too.”
We stood, together.
For about a minute. Then we heard what sounded like breaking glass and splintering wood upstairs.
* * *
“S tay down here! Watch the windows!” I yelled to Rebecca as I ran.
“What the hell?” Tim roared from upstairs. I heard a shotgun go off twice as I reached the second floor.
Tim stood in the girls’ room, his back to me. I ran in, .45 in hand, and one of the girls screamed. Then there was another—louder—crash out on the roof.
“No!” Tim yelled, and ran to where the bedroom window used to be.
“Tim?” I yelled. “What happened?”
He climbed out onto the roof, still holding his shotgun.
“Buckshot,” he said over his shoulder. “Right in the chest.”
I glanced at him—but he was wearing a white T-shirt. And standing. “Whose chest?”
I turned to check out the kids, and heard Tim sob behind me.
“Susie,” he said. “She came in here and opened the curtains.”
The kids were awake, but shocked silent.
“Daddy?” Abigail asked me. “What happened to Miss Susie?”
“Dad?” Felicia asked Tim.
He stood there on the roof, facing away from us. Then he turned around. His face streamed tears. “I can’t…I can’t see where he took her.”
“Dad?” Robbie was behind me. I turned, and his face was dead white. “What happened?”
“Robbie, go downstairs,” I said. “Let’s all—”
Tim interrupted. “Ash. Did you know? Did you know what he could do? Did you…” he trailed off.
“Girls,” I said. “Follow Robbie. We’ll be down right behind you.”
They left.
* * *
“T im,” I said, “I’m sorry. I knew they could jump. I saw fangs. Rebecca and I had just agreed we would tell you—”
“No,” he said. “Stop.” He took a deep, shuddering breath. “It’s not your fault. Rebecca said he jumped right off the roof earlier. And I guess, if I’d seen something like…him…I’d want some time to figure out how to talk about it. The thing is? Now I want to know. Are you coming with me to get her? The way he was moving, she could be…anywhere…but I’ve got to—”
“Tim, it’s worse than that.” A loud screeching started up outside…from two directions. “I’m pretty sure there’s more than one of them. Maybe a lot more.”
We stared at each other.
“I have to go, man,” he told me finally. “Can you…can you stay with the kids? And take care of them?” He broke open the shotgun and reloaded from his pants pocket, then met my eyes. “If. You know.”
* * *
W e dragged mattresses and couch cushions to set up makeshift beds in my office downstairs—it was the only room in the house without windows. I didn’t know if any of us would sleep, though.
Felicia sat on her pallet, crying quietly. Rachel slumped next to her. Robbie clearly didn’t know whether to try to comfort them or leave them alone. He settled on sitting a couple of feet away, staring at the wall.
Of the kids, only Abigail seemed to be able to lie down comfortably. Stretched out in a corner next to an oil lantern, a book in her face, she looked almost normal—except that the book was One Fish, Two Fish by Dr. Seuss. An old favorite, but she hadn’t read it in at least three years.
Rebecca settled next to her.
Taking the first watch in the hall, I set up a bean bag chair for myself—and a .45, and a shotgun—and closed the door.
Slowly, my eyes adjusted. Enough moonlight crept in from the first-floor windows that I could see to navigate—once I blocked the light escaping from under my office door with a towel, anyway.
I stared into the night, listening to our hundred-year-old house…the one my extended family still called “new.” It creaked and groaned, and occasionally a tree brushed against it. All were more familiar to me than my own heartbeat. But this was no longer the quiet little town I’d known. And—I knew this was ridiculous—but I was accustomed to getting information online at seconds’
We stood, together.
For about a minute. Then we heard what sounded like breaking glass and splintering wood upstairs.
* * *
“S tay down here! Watch the windows!” I yelled to Rebecca as I ran.
“What the hell?” Tim roared from upstairs. I heard a shotgun go off twice as I reached the second floor.
Tim stood in the girls’ room, his back to me. I ran in, .45 in hand, and one of the girls screamed. Then there was another—louder—crash out on the roof.
“No!” Tim yelled, and ran to where the bedroom window used to be.
“Tim?” I yelled. “What happened?”
He climbed out onto the roof, still holding his shotgun.
“Buckshot,” he said over his shoulder. “Right in the chest.”
I glanced at him—but he was wearing a white T-shirt. And standing. “Whose chest?”
I turned to check out the kids, and heard Tim sob behind me.
“Susie,” he said. “She came in here and opened the curtains.”
The kids were awake, but shocked silent.
“Daddy?” Abigail asked me. “What happened to Miss Susie?”
“Dad?” Felicia asked Tim.
He stood there on the roof, facing away from us. Then he turned around. His face streamed tears. “I can’t…I can’t see where he took her.”
“Dad?” Robbie was behind me. I turned, and his face was dead white. “What happened?”
“Robbie, go downstairs,” I said. “Let’s all—”
Tim interrupted. “Ash. Did you know? Did you know what he could do? Did you…” he trailed off.
“Girls,” I said. “Follow Robbie. We’ll be down right behind you.”
They left.
* * *
“T im,” I said, “I’m sorry. I knew they could jump. I saw fangs. Rebecca and I had just agreed we would tell you—”
“No,” he said. “Stop.” He took a deep, shuddering breath. “It’s not your fault. Rebecca said he jumped right off the roof earlier. And I guess, if I’d seen something like…him…I’d want some time to figure out how to talk about it. The thing is? Now I want to know. Are you coming with me to get her? The way he was moving, she could be…anywhere…but I’ve got to—”
“Tim, it’s worse than that.” A loud screeching started up outside…from two directions. “I’m pretty sure there’s more than one of them. Maybe a lot more.”
We stared at each other.
“I have to go, man,” he told me finally. “Can you…can you stay with the kids? And take care of them?” He broke open the shotgun and reloaded from his pants pocket, then met my eyes. “If. You know.”
* * *
W e dragged mattresses and couch cushions to set up makeshift beds in my office downstairs—it was the only room in the house without windows. I didn’t know if any of us would sleep, though.
Felicia sat on her pallet, crying quietly. Rachel slumped next to her. Robbie clearly didn’t know whether to try to comfort them or leave them alone. He settled on sitting a couple of feet away, staring at the wall.
Of the kids, only Abigail seemed to be able to lie down comfortably. Stretched out in a corner next to an oil lantern, a book in her face, she looked almost normal—except that the book was One Fish, Two Fish by Dr. Seuss. An old favorite, but she hadn’t read it in at least three years.
Rebecca settled next to her.
Taking the first watch in the hall, I set up a bean bag chair for myself—and a .45, and a shotgun—and closed the door.
Slowly, my eyes adjusted. Enough moonlight crept in from the first-floor windows that I could see to navigate—once I blocked the light escaping from under my office door with a towel, anyway.
I stared into the night, listening to our hundred-year-old house…the one my extended family still called “new.” It creaked and groaned, and occasionally a tree brushed against it. All were more familiar to me than my own heartbeat. But this was no longer the quiet little town I’d known. And—I knew this was ridiculous—but I was accustomed to getting information online at seconds’
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