Hindered Souls: Dark Tales for Dark Nights, page 12
She thought she saw a strange man standing over her girl. She couldn't move, couldn't protect her Nina.
No parent should ever have to see their child die. Maria would take all of it from Nina, all of the sickness, if she could. She begged God every night to give it all to her.
She deserved it. Torture for what she had done as a child, for letting her sister...
It wasn't your fault.
Maria wasn't surprised that she remembered her sister now. The man she dreamt standing over her Nina reminded her of the man from…
"Please, Lord, please take me..." Nina's chest barely went up and down. "But if you can't, please watch over my baby."
Maria placed the paperback on the night table.
"I beg you."
No one replied; that's how it usually went. But she knew someone was listening.
It wasn't your fault.
Maria got up and walked over to the door cracked open at the other end of the room.
She reached the handle to close it, but stopped.
"You worry too much. Go sit down," she told herself.
You sound so much like tu mama, she heard her father say.
She took a step, stopped.
"Mama?"
Turning back for the door, Maria pulls it open—
—Nina is in bed and the man is standing over her. He's dressed in black with very light hair.
No, wait. It's Nora in the bed, Maria's sister.
"Nora." Maria says in Spanish: "Que estas haciendo?" What are you doing?
Nora sits there, pointing at something. When she moves closer to her sister, a man comes into view.
It reminds Maria of a toy they played with. View Master--a binocular-like toy which would change the image when you pulled the lever down on the side. A cartoon character would move with each pull.
She pulls the lever—
—The paperback novel Maria has been reading flops to the floor from her lap.
"Nina?"
Her daughter hasn't been awake for days. Now she is looking at Maria. Smiling.
The man patiently waits standing on the other side of the bed. His white eyes could be looking anywhere.
Maria sits forward and almost drops the View Master.
"How did this get here?"
She looks into it and pulls the lever—
—Nora is singing.
Maria leans forward. "Que cancion es esa?" What song is that?
But her sister doesn't answer.
Nora starts humming it now.
Maria can see the man. He stands just beyond Nora, by the door.
She hears the lever to the View Master click, then again and it keeps clicking until the man is no longer there. He just flashes out of existence.
She picks up the View Master and brings it to her eyes. Her finger slowly pulls down the lever—
—Maria opened her eyes.
Nina's heart monitor went into a steady beee--eeep.
"Nina."
In no time the nurses were in the room, the doctor a mere moment after them. They were looking at all the gadgets and had a machine with two square blocks held to her daughter's chest.
Someone called out CLEAR! And all the sounds melded into one.
She sat down. Her paperback was knocked to the floor from the night table by a nurse trying to get around the bed.
CLEAR!
And what do you know? The View Master. It was poking out of her purse. She must have picked it up at home when she went to shower and change.
She lifted it to her eyes.
She pulled the lever and Maria saw her daughter.
She was singing her song. It was such a beautiful song, similar to her sister's all those years back.
She pulled the lever and the same man dressed in black came into view, listening as well. But he didn't seem threatening now.
Maria knew she shouldn't know his face too well. Just an intuition.
Yet she wanted to be with her daughter a few more moments if possible.
She knew she would forget this singing. She would forget the man. Probably until it's her time to sing.
The end of the song is nearing and Maria mouths the words I love you to her daughter. And with another pull of the lever she appears to notice her mother for a moment, until the song ends and Nina smiles and the Angel of Death takes her away.
Rose
by Wondra Vanian
''When are you due?'' Mrs. Jones asked.
With a loving hand on her rounded belly, Wanda replied, ''Next month. Hopefully we'll have the nursery finished by then!''
''Just you take it easy, honey. Big move like this would be hard enough without all that extra luggage.''
Looking at Mrs. Jones smiling face, it was hard to believe the woman was about to leave her family home and take up residence in an assisted living facility. Wanda glanced up at the two-story wooden farmhouse. They hadn't even moved in yet and, already, she couldn't imagine ever wanting to leave.
Tall rows of golden maize stretched endlessly behind the house. Bit by bit, the land had been leased out to local farmers over the years until all that remained of the property was the old house itself and a barn that had seen better days. It was more than Wanda and Anthony needed to start their little family.
''Plenty of room to grow into,'' Mrs. Jones said, as if reading Wanda's thoughts.
''Mhm,'' Wanda agreed happily. ''Do you have any children, Mrs. Jones?''
A shadow crossed the woman's lined face, making her appear even older. No, not older... wearier. It passed before Wanda could wonder about its meaning.
Giving herself a small shake, Mrs. Jones offered Wanda a kind smile.
''No, dear.''
She took Wanda's arm and they trudged back up the long driveway together.
''Mr. Jones and I were blessed with a little girl,'' she told the younger woman. ''Rose.''
Her tone was solemn as Mrs. Jones added, ''She disappeared during a Christmas party back in '75.'' There was a pause. ''She was seven.''
Wanda went cold all over. Unconsciously, she wrapped a protective arm around her swollen belly as she tried to imagine what that must have been like. She couldn't imagine anything more horrifying.
''I'm so sorry,'' was all Wanda could think to say. It seemed wildly inadequate.
''Don't be, honey,'' Mrs. Jones told her, patting her arm comfortingly. ''That was a lifetime ago.'' She breathed a nostalgic sigh. ''And we had seven years of real happiness with our little Rose.''
Her smile remained in place, but her eyes held the look of old tears.
''Come on now,'' Mrs. Jones said firmly. ''No sense crying over things that can't be changed. Let's go find Mr. Jones and get the keys to your new home.'' Wanda's mood brightened considerably at hearing those words.
Her new home.
****
It was perfect, just one night in the old farmhouse convinced Wanda of that. The wooden floorboards were scarred, the appliances needed updating, and it could really use a paint job outside but, despite those little flaws, the house was perfect. Or, maybe it was perfect because of those little flaws; the little projects Wanda and Anthony could tackle together. The house was full of possibilities. Wanda was blissfully happy there.
Until the day she lost her footing and nearly fell down the stairs.
She was carrying an armful of clean linens to the second story cupboard when her foot slipped on the worn wooden step. If Anthony hadn't been two steps behind, Wanda would surely have tumbled all the way down, possibly breaking a limb.
Or worse.
After the initial panic had passed, Anthony gave her a stern lecture on safety. Though she bristled at the authoritative tone her husband used, Wanda endured the scolding because she could see the fear that lingered in his eyes. She was less tolerant of his insistence that she remain downstairs until after the baby was born.
''I will not,'' she said, irritation bleeding into every word, ''be treated like an invalid!''
Anthony opened his mouth but Wanda cut him off before he could make whatever it's-best-for-the-baby argument he had planned. ''I am perfectly capable of climbing a flight of stairs by myself.''
He considered a moment before replying. ''Those stairs really ought to be carpeted...''
''Probably,'' Wanda conceded, sensing that the disagreement was nearly won, ''but that's not a priority right now, is it?''
She could practically see Anthony running through his to-do list mentally. The nursery had been painted but the crib and changing table still needed to be assembled. Plus, the guest room was nowhere near ready for Anthony's mother, who was coming to stay for a few weeks after the birth.
Anthony shook his head in defeat. ''Okay,'' he said finally, ''but promise me you'll be more careful.''
That was easy to do; Wanda had given herself a fright when she'd slipped and certainly didn't want a repeat of the incident.
Wanda managed to get through the rest of their first week in the farmhouse without another accident and, eventually, Anthony stopped panicking every time she clambered up the creaky old staircase – though he replaced the banister for good measure. Truth was, Wanda didn't mind her husband's constant offers to carry things up and down the stairs. Lugging herself and the hippopotamus she seemed to have in her womb around was hard enough on flat surfaces.
If she had been smarter – or, perhaps, less stubborn – Wanda would have allowed Anthony to do all of the unpacking. But, mostly because he started every other conversation with, ''You shouldn't'', she insisted on carrying her own weight. Her very considerable weight.
Maybe not the best idea she'd ever had.
After a long morning of unpacking dishes, Wanda decided to get some fresh air. She walked up and down the long dirt driveway, rubbing her aching back and silently begging the baby to hurry up and come out already. Wondering if she could get away with spending the rest of her day on the sofa, with her feet up (and maybe a pint of mint chocolate chip) – without hearing the words ''I told you so'', Wanda almost missed the flash of color in the nursery window.
She slowed to a halt, shielding her eyes as she craned her neck to look up at the second-story windows. Wanda had just about convinced herself that it had been a passing bird, or a trick of the light, when she saw it again. Red. Something red crossed in front of the window, then returned. It was small enough to be difficult to make out against the glare of the midday sun. Squinting, Wanda moved back up the driveway until the image came into focus.
A little girl, all brunet ringlets and pink cheeks. She wore a red dress, with a red bow to hold her riotous curls in place. Her tiny hand rest against the window as she spoke. The little girl looked down on Wanda with sorrowful eyes. She struggled to make out the words. When she did, Wanda took off at the fastest waddle an eight-and-a-half-months pregnant woman could manage.
Help me.
Wanda burst through the back door in a clatter of banging screens and snapping flip flops. Her back hurt worse than before and the baby had apparently decided to express its displeasure through an interpretive tap dance routine – but none of that mattered to Wanda then. The only thing she cared about at that moment was saving the little girl from... whatever she needed saving from.
Halfway up the stairs, Wanda ran into something hard.
''Whoa,'' Anthony said, grabbing Wanda by the arms. ''Take it easy.''
He gazed down at her with a disapproving look she was becoming all too familiar with. ''You promised that you would be careful on these stairs,'' he began in a tone that promised a longer lecture to come.
Wanda didn't have time for it.
''Little girl,'' she gasped, trying to jerk out of his hold.
Anthony smiled. His expression softened.
''I know. A little girl,'' he said. ''She's going to be beautiful. And healthy.'' His frown returned. ''That's why you promised to be more careful.''
He tried to urge Wanda back down the stairs but she resisted.
''No!'' she snapped impatiently. ''There's a little girl up there. In a red dress. I saw her from the driveway!''
The look Anthony gave her was part confusion, part disbelief, and a whole lot of concern. He obviously didn't believe a word of it.
Annoyed – and bordering on frantic – Wanda tried to shove past him.
''There is a little girl up there,'' she insisted, ''and she needs help!''
''Alright, alright,'' Anthony said finally. ''I'll go look. But not until you go sit down.''
His tone told Wanda he wasn't giving her a choice in the matter.
With a sigh of frustration, she lumbered back down the stairs, walked over to the sofa, and sat down with a huff. Drumming her fingers impatiently on the arm of the sofa, she waited. Anthony gave her one last doubtful look before he turned and climbed back up the stairs. Wanda was on her feet the second he was out of sight. She paced.
A good ten minutes passed before Anthony re-emerged from the second floor. He didn't look pleased.
''Well?'' Wanda asked. The wild thundering of her heart hadn't eased.
''There's no one up there,'' her husband told her, a line appearing between his brows as he frowned.
''There must be! You just didn't look in the right place! I'll…''
Anthony caught Wanda's arm in a firm grip before she could run up the stairs to check for herself.
''No one's there,'' Anthony said forcefully. ''I looked in every room.'' When she opened her mouth to argue, he added, ''Twice.''
He stared at Wanda until her shoulders slumped in defeat.
Maybe it had just been her pregnancy hormones playing with her mind... But it had seemed so real. Wanda could still picture the girl's sad little face. If Anthony was telling the truth... She gave herself a shake. Telling the truth? Why would her husband lie?
If Wanda had thought that Anthony was hovering before, she got a lesson in what the word really meant. After the incident with the little girl in the red dress, Wanda couldn't move for her husband. He was always there, "just checking to make sure she was all right." She gave in and let him handle the rest of the move while she obediently relaxed – but it wasn't enough to erase the worry line between his brows.
Just three days later, a noise startled Wanda awake in the middle of the night. Laying in the dark bedroom, she listened, wondering what noise had woken her. A hand went to her belly but the baby seemed to be sleeping – or, at the very least, taking pity on her poor exhausted mother. So what had woken Wanda from her slumber?
The silent house offered no answer.
After a moment, Wanda closed her eyes and willed sleep to return.
That was when she heard it: a muffled sob.
Jolted, Wanda scrambled up, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. Anthony continued to doze peacefully beside her as she listened. The sound came again several loud heartbeats later. It had her considerable bulk off the bed in seconds. As quickly and as quietly as her bulk would allow, Wanda shuffled toward the door. She cast one nervous glance back at her husband but Anthony didn't stir.
Creeping through the house, Wanda followed the sound of sobbing. Her step faltered at the first stair. If Anthony woke to find her traipsing up the stairs he considered so dangerous, he'd probably be angry. He would definitely be angry. But the heart-breaking sobbing continued and Wanda couldn't help but try to find the source. An angry husband was just a risk she would have to take.
The moment foot touched the landing, however, the sobbing stopped abruptly. Wanda waited, breath held, but the sound didn't come again.
"Hello," she called softly. Logically, Wanda knew that she and Anthony were the only ones in the house. But the sobbing had come from somewhere, hadn't it?
The only response she received was silence.
Wanda moved from room to room, quietly opening closets and struggling to peer under beds. In each room, she found the same thing: nothing. Not even a single dust bunny. Confused and disappointed, Wanda was forced to admit that she must have been hearing things. She turned to go back down the stairs-
And screamed.
Anthony had come up the stairs noiselessly and stood right behind Wanda. He looked sleepy, rumpled – and closer to furious than angry. By the time he finished chastising Wanda for her reckless behavior, the only sobbing Wanda heard was her own.
He apologized afterward, putting her antics down to a nasty combination of bad dreams and pregnancy hormones, but still insisted on sleeping on the sofa for the rest of the night.
Probably to make sure I don't go sneaking around the house again...
His mother arrived the next day, starting her visit two weeks early.
As if being nearly nine months pregnant and under scrutiny every second of the day wasn't enough to make her feel crazy, Wanda saw the little girl in the red dress again. As she sat on the sofa, pretending to be absorbed in a glossy magazine while she listened to Anthony and his mother discuss her health in the next room, Wanda caught a flash of red out of the corner of her eye. Lowering the magazine, she glanced up to find the little girl standing halfway down the stairs.
There she was, plain as day in her red dress. She looked like a doll, all ruffles and ribbons, with a head full of curls and smart Mary Janes on her little feet. Wanda stared in open-mouthed astonishment as the child stretched out one small hand and beckoned.
Gasping, Wanda let the magazine slip to the floor. She started to rise but, before she could push herself off the sofa, Anthony's mother was there, clucking as she eased the younger woman back down, then bent to retrieve the magazine.
Wanda tried to peer around her mother-in-law but the woman was stubborn. And broad. She insisted on tucking a crocheted blanket around Wanda's legs, even though it was August and completely unnecessary, then pressed a hand to Wanda's forehead in a gesture as useless as it was uncalled for. They had always gotten along well enough but, as she struggled to see around the older woman, Wanda decided that could change – and quickly if her mother-in-law didn't stop fussing and leave her in peace!
Anthony's mother retreated to a rocking chair in the corner, where she took up her knitting needles and got to work, furiously knitting a fourth pair of pink baby booties. It was a sign of Wanda's distraction that she didn't immediately remark that there was no way in hell she was forcing her daughter into outdated gender roles.
No parent should ever have to see their child die. Maria would take all of it from Nina, all of the sickness, if she could. She begged God every night to give it all to her.
She deserved it. Torture for what she had done as a child, for letting her sister...
It wasn't your fault.
Maria wasn't surprised that she remembered her sister now. The man she dreamt standing over her Nina reminded her of the man from…
"Please, Lord, please take me..." Nina's chest barely went up and down. "But if you can't, please watch over my baby."
Maria placed the paperback on the night table.
"I beg you."
No one replied; that's how it usually went. But she knew someone was listening.
It wasn't your fault.
Maria got up and walked over to the door cracked open at the other end of the room.
She reached the handle to close it, but stopped.
"You worry too much. Go sit down," she told herself.
You sound so much like tu mama, she heard her father say.
She took a step, stopped.
"Mama?"
Turning back for the door, Maria pulls it open—
—Nina is in bed and the man is standing over her. He's dressed in black with very light hair.
No, wait. It's Nora in the bed, Maria's sister.
"Nora." Maria says in Spanish: "Que estas haciendo?" What are you doing?
Nora sits there, pointing at something. When she moves closer to her sister, a man comes into view.
It reminds Maria of a toy they played with. View Master--a binocular-like toy which would change the image when you pulled the lever down on the side. A cartoon character would move with each pull.
She pulls the lever—
—The paperback novel Maria has been reading flops to the floor from her lap.
"Nina?"
Her daughter hasn't been awake for days. Now she is looking at Maria. Smiling.
The man patiently waits standing on the other side of the bed. His white eyes could be looking anywhere.
Maria sits forward and almost drops the View Master.
"How did this get here?"
She looks into it and pulls the lever—
—Nora is singing.
Maria leans forward. "Que cancion es esa?" What song is that?
But her sister doesn't answer.
Nora starts humming it now.
Maria can see the man. He stands just beyond Nora, by the door.
She hears the lever to the View Master click, then again and it keeps clicking until the man is no longer there. He just flashes out of existence.
She picks up the View Master and brings it to her eyes. Her finger slowly pulls down the lever—
—Maria opened her eyes.
Nina's heart monitor went into a steady beee--eeep.
"Nina."
In no time the nurses were in the room, the doctor a mere moment after them. They were looking at all the gadgets and had a machine with two square blocks held to her daughter's chest.
Someone called out CLEAR! And all the sounds melded into one.
She sat down. Her paperback was knocked to the floor from the night table by a nurse trying to get around the bed.
CLEAR!
And what do you know? The View Master. It was poking out of her purse. She must have picked it up at home when she went to shower and change.
She lifted it to her eyes.
She pulled the lever and Maria saw her daughter.
She was singing her song. It was such a beautiful song, similar to her sister's all those years back.
She pulled the lever and the same man dressed in black came into view, listening as well. But he didn't seem threatening now.
Maria knew she shouldn't know his face too well. Just an intuition.
Yet she wanted to be with her daughter a few more moments if possible.
She knew she would forget this singing. She would forget the man. Probably until it's her time to sing.
The end of the song is nearing and Maria mouths the words I love you to her daughter. And with another pull of the lever she appears to notice her mother for a moment, until the song ends and Nina smiles and the Angel of Death takes her away.
Rose
by Wondra Vanian
''When are you due?'' Mrs. Jones asked.
With a loving hand on her rounded belly, Wanda replied, ''Next month. Hopefully we'll have the nursery finished by then!''
''Just you take it easy, honey. Big move like this would be hard enough without all that extra luggage.''
Looking at Mrs. Jones smiling face, it was hard to believe the woman was about to leave her family home and take up residence in an assisted living facility. Wanda glanced up at the two-story wooden farmhouse. They hadn't even moved in yet and, already, she couldn't imagine ever wanting to leave.
Tall rows of golden maize stretched endlessly behind the house. Bit by bit, the land had been leased out to local farmers over the years until all that remained of the property was the old house itself and a barn that had seen better days. It was more than Wanda and Anthony needed to start their little family.
''Plenty of room to grow into,'' Mrs. Jones said, as if reading Wanda's thoughts.
''Mhm,'' Wanda agreed happily. ''Do you have any children, Mrs. Jones?''
A shadow crossed the woman's lined face, making her appear even older. No, not older... wearier. It passed before Wanda could wonder about its meaning.
Giving herself a small shake, Mrs. Jones offered Wanda a kind smile.
''No, dear.''
She took Wanda's arm and they trudged back up the long driveway together.
''Mr. Jones and I were blessed with a little girl,'' she told the younger woman. ''Rose.''
Her tone was solemn as Mrs. Jones added, ''She disappeared during a Christmas party back in '75.'' There was a pause. ''She was seven.''
Wanda went cold all over. Unconsciously, she wrapped a protective arm around her swollen belly as she tried to imagine what that must have been like. She couldn't imagine anything more horrifying.
''I'm so sorry,'' was all Wanda could think to say. It seemed wildly inadequate.
''Don't be, honey,'' Mrs. Jones told her, patting her arm comfortingly. ''That was a lifetime ago.'' She breathed a nostalgic sigh. ''And we had seven years of real happiness with our little Rose.''
Her smile remained in place, but her eyes held the look of old tears.
''Come on now,'' Mrs. Jones said firmly. ''No sense crying over things that can't be changed. Let's go find Mr. Jones and get the keys to your new home.'' Wanda's mood brightened considerably at hearing those words.
Her new home.
****
It was perfect, just one night in the old farmhouse convinced Wanda of that. The wooden floorboards were scarred, the appliances needed updating, and it could really use a paint job outside but, despite those little flaws, the house was perfect. Or, maybe it was perfect because of those little flaws; the little projects Wanda and Anthony could tackle together. The house was full of possibilities. Wanda was blissfully happy there.
Until the day she lost her footing and nearly fell down the stairs.
She was carrying an armful of clean linens to the second story cupboard when her foot slipped on the worn wooden step. If Anthony hadn't been two steps behind, Wanda would surely have tumbled all the way down, possibly breaking a limb.
Or worse.
After the initial panic had passed, Anthony gave her a stern lecture on safety. Though she bristled at the authoritative tone her husband used, Wanda endured the scolding because she could see the fear that lingered in his eyes. She was less tolerant of his insistence that she remain downstairs until after the baby was born.
''I will not,'' she said, irritation bleeding into every word, ''be treated like an invalid!''
Anthony opened his mouth but Wanda cut him off before he could make whatever it's-best-for-the-baby argument he had planned. ''I am perfectly capable of climbing a flight of stairs by myself.''
He considered a moment before replying. ''Those stairs really ought to be carpeted...''
''Probably,'' Wanda conceded, sensing that the disagreement was nearly won, ''but that's not a priority right now, is it?''
She could practically see Anthony running through his to-do list mentally. The nursery had been painted but the crib and changing table still needed to be assembled. Plus, the guest room was nowhere near ready for Anthony's mother, who was coming to stay for a few weeks after the birth.
Anthony shook his head in defeat. ''Okay,'' he said finally, ''but promise me you'll be more careful.''
That was easy to do; Wanda had given herself a fright when she'd slipped and certainly didn't want a repeat of the incident.
Wanda managed to get through the rest of their first week in the farmhouse without another accident and, eventually, Anthony stopped panicking every time she clambered up the creaky old staircase – though he replaced the banister for good measure. Truth was, Wanda didn't mind her husband's constant offers to carry things up and down the stairs. Lugging herself and the hippopotamus she seemed to have in her womb around was hard enough on flat surfaces.
If she had been smarter – or, perhaps, less stubborn – Wanda would have allowed Anthony to do all of the unpacking. But, mostly because he started every other conversation with, ''You shouldn't'', she insisted on carrying her own weight. Her very considerable weight.
Maybe not the best idea she'd ever had.
After a long morning of unpacking dishes, Wanda decided to get some fresh air. She walked up and down the long dirt driveway, rubbing her aching back and silently begging the baby to hurry up and come out already. Wondering if she could get away with spending the rest of her day on the sofa, with her feet up (and maybe a pint of mint chocolate chip) – without hearing the words ''I told you so'', Wanda almost missed the flash of color in the nursery window.
She slowed to a halt, shielding her eyes as she craned her neck to look up at the second-story windows. Wanda had just about convinced herself that it had been a passing bird, or a trick of the light, when she saw it again. Red. Something red crossed in front of the window, then returned. It was small enough to be difficult to make out against the glare of the midday sun. Squinting, Wanda moved back up the driveway until the image came into focus.
A little girl, all brunet ringlets and pink cheeks. She wore a red dress, with a red bow to hold her riotous curls in place. Her tiny hand rest against the window as she spoke. The little girl looked down on Wanda with sorrowful eyes. She struggled to make out the words. When she did, Wanda took off at the fastest waddle an eight-and-a-half-months pregnant woman could manage.
Help me.
Wanda burst through the back door in a clatter of banging screens and snapping flip flops. Her back hurt worse than before and the baby had apparently decided to express its displeasure through an interpretive tap dance routine – but none of that mattered to Wanda then. The only thing she cared about at that moment was saving the little girl from... whatever she needed saving from.
Halfway up the stairs, Wanda ran into something hard.
''Whoa,'' Anthony said, grabbing Wanda by the arms. ''Take it easy.''
He gazed down at her with a disapproving look she was becoming all too familiar with. ''You promised that you would be careful on these stairs,'' he began in a tone that promised a longer lecture to come.
Wanda didn't have time for it.
''Little girl,'' she gasped, trying to jerk out of his hold.
Anthony smiled. His expression softened.
''I know. A little girl,'' he said. ''She's going to be beautiful. And healthy.'' His frown returned. ''That's why you promised to be more careful.''
He tried to urge Wanda back down the stairs but she resisted.
''No!'' she snapped impatiently. ''There's a little girl up there. In a red dress. I saw her from the driveway!''
The look Anthony gave her was part confusion, part disbelief, and a whole lot of concern. He obviously didn't believe a word of it.
Annoyed – and bordering on frantic – Wanda tried to shove past him.
''There is a little girl up there,'' she insisted, ''and she needs help!''
''Alright, alright,'' Anthony said finally. ''I'll go look. But not until you go sit down.''
His tone told Wanda he wasn't giving her a choice in the matter.
With a sigh of frustration, she lumbered back down the stairs, walked over to the sofa, and sat down with a huff. Drumming her fingers impatiently on the arm of the sofa, she waited. Anthony gave her one last doubtful look before he turned and climbed back up the stairs. Wanda was on her feet the second he was out of sight. She paced.
A good ten minutes passed before Anthony re-emerged from the second floor. He didn't look pleased.
''Well?'' Wanda asked. The wild thundering of her heart hadn't eased.
''There's no one up there,'' her husband told her, a line appearing between his brows as he frowned.
''There must be! You just didn't look in the right place! I'll…''
Anthony caught Wanda's arm in a firm grip before she could run up the stairs to check for herself.
''No one's there,'' Anthony said forcefully. ''I looked in every room.'' When she opened her mouth to argue, he added, ''Twice.''
He stared at Wanda until her shoulders slumped in defeat.
Maybe it had just been her pregnancy hormones playing with her mind... But it had seemed so real. Wanda could still picture the girl's sad little face. If Anthony was telling the truth... She gave herself a shake. Telling the truth? Why would her husband lie?
If Wanda had thought that Anthony was hovering before, she got a lesson in what the word really meant. After the incident with the little girl in the red dress, Wanda couldn't move for her husband. He was always there, "just checking to make sure she was all right." She gave in and let him handle the rest of the move while she obediently relaxed – but it wasn't enough to erase the worry line between his brows.
Just three days later, a noise startled Wanda awake in the middle of the night. Laying in the dark bedroom, she listened, wondering what noise had woken her. A hand went to her belly but the baby seemed to be sleeping – or, at the very least, taking pity on her poor exhausted mother. So what had woken Wanda from her slumber?
The silent house offered no answer.
After a moment, Wanda closed her eyes and willed sleep to return.
That was when she heard it: a muffled sob.
Jolted, Wanda scrambled up, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. Anthony continued to doze peacefully beside her as she listened. The sound came again several loud heartbeats later. It had her considerable bulk off the bed in seconds. As quickly and as quietly as her bulk would allow, Wanda shuffled toward the door. She cast one nervous glance back at her husband but Anthony didn't stir.
Creeping through the house, Wanda followed the sound of sobbing. Her step faltered at the first stair. If Anthony woke to find her traipsing up the stairs he considered so dangerous, he'd probably be angry. He would definitely be angry. But the heart-breaking sobbing continued and Wanda couldn't help but try to find the source. An angry husband was just a risk she would have to take.
The moment foot touched the landing, however, the sobbing stopped abruptly. Wanda waited, breath held, but the sound didn't come again.
"Hello," she called softly. Logically, Wanda knew that she and Anthony were the only ones in the house. But the sobbing had come from somewhere, hadn't it?
The only response she received was silence.
Wanda moved from room to room, quietly opening closets and struggling to peer under beds. In each room, she found the same thing: nothing. Not even a single dust bunny. Confused and disappointed, Wanda was forced to admit that she must have been hearing things. She turned to go back down the stairs-
And screamed.
Anthony had come up the stairs noiselessly and stood right behind Wanda. He looked sleepy, rumpled – and closer to furious than angry. By the time he finished chastising Wanda for her reckless behavior, the only sobbing Wanda heard was her own.
He apologized afterward, putting her antics down to a nasty combination of bad dreams and pregnancy hormones, but still insisted on sleeping on the sofa for the rest of the night.
Probably to make sure I don't go sneaking around the house again...
His mother arrived the next day, starting her visit two weeks early.
As if being nearly nine months pregnant and under scrutiny every second of the day wasn't enough to make her feel crazy, Wanda saw the little girl in the red dress again. As she sat on the sofa, pretending to be absorbed in a glossy magazine while she listened to Anthony and his mother discuss her health in the next room, Wanda caught a flash of red out of the corner of her eye. Lowering the magazine, she glanced up to find the little girl standing halfway down the stairs.
There she was, plain as day in her red dress. She looked like a doll, all ruffles and ribbons, with a head full of curls and smart Mary Janes on her little feet. Wanda stared in open-mouthed astonishment as the child stretched out one small hand and beckoned.
Gasping, Wanda let the magazine slip to the floor. She started to rise but, before she could push herself off the sofa, Anthony's mother was there, clucking as she eased the younger woman back down, then bent to retrieve the magazine.
Wanda tried to peer around her mother-in-law but the woman was stubborn. And broad. She insisted on tucking a crocheted blanket around Wanda's legs, even though it was August and completely unnecessary, then pressed a hand to Wanda's forehead in a gesture as useless as it was uncalled for. They had always gotten along well enough but, as she struggled to see around the older woman, Wanda decided that could change – and quickly if her mother-in-law didn't stop fussing and leave her in peace!
Anthony's mother retreated to a rocking chair in the corner, where she took up her knitting needles and got to work, furiously knitting a fourth pair of pink baby booties. It was a sign of Wanda's distraction that she didn't immediately remark that there was no way in hell she was forcing her daughter into outdated gender roles.
