She drops the papers and they scatter anew.
A monster stands on the back patio.
It doesn’t look like the others she’s seen—it’s closer to animal than to human, crouched on all fours, its hind legs bending high over its back like the legs of a grasshopper. It has a long, thin face and eyes that glitter like gray stones, and it’s staring at Claire through the window.
She totters to the side, dizzy. Grammy pushes away from the table with a sigh and goes to the phone.
The monster leaps forward and slams against the window. The glass cracks.
Claire screams and falls backward. Grammy whirls around, dropping the phone so that it clatters to the tile. The monster presses its face against the window, its breath forming a perfect circle of fog on the glass. Claire stares at it in horror.
The monster opens its mouth, long tongue lolling. Saliva drips down the pane.
“Get away, Claire!” Grammy shrieks. “Back into the bathroom! Away from the wind—”
“The astronaaaaaaut,” the monster says, dragging the word out into a long, low hiss. “The astronaaaaaaut is heeeeere. Avooooooid.”
Claire scuttles back a few paces, but she makes no move to leave the room. The monster rears its head back and slams up against the window again. Grammy screams. Claire can hear her fumbling around for the phone, but she keeps her own eyes fixed firmly on the window, on the long, dripping tunnel of the monster’s open mouth.
“The astronaaaaaaaaut,” it says. “Cooooming for yoooooou, Suuuuuuuudek.”
Sudek. Her grandmother’s name. Abigail’s name. It bounces around inside of Claire’s head like electricity.
The monster lifts up one of its hind legs and rams it against the window. Tiny fractal cracks blossom farther out along the glass.
“Yooooooou muuuuuuust gooooooooo. It is heeeeeeeere.”
“This is Mrs. Sudek down on Magnolia Road. I’ve got another one—”
Claire hears Grammy’s voice through a constant buzzing. A buzzing, she realizes, distantly, that comes from the monster pressing so close to the glass. She can almost see the atoms in the air, churning up the space around it.
The monster drags its tongue up the glass and the sight of its dark throat makes Claire’s stomach lurch, like she’s looking at a dead thing.
“Get someone out here right away, it’s trying to break in—”
“Astronaaaaaaaaaut,” the monster says. Its eyes flash.
“But don’t send the Alvarez girl—”
“What?” Claire whips her head around to Grammy. But then there’s another sound of cracking glass and Claire turns back to the monster again. It’s pressed its other back foot against the window, its body twisted around itself, foot-face-foot. Claire’s stomach roils again. This is not natural.
“Suuuuuuudek,” the monster hisses. “Yoooooou—”
Grammy digs her fingers into Claire’s shoulder and jerks her to her feet. The monster tilts its head, and it tilts it too far, to an unnatural angle.
“We’ve got to get away from here,” Grammy says, pulling on Claire’s arm with a strength that doesn’t suit her frail, shuffling body. “Into the bathroom. The exterminator will be here soon.”
“Why’d you tell them not to send Julie!?”
Grammy drags Claire out of the kitchen, into the living room. The monster watches them go, but only for a second—then pushes itself away from the window with enough force that the cracks deepen. Its shadow darkens the living room window.
“Because she’s just a girl!” Grammy pulls Claire into the hallway. Claire stumbles after her, afraid the monster will break in someplace.
The hallway bathroom door hangs open, and Grammy shoves Claire in first and then follows, switching on the humming fluorescent light and locking the door.
“Get in the tub,” she says.
“It’s not a tornado!”
“Dammit, Claire, now’s not the time to fight with me. Do as I say.”
Claire steps over the tub’s edge. Her whole body is shaking, and she’s struck with a sudden wave of dizziness: The monster must be on the other side of the wall. There’s no window here, but Claire can feel it anyway, in the way the air jumps around.
Grammy joins her in the bathtub and puts one arm around her shoulder and pulls her in close. Claire shivers against her frail, bony frame. The tub feels claustrophobic and at the same time full of echoes, as if it is an enormous place. Claire’s breath bounces off the
tiles.
“Don’t worry,” Grammy says in a bedtime-story voice, a voice that’s almost soothing. “They’ll be here soon. And we’ll be safe.”
But Claire doesn’t feel safe. Not at all.
That afternoon, Claire nails flat pieces of wood over the kitchen window to protect the cracked glass until the repairman can come out to fix it.
Grammy sits on the porch with an iced tea in one hand, watching Claire work. Her presence puts Claire on edge, but at the same time Claire doesn’t want to be out here alone.
The broken window isn’t the only evidence of the monster. The colocasia plants growing up next to the house are trampled, the soil ripped up: an unsettling sight that Claire tries to ignore. There’s also the lingering scent of metal, sharp and burning and tickling at the back of Claire’s throat.
“When you’re finished with this,” Grammy says, “I want you to call up Audrey.”
Claire pauses, her hammer poised to strike. She looks at Grammy over her shoulder. “What?”
“Audrey Duchesne. I want you to call her up when you’re finished.” Grammy sips her tea and settles back into her chair. “You haven’t seen her in a few days and you know I’d rather you spend your time with her than with that Julie Alvarez.”
Claire hammers the nail into place, remembering the man who’d shown up at the house. He’d gone around back, but the monster had already vanished. That’s another reason why they’re boarding up the window. Just in case the monster comes back.
“I thought I was grounded.” Claire steps away from the window and plucks another nail out of the old coffee can. The wood’s in place; at this point she’s just fortifying it. She doesn’t ever want to see that monster’s face peering at her between its own clawed feet again.
“I figured you’ve been punished enough,” Grammy says. “And besides, I’m sure Audrey’ll want to see you. It’s summer and she doesn’t have to work. Give her a call.”
It sounds not like a suggestion but a demand. Grammy uses the same tone of voice as when she informed Claire that Claire would be covering the window.
“Are you sure it’s safe for me to be out?”
“You’ll be safe,” Grammy says.
Claire sighs and hammers in another nail. She doesn’t want to see Audrey Duchesne. She wants to see Julie. After the monster attack, and cowering in the bathtub for nearly an hour, Julie’s the only who will make her feel protected.
“Call her,” Grammy says.
Claire sighs and admits defeat. “Fine.” She picks up another nail.
“I think it’s secure enough,” Grammy says. “Go on in, give Audrey a call.”
Audrey, Audrey, Audrey. Claire’ll be happy if she never hears that name again. She tosses the nail back into the coffee can and then gathers up her tools and goes inside. Grammy doesn’t follow, only stays in her spot on the porch, staring out at the empty yard.
The kitchen is darker than usual with the board across the window. Claire puts the tools back in the cabinet and then goes over to the phone. Might as well get it over with.
Audrey’s number is written on a Post-it note and stuck on the wall next to all the numbers that Claire’s mother left behind. It’s written in a girlish, loopy handwriting that Claire doesn’t recognize. It must belong to Audrey. Feeling pliant from the heat, she dials in the numbers, listening to the click-whir of the rotary. Grammy really is stuck in the 1960s.
The phone only rings once before Audrey answers.
“Duchesne residence,”
she says in her cheerful voice. “Audrey speaking.”
Claire shivers despite the muggy heat inside the house.
“Hey Audrey,” Claire says, “it’s—”
“Claire! I know, I recognized your voice. I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever. I’m afraid I might have gotten a bit caught up in seeing Lawrence Reyes.” She giggles, a grating sound. “Sorry I’ve been such a bad friend! A girl should never give up her friends for a boy, that’s what I always say, and yet look at me now.”
“Yeah, well—” Claire doesn’t want to think about Audrey dating Lawrence Reyes. She feels a prickle on the back of her neck, as if someone’s watching her. But the window’s boarded over, and Grammy’s still outside.
Suddenly all Claire wants is to be out of that house, away from the place where the monster attacked.
“Can I come over now?” Claire says. “I don’t have anything to do.”
“Of course! I’ll totally make up for neglecting you. I’ve got another game we can play, what do you think?”
Claire feels a dull emptiness in the back of her head. “Sure, whatever. I’ll ride my bike over to your place.”
“Wonderful! I’ll see you then.”
Claire hangs up. The kitchen door scrapes open, and Grammy steps inside. “Did you call her?” she asks.
Claire nods.
“Good. It’s nice to see you spending time with someone more—”
“White?” Claire says.
“That is absolutely not what I was going to say.” Grammy shuffles past her and sets her empty glass in the sink. “Really, Claire, you ought to know better.”
Claire feels that emptiness in her head again. Her thoughts seem to swell. Grammy never clarifies exactly what Audrey is more of.
“I’ll be back for dinner,” Claire says.
“All right. Have fun!”
No mention of monsters, no mention of danger. She wishes Grammy would do more than call an exterminator.
But she won’t. So Claire needs to ring Julie and tell her what happened. Maybe she can call from Audrey’s house.
Claire doesn’t bother changing or rinsing off. It’s just Audrey. She goes into the garage and pulls out her mother’s bike, swiping away the cobwebs—she rode it yesterday to Julie’s house, but weirdly the webs have already returned—and wheels it out to the driveway. Fluffy white clouds line the sky. A hot breeze pretends to be cool. Claire rides to Audrey’s house through the muggy air and the hum of cicadas, her hands tight on the handlebars. She expects a monster to leap out of the shrubbery, but the streets remain empty.
The house is as neat and well-manicured as Claire remembers. The rosebushes are still offering heavy pink blossoms beside the front door. The grass is greener here than in any of the yards Claire passed.
She rings the doorbell. Audrey answers, dressed in one of her pretty sundresses, this one a honey-colored silk shift. Her hair shimmers in the sunlight.
“Claire!” she cries. “So good to see you! I’m sorry again about neglecting—”
“I’m fine,” Claire says. “I’ve been hanging out with Julie.” The AC trickles outside, cool against Claire’s sweaty brow.
“Julie Alvarez? That’s nice.” She says this in a vague way, as if to suggest she’s trying not to have an opinion. “Why don’t you come in?”
Stepping into Audrey’s house is like stepping into a television show. No messes, no stains on the white furniture. The contrast between colors is too bright. It’s more real than real.
“Well, hello there!” Audrey’s mother materializes in the hallway with a tray of cookies. “Audrey told me you were coming over. Would you like a snack?”
She brandishes the cookies. They’re big and fluffy, chocolate melting in the crevices. And they smell amazing.
“I just love baking,” Audrey’s mom says.
“These look awesome.” Claire takes a cookie, hoping that means Audrey’s mom will disappear back into the cavern of the kitchen. The cookie is still warm.
Audrey’s mom beams. Audrey stands off to the side, watching this exchange with a bland, unreadable expression.
“Wonderful!” Audrey’s mom swirls around on the heel of her stiletto—stilettos? Weird. Not even Julie’s mom, with her stylish, expensive clothes, wears stilettos inside. “You girls have fun.”
She walks back through the living room. Claire looks down at her cookie, then takes a bite. Soft and chewy and chocolaty. Perfect.
“Let’s go up to my room,” Audrey says. “I think you’ll really like this game.”
“Okay.” Claire nibbles on her cookie as they walk up the stairs. The house is as quiet as a museum. Claire feels like she shouldn’t be eating here. A thought niggles at the back of her head—
“Oh,” she says. “Wait.”
Audrey stops and looks over at her.
Claire’s head swims. “Your phone,” she says. “Can I borrow your phone?”
“My phone?”
Claire nods. “I need to call someone. Just real quick. I—forgot to call them at my house.”
“Oh,” says Audrey. “Of course. The phone’s back downstairs. In the hallway. I can show you if you like—”
“No, I can find it.” Claire scurries back down the stairs. She can’t believe she almost forgot to call Julie. This town gets in your head and changes things.
The phone sits in a little alcove at the base of the stairs. Claire grabs it and dials Julie’s number. She hopes Julie’s not at work, since she doesn’t have the exterminator number memorized.
“Hello?”
“Julie!” Claire breathes a sign of relief. “Oh God, I need to talk to you—”
“Claire! It’s about the monster, isn’t it? The one at your house this morning? I heard from Brittany. Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” Claire glances up at the stairs; Audrey’s standing at the top of them, her hands on her hips. “Just rattled. I can’t talk long. I just—I wanted to tell you what happened. Grammy’s acting like it was no big deal, but I just—isn’t there something we can do?”
“Forrest said the monster had taken off by the time he’d gotten there.”
“Yeah, but—” Claire glances up at Audrey again. Despite the blasting AC, she’s starting to sweat. “Maybe you can talk to your cousin?” She doesn’t want to say Lawrence’s name in front of Audrey. “See if he can help?”
“I can try.” Julie sounds doubtful. “I can talk to Mr. Vickery too, the guy in charge of the monster committee. He wasn’t useful before, but since the thing basically attacked you—”
“That would be great,” Claire says. “Listen, I really can’t talk now—I’ll try to call you tonight, okay? Just—see if you can figure out something.” She hesitates. “It would really mean a lot to me.”
There’s a pause on the other end, a rush of static. “Sure thing.”
“Claire?” calls out Audrey. “Are you almost done?”
“Gotta go,” Claire hisses into the phone, and then she hangs up. “Yep!” she calls out. “Thanks.”
“Oh, it’s no problem.” Audrey smiles beatifically. Claire bounds up the stairs, her heart hammering. Julie will do something. She’ll figure out a way to stop the monsters.
Audrey’s room is at the end of the hall. Claire expects it to be white and black and red, like the rest of the house, but when Audrey opens the door, Claire is met with a wash of pink: pink walls, a frilly pink bedspread, pale pink carpet.
Claire isn’t sure what to say, so she takes another bite of cookie.
“It’s like the other game,” Audrey says, breezing through her room. Claire follows her cautiously. The light is different in here because of the pink curtains, filtered and hazy. Claire feels a moment of dizziness, but when she sits down on the edge of the bed, it disappears.
Audrey rummages around in her closet. All her clothes are arranged according to color, and the top shelf is lined with neat plastic boxes. She really is perfect.
“So did you ever get
the dress for the Stargazer’s Masquerade?” Audrey calls out over her shoulder.
“Oh.” Claire has forgotten about the dance. She and Julie never talk about it. But she pictures the dress hanging from the back of her closet door and nods. “Yes. I haven’t tried it on yet. I don’t think it’s going to fit.”
Audrey emerges with a thin cardboard box. Claire’s heart jumps: It’s probably just a normal board game, Monopoly or Clue, but it makes her feel weird.
“It’ll fit,” Audrey says. “I’m so excited. The dance is the most fantastic thing that happens in Indianola. The event of the season.”
She does not appear to be saying this ironically.
“You’ll get to meet all the kids from the school,” she adds.
“Well, I’m just here for the summer.” Claire’s heart kind of twists at that, though—she’ll miss Julie back in Houston.
“I know.” Audrey flounces over to the bed. “But it still might be good to meet some new people, don’t you think?” She balances the game on top of one of her pillows and sprawls out. Claire looks down at the name on the box: Fallow.
“I’ve never played this before,” Claire says. The truth is she’s never even heard of it. The box looks old-fashioned too, illustrated with 1960s children sitting around a table. Something about it gives Claire the creeps.
“Oh really?” Audrey doesn’t sound surprised. “It’s super fun. Here, let me show you.” She opens the box and dumps it upside down. Playing pieces spill across the bedspread, and then the playing board drops out. Audrey unfolds it. A multicolored track winds around in a circular, complex labyrinth. Claire can’t tell where it begins or ends.
“What color?” Audrey asks.
“Green,” Claire says. Audrey hands her a green triangle.
“Start in the center,” Audrey says. “You’re trying to work your way out.”
“So it’s just a maze?”
“Sort of.” Audrey sets her own piece, yellow, at the labyrinth’s center. Claire does the same, and for a moment she feels swoony, like she’s been out in the heat too long.
“You roll the die,” Audrey says, “and that tells you how long you get.” She pulls out six hourglasses and lines them up, one next to the other, on the bedside table. “One minute to six minutes,” she says, sweeping her hand across the hourglasses. “You have however long to try and work your way out of the maze. Once your time is up, the next person gets to go.”
Forget This Ever Happened Page 15
