For my daughter’s tenth birthday I got her a big vat of modeling clay. At first, it was a big success. I mean, why wouldn’t it be? What kind of child doesn’t love messing around with Play-Doh, right? Modeling clay was just the natural progression from that. A step up. It was an innocent idea, but as you will soon come to understand, I wish more than anything that I would have just bought her a dollhouse instead.
Lily was one of the most artistic and creative people I’d ever met, despite her young age. I would always find her sitting in her room painting or drawing on a piece of paper, or maybe acting out a scene from one of her favorite TV shows, assisted by various stuffed animals.
One time I walked in to find her working on a crude illustration of a pink unicorn, the day after that I laid my eyes upon a beautiful castle accompanied by a charming stickwoman princess. Sometimes her drawings would even transcend beyond the paper and find themselves on various furniture and walls around the house.
As a supportive parent, I felt it was important to encourage this kind of behavior, and help further develop her artistic expressions as best I could.
Whenever I look back to my childhood years I find many fond memories of sculpting various figures and characters out of modeling clay. Whether it be for an arts and crafts project, or just for recreational use, I found the creative possibilities to be endless. It was like playing God in a sense. I used to be pretty good at it as well. Through sculpting, I was able to transform concepts and characters that only existed in my mind into tangible, real-life objects that I could see and touch. The happiness it brought me back then was indescribable.
I wanted my daughter to experience a similar joy to the one I had. To let her express herself through yet another artistic medium. I thought it would be the perfect gift for her upcoming birthday, and hopefully, it would serve as a distraction from what was currently going on with her mom.
When the Idea popped into my head, I immediately went over to my elderly neighbor Greg to ask if I could buy some modeling clay from him. He and his wife had been living across the street ever since we bought our house over a decade ago, and we had quickly gotten acquainted. Before he retired he used to teach pottery lessons at the local community center in town. He was an extremely skilled potter and had a gentle and kind aura surrounding him. He was a very beloved figure in our neighborhood, and would always go out of his way to help out members of the community. In a way, he was kind of like our own version of Bob Ross.
I figured that since he had been retired for quite some time now, he might have some leftover clay that he would be willing to sell me for a fairly reasonable price.
But when I went over to his house, a wave of sorrow washed over me as his wife, now a widow, answered the door with weary eyes. Upon hearing the tragic news, I offered my condolences, and she invited me inside. I explained to her why I came over, and she happily led me to Greg’s workshop in the attic.
The place was exactly like you’d imagine it. Terracotta pots and various other ceramic artifacts lay scattered everywhere. On his desk were several of those spinning pottery wheels where you spin the clay around on. His shelves were littered with all kinds of materials one would use for such a craft. And the icing on the cake; the smell. It smelt like fresh, wet, dirt with hints of iron in it. You know the one.
Greg’s wife, Isabel, was happy to part with some of the stuff that for so long had cluttered her attic, so she let me leave with a big vat of modeling clay that sat patiently waiting by his workbench. She said it was the clay Greg had been working with before his sudden passing, and that it was some kind of rare high-quality mixture from South America. In other words, state of the art and extremely expensive. Immensely grateful, I thanked her for her kindness and offered to lend a helping hand if ever she needed one.
A few days later, a quizzical grimace formed on my daughter’s face as she unboxed her new birthday present.
“What… is it?” She asked, inspecting the packaging. I didn’t blame her for not understanding right away, the gray plastic barrel didn’t exactly present itself as some kind of toy a ten-year-old would receive as a gift.
“It’s modeling clay, honey.” I told her. My wife shot me a look from across the room. I hadn’t informed her of the gift beforehand.
“For your art projects. You can make anything you want!”
Lily looked over to her mom who sat on the couch with a glass of wine, before rising to her feet and attempting to pry the plastic lid open. I walked over to my wife, Evelyn. I could tell that she wasn’t too happy about her daughter’s latest gift.
“You’ll be the one having to clean it up” She teased. “You know how much of a mess this is going to make?”
“Don’t worry, I will.” I reassured her and reached out for her hand.
A loud pop sounded throughout the living room as the lid flew open and Lily grabbed a handful of clay and started toying with it. If only I had known then what she had just unleashed…
Over the course of the next few weeks, Lily got really into sculpting. What first started as mostly abstract shapes and vaguely humanoid blobs, eventually turned into well-defined and surprisingly detailed sculptures. And the special qualities of the clay made it really easy for her to use and disassemble as she wished. It hardened after only a couple of hours, and if she wanted to re-shape it, all it took was a few drops of water to restore its malleable properties.
I watched as she made various clay figurines, including a sculpture of one of the unicorns from her paintings, a couple of clay houses, and an elephant, among other things. But those aren’t the focus of this story. No, if that were the case there probably wouldn’t even be a story to tell.
The whole thing started when she made that thing. That wretched abomination she called “Claymate”. I never understood why she grew so fond of it. It was hideous. She was way too talented of an artist to waste her skills and time on something so awful-looking.
The first time I met Claymate was on a Sunday morning at the dining table. My wife and I sat down to eat breakfast when Lily walked into the kitchen carrying something over her shoulder. She pulled out two chairs from under the table and got seated. One for herself, the other for Claymate.
Evelyn and I looked at each other. Upon the sight of Claymate, we initially wanted to laugh, as it looked hysterically despicable, but we managed to compose ourselves for our daughter’s sake. It was the first time I had seen my wife smile in what felt like forever.
“Who is this, honey?” Evelyn asked.
“Claymate.” Lily responded, reaching over to pour herself a glass of milk as if there was nothing abnormal about the situation.
My wife gazed over to me and shot me a look that said “Why couldn’t you just have gotten her a barbie doll?!”
Claymate was a person-shaped blob of clay with vaguely human facial features. Two pinched-in holes for eyes, and a slimly carved smile. It had no hair, no clothes, or any other identifiable details. Just a crude humanoid clay person with an awful grin. It was about half the height of my daughter.
“And what is he? Where is he from?” I asked, trying to show interest in her hobby.
“Oh, he is not from around here. He is just visiting. He says he wants to make new friends!”
I looked over to Claymate, intently inspecting the lifeless expression that contoured across his face. There was just something about his stone-cold “eyes” that almost gave me the creeps. I know it’s silly to be unnerved by a ten-year-old’s arts and crafts project, but there was something eerie about it that I couldn’t quite place my finger on. Honestly, it almost made me even regret buying the modeling clay in the first place.
“That’s great, Lily!” Evelyn said. “I hope you give him the warm welcome he deserves.”
Later that day we had to leave Lily home alone for the evening as I drove my wife to the hospital. She had recently been diagnosed with an extremely rare illness called Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease. I’m no Doctor, so I can’t really go into all the medical details surrounding the disease, nor do I see any point in doing so. All you need to know is that it’s a fatal condition that causes brain damage which rapidly worsens over time. There is no cure, nor any effective treatment other than painkillers, antidepressants, and sedatives, which only serve to make the patient’s remaining days as comfortable as possible.
It was absolutely heartbreaking. As you can imagine, Evelyn didn’t take the news too well, and neither did I. I was about to lose the love of my life at the young age of thirty-eight. It felt like we had gotten robbed. Our future was stolen by forces beyond our control. We hadn’t told Lily yet, but I suspected she already knew something was wrong.
Later that evening, we returned home from the hospital to be met with Lily sitting on the living room couch watching cartoons on the TV. Beside her sat Claymate, motionless.
At first, nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary, until I stepped on something soft and squishy. I looked down to see what it was. Wet clay. Then I looked up and noticed a pair of muddy footprints trailing from Claymate on the couch and out into the kitchen.
“What’s all this, Lily?” I asked her and pointed at the mess she had made.
“It’s just Claymate. His feet do that when he walks around.” She responded. “I know it’s a little messy, but I promise to clean it up later.”
I tried to suppress the growing frustration within me. The last thing I wanted to do after a long day at the hospital with my terminally ill wife was to come home to a muddy mess of a home.
“Well next time just carry him” Evelyn said, also with a hint of frustration in her voice.
For some reason, I couldn’t sleep that night. I laid awake in bed, tossing and turning. Was it too hot in here, or was the stress finally getting to me? I looked over at my nightstand. Bright red fluorescent lights displayed “2:03 a.m”. Jesus, had it been three hours already? I was due to wake up in only five. My wife was snoring, per usual. Maybe I just needed a glass of water?
I got out of bed and quietly made my way downstairs toward the kitchen. I didn’t bother turning on the ceiling lights as I didn’t want to ruin my tiredness even further. The streetlights outside shone in through the windows anyway, providing just enough light to partially illuminate the house’s interior. I poured myself a glass of water, and then a glass of milk because I had heard somewhere that milk makes you sleepy. I didn’t know if it was true or not, but I didn’t care at that point.
A heavy shuffling sound behind me caught me off guard and I stopped dead in my tracks. I quietly put the glass on the kitchen counter and turned around. It was coming from the living room. Then I heard it again, closer this time. It sounded like someone was scuffling around.
I slowly made my way toward the source of the sound, struggling to keep my breathing as still as possible. And then a loud thud sounded as if something had fallen to the floor. I turned the corner and saw…nothing. Nobody was there. Was my mind playing tricks on me?
I walked to the center of the room to further investigate when I noticed something rectangular on the ground. I picked it up and held it in front of the large living room window to let the lamps outside shed light on whatever it was that I was holding.
A family photo. Taken years prior at some kind of amusement park. I can’t even remember where we were that day, but we looked so happy, without a care in the world. Evelyn looked so young, so beautiful. I reminisced for a while before placing it back on the shelf it had fallen off.
I stepped back and froze. My primal instincts had taken over, my conscious mind hadn’t even registered it yet. I felt a crippling amount of dread overcome my entire body. The kind of dread you feel deep in your chest. I felt like a deer in headlights, frozen, not knowing what to do.
Then I noticed it. The shadow in the corner of the room, standing right by the staircase. A humanoid silhouette, standing just four feet tall.
“Oh”, I rationalized, It was just Lily. A wave of relief washed over me, and I chuckled to myself.
“You gave me quite the scare there!” I laughed, trying to shake off the fact that I let a ten-year-old girl make me quiver in fear. “What are you doing up this late? It’s way past your…”
Before I could finish the sentence, Lily’s shadowy figure hurried up the stairs at what seemed to be an inhuman speed.
“Hey, relax! You’re not gonna get into trouble!” I whispered as loud as I could before I ran after her. But just before I got to the bottom of the staircase, I slipped on something. I landed flat on my back, groaning.
After a speedy recovery, I got back up and immediately realized what I had slipped on. Wet clay. But it was impossible, we had cleaned it all up before we went to sleep. I was sure of it. It certainly hadn’t been there when we went to bed. And it most certainly hadn’t been there before I went down for a glass of water either. This had to be fresh, I reasoned.
I followed a trail of small traces of mud up the stairs, and then I followed the trail throughout the hallway, around the corner, past the bathroom, and finally into Lily’s bedroom. The door was slightly ajar, so I quietly pushed it open.
Nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary, except for the muddy floor. Lily was sound asleep in her bed or at least pretending to be. I walked over to check on her. Every parent knows that kids pretending to sleep behave very differently from kids that actually are asleep. You can tell by small erratic spasms in breathing, body language, and snoring.
But by all accounts, Lily wasn’t pretending. She really was asleep. I leaned in and put my ear to hear head to check again. Sound asleep, no signs of faking it. I contemplated waking her up and asking her about what I had just witnessed, but I decided against it. It could wait till morning.
As I turned around to leave, I saw it. Claymate, sitting on a stool in the corner, observing me. Its blank, expressionless eyes devoid of life stared back at me as I exited the room. That thing gave me the creeps.
The next morning I asked Lily about what had happened, but you guessed it, she feigned ignorance. She was probably scared she would get into trouble.
Had she found out about her mom? Would that explain the family photo? Maybe this was her way of dealing with it. I wish she’d just told me.
Over the following weeks, Evelyn’s condition worsened. Visits to and from the hospital became too regular. We would have to tell Lily sooner or later. So that’s exactly what we did. We told her everything. Understandably, she did not take it very well.
She ran to her room, crying and throwing a fit. Of course, I didn’t blame her. I walked up to her bedroom door and put my hand on the doorknob, contemplating opening it. I stood there for a moment, listening to her crying. I don’t know how long I stood there, but eventually, her crying started to sound different.
She wasn’t crying anymore, she was talking. I calmly opened the door to find her sitting on the floor, talking to a large mass of clay that had seemingly melted into the floor. What remained of Claymate’s head had partially melted into the puddle. It seemed that in her rage, Lily had completely dismantled the poor thing. “Good riddance.” I thought.
The morning after, I was horrified to see Claymate 2.0 sitting at the dining table, ready for breakfast. This iteration of the abomination looked way more detailed. It was much bigger and had way more defined facial features. It nearly crossed over into the uncanny valley. It looked like a regular boy, made out of clay of course. Much less of an eyesore, but it still infuriated me for some reason.
“Does he have to sit at the table with us, sweetie?” I asked Lily, grinning my teeth. “You’re getting mud all over the tablecloth”.
My wife looked at me but refrained from saying anything.
“He is part of the family, dad. He has every right to sit here!” Lily responded.
For some reason, I had decided that I hated Claymate. There was just something about him that absolutely infuriated me now, and I didn’t know why. I know it’s silly, and maybe a bit hypocritical considering I bought her the damn thing, but still. I grew to hate him.
“Just remove him, please.” I blurted out.
“He just wants to be loved too!” She shouted. “That’s all he wants! Why can’t he be a part of the family as well?”
“I want him gone from the dining room!” I raised my voice.
Lily grabbed Claymate and hurried off toward her room. I tried following her, but Evelyn stopped me, a tear running down her cheek.
That day weighed heavy on both Lily and me, but I cannot even begin to fathom how my wife had felt when she received the news. Due to her severely deteriorated condition, she would have to make an overnight stay at the hospital.
I brought Lily with me this time. Her first time, actually. She didn’t want to leave her mother’s side, even when the clock ticked past midnight. To be honest, I didn’t want to leave either, but my wife insisted I get Lily home and ready for school the following day.
Heavy drops of rain splattered across the hood of the taxi as we exited the vehicle. The overhead streetlamps lit up my path as I carried Lily over my shoulder across our driveway.
I felt commotion on my shoulders and looked over to Lily. As she was being carried, she attempted to wave her hand.
“Why are you waving?” I asked her.
“To say hello.” She bluntly answered.
“Say hello to who?”
Her wave transformed into a pointing gesture. I looked up to the second-story window. The window to Lily’s bedroom. I strained my eyes, through the thick downpour it was hard to make out anything. Ready to just forget about it, I was about to look away when the headlights of the taxi behind me turned to briefly illuminate her room.
There was someone standing by the window. A black silhouette held up its hand as if to wave back. It stood there motionless, lit up by the powerful beams of the car. The taxi then swerved around and sped off, allowing her room to be swallowed by the oppressive darkness once more.
I came to a halt right in front of our front door. Someone was inside my house. I had seen it for only a brief moment, but I was sure of it. I didn’t want to go inside, but I couldn’t stay out in the rain either. Not with Lily.
I quietly unlocked the door and stepped inside. I put Lily down and reached for the light switch.
With the presence of light, a horrifying sight presented itself.
There were muddy footprints everywhere. And I mean everywhere. They ran across the floor, into the kitchen, into the living room, up the walls, and even along the ceiling.
And they weren’t bootprints either, no. The culprit appeared to be barefoot. Five distinct toes accompanied each footprint.
But what was most off-putting was the size of the prints. They looked like they belonged to a child. Close to Lily’s size actually. A chill ran down my spine upon realizing who they belonged to.
“No, It couldn’t be…” I thought to myself as I rushed up the stairs and burst open the door to Lily’s bedroom.
There, standing by the window, was Claymate. The eerily boy-like clay sculpture stood as still as a statue, both of its arms hung down by its side. Soulless eyeholes blankly stared back at me. It was like I was gazing into the abyss.
It was clear who the footprints belonged to. The trail led here. Claymate remained motionless as I picked it up and angrily walked down the stairs with it.
“What are you doing?” Lily cried.
I paid her no attention as I opened the backdoor of the house and threw it as far as I could out onto our garden.
Lily tried running past me to save Claymate, but I held her back.
“No, you’re done. You can’t play with him anymore.” I firmly told her.
I watched as the rain hammered down on claymate, burning through him as if it were acid. He started melting, his face contorted into a horrible grimace as the rain dissolved Claymate’s horrible visage. I almost felt bad for him. Almost…
I brought Lily back inside and put her to bed. It was way past her bedtime, and way past mine as well. She was furious, and we fought hard before she finally fell asleep.
I decided I would clean up the house the following morning. Before laying down in my bed, I glanced out the window overlooking our garden. Claymate, or what remained of him, was completely gone.
“Good.” I thought, as I laid down and closed my eyes.
The following days were actually pretty normal. Evelyn was still admitted to the hospital, but she seemed to be in a sound enough condition. I visited her every day and even brought her flowers on one occasion.
Lily was doing well in school, despite her terrible sorrow for her mother.
I started working longer shifts so that I could be better able to provide for my family during these straining times. It was just a matter of time before I would get the call from the hospital. It was inevitable. I started preparing for the worst.
Luckily, Lily didn’t seem to mind spending most of her days home alone. She had grown to be quite independent. Although, she seemed quieter than usual. It was clear that the stress of losing her mother had a greater impact on her psyche than I initially thought.
Then, one afternoon, everything changed.
I had just gotten home from work when laughter and giggling filled my ears as I stepped through the doorway.
A familiar voice echoed through the house. I was in disbelief. I followed the sound to its source and fell down to my knees.
There, sitting on the couch, together with Lily, was Evelyn. My terminally ill wife, Evelyn. Only, she looked better than she had done in years. Like her illness had been cured overnight. She looked energized, warm, and welcoming. As beautiful as the day I had first met her. I tried to speak but was unable to let out even a single word.
“H-how? What?” I finally mustered up. Evelyn looked at me and smiled. I hadn’t seen that smile in what felt like ages. Her perfect white teeth and pink, voluptuous lips radiated warmth.
“Isn’t it wonderful, daddy?” Lily excitedly yelled. “Mommy is back! She is well again!”
“But, they… they said” Was all I could let out before my phone started ringing. Evelyn stood up from the couch and walked over to me.
I reached into my pocket and took out my phone.
“It’s the hospital, honey. Might wanna take it.” I said to her as she reached out her arms and put them around me. Evelyn was so soft.
I raised the phone to my ear and answered.
“Good afternoon sir, this is Doctor Elliot speaking, calling from Eastmark General Hospital.” The man on the phone introduced himself. Evelyn’s hands caressed the back of my neck.
“It’s about your wife sir, you might want to sit down for this…” Dr. Elliot continued.
“Oh, I know, Doc!” I replied in excitement.
“I’m standing right here with her. She looks so…”
“Excuse me? No, I’m not sure you understand, sir. I’m sorry.” The doctor interrupted.
The smile slowly faded from my face and formed into an expression of confusion. Evelyn pressed herself up against my back and held me tight.
“What do you mean?” I asked him.
“Your wife, sir, and I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but she passed peacefully in her sleep fifteen minutes ago.” Dr. Elliot informed me.
I dropped my phone and froze. That was impossible. It couldn’t be. Was this some sort of sick joke? A prank call? It felt as if time stood still. Evelyn squeezed me tight.
No, it couldn’t have been a prank call. It was the hospital’s phone number, and Dr. Elliot was my wife’s assigned doctor. None besides us could have known that.
But she was standing right here. I didn’t understand.
I put my arms around her, instinctually. She was so soft and so smooth. But, something was wrong. She was too soft. And she was cold to the touch. I squeezed a little harder, and I felt my fingers dig into her flesh, leaving behind multiple indentations.
I looked at her face.
“But, you’re right here!” I said to her. I noticed Lily on the couch, she looked confused as well. Worried.
Evelyn stared blankly back at me. A familiar sense of dread had manifested itself deep within me. She wasn’t… she wasn’t Evelyn.
I pushed her away, struggling to get her arms off me. I reached out and brushed my hand against her face. A sandy white powder stained my hand. It looked to be some kind of makeup. I glanced up at the spot I had just touched on Evelyn’s face, and I saw what lay underneath the carefully constructed facade.
I felt a thousand knives stab my heart simultaneously as I realized what I was looking at. It was clay. No, it wasn’t Evelyn at all. It was Claymate.
I shouted angrily at the top of my lungs. I shouted at the insult to my wife’s legacy that stood in front of me. It filled me with anger. Whatever this thing was, I fully intended to destroy it. I threw a punch at the imposter and recoiled in pain. It was like punching a brick wall. I clutched my bruised hand and took a step back.
Claymate looked to Lily and tried forming some sort of expression across its face. My wife’s face. Whether it was one of sorrow or of anger, I could not tell. I’m not sure Lily even understood what that thing was.
In a stiff and jagged motion, Claymate ran out the backdoor and out into the garden. It looked like a toddler who had just learned to walk.
“Mommy, wait!” Lily shouted and ran after it.
I tried stopping her, reaching out to hold her back, but I was too late. Lily was gone.
I snapped out of my horror-stricken daze and ran after her. It was dark out. If she had run past the light fixtures of the garden and out into the adjacent woods, there was no way I would be able to find her.
I ran out the door and stopped. In the middle of the lawn, Claymate sat bent down on its knees. In front of it, stood Lily.
Evelyn’s face started molding, and she had quickly become unrecognizable. Her limbs began swelling, and it almost seemed like her skin was bubbling. Claymate’s entire body started shifting. It grew larger. It burst out of the clothes it was wearing. My wife’s clothes. It had returned to its base form. A muddy and crude sculpture of a boy. Except it was larger than before, it was roughly the same size as me.
It moved its grotesque, sandy mouth, and looked as if it was trying to form a vocalization. A series of unnerving gasps and exhales escaped its malleable maw before they started to sound intelligible.
“Lil…y” a deep, growling voice spoke. It sounded like a dog or a parrot trying to mimic human language. It was incredibly off-putting.
“Lily…” It said again. Placing its muddy hand on her shoulder and molding its face into a happy expression. Its features reminded me of a theater mask.
Lily screamed in terror and started wailing. I wanted to help, but I felt powerless to do so. Paralyzed with fear, I watched as Lily turned her back to it and attempted to make her escape. She locked eyes with me before she was yanked back. The thing had stretched one of its arms to monstrous proportions and used it as a tendril, wrapping itself around Lily and pulling her back towards itself.
“Let me go!” She screamed, begging me to help her.
I ran toward the monster, attempting to pry her free from its stone-hard terracotta grip, but it used its other arm to toss me back.
I slammed into one of the exterior walls of the house and landed on my back. Wet mud stained my clothes as I rose to my feet and charged the clay monster again.
Same result.
Claymate started transforming. Its form even more contorted and unnatural. Had it been in any other setting, its appearance would almost be comical.
I saw Lily struggling to break free from the creature’s grasp, and there was nothing I could do. I couldn’t get close enough to her.
I witnessed in terror as Claymate wrapped itself around her, engulfing her inside a mass of mud and clay. She was trapped inside it. I could see her arms and legs protruding out of the clay, struggling. Fighting.
She was going to suffocate, and there was nothing I could do.
I once again attempted to run towards it, my fatherly instincts overcame me, and I felt adrenaline power up my body. I clawed and punched the monster as best as I could. Attempting to dig her out. But for each piece of clay I removed, another would take its place. It was in vain, but I had to try. I continued digging, listening to Lily’s muffled screams from inside Claymate only fueled my aggression.
I looked back at the house, scanning the ground for anything I could use. A shovel, a big stick, knives, anything! I was desperate.
Lily’s screams faded, and her protruding Limbs suddenly went limp.
That’s when I noticed it. The garden hose curled up like a snake in the corner of our lawn. I remembered how the rain had dissolved Claymate previously. How the water flowed through the being like a winding river.
I rushed towards it, fumbling it with shaky hands as I picked it up and aimed it at the big ball of clay that had swallowed my daughter. I tasted a combination of salt and iron on my lips as tears ran down my cheeks. I was so tired, but I had to try.
I turned the release valve on the hose, and I felt the hose go taught as water shot through it.
I aimed a concentrated beam of high-pressure water directly at the monstrosity occupying my lawn.
As soon as the water made contact with the beast, it bellowed in what I could only discern as pain.
I relentlessly continued blasting it with water, moving closer and closer. I could see Claymate’s gaping face slowly start to melt. Its previously rigid and hard body had turned soft and squishy. Wet brown mud spewed in all directions.
Slowly but surely, more and more of Lily’s body came into view. The creature attempted to flee, making its escape towards the treeline. Lily laid in the middle of the garden, covered in dirt and wet sand, but free from Claymate’s hostage.
Suddenly, silence filled the air. Claymate was nowhere to be seen, except for the muddy trail it left behind. It had disappeared into the woods. Hopefully for good this time.
I turned off the hose and tossed it aside. I ran towards Lily and quickly picked her up and brought her inside the house. Before locking the door behind us, I turned around and gazed into the dark forest just a couple of feet away from the lawn. Nothing. No signs of our sedimental assailant. I closed the door and called 911.
Lily survived. Paramedics were able to resuscitate her or whatever they did to save her life. I wouldn’t know because I apparently collapsed from exhaustion shortly after they arrived at our doorstep.
I’m not sure how this event will affect Lily going forward. I can’t imagine how traumatized she must be. And to top it off with the death of her mother, I’m afraid it will be just too much for her.
I have taken a leave from work in order to get things sorted out. I needed a mental break after everything I’d experienced during these past couple of weeks.
Life seems to have returned to normal. At least as normal as life could be after this. Lily hasn’t shown any signs of trauma, and she still continues to pursue her artistic hobbies. Though, it will be hard to say whether these events will have a greater impact in the future.
As for Claymate. I don’t fully believe he, or it, or whatever you wanna call it is gone. I didn’t feel like I killed it that night. Only injured it. This was only a minor setback. It needs time to regrow. I don’t know what it wants, or what it intended to do with Lily that fateful night. Whatever its plans are, I’m certain they are sinister in nature.
This morning, while fetching today’s newspaper on the driveway, I glanced over to Isabel and her late husband Greg’s house across the street. I now know how she feels every day being a widow. How empty her house must feel without him by her side anymore.
I was lucky to still have Lily at least. Isabel had none. No kids, no grandkids, and I was pretty sure most of her friends weren’t around anymore.
I thought about paying her a visit sometime when I suddenly noticed movement coming from the attic window of the house. I rubbed my groggy eyes and focused. Up there, standing by the window, stood a man. An old and disheveled man. It took some time before I connected the dots, but when I finally recognized him, my heart sank. Goosebumps covered my body.
It was Greg. Greg stood there, staring blankly at me, an all too familiar expression stretched across his face. He slowly raised his hand and placed his palm on the glass.
Greg stared at me for a moment and grinned, before retrieving his hand and slowly retreating back into the attic. Before I knew it, he was out of view. Gone. Vanished. The only trace that remained of him was the muddy handprint he had left stained on the window…