhales seeping into his ear. “Don’t let them see you.”

  For the first time in all of Sean’s life, he was suddenly afraid. Truly afraid.

  Afraid of his mother.

  “Let’s go, baby.” She kissed his temple. “My brave boy.”

  DAMNED IF YOU DON’T

   RICHARD: 2013

  Condrey welcomes students back with a sunny-sounding announcement over the intercom. Her voice reverberates through each classroom, swearing everything is all right.

  Nothing to fear here, kiddies…

  Most parents have kept their kids at home today, even if school has reopened. That makes it easy for me to slip through the cafeteria loading dock. I just have to wait until first period starts before entering the hall, hiding until the bell rings.

  The door to my classroom is sealed with police tape. I tear it away like a child unwrapping a Christmas gift. I close the door behind me before flipping on the lights.

  When my eyes settle on the mess, I feel my knees soften. My body finds the floor, slowly lowering itself until my legs fold into a heap. Criss-cross applesauce. A sound escapes my mouth, rooted deep in my chest, a moan rising up from my lungs, but I can’t recognize it.

  The Museum of Modern Masterpieces is gone.

  The pictures have been torn down, scattered across the floor. Only their ripped corners remain taped to the wall.

  My classroom was supposed to be a safe space. Now there’s nowhere else to run.

  Kinderman won.

  I have no choice but to call her. There’s nothing left. I have no one else to talk to. I can imagine her waiting for me to call, knowing this moment is coming.

  Full circle.

  I reach up to the light switch and flip it off, sitting in the dark. I don’t want to see my room, what the police have done. They’ve desecrated this space.

  Kinderman picks up on the fourth ring. “Hello?” I recognize her voice. It doesn’t sound like the woman who’s been calling me, doesn’t sound like my mother at all. “Who is this?”

  “It’s—” Not Richard. “Sean.”

  “…Sean?” It’s a question not born out of concern but confusion. She has no idea who I am. It hasn’t hit her yet. The memory of me. She’s still in the dark.

  “Sean Crenshaw.” When she doesn’t respond, I say, “You tried to replace my mother.”

  “How did you get this number?” Whatever congenial warmth she once offered evaporates through the receiver.

  “Why are you doing this to me?” I didn’t mean to shout, but something about the tone of her voice, the confusion and contempt, makes me furious. “I trusted you. My mother trusted you. You made me say these things. You made me see them. Believe in them…”

  “Sean, I don’t know what you—”

  “Stop trying to be my mother!”

  “I’m sorry, Sean. There’s nothing I can do for you.” She’s choosing her words carefully, speaking in an even tone. “Everything I did was to protect the children. To protect you.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “Nobody else was willing to listen. To let you all tell your side of the story. I listened. I listened to all the children. We were doing good work. We were protecting you. All of you.”

  “Then why hasn’t it stopped?” My voice rises again. “Why is it happening again?”

  “Now?” She’s pretending. Pretending not to understand.

  “Don’t lie to me!”

  “I believed you, Sean. Trusted you. But you lied to me. To all of us.” Kinderman’s voice rises. “I had to close my practice because of you. I lost everything! And all I did was give you a voice. I helped you tell your side of the story when nobody else was willing to listen.”

  I refuse to believe her. I can’t. She’s lying. She has to be. “How did you find me?”

  Silence. Then, coldly, “Don’t call this number again.”

  “Why are you doing this to me?”

  “If you call, I’ll notify the police.”

  “Why—”

  The line goes dead.

  I dial again. It rings before going to voicemail. “You have reached the…”

  I hang up. Dial again. This time it goes straight to voicemail. “You have reached…”

  I dial again. “You have…”

  Again. “You…”

  I leave my classroom and walk swiftly down the hall. Most rooms are only half full. The students turn and notice me peering in. Eyes wide at the sight of me. Something in the way they look at me tells me how I must appear to them. A ghost haunting their halls.

  “Richard?”

  At first, I don’t recognize my name. That name. Responding to Richard feels strange now, like a costume. A disguise. Don’t they know I’m Sean? Or are we still playing a game?

  Condrey stands at a safe distance. We’re alone in the hall. Her blazer for the day is red. Bloody tempera. “Richard,” she says, her tone even. Calm. “What are you doing here?”

  My throat is too dry to manifest the words clearly. “Going to class,” I manage. Even smile. I can pretend, too, I think. See? I can play these silly games just like the rest of you.

  “I’m sorry, Richard, but…you can’t be here.” She takes the slightest step forward.

  “I just want to go to my class…”

  “Richard. Please—”

  “Stop calling me that!” I don’t mean to shout. I don’t mean to scare her. But hearing that name, hearing the tone of her voice, the soothing quality of it, feels false to me. A trap.

  Condrey blanches. That’s when I know for sure it’s all been a performance. All this time, she’s wanted me to believe that she’s on my side, that she’s my princiPAL, friends till the end.

  But of course it’s a lie, like all the others.

  “Hey, Rich…”

  I spin around to see Mr. Dunstan. He’s holding out his hands. Was he trying
to sneak up on me? “Let’s go outside, okay?”

  “Stay away.” I take a step back.

  I look at the walls. The pictures taped to them. Stick figures. Crooked Crayola smiles. Distorted eyes. Warped bodies. It’s all right there, out in the open, hiding in plain sight.

  This school has been teaching its students the same ceremonies all along.

  Miss Castevet peers out from her classroom doorway. I swear I see her lick her lips. Her tongue is much too long.

  The teachers. It’s always been the teachers. Mrs. Gordon. Mme. Choule. Mr. Costanza. They’re surrounding me now. They’re all staring, waiting for me to turn my back.

  “Rich, please.” Dunstan steps toward me. I hear the hum from behind his lips, the song, the song is there, buzzing behind his teeth. “Don’t do this…Not in front of the children.”

  “Stay away from me!”

  The bell rings just then, startling everyone. It could’ve been a gunshot, the way it makes the teachers jump. Before Condrey can turn the tide and keep the kids inside their classrooms, a flood of students fills the hall. They pass us, unaware of what’s happening. They head to their next class. Their next lesson. Their ritual.

  “Stop,” I shout. Several students freeze, like it’s a game. Red light, green light. They’re all looking at me. Staring. “You need to run before they—”

  Mr. Dunstan threads his arms through my own from behind, wrapping his hands around my neck and forcing me over. I never knew he was that agile. That strong. I try to bring my arms around to push back but I can’t reach him. He’s dragging me down the hallway. Away from the kids. I yank my head forward, hoping the weight of my body will throw him off-balance. His grip around my neck slips, giving me just enough leverage to pry free.

  I stumble out of his arms and start running. Pushing through the children. All the children. None of them move. They stand stock-still. Some are crying. Eyes wide. Mouths open.

  It’s too late for them. Too late to save them. I have to keep running. I push past the last of the students, sending one falling to the ground before I burst through the doors.

  The sun is too bright. It stings. I have to shield my eyes.