delicately. Almost as if Jess was right there again.
“Mom,” Diane whispered; and the wind picked up, dropping more petals. “There are so many things . . . so many things I wish I’d told you . . . You always made me feel so safe . . .” Her mother’s presence completely encircled her, lifting her out of time and mind to a place of eternal unity. “Mom, I love you so much.”
And suddenly the wind settled, and Jess’s presence was gone.
“I wish you were here now.” Diane looked up at the sky, then to the ground. “Good-bye, Mom.”
She wiped away her tears, took a deep breath. There was no meaning in memory, but there was love.
Steve, who’d been watching her from the patio, stepped forward and hugged her. “We’ll make it,” he whispered. “I love you.”
Carol Anne came running out of the house, wearing her ballerina costume, holding out two silver wings. “Mom, can you put these on me so I’ll be a ballerina with wings?” she asked.
She took the wings lovingly from her daughter and spoke with a bit of Jess’s inflection. “Darlin’, you can be anything you want to be.”
That night it rained. Great charcoal clouds of rain, detonated by lightning that was eerily silent. The drops fell slowly at first, as if they were testing the house, waiting for a response. There was no response, though; for the first night in many years, Jess’s vital spirit no longer inhabited the place.
The rain came down harder.
A harsh wind rose up, too, driving the rain sideways—under the eaves, under the flashing. Under the lip of the skylight in Carol Anne’s and Robbie’s room.
The rain dripped from this unsealed corner of skylight to the floor of the kids’ room. To the toy phone on the floor. Making the toy bell on the toy phone go ding.
For just the briefest moment, all the clectrical toys in the bedroom winked on: the magic castle night-light, the Lava Lamp, the Talk-a-Dolly, the Speed-King race car—the miniature robot even walked two steps toward Robbie, then stopped. As if, for an instant, they were alive.
Rain ping ed the phone again, and Carol Anne opened her eyes. She got out of bed quietly, sat on the floor by the phone, picked up the receiver.
It was Gramma’s voice on the other end.
“Hi, Gramma,” said Carol Anne. “Do you have wings now? My ballerina costume does. Gramma . . .” she started to go on, but when Gramma spoke back, it was in a slightly different voice.
“Gramma, you sound funny,” said Carol Anne. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m okay,” said the voice, but it definitely wasn’t Gramma now. “I’m okay because I can see you. Just like I saw you last night, when you saw me.”
“Who are you?” said Carol Anne. She didn’t like the voice. It was high and silky sweet.
“I’m the man of your dreams, child. Remember me?”
“No, uh-uh . . . I don’t remember . . .” And she didn’t, by the grace of God.
Robbie opened his eyes.
“Yes, she’s my guardian angel,” Carol Anne said into the phone. “What?” She looked at the receiver queerly, saying, “Okay, I’ll get her.” She picked her doll up off the floor and held the receiver to its ear; then she took the phone back from the doll.
The voice said to Carol Anne, “Katrina’s a nice doll. Would you like me to turn you into a nice little doll like Katrina?”
“How’d you know Katrina’s name?” said Carol Anne.
“I know everything,” said Kane. “Because I’m smaaaaart.”
“Oh . . .”
But before she could respond further, there was a snapping of electrical discharges all over the room as a smoky substance exuded from the mouthpiece of the toy phone. Carol Ann dropped it. Robbie sat up in bed, fear pulling his face tight.
A wispy, steamy tentacle snaked out of the receiver, twisting higher, giving birth to itself, translucent and cold. Hovering above Carol Anne, it grew brighter.
“Carol Anne!” Robbie tried to yell, but it came out a croak.
The ectoplasm brewed around the
“Mom,” Diane whispered; and the wind picked up, dropping more petals. “There are so many things . . . so many things I wish I’d told you . . . You always made me feel so safe . . .” Her mother’s presence completely encircled her, lifting her out of time and mind to a place of eternal unity. “Mom, I love you so much.”
And suddenly the wind settled, and Jess’s presence was gone.
“I wish you were here now.” Diane looked up at the sky, then to the ground. “Good-bye, Mom.”
She wiped away her tears, took a deep breath. There was no meaning in memory, but there was love.
Steve, who’d been watching her from the patio, stepped forward and hugged her. “We’ll make it,” he whispered. “I love you.”
Carol Anne came running out of the house, wearing her ballerina costume, holding out two silver wings. “Mom, can you put these on me so I’ll be a ballerina with wings?” she asked.
She took the wings lovingly from her daughter and spoke with a bit of Jess’s inflection. “Darlin’, you can be anything you want to be.”
That night it rained. Great charcoal clouds of rain, detonated by lightning that was eerily silent. The drops fell slowly at first, as if they were testing the house, waiting for a response. There was no response, though; for the first night in many years, Jess’s vital spirit no longer inhabited the place.
The rain came down harder.
A harsh wind rose up, too, driving the rain sideways—under the eaves, under the flashing. Under the lip of the skylight in Carol Anne’s and Robbie’s room.
The rain dripped from this unsealed corner of skylight to the floor of the kids’ room. To the toy phone on the floor. Making the toy bell on the toy phone go ding.
For just the briefest moment, all the clectrical toys in the bedroom winked on: the magic castle night-light, the Lava Lamp, the Talk-a-Dolly, the Speed-King race car—the miniature robot even walked two steps toward Robbie, then stopped. As if, for an instant, they were alive.
Rain ping ed the phone again, and Carol Anne opened her eyes. She got out of bed quietly, sat on the floor by the phone, picked up the receiver.
It was Gramma’s voice on the other end.
“Hi, Gramma,” said Carol Anne. “Do you have wings now? My ballerina costume does. Gramma . . .” she started to go on, but when Gramma spoke back, it was in a slightly different voice.
“Gramma, you sound funny,” said Carol Anne. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m okay,” said the voice, but it definitely wasn’t Gramma now. “I’m okay because I can see you. Just like I saw you last night, when you saw me.”
“Who are you?” said Carol Anne. She didn’t like the voice. It was high and silky sweet.
“I’m the man of your dreams, child. Remember me?”
“No, uh-uh . . . I don’t remember . . .” And she didn’t, by the grace of God.
Robbie opened his eyes.
“Yes, she’s my guardian angel,” Carol Anne said into the phone. “What?” She looked at the receiver queerly, saying, “Okay, I’ll get her.” She picked her doll up off the floor and held the receiver to its ear; then she took the phone back from the doll.
The voice said to Carol Anne, “Katrina’s a nice doll. Would you like me to turn you into a nice little doll like Katrina?”
“How’d you know Katrina’s name?” said Carol Anne.
“I know everything,” said Kane. “Because I’m smaaaaart.”
“Oh . . .”
But before she could respond further, there was a snapping of electrical discharges all over the room as a smoky substance exuded from the mouthpiece of the toy phone. Carol Ann dropped it. Robbie sat up in bed, fear pulling his face tight.
A wispy, steamy tentacle snaked out of the receiver, twisting higher, giving birth to itself, translucent and cold. Hovering above Carol Anne, it grew brighter.
“Carol Anne!” Robbie tried to yell, but it came out a croak.
The ectoplasm brewed around the
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