isn’t just about his shoulder, is it, LeAnne?”
I pause in the hall.
“I was never thrilled about the four of them going on a road trip halfway across the country. You know that.”
“I thought we agreed we could trust them.”
“I went along with it. I didn’t necessarily agree with it.”
“They’ll be alright. They’re responsible kids. And they’re staying with—”
“Yes, but . . .” Then her voice fades out and it’s too soft to hear any more.
Most people get louder the angrier they get. Not my mom. She gets quieter. So typically, the less you hear, the worse things are going to be.
I don’t take any of this as a good sign, but I don’t want to chance having them catch me eavesdropping either, so as silently as I can, I return to my room, glancing up uneasily at the attic access panel as I do.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THURSDAY, JUNE 13
11:16 A.M.
All morning I’ve been thinking about Kyle’s suggestion yesterday about me filming events to see if they’re blurs, so I keep my phone close by with the camera app open, but nothing unusual or terrifying appears.
My thoughts return to Pandora’s box.
In the story, when the girl opens the box, it unleashes all the terror and heartache and grief that had been sealed up so none of it would torment people.
It’s a myth.
But ma yb e, even if there wasn’t a literal box long ago, each of us has one inside us. And when we give into our temptations, when we listen to the darkness, we pr y off the lid.
Metaphorically speaking.
I try writing in the journal again, but that doesn’t help and I realize that if there’s one person who might be able to understand what I’m going through, it’s my mom.
She’s seen things too.
She had sleepwalking episodes so frightening that she became concerned she might hurt someone else during them.
She might be able to help me figure this out.
However, if she gets too worried about me, she’ll never let me go to the camp. So if I talk with her about this, I’ll need to be careful to not give too much away, but still tell her enough for her to help me.
I’m not exactly sure how to pull that off, but after lunch, since she’s taking today off from work and is here at the house, I figure I’ll give it a shot.
I catch up with her in the living room where she’s making her way through a mound of clean laundry.
When I sit down and start helping her fold the clothes, she stares at me oddly. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.”
“You never help me fold the laundry, Daniel. Something’s on your mind. What is it?”
I straighten out a towel, flip it into thirds.
“This wouldn’t have anything to do with your offer to peel a potato for me the other day, would it?” She says it lightly, and that gives me the sense that this probably is a good time to talk.
“Mom, last winter you told me that you moved out because you were afraid of what you might do to me or Dad.”
“I remember.”
“Afraid that you might hurt us.”
“Yes.”
I grab a pair of my jeans, start folding them. “But why did you think that? You never gave me the details— y ou just said that you were seeing things.”
“You really want to discuss this now?”
“Something’s happening to me. I need to understand it. I think you can help.”
“Mostly, it had to do with my sleepwalking.”
“But why would you think you might hurt other people?”
She lays her hand on the clothes pile, but doesn’t pick up anything. “You know that your father keeps a gun by his side of the bed.”
“Yes.”
“Well one night I woke up while I was opening up the end table drawer where he leaves it. Then two days later I already had it in my hand when I woke up.”
She pauses.
“Anything else?”
“Daniel, I—”
“C’mon, Mom. Tell me.”
She’s started to tap her fingers anxiously on one of our crumpled sheets, but I don’t think she notices.
“I had it with me,” she says at last. “I was halfway down the hall on the way to
I pause in the hall.
“I was never thrilled about the four of them going on a road trip halfway across the country. You know that.”
“I thought we agreed we could trust them.”
“I went along with it. I didn’t necessarily agree with it.”
“They’ll be alright. They’re responsible kids. And they’re staying with—”
“Yes, but . . .” Then her voice fades out and it’s too soft to hear any more.
Most people get louder the angrier they get. Not my mom. She gets quieter. So typically, the less you hear, the worse things are going to be.
I don’t take any of this as a good sign, but I don’t want to chance having them catch me eavesdropping either, so as silently as I can, I return to my room, glancing up uneasily at the attic access panel as I do.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THURSDAY, JUNE 13
11:16 A.M.
All morning I’ve been thinking about Kyle’s suggestion yesterday about me filming events to see if they’re blurs, so I keep my phone close by with the camera app open, but nothing unusual or terrifying appears.
My thoughts return to Pandora’s box.
In the story, when the girl opens the box, it unleashes all the terror and heartache and grief that had been sealed up so none of it would torment people.
It’s a myth.
But ma yb e, even if there wasn’t a literal box long ago, each of us has one inside us. And when we give into our temptations, when we listen to the darkness, we pr y off the lid.
Metaphorically speaking.
I try writing in the journal again, but that doesn’t help and I realize that if there’s one person who might be able to understand what I’m going through, it’s my mom.
She’s seen things too.
She had sleepwalking episodes so frightening that she became concerned she might hurt someone else during them.
She might be able to help me figure this out.
However, if she gets too worried about me, she’ll never let me go to the camp. So if I talk with her about this, I’ll need to be careful to not give too much away, but still tell her enough for her to help me.
I’m not exactly sure how to pull that off, but after lunch, since she’s taking today off from work and is here at the house, I figure I’ll give it a shot.
I catch up with her in the living room where she’s making her way through a mound of clean laundry.
When I sit down and start helping her fold the clothes, she stares at me oddly. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.”
“You never help me fold the laundry, Daniel. Something’s on your mind. What is it?”
I straighten out a towel, flip it into thirds.
“This wouldn’t have anything to do with your offer to peel a potato for me the other day, would it?” She says it lightly, and that gives me the sense that this probably is a good time to talk.
“Mom, last winter you told me that you moved out because you were afraid of what you might do to me or Dad.”
“I remember.”
“Afraid that you might hurt us.”
“Yes.”
I grab a pair of my jeans, start folding them. “But why did you think that? You never gave me the details— y ou just said that you were seeing things.”
“You really want to discuss this now?”
“Something’s happening to me. I need to understand it. I think you can help.”
“Mostly, it had to do with my sleepwalking.”
“But why would you think you might hurt other people?”
She lays her hand on the clothes pile, but doesn’t pick up anything. “You know that your father keeps a gun by his side of the bed.”
“Yes.”
“Well one night I woke up while I was opening up the end table drawer where he leaves it. Then two days later I already had it in my hand when I woke up.”
She pauses.
“Anything else?”
“Daniel, I—”
“C’mon, Mom. Tell me.”
She’s started to tap her fingers anxiously on one of our crumpled sheets, but I don’t think she notices.
“I had it with me,” she says at last. “I was halfway down the hall on the way to
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