The day was as miserable as I felt- ash gray clouds smothering a gloomy sun. The stuffy afternoon made the already dilapidated structure lurking at the end of the neighborhood look even more run down. Bare wood showing where paint had been stripped away, cracked and stained four panel windows, a lawn overgrown, slowly consuming long abandoned toys and debris, the passing sidewalk swallowed by autumn leaves. Even the other houses in the neighborhood, all in better condition, seemed to keep their distance.
Work had dried up; dad lost his job again, but that’s not terribly surprising considering how he logged more hours with bottles than anything else. After another yet another argument, he got a little handsy with mom.
To grandmother’s house we go, then.
We piled out of the old beat-up station wagon: Mom, looking pretty haggard after the two day drive; my younger siblings Ryan and Sophie, squinting in the too-bright light at the building before them; and then there’s me, doing the same and wondering if we’d have been better off in that roach infested motel.
Mom gave us a weak smile, turning her face just enough to look at us, but not enough to reveal the bruise hidden by her frazzled hair. “We’re here!” she said with what excitement she could muster.
“Where’s Grandma?” Ryan asked, toe-ing at the decaying leaves with one tiny sneaker.
“Mama, I don’t wanna go in there!” Sophie added, clinging to my leg.
I was feeling about as sore and cranky as she was, but I put on a brave face for mom and lied to all of us.
“I’m sure it’s better on the inside.”
“That’s right Claudie,” Mom gave my shoulder a squeeze. Let’s go inside!”
We picked our way across the yard; I kicked leaves left and right until I found the path leading to the front door, with my little siblings stomping on them in our wake. Mom brought up the rear carrying her bags, and the kids’.
Maybe it was the exhaustion or the general malaise of being there, but I kept my eyes on my feet as I kicked leaves about the lawn. That’s how I noticed the small windows at ground level, and the shadowy shapes in them.
Roughly oblong or circular shapes sitting up in the gap between the house and whatever else lie in the darkness of the basement. The day’s dreary light told me no more.
The creak of the front door took my attention then. A tanned, withered, hunched old lady peered out at us, her face breaking into a toothy grin.
“Alice!” she called. “And all my little ones!”
It had been years since we had seen Grandma; she looked a lot like the house in many respects. Somehow, her tiny arms had us all wrapped up in the biggest hug. My siblings squirmed and giggled, and I could hear my mother’s breathing steady. My mind had wandered back to the dark shapes in the window. I shifted and craned by neck, but the gaggle of all our bodies blocked my view into the basement.
Grandma stepped back to look at us: “Claudia! How you’ve grown!”
“It’s Claudie, now,” I said.
She quirked her head at me, smile lost for a second. Slowly, it returned. “Claudie, then.”
And that was that.
“Ryan! Sophie!” she scooped the two of them up in another giggling, squirming heaping hug.
Having given up on seeing into the basement, I peered past Grandma into the house. The hardwood floors were mostly smooth and straight, heading down a short hallway into the living room, most of which I could not see, on account of the angle and the darkness. Further in, the only light shone in the form of a four-panel window on the back door, where the day’s dull light broke through. That bit of daylight illuminated what looked like the edge of a kitchen counter.
I shuffled into the house, my sneakers creaking on the floor. These sounds were not the small fresh chirps of a house settling in, but the old, pained groans of a space well worn.
“Help.”
What? I stumbled over a board that suck up just a bit higher than the rest and almost twisted my ankle in the process. I looked back at my family; my Grandma was staring at me, eyes wide, jaw set.
Concern?
Or fear?
“Help with the bags, dear,” she said.
It didn’t take us long to get settled in at Grandma’s.
The living room, with old dusty furniture and a TV that barely worked, was on the left. Further in, also on the left, a sparse, but well-kept kitchen, a bowl of fruit the only color. Off the hall to the right, the downstairs bathroom, and the stairwell to the second level. The lack of windows and creaking floorboards made it all the more eerie.
At the top of the stairs, three bedrooms: One on the left, one on the right, and the master at the end of the hall. I wasn’t excited at the prospect of sharing a room with my brother and sister, but I didn’t really want to share with Mom, either. Halfheartedly, I threw in my lot with Ryan and Sophie. I figured Mom could use the space, and maybe I could have some fun spooking my siblings.
After we had dropped our things off, we gathered in the living room to catch Grandma up on all the things we had been doing. As Sophie blathered on about the spelling bee she had won, I found my eyes wandering. First along the walls, which were lined with overflowing bookshelves–
And then to Grandma, who was looking at me from the corner of her eye. It was hard to tell in the darkness of the room, and she smiled and nodded along as Sophie neared the end of her tale, but she definitely had her eye on me.
“Help.”
I was so focused on Grandma, the voice made me jump just a bit. My siblings didn’t notice, but Mom did.
“Claudie? What’s wrong?”
“Just tired,” I lied.
Now Grandma looked directly at me. She didn’t say anything as she got to her feet. She wasn’t very tall, but she loomed over me in that moment.
“You *do* look tired, dear. Perhaps you should have a lie down.”
I glanced nervously to Mom, who only offered me a small smile. Ryan tugged on Grandma’s sleeve; something about his last baseball game.
But Grandma stared at me.
“I’m fine,” I said.
Grandma stared a bit longer. Then, she turned her attention back to Ryan without a word.
Something about the way Grandma did so shook me; a surge of adrenaline kept me upright enough to pretend I was listening.
“—bases loaded—”
It felt like the room was swimming. Grandma nodded along, paying me no mind.
“—two strikes—”
I really was tired, but was I tired enough to be hearing things? Was Grandma talking to me?
Or did she hear it too?
“And then POW!” Ryan shrieked, shaking me awake for the second time. “I hit a home run! All the way out of the park!”
“Oh how lovely darling,” Grandma said, smiling that warm, toothy smile.
“Grandma!” Sophie shouted then. “Can we go out and play?”
Grandma’s smile disappeared. “I don’t know, dear.” She looked to Mom. “It’s rather dangerous out.” I watched her mouth something to Mom-
-–sing -per–
But I couldn’t make out all of it. I thought back to the drive through the neighborhood. Sure, we hadn’t seen any children playing in the yards, or any families, either, for that matter. But the neighborhood itself seemed fine. And anything was better than going back home where Dad was waiting.
“Awwwwwww!” my siblings whined.
“Let’s just stay in,” Mom said. “At least for today. It’s been a long trip, yeah?”
The subsequent grumbling from them was silenced by popsicles Grandma produced from the kitchen.
And so, we spent the rest of the day in the house, exploring all the nooks and crannies, which isn’t to say there was much. By bedtime, I was genuinely tired, and the day’s events hadn’t helped. I settled into one of the twin beds, while Sophie and Ryan split the other.
Sleep came quickly, but it didn’t hold. The house was old; it groaned with every passing gust, and the antics of my siblings didn’t help.
Creeeeaaaaakkkk.
The floorboard squealed from the pressure of a step.
“Cut it out.” I moaned, rolling over to face the wall.
It seemed like they listened for a bit; then it happened again; louder than ever.
“Guys! Come on.”
And then I heard Ryan’s sleepy voice.
“Claudie? What are you talking about?”
I sat up, rubbed the sleep from my eyes. I could make out the shape of Ryan, also sitting up. Next to him in the bed, a lump that slowly rose and fell.
“Is Sophie asleep?”
“You interrupted my dream,” Ryan complained.
I stared at him, trying to process what had happened.
“I’m sorry. Go back to sleep.”
I laid down to take my own advice, but just as I was drifting off, the creaking started again. I held my breath and rolled over; the steady and even breathing from the other bed confirmed that the noise was coming from elsewhere. In fact,
It came from the hall.
Carefully, I slipped out of bed. Getting to the door without stepping on the worst of the floorboards proved challenging, but soon enough I stood in the hall.
Creeeeaaaaakkkk.
Now from below.
At this hour, the house was even more menacing. I followed my ears, making my way gingerly down the stairs.
As I reached the bottom, I noticed the basement door. Earlier, I might have missed it on account of the darkness, or because of how tired I was, or both; now, an orange glow came from under it. I crept up to the door and put my ear against it.
Within, I could hear a faint voice, and someone—or someones—shuffling about. Muffled steps, a drawer opening and closing, quietly uttered words. I couldn’t make out all the sounds, but somehow they filled me with such urgency, matched only by the hammering of my heart in my ears.
Then the orange light from under the door flickered and wavered. Part of me wanted to scurry away- back to bed, the basement forgotten.
“Help.”
I felt it more than I heard it, a desperation that left me panting for breath. I tried my best to still myself and slowly, carefully, I pushed the door open. Something in me was screaming at me not to, but something else pulled at me, leading me to take my first few steps down into the basement.
The awful orange light painted my skin almost like blood, and my stomach churned and heaved, but I kept moving. One step, another, hand clasped over my mouth. The stairs down were on a curve, so it wasn’t until I neared the bottom that the shelves came into view.
Shelves, packed to bursting, with dolls. They came in all shapes and sizes and styles- some little more than burlap haphazardly stitched together, while others more resembled porcelain figurines. Some were boys with straw hair, others girls made of yarn. There was no order to them, no rhyme or reason
Except that each and every last doll was staring straight at me.
HELP US.
In the dim red light, the eyes of the dolls drilled into me, locking me in place, freezing my blood. In the flickering light, they seemed to tremble and sway.
I couldn’t move, I couldn’t think. I wanted to run, I wanted to
Help
But what did that even mean?
Breath caught in my throat, I fell back onto my ass, and the jolt shook me just a bit from my stupor. I could see at the end of the basement, a small figure hunched over a table- backlit by the candlelight.
Grandma. I could hear her uttering something I didn’t quite understand, but the longer she went on, the worse I felt-
The whole basement swam as she tended to whatever project lay on her table. I could see her small, withered fists pushing and jerking at a humanoid shadow cast on the wall before her, the umbrage twisting and writhing with each curse, every motion, until finally it fell still, the orange candlelight stabilized.
With the end of… whatever… Grandma did, the dolls fell to stillness and silence, the only sound left that of my own ragged breathing. Grandma realized this as I did.
She turned. Her normally warm eyes were colder and more terrifying than that of the dolls’, her gaze practically crushing me in place.
“Claudie!” her voice, a harsh whisper. “You shouldn’t be down here!”
“W-what are you doing?”
She grabbed me roughly by the ear and hauled me to my feet. “That is none of your concern.”
As she pulled me through the basement back toward the stairs, I looked at the dolls. They were all staring again, as if imploring me to help them. I broke free and cast a glance over my shoulder at the worktable; upon it a doll, sitting limp and defeated.
Grandma shoved me up the stairs. “Go on! And don’t tell anyone!”
***
Morning. Another dull day. The events of last night burned in my mind, a baleful red eye that had made sleep impossible. I sat over a bowl of soggy cereal, unable to eat while Ryan and Sophie ran around the table.
Barely awake.
Grandma and Mom were talked quietly in the living room; vaguely, I picked out snippets. Stuff about dad. Stuff about the neighborhood.
I sighed, took my bowl to the sink, and dumped it out. When I turned around to leave the kitchen, grandma was there, blocking the entryway.
“Is everything alright dear?”
The question came level, even. The frenzy of the previous night long gone.
“Yeah,” I said.
Help.