Chapter 3 - The Bedroom With No Mirror
Milo didn't let go of my wrist until we were past the corner. His fingers were hot and tight and he pulled me fast enough that my socks slid on the dark floor. The hallway felt longer going the other way, the warm light thinner, and I could hear Evelyn's dress moving behind us even though she wasn't following. She was staying by the doors. I knew she was staying there.
His room was the third door on the left. He pushed it open and pushed me in first and shut it behind us. The lock was a little brass twist above the knob. I watched his hand shake when he turned it. It clicked. He turned it again to make sure.
It was dark in his room. He hadn't turned the lamp on that morning. The curtains were pulled almost shut and the bed was unmade, his dark top from yesterday on the floor. There was no mirror. Evelyn had taken it last month after he threw a toy car and cracked the corner. He said he liked it better without, but I knew he checked his face in the window glass now.
"Sit," he whispered.
I sat on the edge of his bed. The springs made a noise. He held his finger to his mouth and went to the door and put his ear against it. We waited. The house made its old-house sounds. A tick in the wall. Then nothing. No footsteps.
He came back and sat next to me, close, our shoulders touching. He was breathing through his mouth.
"Did she cover it?" he asked.
I nodded, then remembered he might not see in the dark. "She put her hand over it," I whispered. "Her whole hand."
Milo swallowed. "Tell me exactly. Exactly what you saw before she did that."
I looked down at my hands. There was still dust from the wood trim under my nails. I could see the tear again when I blinked. The flowers were red and green, little roses all in rows, and then the rip went up and down and the paper curled back white on the inside.
"There was hair," I said. My voice sounded too loud. I made it smaller. "Yellow hair. Like mine but longer. It was stuck in the crack. And below it there was red. Thick. It went down slow. Like ketchup but darker."
Milo didn't say anything. His arm pressed harder against mine.
"It moved," I added. "The hair moved. Just a little. Like someone breathed."
His breath caught. He grabbed my hand and held it too tight.
"Don't tell her that part," he said. "Don't tell her about it moving."
"I won't."
We sat still. From under his door a thin line of hallway light came in. Dust floated in it. I kept thinking about the tear being covered by Evelyn's palm, her maroon sleeve pulled tight over her shoulder, her face not changing at all.
"Milo?" I whispered. "Is it my hair?"
He turned fast. "No. No, it's not yours. You're right here."
"But it's yellow."
"So what? Lots of people have yellow hair." He said it too quick. He was trying to sound sure like a big kid, nine years old, but his lower lip was doing something funny.
He stood up and went to his closet and pulled the door open just a crack and reached in and took out his flashlight. He didn't turn it on. He just held it.
"Last night," he said, looking at the flashlight instead of me. "After she made us go to bed. I heard it."
"Heard what?"
"Scratching." He said the word so quiet I almost missed it. "Behind the wallpaper. In the hallway. Like this." He dragged his fingernail lightly across the plastic flashlight handle. A soft scritch-scritch. My stomach went cold.
I pulled my knees up. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"I thought it was mice. I told myself it was mice." He sat back down. "But mice don't... mice don't sound like that. It stopped when the heater clicked on. Then it started again."
My eyes filled up. I didn't want them to. I wiped them with my sleeve, the light long-sleeve shirt Evelyn said kept me neat. Milo saw and looked away to let me do it.
"We can't tell her," he whispered.
I nodded. "She'll get mad."
"She'll say we made it up. She always says that." He twisted the flashlight in his hands. Click on, click off, but he covered the end with his palm so only a little red glow showed through his fingers. On, off. On, off while he thought. "We have to look again. When she's asleep."
Fear went up my throat. "Tonight?"
"After bedtime. When the house goes dark. I'll go out and check and come right back. You stay here with the door locked."
I didn't want him to go alone. I didn't want to stay alone either. But I nodded because he was Milo and he was trying to protect me. He put his arm around my shoulders the way he did when I had a bad dream.
"Promise you won't tell?" he said. "About the scratching. About going back."
May you like
I crossed my finger over my heart. "Promise."
Outside, far down the hallway, a floorboard creaked. We both froze. Milo turned the flashlight off completely and stared at the line of light under his door until it stayed steady and empty. No shadow stopped in front of it. The creak didn't come again.
