Little Emmett Page 6

  “Is what Tyler’s doing any of your business?” Emmett retorted.

  Tobie looked in his direction a moment, considering.

  “You should come with me.”

  “Huh? Come where?”

  “I’ll show you something funny.”

  Emmett passed his eyes over Clark’s bed, seeing he hadn’t moved in a long while. Emmett slipped the pendant back into his bag, wrapped his blanket around himself like a shawl, and climbed out of bed.

  “What are you bringing that for?” Tobie asked.

  “It’s cold.”

  Truthfully, he just wasn’t as comfortable as Tobie was to be walking around in his underwear—sometimes less than that.

  Tobie stuck his head into the hall, looked both ways, and then Emmett followed him out, closing the door behind them. It was unbearably dark. Tobie led them toward the stairs. The foyer down below was covered in shadow. They continued across the balcony, down the other hall. At the end was only more darkness. They slid into it, their cold toes whispering along. A door stood ajar. With a finger to his lips, Tobie signaled for Emmett to be quiet. Kneeling beside the door, he waved Emmett to join him.

  “What is it?” Emmett asked.

  Angrily, Tobie emphasized his finger on his lips.

  He listened with Tobie, hearing nothing at first. Tobie turned to him then and whispered, “Hear that? It’s them.”

  Emmett listened and still heard nothing. “Who?”

  “Tyler and Eileen.”

  He heard it then, all right. He leaned in closer, just to be sure—leaned in far enough that the room inside was now visible to him through the slightly opened door.

  Heavy breathing. Panting.

  “Do you see anything?” Tobie asked.

  And Emmett realized he could see something, though he’d only meant to listen. Bodies on the bed. Two bodies. They were hard to make out in the dark, and harder still to decide what they were doing…

  Suddenly, Emmett felt exceptionally hot, still wrapped in his blanket. He pulled back, afraid to get a better look—afraid to hear anything more. Tobie took his place, peeked through the open door and watched for a while as Emmett sat tense behind him, forgetting all about the creepy-crawly darkness surrounding them.

  Eventually Tobie sat up. He turned to Emmett, a huge grin on his face.

  “You know what they’re doing, right?” he whispered. Emmett only stared at Tobie’s stupid face—stupid for bringing him along, stupid for spying on something neither of them should obviously be spying on. “Do you know what fucking is, Emmett?”

  He turned red all over again. His face felt like a torch, though luckily he didn’t cast any light on their snooping selves.

  “I’m going back to bed,” Emmett said.

  Tobie scowled. “Why, scared?”

  “No. Tired.”

  Emmett tightened his blanket and slowly tiptoed away from the door back down the hall toward the stairs. Pretty soon after, Tobie caught up with him. He shrugged awkwardly.

  “Don’t want to get caught, after all,” he said.

  They returned to their room and closed the door quietly, careful not to wake Clark who still lay sleeping. Emmett considered him lucky.

  He climbed back into bed with a whole new reason why he couldn’t sleep that night.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  THE WATCHING DARK

  Eileen left the following morning, and for the next three days the rain was relentless. Mrs. Holmes insisted it was too muddy to go outside, so the children spent all their time indoors. There were plenty of books to read, Mrs. Holmes said. She also dragged out a few boxes full of miscellaneous arts and crafts. Emmett pulled out a coloring book and, flipping through its pages, discovered Bailey had colored through most of it already.

  They spent quite some time playing board games together in the reading room, until inevitably Jackie and Tobie fought, which led to Jackie abandoning the games altogether.

  “It’s not fun for you until it isn’t fun for somebody else,” she told her brother.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  One rainy afternoon, complaining of boredom, Mrs. Holmes put them to work. That day was a gray, excruciating blur of brooms and dusters and rags and soapy kitchen sponges.

  Emmett and Clark partnered up to wash all the door frames, smudged by months of grimy children’s hands and wet dog noses. Until that day, neither of them realized just how many doors there were.

  “Take a chair to stand on,” Mrs. Holmes instructed Tobie, handing him a feather duster with a long, abused history, “and make sure to dust the tops of all the hanging pictures.”

  Tobie stood holding the duster, frowning. “Why clean things nobody even sees?”

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Emmett and Bailey sat at the kitchen table, a slew of coloring utensils spread in all directions. As they quietly drew their pictures, Emmett listened to rising voices in the other room and was glad to be taking a break from the others and their constant bickering.

  “What is that?” Bailey asked, tilting her head to see.

  Emmett turned his drawing toward her. “Just a dragon.”

  “Wow,” Bailey said. She regarded her own picture then. She carefully decided on a different colored pencil and got to work on adding something extra to it, periodically stealing glances at Emmett’s while she worked.

  After a minute or two, Emmett peeked at her progress and stifled a giggle.

  “What are you drawing?” he asked.

  She cocked her head, tongue pinched between her lips as she added the final touch.

  “Just a dragon,” she answered matter-of-factly. It looked largely like a purple version of his own. She had a talent for traceless imitation, he noted.

  “That’s really good.”

  But her picture wasn’t just a dragon. That’d been the addition. It swept its majestic, scribbly wings over a blue sky, and below that blue sky were several people standing side-by-side, each of them wearing identical smiling faces. Flowers of every possible color grew around their feet. A man, a woman, and a markedly smaller person between them. A little girl.

  “Is that you?” Emmett asked. Bailey nodded. “Who are they?”

  “My mommy and daddy.” She picked up another colored pencil and began adding to her mother’s hair, not quite perfect yet. “Do you have a mommy?”

  Emmett gulped. “Yeah.”

  “A daddy?”

  Emmett thought for a bit. He looked over his shoulder as the other room erupted in excited debate, and watched as Jackie stormed from the room yet again. Still thinking, his mind drifting far away, he picked his pencil up and resumed working on his dragon.

  “Yeah, but I never met him.”

  Bailey picked out another pencil. Holding it in a tight fist, she positioned it over her drawing like a dagger and, after a thoughtful moment, began furiously scratching with it. At the rate she scribbled, Emmett expected a tornado to appear in her otherwise peaceful drawing—or maybe her dragon had suddenly become a fire-breathing one. But no, it was neither of those things.

  “What are you drawing now—”

  The man in her drawing—her father—was replaced by thick, violent, black scores. A dark portal, or an explosion of murky smoke. Wiped out. Emmett wasn’t sure what to say, but felt he must say something.

  “Is your dad…” He hesitated. “Did your dad die?”

  With the black pencil pinched between her thumb and forefinger, she raised it dramatically above the pile of the rest on the table and dropped it, signifying just how finished it was. That had been the final touch.

  “No,” she said in a low voice. “He killed mommy.”

  Without another word or thought given to the drawing or Emmett’s hanging jaw, she pushed out her chair and, stepping onto a tiny stool at the kitchen sink, helped herself to a glass of water.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  After days of drizzly rain and mud, the storm finally passed. Like feral animals released from a trap, the children couldn’t be contained
. They burst from the house like wasps, buzzed into the yard aching to run themselves ragged.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Permitted by the milder weather, they soon returned to their fort. The stream was noisier, faster. The ground was smoothed flat and still damp from the rainfall. Not wasting any time, Tobie stuck his shovel into the dirt, stomped it down to the hilt, and flung the clod of broken earth over his shoulder.

  “Hey!” Clark said, leaning away from the flying debris.

  “Either start digging or don’t get in the way,” Tobie advised, his enthusiasm bordering on ridiculousness.

  After a few more shovelfuls, he noticed the others were sitting together, chatting. All but Tyler, who chose solitude on his napping rock. Tobie speared his shovel into the ground, threw a hand in the air.

  “Isn’t anyone else going to help?”

  They looked over, unaware and indifferent.

  “You seem to have the hang of it,” Clark said. Jackie laughed at this, the sound of which made Tobie stoop his head in irritable disbelief.

  “Am I the only one who cares about the fort anymore?”

  Emmett, hoping someone else might say something, guiltily got to his feet. “I’ll help.”

  “Pfff.” Tobie turned his back to them and started digging again. “You’ll get tired after two shovelfuls.”

  Emmett frowned. He stood awkwardly, unsure whether to sit back down and let Tobie get the help he deserved—which was none—or…

  “Ask Tyler to dig with you,” Jackie said. “He’s stronger, I’m sure he could dig twice what you could in a day. The two of you digging—”

  “Oh, gee,” Tobie put on a mocking version of his sister’s voice. “Tyler, you’re soooo strong. Oh my god, I bet you could dig a hole straight to my heart without breaking a sweat! Ohhh…”

  “Well,” she said, “if you’re going to be picky about the help you get, don’t feel bad when no one offers again. You can do it all yourself as far as any of us care.”

  Tobie mumbled under his breath, stuck his shovel into the dirt. Then as he stomped on the shovel head his foot slipped off. He stepped forward, tripped over his own feet. He caught himself on his hands, barely avoiding falling flat. He remained like that for a moment, hands and feet on the ground, butt in the air, and his entire body stiffened at the sound of his sister’s shrieking laughter.

  “Nice going,” she said. “Tyler, you really should help him, before he hurts himself…”

  Tobie stood and whirled around, red in the face, lips scrunched under his smooth, flared nostrils. Jackie grinned, though it didn’t reach her wary eyes. Emmett, still standing, felt dangerously close to being an involuntary target.

  “Oh, here we go…” Jackie said.

  Tobie kicked the shovel on the ground, sent it skipping and tumbling a short distance in their direction. His hands were fists at his side.

  “Okay, Tobie, I was only kidding.”

  “Do you think you’re impressing anyone?” Tobie asked, his cracking voice oddly high. “No one thinks you’re funny or cool.”

  Jackie raised her brow. “I think you’re talking about yourself.”

  “Do you think you’re impressing Tyler?” he asked next. This got an eyeroll from his sister, which let him know a nerve had been touched. “Tyler doesn’t give a shit about you.”

  “Okay, guys.”

  Tyler sat up from his rock now. His eyes were sleepy and bored.

  “You’re invisible to him,” Tobie said. “You’re a little girl!”

  “Okay, I’m not—”

  “Wish all you want, he doesn’t think twice about you. Go to bed and squeeze your pillow…” Tobie mimed, hugging and kissing the air. “…and it doesn’t change the fact he’s in the next room fucking Eileen and has no idea you even exist.”

  “Whoa!” Tyler swiveled on his rock. “That’s too far, Tobie. You don’t know what you’re saying.”

  “Yes I do. Ask Emmett. He knows, too. I’m sure everyone could hear you guys anyway. Everyone but her…” He pointed at his sister. “Because she’s too busy wishing she was Eileen.”

  “I said stop.” Tyler got to his feet. “This whole conversation is over. Fight about it later, if you want, but it’s over now.”

  “You’re not the boss of us,” Tobie muttered.

  “Irene will hear about this if you keep it up. So let it go.”

  The clearing became exceptionally quiet then. Emmett stood frozen, unsure of what to do with himself. He startled as Jackie jumped to her feet beside him, now as red in the face as her brother.

  “I hate you!” she screamed, and stomped out of the clearing, following the stream back toward home.

  Tyler sighed. “I guess it’s time we head back.”

  “I’m not going back,” Tobie argued. He picked his shovel up and returned to his digging spot. “I don’t care what you do, but I’m staying.”

  Helpless, Tyler threw his head back, eyes to the branches, and said, “Emmett, Clark, will one of you go with her, please?”

  Clark jumped at the opportunity. He was up in an instant, hurrying toward the stream and up the sloping trees to catch up. Emmett contemplated heading after them, leaving Tyler and Tobie alone at the dig spot for the second time.

  As he watched Clark and Jackie disappearing in the distance over his shoulder, nearly arriving at his decision, Tobie’s voice drew him back.

  “You still wanna help?” Tobie asked. His voice sounded almost apologetic. Desperate. “The second shovel is over there, if you want…”

  Considering only for a moment, Emmett stood and took the shovel. Tobie smiled meekly.

  “Where should I start?”

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Emmett would learn more and more during his stay at the Holmes house, fights and disagreements were mostly dissolved and forgotten with time. Mostly. Tobie, the imp that he was, couldn’t help prodding the tender scars these disagreements left behind. Just enough to raise someone’s hackles.

  It was a couple days before they returned to the fort as a group. As Emmett became more confident with digging, his involvement inspired the others to help as well—except Tyler. Even Jackie eventually made good on her word, though her aid was always short-lived, stating that digging was even more boring than just watching.

  “You’re just lazy,” Tobie said.

  Over a couple weeks’ time, they made enough progress to afford a little pride.

  “We’re almost done, I think!” Clark said. “I mean… it’s not very deep, but…”

  “It doesn’t need to be super deep,” Jackie said. “So long as we can maybe crouch inside…”

  With a mischievous grin, watching Tyler sleeping on his rock behind them, Tobie whispered, “It’ll be deep enough for us, at least.”

  The others grinned with him.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  The nights were getting cold, so Mrs. Holmes brought out several extra blankets for the children. Emmett chose a heavy quilt—green and yellow and large enough to swallow him whole.

  On nights when terrible, intrusive thoughts plagued him, like those of The Humming Man—or even worse, the past—wrapping up in the quilt protected him against potential nighttime imaginings. He saw nothing, heard nothing. Even Lionel’s midnight fits couldn’t disturb him…

  Except on one particular night.

  It happened as he slept. Something—a thought, an idea, a message—slipped inside his head like a worm. In the dead of night, he squirmed in place. The warmth of the quilt began to bake. Hot, smothering. He turned restlessly inside it. The thing in his head burrowed deeper. Searching. From dream to dream, it pursued him. As it closed in on him, gaining on his pedaling dreamer’s feet, it called his name.

  “Emmett.”

  He awoke abruptly, shivering in a cold sweat. Bundled in his damp quilt, he held his breath to listen. Nothing. Slowly, silently, he lifted his head to observe the room. He made out Tobie’s face across the room in the dark, mouth open in his own deep sleep. Warily, he settl
ed back onto his pillow. He breathed deeply. He couldn’t even remember what exactly he dreamed. Just the feeling…

  “Emmett.”

  A voice, a whisper, sparked from thin air beside him. He sat up like a catapult. He turned on the sound, trembling. The shape of his head lifted from the pillow. Curiously, guardedly, he picked up his mother’s trinket lying there, wound the chain around his fingers. He held it to his face, the black pendant a shadow in his palm. He cast a fearful glance over his shoulder at the open room, the others in their beds, the moonlit window. The air was still. Gently, he lowered himself over the edge of his bed, peeked into the dark space underneath. Empty. However, as the blood rushed to his dangling head, something else caught his attention. Movement across the room. Upside-down, head pounding, he turned toward it… and what he saw stiffened him right-side-up again.

  In the corner of the room, left of the window, a figure leaned. Tall and narrow and motionless. Emmett watched, waiting for it to move, to prove it was really there, but it stayed as it was—rigid and black and deep…

  Mrs. Holmes? his mouth wanted to say. Mr. Holmes?

  It was neither. It was no person he’d seen before, if it was even a person at all. And though he couldn’t see it clearly, he got the feeling it saw him fine. All he knew for certain was that it hadn’t been there before. Not when they turned out the lights and climbed into bed. Not when he wrapped his tired body in his soft cocoon and drifted off. No. It arrived as they slept. Uninvited.

  As he watched—clenching the quilt under his chin, ready to yank it over his head any second—it moved. It tilted forward from its corner, bleeding into the light. It traveled gradually from the corner, almost gliding. And the light revealed nothing. Featureless. The closer it skated, the more it stayed the same. In fact, the dark corner seemed to move with it, grow with it. The moonlight through the window appeared to bend around it. Or… into it…

  In the confusion of what he was witnessing, Emmett’s grasp loosened on the quilt. Mesmerized.

  The approaching shape was eating the light—pulled it in like a vacuum, peeled it from the window in pulsing waves. Emmett’s sleepy eyes widened. His head swam in dizzy waters. The figure lifted an arm to him and he tensed as though paralyzed.