“Mama,” Henry said as I pulled his comforter up to his chin. “Did somebody else die?”
“No, baby,” I said quickly. “I’m sure they’re fine.”
He slid down in his bed, his face half-hidden under the comforter, his eyes wide, anxious.
“Do you want me to stay with you until you go to sleep?” I asked.
He nodded, scooting over to make room for me. I settled in beside him and leaned back against the wall, smoothing his hair. It wasn’t long before his breathing slowed, deepened. I smiled, relieved he didn’t seem to be too shaken by the events of the evening. Not wanting to disturb him by getting up, I closed my eyes, letting myself drift.
I’d only intended to rest for a moment, but when I jolted awake, the room was thick with shadows cast by the full moon.
I’d been sleeping so soundly that I wasn’t sure what had awakened me. Then I heard it—a thin scraping. Like rats in the walls, but longer, slower. Deliberate.
Careful not to disturb Henry, I eased out from under him and rested his head gently on his pillow, then stood in the middle of the room, listening. I tried to locate where it was coming from, but the sound saturated the room, everywhere at once. I shut my eyes, straining, listening more closely.
There it was again.
Scriiiiiiitch
I took a step to my right, and the scratching grew marginally louder, so I opened my eyes, letting my sight adjust to the darkness, and turned toward Henry’s closet.My throat grew tight. I forced myself forward, wincing when the floorboards creaked and casting a quick glance back at Henry to make sure he was still asleep. Assured that he was, I leaned closer and pressed my ear against the closest door.
The scratching was louder now.
I swallowed, grabbed the doorknob, then took a deep, bracing breath and flung open the door.
The closet stood empty.
Thank, God.
I’m not entirely sure what I’d been expecting to find, but there were no monsters lurking there. It had to be mice, I told myself. My imagination must’ve assigned something more to the sound, something more deliberate and human. I made a mental note to ask Chase to call an exterminator in the morning.
Sighing, adrenaline still buzzing in my veins, I closed the closet door and turned back to Henry—only to find him awake and alert, holding his blankets up to his eyes. Before I could urge him to go back to sleep, a quiet creaking of hinges sounded behind me.
An icy quiver shot down my spine.
“She’s coming,” Henry whispered, his eyes huge with terror. “Mama…”
My heart hammered as I slowly turned toward the closet. The door inched open, the foul stench of rotting flesh flooding the room. I gagged, swallowing hard. As I stared into the shadows, too terrified to move, the darkness shifted.
Henry whimpered.
I saw her eyes first, glowing silver with fury. Then her face emerged, twisted with rage. She crawled toward us like a spider, limbs cracking and snapping at the joints like dry kindling. Her mouth worked silently, screaming words I couldn’t hear. Her head twisted in mad, jerking motions like poorly edited movie clips, disjointed, too fast then too slow.
“What the fuck!” I cried, scrambling onto Henry’s bed and gathering him into my arms as she moved ever closer, blocking the doorway. “What the hell do you want?”
Her head snapped toward Henry. Her eyes narrowed. She screeched something unintelligible then lunged at us, sharp, jagged nails curled into talons.
I screamed, clutching Henry close to my chest and curling around him to protect him from the spectral assault, bracing myself to feel the searing pain of her claws digging into my skin, ripping flesh from my bones.
But no attack came.
After a deep, shaky breath, I dared to open my eyes.
The room was empty. The closet door was closed.
Henry was sobbing into my chest, clinging to me, making it awkward to jump off his bed and race from his room with him in my arms. But I did, not waiting one damned second longer to get the hell out of there.
I hurried to my room and slammed and locked the door, backing away until I bumped into the mattress.
