Controlled Burn

When I opened the kitchen door, the light trickled into the hallway. Only a few gray shards of florescent reached far enough to allow me to see the worn runner. I did not see the feet of any man--of any creature--nothing was hiding down there.

If only the light had been brighter. Things were there, hiding in the dark cracks--doubts that become pains, regrets that rise and turn judgmental, and deadly, and vindictive. The things that even light cannot illuminate.

I called out, "Jocelyn." But neither she nor anyone else answered. I could have stopped breathing to listen for a whisper, or to feel the touch of a sock along the carpet, or sense a hammer being twisted in the air in preparation for a quick downward swing. Instead, I moved ahead.

If only I had been more cautious, I might have heard death brushing a thin rounded bone across my daughters forearm, could have learned it had trapped me in the apartment. But no. Instead, I moved forward, only barely aware something was there, beyond the edges of the runner tangled at my feet.

Then suddenly, the shambling swish of a topcoat pulled out of the way. It was barely perceptible, and now hidden, but enough to make sure I knew of its presence.

I pulled a lighter from my pocket and gripped it tightly, striking out with a feeble light, but death casts no shadow--it was not so easily revealed. If only I had someone here to go around and corner it.

"If you let her go, you can have me." I wasn't sure if it still had her, or if it would understand, or if it was trying to talk to the living through Jocie. Would she convey the traded sacrifice to the thing that rattled, avoided the light, and inhabited the dark between the stairs and broken promises?

I always said that to see something was to understand it. If I could get to the other end of the house, the back patio would reveal all. The lawn was twenty feet of broken Bermuda grass and an acre of mismatched pavers. The hot splash of sunlight would retard the seduction working on my imagination. I'd drive him into the light, drive him out of Jocie, drive him away, and punish my daughter for what she'd awoken.

I reached the edge of the mantle and put my hand on the glass door. The aluminum handle was broken, never locked, and I braced myself. If I could fling it open with one motion and back up quickly, the light would flood in and quench the dark thing--expose it and rob it of its power.

The door was stuck. It wouldn't budge. As I tried to open it, there was a rustling behind me. "Jocelyn!"

I tried harder, but the door wouldn't open. I slumped and looked down. Under the curtain, I saw a sawed-off broomstick jammed in the door track--cheap burglar- proofing. I focused on it, suddenly realizing this broken piece of wood was the center of my rising vulnerability and fear--the reason I couldn't leave, or drive the creature out of its hiding place and into my yard.

Suddenly, twisted words from vocal chords dripping with malice, "She's already here." It was not directed at me. "Jocie, no. Not Jocie!" Confusion tipped my world over. I felt myself lose my balance and fall backward-- something soft was behind me, breaking my fall.

I turned to look. Jocelyn was behind me, stumbling to face me. "You bitch--what have you brought into the--"

My daughter slapped me. I didn't see it coming; the dark disguised the gesture until it was upon me and too close to dodge. She kicked. The point of her Via Spigas was sharp, leather reinforced with a wooden inset.

I tried to plead but she wouldn't listen--she kept on kicking. Soon, my face was pressed tightly to the floor, the wooden stick in the door track so close that it filled my entire field of vision.

I rolled to the side and saw flames beginning to lick along the curtain above me. I turned and saw Jocelyn standing above me with someone else--a man--the thing--the creature that hid in the dark and taunted me.

Jocie had my lighter. "You can't keep me here in this house anymore, mother," she whispered. The smell of ethanol whispered over my face. This wasn't like Jocie.

Soon the curtain would be consumed by fire and the sunlight would pour in. Maybe they would hide--maybe they would be invisible in the light--I might be able to crawl out. I might be able to escape.