Chapter 14 - Lily Asks About the Dark Door
The plastic sheeting made a soft crinkling sound every time the heat kicked on. Daniel had taped it floor to ceiling over the broken plaster that afternoon, after the contractor left. White tape, clear plastic, and behind it the shadowed outline of the black door we weren't supposed to touch until the permit came through. We'd scheduled the repair for Monday. It was Thursday evening.
Lily stood in the doorway of our bedroom and stared at it.
She was in her pajamas, the beige dress gone, her hair down now. She held her stuffed rabbit by one ear and didn't come all the way into the room.
"You can come in, honey," I said. I was sitting on the edge of our bed, right where I could see both her and the plastic.
She didn't move. "Is it still there?"
"Yes. But it can't open. We taped it and Daddy put a lock on the other side too."
Daniel came up behind her in the hallway and knelt down to her height. He didn't try to pick her up. He'd learned not to move her when she was deciding.
"Do you want to sit with Mom for a minute?" he asked. "Just us three."
Lily looked at me, then nodded. She walked carefully across the carpet, not running the way she usually did, and climbed onto the bed beside me. I tucked the blanket around her legs the way she liked, and she leaned against my side. Daniel pulled the desk chair over and sat across from us so we were all at the same level.
I had rehearsed what I wanted to say while I washed the dinner dishes. Not too much detail, no lying either. Our counselor on the phone that afternoon had said, "Name what it was, name what you're doing about it, give her a job."
"Remember the wall Daddy opened with the hammer?" I said quietly.
Lily nodded against my shoulder.
"That wall had a mistake in it. A long time ago, someone who owned this house before us built a little hiding hallway behind it. They didn't build it the right way. They didn't tell the county, they didn't make it safe. That's why there was a door where a wall should have been."
She frowned. "Like a secret hallway?"
"Kind of. But not a good secret. Grown-ups are supposed to make houses safe, and they didn't. So now we are fixing it. A man is going to come Monday and close it up the right way, with strong walls and no hidden door."
She was quiet for a second, picking at the rabbit's ear. Then she looked up at the plastic.
"Do monsters live in there?"
The question came out small but very clear. My chest tightened. Daniel's hands tightened on his knees.
I didn't say "there's no such thing as monsters," because she'd seen the dust and the dark and her dad swinging a hammer, and telling her not to be scared would have been another lie.
"No, honey, there are no monsters in there," I said. "It was just empty and dusty and a little moldy. It smelled bad. That's why we don't want anyone in there. But if you're worried, I can show you."
I reached for the small flashlight on the nightstand, the one we used when the power went out. I clicked it on and off once.
"Do you want to hold the light? You can point it and see that it's just plastic and tape and a wall behind it. You're in charge of the light."
She hesitated, then took it from me. Her hand was so small around it. She pointed the beam at the ceiling first, then slowly down the plastic. The light caught the tape lines and the dust still trapped under the sheeting.
"See?" I said. "You can see everything. Nothing moves unless you move the light."
She swung the beam to the corner, to the doorknob shape faint behind the plastic, then back to the center. She did it three times, each time a little faster, like she was testing it. I could feel her breathing even out against my side.
"There is no monster," she whispered, more to herself than to me.
"No monster," I said. "Just a wall that needs fixing. And you helped us find it, which was very brave."
Daniel leaned forward. His voice was rough. He hadn't shaved that day.
"Lily, I need to say sorry to you and to Mom," he said. "When the man who sold us the house told me there might be something behind that wardrobe, I didn't tell Mom. I thought if we just left the wardrobe there, we wouldn't have to deal with it. That was wrong. I kept a hidden thing in our house."
Lily looked at him, the flashlight still on in her lap.
"I shouldn't have kept a secret about our house," he went on. "From now on, there are no more hidden things. If something is wrong or strange, we talk about it. All three of us. Even if it's scary. Okay?"
She considered this with the seriousness only a six-year-old can bring to a promise. "You promise?"
"I promise," he said. "No more hidden doors. No more secrets about the house."
I reached over and put my hand on his arm, and then he reached for Lily's free hand. She let him hold it.
"And you can always ask us anything," I added. "Even if you think it might be a bad question. Especially then."
Lily clicked the flashlight off and on again, then handed it back to me. She slid down from the bed and walked right up to the plastic sheeting, stopping about two feet away. She stared at the taped seam.
"Monday the man will fix it?" she asked.
"Monday," Daniel said.
"And then can we move my reading corner there? Where the big wardrobe was?"
I felt tears prick at my eyes and I didn't try to hide them. "I think that's a perfect idea."
May you like
She nodded, satisfied, and walked back to us. She didn't look scared anymore. She looked like a kid who had been given a job and had decided the job was doable.
Behind the plastic, the passage was still there. But it wasn't a story anymore. It was just a repair waiting for Monday.
