79. Hiding in the Darkness

The howling outside the house sounds like it comes from some possessed animal. A werewolf or something. I hear it and scramble out of bed, noting my alarm clock reading two in the morning. I look out my window but see nothing but darkness. There’s a faint tapping of hard snow as if it’s trying to get inside for warmth.

A storm’s coming. I don’t need a forecaster to tell me that.

I hear the scream again, and this time it jerks me completely awake. I grab for any kind of clothes I can find on the floor and tear down the stairs.

Forget werewolves.

I know that sound, and I know I have to get outside.

My hands shake as I slip on my winter coat and try to zip it but can’t. I put on the shoes I left by the front door and don’t find it surprising that the door is already opened a crack.

I think about the muddy prints I saw on the deck. About the eyes that watch me. That watch us.

That watch my mother, who’s outside right now, who’s having a nightmare and screaming.

If that’s why she’s screaming.

I turn on the outside light and step onto the deck. Wind whips against my face and neck. I round the deck and head to the back of the woods.

Should’ve brought a flashlight.

But sometimes it’s better to stay in the dark. Sometimes it’s better not to know exactly what you’re going to find.

The screech comes again. It’s directly in front of me.

Then I see it. A ghost in the middle of the woods. A specter floating and haunting these woods.

It’s Mom, wearing nothing more than a long white nightgown.

“Mom,” I call out, but my voice seems to wilt in the wind and the woods.

She’s just standing there, her hands over her eyes.

I wonder if I’m the one dreaming.

This can’t be real, can it?

“Mom,” I say as I reach her.

I see her hands move and her eyes look out at me.

Then they grow larger.

The scream she lets out scares me.

I reach her just as her eyes are rolling back in their sockets and her body is starting to collapse.

My mother balls her hand to try and stop the shaking. She’s got a couple of blankets over her, a cup of hot tea in the other hand, a face pale and distressed.

I’m sitting across from her like a parent with his child.

I’m not ready for this kind of responsibility.

I need to go out to a party and drive a car into a tree or something.

Mom sighs, takes a sip of tea.

So far we haven’t exactly spoken.

“I don’t know what to say,” she says as if reading my mind.

“It’s okay.”

“I just—I keep things from you because I don’t want to alarm you. It was so much easier when all of us were together.”

I nod. She doesn’t need to say anymore. Three is better than two any day.

“I’ve been having nightmares. Ever since coming here. That’s why I’ve been acting so crazy. I don’t know what to do.”

I see her eyes tear up, and I feel absolutely and positively helpless.

My body seizes up, even though it wants to go around the table and put my arms around her.

That’s not the cool thing to do. But more than that, I don’t want to show how utterly sad and scared I am.

“I don’t know what to do,” she says again.

“What are you dreaming about?” I can’t help but ask.

She shakes her head, looks away.

“Mom?”

“Nothing. Just—nothing good.”

She sips her coffee and looks out the dark window.

Part of me wonders what haunts her.

Yet another part of me prefers not to know.

Like I said, sometimes it’s better to stay in the dark.

That way you won’t know what’s hiding inside it.