with a mellow brown vigor. The furniture gleamed and the taupe drapes lay quietly at each side of the windows.
Sighing, Linda stepped inside and closed the door. In the bathroom, she opened the medicine cabinet and hunted for ibuprofen. She shook out four tablets and ran water in the glass she kept on the sink. On the way out the door of the bathroom she swallowed down the medicine. She still had to walk bent over to keep from having tremendous, debilitating pain.
In the living room she made for the rocking chair. She was hungry, wanted coffee, but she had to wait for the medication to help her back first.
She sat rocking slowly, carefully, her eyes trained on the walls. She didn't try to talk to them, either aloud or psychically. The minute they began to move, she was going to stand up and go outside again. She'd thwart them until they knew she was going to do this her way.
#
She woke to a small hand on her arm. She had fallen asleep in the rocker and came to suddenly. Diane stood next to her, holding her arm. Hello , she said. I had to come back to help you.
"Talk out loud, Diane. It takes a lot of my energy to talk with thoughts."
"My mom said I could go out to play."
"She doesn't know you're here?"
"No, she wouldn't let me come here, she doesn't know you. You're a stranger."
Linda agreed. She was a stranger, all right. A stranger in the world, a stranger in her own skin. "I told you not to come back. It's not safe here."
"But I have to help you, Miss Linda."
Linda kept silent a moment, glancing first to be sure the walls were sedate, before she said, "You can't help me. This is between me and the house. You have to stay out of it."
"I can't."
"Why not?"
"They told me so." She pointed to the walls.
Linda sighed and tried to stand to straighten her back, but a blast of pain forced her to bend over like an old crone from a children's picture book. "I'm going to say this one more time. You cannot come here again. You can't be involved in this. I won't be responsible for it. If I have to tell your mother to keep you away, I will."
Tears came quick to the girl's eyes. She rubbed at her cheeks and Linda wanted to take it back--both the words and the harshness of the way she'd spoken them. She was used to dealing with college students, not children. She felt helpless to console the girl or to lessen her hurt feelings. She had to try.
"Honey, now listen to me. I'm sorry I sounded so mean. You know what's here. You know how bad they are. You can't help me. I don't care what the walls tell you. They're liars, deceivers. You'll get hurt here, Diane...please don't cry."
The girl sniffed and Linda reached out and wiped the last of the tears from her cheeks. Her skin was pale as driftwood, her eyes dark. Her hair was shoulder length and sandy brown, like wheat in a field. She was a pretty child, and so earnest, so full of compassion.
Once she felt under control, Diane said, "I'll go away then. I thought...I thought you needed me."
This girl and her small voice, her frank stare and open manner, made Linda love her. "Go home, Diane. Be a good girl. Stay with your mommy."
Once she had let her out the door, Linda looked at her watch and saw it was almost noon. She had slept for hours in the rocker, no wonder her back hurt worse than before. After taking more ibuprofen, she sat in the kitchen
Sighing, Linda stepped inside and closed the door. In the bathroom, she opened the medicine cabinet and hunted for ibuprofen. She shook out four tablets and ran water in the glass she kept on the sink. On the way out the door of the bathroom she swallowed down the medicine. She still had to walk bent over to keep from having tremendous, debilitating pain.
In the living room she made for the rocking chair. She was hungry, wanted coffee, but she had to wait for the medication to help her back first.
She sat rocking slowly, carefully, her eyes trained on the walls. She didn't try to talk to them, either aloud or psychically. The minute they began to move, she was going to stand up and go outside again. She'd thwart them until they knew she was going to do this her way.
#
She woke to a small hand on her arm. She had fallen asleep in the rocker and came to suddenly. Diane stood next to her, holding her arm. Hello , she said. I had to come back to help you.
"Talk out loud, Diane. It takes a lot of my energy to talk with thoughts."
"My mom said I could go out to play."
"She doesn't know you're here?"
"No, she wouldn't let me come here, she doesn't know you. You're a stranger."
Linda agreed. She was a stranger, all right. A stranger in the world, a stranger in her own skin. "I told you not to come back. It's not safe here."
"But I have to help you, Miss Linda."
Linda kept silent a moment, glancing first to be sure the walls were sedate, before she said, "You can't help me. This is between me and the house. You have to stay out of it."
"I can't."
"Why not?"
"They told me so." She pointed to the walls.
Linda sighed and tried to stand to straighten her back, but a blast of pain forced her to bend over like an old crone from a children's picture book. "I'm going to say this one more time. You cannot come here again. You can't be involved in this. I won't be responsible for it. If I have to tell your mother to keep you away, I will."
Tears came quick to the girl's eyes. She rubbed at her cheeks and Linda wanted to take it back--both the words and the harshness of the way she'd spoken them. She was used to dealing with college students, not children. She felt helpless to console the girl or to lessen her hurt feelings. She had to try.
"Honey, now listen to me. I'm sorry I sounded so mean. You know what's here. You know how bad they are. You can't help me. I don't care what the walls tell you. They're liars, deceivers. You'll get hurt here, Diane...please don't cry."
The girl sniffed and Linda reached out and wiped the last of the tears from her cheeks. Her skin was pale as driftwood, her eyes dark. Her hair was shoulder length and sandy brown, like wheat in a field. She was a pretty child, and so earnest, so full of compassion.
Once she felt under control, Diane said, "I'll go away then. I thought...I thought you needed me."
This girl and her small voice, her frank stare and open manner, made Linda love her. "Go home, Diane. Be a good girl. Stay with your mommy."
Once she had let her out the door, Linda looked at her watch and saw it was almost noon. She had slept for hours in the rocker, no wonder her back hurt worse than before. After taking more ibuprofen, she sat in the kitchen
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