It was everything I wanted. A charming two-story fixer-upper nestled away on a dirt road, hidden by overgrown foliage. The paint had faded away in places, exposing the wood, and the porch steps sagged a bit, sure. But I knew it was “the one” the very first time we’d come to see it. I’d been drawn to it, almost magnetically.
Cedric had been skeptical, he couldn’t see the hidden gem beneath the layer of dust and outdated appliances the way I could.
“Come on, Kate, this place?” he’d been incredulous, “It looks like a ton of work.”
And he wasn’t wrong. But it was a challenge I was up for. Eventually he caved in to my unwavering insistence. The feeling in my bones wouldn’t let me give it up. It had to be this one.
The closing went as smooth as could be, and a couple weeks later it was ours… but Cedric had promised to stay working on a project that would take about a month to finish before transferring to our new town, roughly three hours away.
I couldn’t wait that long. No, I was too eager to get there and start the process of making our new house into our home. As a freelance graphic artist I could work from anywhere, plus it would give me a whole month to get the house spruced up and convince Cedric we’d made the perfect choice. After wearing him down (again) he begrudgingly agreed that it might be good for me to go ahead of him and get started.
So there I was, looking at a maze of boxes with no idea where to start. In my haste I had neglected to label them properly. Go figure, that was very typical of me. So I began opening them at random and placing them in the appropriate room. Fortunately, we didn’t have many to choose from. Just the bedrooms and bathroom upstairs, then the kitchen, dining room and my office downstairs. The cellar too, I suppose, though I hoped I’d never have a reason to go down there.
With the sun already beginning to set and the long drive to get there my energy was already waning, I figured I might not get very far along that first day. I settled on picking out one last box before putting my feet up for the evening. It was full of sheets and towels for the guest room. I was glad I’d chosen a fairly light load to carry up the stairs.
The master bedroom was at the top of the steps and the guest room was at the end of the hall, with a bathroom in between. I groped around for the light switch, still unfamiliar with where it was located on the wall. It was pretty difficult to do with both of my hands full, so I gave up and squinted down the hall to where the last rays of sunlight shone faintly through the guest window. I fumbled my way to the closet door and slid it open, placing the box on a shelf and turning to leave, when something grabbed me.
“Oh!” I cried out, surprised by the sudden pain between my toes. I’d been caught by a nail protruding out of the floorboards. I found the pull switch for the hanging bulb and knelt down to examine my injured foot. Sure enough, there was already a dark red spot staining my sock. My fault for taking my shoes off, I supposed. I made a mental note to go around with a hammer and find any other loose nails. I checked the floorboard it had come from and noticed that it didn’t even set flush with the rest. A peculiar notion occurred to me; it looked like there was almost enough space to fit my fingers under the corner…
It was that magnetic feeling again. Before I stopped to think about why I was doing it, I had pried the panel away. For some reason I wasn’t really surprised to find that there was something in there- a dust covered box, small and slim, just the right size to fit through the gap between the boards. I reached in and pulled it out, still surprised by my own intuition. I could see that there was something written on it in black crayon, and after wiping the dust away I was able to read it. In what could only be a child’s attempt at writing in elegant cursive a single word was scrawled: “Prudence”.
Of course. This must have been her room. And she had hidden a treasure of some sort in the floor. Overtaken with curiosity I opened it to find dozens of folded pieces of paper filling the box to the brim. The first one I examined depicted typical childish scenes. A house, a girl (presumably her) and the sun. Flowers, a cat, a girl on the next one. A man, a woman, a girl. And so it went. There was nothing particularly interesting or unique about these drawings, I could only wonder why they had been hidden away, they were just messy scribblings of ordinary things. That is, until I got to the last one.
Unlike the rest, which had been brightly colored and cheery, this one had been made using only black crayon. It was of a woman- the immediate impression she gave me was that of a witch. Her hair stuck out wildly, her eyes large black ovals, her face was stretched into an unkind smile. Goosebumps erupted over my skin and I quickly folded it back up so I wouldn’t have those awful eyes staring into mine.
The sudden ringing of my phone made me jump. Cedric was calling.
“Hey…” I answered, trying not to let my voice tremble.
"”Hey hey, how’s it going up there? The movers break anything?”
“Haven’t found anything so far. They got all the furniture landed but I told them to just throw the boxes in the living room. And I’m seriously regretting it,” I forced a chuckle. He started to say something else, but our connection cut in and out.
“Hold on, I’m losing you…”
He kept talking, likely unable to hear me. I stuffed the drawings back into the box, debating what to do with it before deciding to carry it out with me. I searched for another spot where the reception was better, still listening to Cedric’s voice cut in and out.
“Hey, can you hear me?” I asked. Between the short bursts of words that I could make out there was a sharp static… No. I listened closer, straining my ears. No, it wasn’t static. It was breathing. Short, raspy breaths. I nearly dropped the phone in surprise.
“Did I lose you, Kate?” Cedric’s voice was once again coming in clear. The ragged breathing was gone.
“No… I’m here…”
***
I didn’t know what to do with Prudence’s treasure box. It seemed like it was meant to be found, but a part of me wanted to put it back in the floor and never think about it again. There was no way I was going to tell Cedric about it. I still hadn’t decided on what to do with it, so I left it on the counter for the time being. I didn’t want to admit it to myself at the time, but I was afraid of going back upstairs, so I opted to crash on the couch for the evening.
It’s hard to sleep in a new place. My dreams were very active but vague, I awoke often with fragments of them just out of reach. I tossed and turned, disoriented every time I opened my eyes. When the early morning hours finally arrived the sun shone in directly on my face, hot and abrasive. I realized there was no point in trying to get some more sleep with it blaring down at me full force.
Even with my lack of rest, I was still glad to see the place in daylight once again. The eerie feeling I had the night before vanished in the wake of the new day’s optimism. After some coffee I got to work, moving boxes around until the living room was nearly empty. The next step was actually unpacking them, and naturally I started in the master bedroom. Between folding clothes and putting them in our dressers I could hear an occasional squeaking. It was subtle at first, easy for me to ignore. But over time it grew louder, finally becoming a jarring whine. I glanced up, looking down the hallway at the guest room just in time to see the door shut.
I would be lying if I said I wasn’t terrified for a moment, but the rational part of my brain kicked back in pretty quickly. It’s an old house, probably just a draft. Right?
I wanted to shrug it off and move on. But I couldn’t. Something about that door being closed got under my skin. For some reason I felt like it had to stay open. Tentatively, I made my way across the hall. My hand shook slightly as I turned the antique doorknob. I let it swing back open, reassured to find nothing there. It was almost laughable, what had I expected to see? It was preposterous to be a grown woman afraid of her own home. I went back to the master bedroom, shaking my head at myself. So silly, so childish to think that-
A thunderous bang made me flinch.
My breath caught as I looked across the hall and saw that the door was shut again. No, calm down. Just a draft. Just a really… drafty draft. Maybe the door could stay closed. What was the harm in that?
***
I don’t remember dozing off. But when I awoke it was dark. Where was I? I tried to make out my surroundings, reaching forward in the dark as my feet found the floor. A sliver of light shone in from under the door- which door?- and I gripped the handle.
Light flooded the room as I opened it. I was in the master, and across the hall the guest room light was on and the door was wide open. Knots formed in my stomach. I knew I hadn’t opened it, and I was certain I hadn’t left the light on. The floor felt cold under my bare feet, too cold. Almost like ice. I could see my breath swirling in front of me.
When I got to the room I realized it was… wrong. Instead of wood paneled walls a floral wallpaper decorated the room. The furniture wasn’t right either. The small bed, the vanity, the desk and chair. None of it should have been there, but for some reason it all felt so familiar.
The door slammed shut behind me. Panicked, I reached for the handle, but it wouldn’t budge. I pounded on the door, still desperately trying to turn the handle.
“No! No! Let me out! Let me out of here! Please! Please let me out!” I shrieked, my voice high pitched and foreign sounding. Never before had I felt a panic like this. Just when I thought my heart could take no more the closet door began to slide open.
The scream died in my throat and I collapsed to the floor. There was someone- something- emerging from the darkness, I could faintly see their silhouette…
Then the sun was in my face once more, and I was writhing on the living room carpet after falling from the couch. The scream I had been trying to release in the dream came out as a hoarse coughing fit.
It took me a while to catch my breath, but my first thought was to call Cedric. I found my phone on the counter next to Prudence’s box, and I shuddered. I’d forgotten to put it on the charger so it was completely dead when I picked it up. But maybe that was for the best… What was I going to do? Call Cedric and tell him I found some kid’s drawings, and that a draft in the house was enough to give me nightmares? No, no. I could practically hear the condescending tone he’d use with me, the blistering sarcasm. I didn’t need that. I just needed to get a grip.
I stared down at the treasure box, almost accusingly.
“That’s it, you’re going back,” I told it, carrying it up the steps. The door at the end of the hall was shut. Nothing to worry about. Just the draft, that was all.
The wood paneling was still intact. The only object in the room was the yet-to-be-made guest bed. But the closet door was open. Had I closed it the other day? No, probably not. There was no need to be alarmed. Feeling foolish, I spoke aloud as I pulled the loose floorboard up.
“Hey, uh, Prudence. I’m, I’m putting your pictures back. Just wanted to look at them… They’re really… nice. Okay? And I put them back, see?”
I don’t know why I did it, but it made me feel better. I pushed the board down and stomped it back in place.
“Well, that’s that,” I declared. As I walked back down the steps the draft blew the door shut.
***
The next few days passed uneventfully. I had decided that until Cedric arrived I would keep sleeping on the couch. It was pretty cozy, I reasoned. And it had nothing to do with being creeped out. I was being productive, I’d gotten the kitchen and bedroom up to snuff and set my office up downstairs. It was supposed to rain for a couple of days, but when the sun came back out I planned to spend some time trimming back the garden and hedges. You know, to make it look like someone actually lived here. In the meantime I decided to reach out to a few clients who I’d promised designs for once I’d settled in, and one of them got back to me right away. So I had my first commission in the new place.
I’d been working for a few hours straight, and my eyes needed a break from the screen. Outside the rain had died down into a gray mist, and I decided to take a walk through the untamed yard that I had yet to spend much time in. There was a heavily wooded area outside the iron gate surrounding the garden that we owned about three acres of. It was a maze of low-hanging branches and thorn bushes, so I didn’t end up getting very far. I turned back to survey the garden and brainstorm ideas for what to plant next spring.
While I was opening the gate I happened to glance up at the window above me, the master bedroom. Movement had caught my eye. There was nothing there, of course. But from inside I heard a door slam shut.
I got back to my project. I didn’t bother investigating when I got back inside. I knew that Prudence’s- no, the guest room- door had been closed for days. It would be closed when I saw it next.
This happened so often it became mundane. My schedule for the next week was simple. Work on the house until noon, work on graphic projects until I got tired. All the while Prudence’s door would echo through the house every time it closed. I learned to live with it. Tune it out. Kids will be kids, I suppose.
Our routine was woven into my daily life so seamlessly, so naturally, that it didn’t really register.
There she was, playing out in the garden while I worked inside, her braided hair trailing behind her as she laughed and frolicked. There she was, eagerly awaiting her breakfast and swinging her feet on the kitchen stool. There she was, dressing her dolls in the living room while I was busy in my office. I was so proud of her, she’d really made this move easy on me.
I came out of my office to find her doodling away in the living room one evening.
“Whatcha working on, sweetheart?” I asked, kneeling down beside her. She kept her head down, still working away.
“Is that… Is that me? Wow, look at that! Thank you so much, darlin’!” I exclaimed, “You make me so… proud…”
My words faltered as she looked up. She wasn’t looking at me, she was looking behind me, her face shrouded in absolute dread.
“Oh no… She found us,” she whispered, tears forming in her eyes.
“Who did?” I asked, my mouth suddenly dry.
“…Mother.”
I turned behind me to see a woman towering over us. Her face was twisted with rage, her eyes bulged from behind a dark mane of unkempt hair.
“What is this? What is this-this filth?!” she bellowed, snatching the drawing from Prudence before I could react. She held it in front of us like she was brandishing a knife; a picture of my smiling face, the words scrawled across the top read: “I love you Mama”.
And then I remembered. Prudence… wasn’t my child. Was she?
My thoughts were interrupted by the woman slapping Prudence across the face with the back of her knuckles. Prudence’s head snapped back and the crayon in her hand went flying across the room. She let out a terrible, gut-wrenching sob and covered the welt that had already started to form on her face. The woman tore the drawing to shreds and swore at her.
“You wretched girl! Have you no respect for your mother?!” she hissed, grabbing Prudence by the hair and pulling her up. Regaining my senses, I leapt to my feet.
“Let go of her! Let her go!” I demanded, chasing after them. Prudence’s mother paused. With her back still to me her head twisted around to face me, her spine making sickening popping sounds as the bones rearranged. Her eyes were now wide, black voids. Her mucus-tinged lips stretched apart to reveal rows of jagged teeth before she unleashed a guttural bellow that sent me sprawling to the floor.
She leered down at me, relishing my terror. Then with a wet squelching sound her head spun back around and she dragged Prudence up the stairs, her pained sobs echoing down the hallway until her door was slammed shut, and a deafening silence fell over the house.
I was shivering so hard that I couldn’t pick myself off the floor. This was a dream. It had to be. It was the only way to explain what was happening.
I was asleep, and I’d never had a child named Prudence.
I was asleep, and the demon woman was just a nightmare.
I was asleep, and if I could wake myself up, everything would be fine.
I was asleep…
***
I was on the floor and the sun was blinding. My pulse throbbed inside my skull, my throat felt tight and my eyes were dried and crusted. But… I was awake, and the nightmare was over. I was awake and everything was going to be okay. I gingerly pressed myself up, my muscles tight and uncomfortable from sleeping on the floor.
I climbed to the couch and simply sat for a while, my head in my hands. I don’t think there’s a word for the feeling I had that morning. I was grieving the loss of a daughter that didn’t exist, questioning my sanity, and unable to get the demonic image of her mother’s head spinning around out of my mind. Before long I was sobbing, incapable of stopping myself from sinking into the cushions. It must have been an hour before I finally ran out of breath and tears.
For the first time I was ready to admit to myself that something was very wrong. Something was happening to me, something I couldn’t understand. And I needed help. I needed Cedric. I needed to hear his voice.
As if on cue my phone began to ring from inside my office.
“Cedric…”
I had only taken a couple steps when something hard crunched under the same foot the nail had punctured.
“Ah!” I winced, looking to see what it was. A black crayon rolled out from under my toes, and my blood ran cold.
It wasn’t possible. No, it couldn’t be.
“How did you get here?! How?!” I screamed at it. I picked it up, clenching it tightly as my phone went off again and again. That was it, I was losing it. I needed to get out, I needed to call Cedric. I needed to…
I picked my phone off my desk, barely able to speak over the panic that had risen into my throat.
“Cedric!”
“Hey, Katie! How’s everything?” he replied, mistaking my frantic tone for enthusiasm.
“Cedric, I… I don’t know what to do… I-I-I… Something is really wrong here-“
“Woah, hey, slow down a minute. Take a breath. Are you alright? Is Prudence alright?”
I felt like I had been plunged in ice water.
“What did you… What did you just say?”
“I asked if you and Prudence are alright? Kate, you’re scaring me. What’s going on?”
I let the phone drop to the floor. I could still hear his voice calling out to me as I backed away from it.
It couldn’t be. No, it wasn’t real. None of it was real. No, I was certain of it. How many times had we discussed having children? We’d even fought over it at times. But the outcome had always been the same; we simply weren’t ready. We were too busy with our careers, our apartment was too small, money was tight- we’d always had a reason.
But her crayon was in my hand. And upstairs a door slammed shut.
“No, no! I’m done with this!” I screeched, my fear shifting to anger as I ascended the creaking steps two at a time. I rushed down the hallway toward the guest room and flung the door open.
Floral wallpaper greeted me. The girl sitting at the desk looked at me with a confused look on her face.
“Prudence…” I gasped, tears streaming down my face. It couldn’t be…
“Mama, what’s wrong? Are you mad at me?”
I covered my face in my hands, doing my best to stifle my sobs.
“No, no, dear. No, I’m- I’m not mad. I… I don’t understand! I don’t understand!” I cried. She rose from her seat, hugging my thigh tightly.
“I didn’t mean to be bad, Mama. I’m sorry. I don’t like making you upset.”
I could feel myself losing balance. The room tilted viciously as I stumbled to her bed.
“You… you don’t make me upset, I-I just don’t understand… What is happening?”
“It’s because I’ve been bad, Mama. It’s all my fault,” she insisted.
“Don’t. Don’t say that.”
“I’m sorry, Mama. I shouldn’t have tried to trick you.”
My head snapped up.
“Trick me?”
She looked down at the floor, ashamed, refusing to look me in the eye.
“…I know you’re not my Mama, but I wish you were… My mother is scary,” she finally said, walking over to her desk and holding up a drawing made with black crayon. The witch woman stared back at me without her evil oval eyes. I looked down at the crayon I was still holding and handed it to Prudence.
“I thought if I could hide with you she wouldn’t be able to find me…” she murmured, finishing her mother’s face. Then she folded it into quarters and placed it into… the treasure box.
A strange moment of clarity pulled me from the fog that had surrounded me ever since I’d been in this house.
“Does… does your mother like to hide things too?” I asked her. Her eyes grew wide and she bobbed her head.
“What kind of things, Prudence?”
But she placed a finger to her lips and shushed me.
“She’ll hear you!” she hissed, looking out into the hall. I followed her stare. Down the hall the master door was shut.
“Listen to me, Prudence. I know that you want to hide from her. And you want to stay with me, right? But to do that, I need your help. Do you understand?”
She was still looking down the hall. The door was open now.
“Prudence?”
She shook her head, her finger still held to her lips. I peered down the hall again.
“…I don’t see her,” I whispered, “It’s okay-“
My words were cut off as I was seized by the throat and lifted off my feet. Black holes stared into my frantic eyes, her ice cold grip squeezing the life out of me.
“She is not your child!” she screamed, hurling me into the hall. My head slammed off the floor, I could feel a warm substance trickling behind my ear as I struggled to sit up. Prudence’s door was shut. From inside I could hear her wailing and begging. I threw myself against the door but it wouldn’t budge, the handle spun uselessly in my hands. Her screams grew louder and her mother unleashed a vile stream of obscenities accentuated by heavy thuds.
“No! No, Prudence! Prudence!”
Then the awful sounds coming from inside the room ceased, and the door creaked open.
Wood paneling. An unmade guest bed.
A rage I had never felt before came over me.
“You can’t have her! You don’t deserve her, you bitch!” I cried, animalistic fury making my voice unrecognizable.
Later that day I was marching back up the steps with a hammer in hand, nauseous and sweaty. I pried the paneling away, revealing the hideous wallpaper I’d grown fond of. This was her room. This was her room. This was…
As I tore the paneling away in the corner of the room where her desk used to be I was met with a message. The floral print beneath had been scrawled over with black crayon. Over and over, overlapping and in various sizes the same words repeated:
help me help me help me
***
Cedric had called a few times. My clients had sent me messages asking when my drafts would be done. I didn’t answer them. Prudence was all that mattered.
I sat on the edge of the guest bed, waiting for the door to slam shut. I had to be there when it did, somehow I knew. I had learned to never doubt that magnetic feeling. As comfortable as the mattress was I couldn’t risk sleep, even though my body desperately needed it. It made me too vulnerable. It made it hard to remember what was real. So I waited, listening and watching. I knew she was lurking somewhere.
Any time I felt myself close to succumbing to fatigue I opened Prudence’s treasure box to remind myself who I was fighting for, and what was at stake. That sweet little girl who had to tuck the family and the life she longed for under the floorboards. That happy, smiling, loving family. I was going to save her. I was going to give her the life that she deserved.
Her newest drawing had been resting on the top of the pile when I took the box out of the floor. I knew it was a message, a way to help her. It depicted me, holding a key. And that was all.
I’d spent the day scouring the house for it, with no luck. I could only imagine what it went to, perhaps a way for me to get to her somehow. I’d tried in vain to get her room to appear again. But no matter how many times I opened and closed the door the guest room remained, with its newly ravaged decor. And so I kept my eyes down the hall, waiting for the master door to open, armed only with the black crayon Prudence had left inside the treasure box.
One glance at the moon outside the window was all it took. When I looked back the door was open and my breath billowed in front of my face.
“Oh, Katelyn. You really are a stupid girl, aren’t you?”
My mother stood in the doorway, her face scrunched up in disgust the way it usually was when she spoke to me.
“M-mom?”
She strode toward me, her arms crossed tight.
“You’ll have to smarten up, girl, or no man will ever want to be with you,” she sneered, leaning closer to me. Her skin was too pale. Her smile was too wide.
“You’re not her… You’re not…” I said, regaining my senses and backing away. She let out a growl, and the features of her face slipped off like melting wax. Black, lifeless eyes stared back at me. Prudence’s mother had looked less and less human every time I’d seen her, but now she was practically a corpse. Suppurating flesh oozed a thick green substance on to the floor, her limbs were emaciated and elongated, her posture bent and crooked. She backed me into a corner with her razor rows of teeth on full display. When we were nearly eye to eye, I could see it, dangling around her neck.
The key.
“You should have never tried to take her from me!” she roared, flecks of blood splattering my face, “She is mine! And she will always be here with me!”
“You’re pathetic,” I laughed in her face, “You’re getting weaker, you know that? All you ever had was fear! And you’re nothing without it!”
She hissed in reply, grabbing me by the hair. At the same time I reached for the key, and kicked my feet into her as hard as I could. I fell to the ground with a chunk of hair missing and the key in my palm. Prudence’s mother stumbled back, a look of shock on her demonic face. She dropped to all fours, racing toward me like a spider.
“You’re weak!” I screamed, kicking her face. The bones in her neck bent, protruding from her skin. A stream of black liquid leaked from her empty eye sockets, and I aimed another kick before scrambling to my feet.
I had the key in one hand, and a small hand in the other. Prudence looked up at me in terror. The thing on the floor was wheezing and writhing, trying to reach for us, getting smaller and more shriveled by the minute.
“Don’t be afraid, and she can’t hurt you. Okay, Prudence?” I assured her, “Now, we have to go. I need you to show me what this key goes to.”
She took me down the hall, away from the shrieking and down the stairs. In the living room she paused, looking up at me. Her face had an expression on it I couldn’t quite place.
“Mama?”
“What is it, Prudence?”
“I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you.”
“About what?”
But she was already walking toward the cellar door, the only place in the house I still hadn’t been to. When we first came to see it I’d stuck my head inside, but I’d never gone down. Prudence pushed the door open and beckoned for me to follow her on the rickety steps. I grabbed a flashlight from the mantle and made the descent, illuminating cobwebs and the dirt floor at the bottom. I waved the light around, scanning the empty cellar. There didn’t seem to be anything that a key would open.
“…What are we looking for?” I finally asked.
Prudence stomped a foot where she was standing and something solid met her heel. I lowered myself for a closer look, brushing the layers of dirt away. It was wooden, solid. My initial scan of the cellar had revealed a shovel resting in the corner, and I quickly grabbed it.
“What is it? What’s under here?”
Prudence only shook her head, her lips pressed tightly together. I dug as fast as I could, letting the rough wood on the shovel’s handle tear my palms open in my haste. All the while Prudence stood eerily still, watching the chest be uncovered gradually. Finally, it was loose enough for me to get the shovel’s blade under a corner and pry it from the earth. It was not nearly as heavy as I expected it to be, and I fell back from the unneeded effort I’d put into pulling it up. I brushed the dirt from the lock and held the key to it, almost reluctant to discover what her mother had been keeping hidden.
“It’s okay, Mama, open it,” Prudence said, placing a hand over mine and smiling sweetly. I braced myself and turned the key. It clicked open and I raised the lid slowly, as if something might jump out at me. I shone the flashlight inside, trying to make sense of what I was seeing.
It was a pile of bones. Bones that had once made up a tiny skeleton- the skeleton of the girl who stood before me. I clapped a hand to my mouth, tears falling before I could stop myself.
“Oh Prudence… Oh, I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I wanted to get you out of here, I’m so sorry!” I sobbed. She placed her little hand on my shoulder and gave me a reassuring smile.
“You still can,” she whispered.
***
I didn’t take much out of the house. I took the chest out first. Then I went back in to get Prudence’s treasure box and my phone so that I could call Cedric and tell him what I’d done.
There were a lot of things in that house I left behind. But I don’t regret it.
Because as the flames spread and I watched them cover the house from the garden, I was staring at the window upstairs. Those soulless black eyes looking back knew they were doomed. The thing that used to be human knew there would no longer be a place for it hide once the fire reduced the structure to ash.
It would have no one left to torment.
It would have no one left to fear it.
And it will be utterly and miserably alone for the rest of its pseudo-existence.