“I’m cheering you up, remember?”
Tears pool in her eyes. Eyes that swivel like she wishes she could look through the back of her own skull.
“Nuh-uh. Eyes on me.” I snap my fingers, drawing her gaze back. “What did I tell you about the basement, Billy?”
Her lips are trembling non-stop now, and her weak little voice shakes. “Th-that, that it’s only a b-bad place if…if…”
“If what, Billy?”
She swallows, squeezes her lips shut. Like she can’t bear to say it.
“It’s only The Bad Place if The Witch is here.” I tighten my hand on the back of her neck, drawing her a little closer. “And what have I told you about the dark?”
She finds her voice, a little more sure now that I’ve eradicated the threat of The Witch. “Light shows what eyes shouldn’t see, the dark—“ she hitches, losing her place in our mantra, then rallies splendidly, blurting the rest out all at once, “—the dark keeps bad places safe for me!”
It took me a while to come up with that. I’m terrible at rhymes.
“Well done,” I tell her. She bites down on her lip, swaying a little as she shows me her teeth.
There’s nothing but a sparkle left of her unshed tears.
“I was keeping this for your birthday, but it’s close enough, right?”
“My birthday?” Her green eyes sparkle as she searches my face.
“You didn’t forget, did you?”
She shakes her head, but the way her mouth hangs open, I think she did.
We don’t celebrate birthdays, but she’s read about them in books. We even saw one once at the diner, back when Sybil was five and Evelyn still took us out of the house once a month for supper.
That stopped over four years ago. Right around that day, in fact.
Coincidence?
Most certainly not.
Seeing all those kids having fun. Stuffing their face with processed carbohydrates and refined sugar. Laughing, playing.
Sybil began asking questions.
Started throwing tantrums.
Mother became Evelyn became The Witch.
And the basement became The Bad Place.
“Eyes on me, Billy.”
Her eyes snap into focus again, fixating on me, then my hand as I reach behind a crate full of automotive parts that hasn’t been touched in years.
The flame is burning my fingertips. “Light another match. Quickly.”
Sybil’s hand shakes as she snatches the match box and fumbles out a match. I smile when she shivers at the quick flare as the tip ignites.
My fingers close around smooth glass, and I let the moment draw out as I drag it out from behind the crate. Sybil’s eyes gobigger and bigger, her mouth falling open as she catches sight of the jar.
I’m grinning like an idiot now, but screw it, it’s worth it ruining the surprise.
