"We'll take a look."
She was still on the sofa, her arms curled tight around Charlie. The
blare of the television didn't disturb her as she slept. There were
tears drying on her cheeks. Seeing them, Bev's heart broke a little.
"I guess we'd better get the decorators busy on a bedroom upstairs."
EMmA LAY IN the bed between fresh soft sheets and kept her eyes tightly
closed. She knew if she opened them, it would be dark. There were
things that hid in the dark.
She kept a hammerlock on Charlie's neck and listened. Sometimes the
things made swishing noises.
She couldn't hear them now, but she knew they were waiting. Waiting for
her to open her eyes. A whimper escaped and she bit her lip. Mam always
got mad if she cried at night. Mam would come in and shake her hard,
tell her she was stupid and a baby. The things would slink under the
bed or into the corners while her mam was there.
Emma buried her face in Charlie's familiar, stale-smelling fur.
She remembered that she was in a different place. The place where the
man from the pictures lived. Some of the fear vanished in curiosity. He
said she could call him Dad. That was a funny name. Keeping her eyes
closed, she tried it, murmuring it into the dark like a chant.
They had eaten fish and chips in the kitchen with the dark-haired lady.
There had been music. It seemed music played in the house all the time.
Whenever the Dad man spoke, it sounded like music.
The lady had seemed unhappy even when she had smiled. Emma wondered if
the lady was going to wait until they were alone before she hit.
He'd given her a bath. Emma remembered that he'd had a funny look on
his face, but his hands hadn't pinched and he hadn't gotten much soap in
her eyes. He asked about her bruises, and she had told him what her mam
had warned her to say if anyone asked. She was clumsy. She fell down.
Emma had seen the angry look come into his eyes, but he hadn't smacked
her.
He'd given her a shirt to wear, and she had giggled because it had come
all the way to her toes.
The lady had come with him when he had put her in bed. She'd sat on the
edge and smiled when he had told a story about castles and princesses.
But they had been gone when she'd awakened. They'd been gone and the
room was dark. She was afraid. Afraid the things would get her, snap
their big teeth, eat her. She was afraid her mam would come and slap
her because she wasn't home in her own bed.
What was that? She was sure she had heard a whispering noise in the
corner. Breathing through her teeth, she opened one eye. The shadows
shifted, towering, reaching. Muffling her sobs against Charlie, Emma
tried to make herself smaller, so small she couldn't be seen, couldn't
be eaten by all the ugly, squishy things that hid in the dark. Her mam
had sent them because she'd gone with the man in the pictures.
The terror built so that she was shuddering, sweating. It burst out of
her in one high wall as she scrambled out of bed and stumbled into the
hallway. Something crashed.
She lay sprawled, clutching the dog and waiting for the worst.
Lights came on. They made her blink. The old fear dissolved in a new