Page 5

He left the door cracked open, just a sliver of light cutting the dark. For a moment, I thought I saw another shadow move behind him, but it was probably just my mind slipping.

I lay there, heart hammering, blood sticky on my forehead, the chain biting into my ankles. I wanted to scream, but the sound died in my throat. Somewhere above, the house creaked and sighed.

Time leaked away. Maybe an hour passed, maybe a hundred years. I traced every scar and crack in the brick, searching for patterns. Faces leered back at me, mouths open in silent screams.

I started to count the stains on the mattress, the links in the chain, the ways the bulb flickered and buzzed like an insect caught in a web. Anything to keep my mind from shattering. Anything to stay here, in my body.

I thought about escaping. About picking the lock, breaking the window, attacking him the next time he came down. But my limbs felt heavy, useless. I was too weak to fight, too broken to hope.

Occasionally, there were footsteps upstairs. Sometimes two sets, as if someone else lived here. A woman’s laughter burst out. Then, a downpour of sobbing, soft and distant. It reminded me of my mother. Was it my mother? It was hard to tell what was real, and what was in my head.

The bulb flickered and cast strange shadows on the wall, the chain glinting like a serpent. The door opened again without warning.

He came down, mask still on, carrying a plate of something—bread, meat, water in a chipped mug. He set it just out of reach, watching me struggle to sit up.

“Eat,” he said flatly. “You need strength. Or you’ll die too soon.”

I stared at him, hating him, hating myself for wanting the food. I moved, the chain clattering, knees burning on the floor. I snatched the plate, hands shaking.

He watched me eat. Just stood there, head cocked, like an owl waiting for a mouse to twitch its last breath.

“My mother never ate,” he whispered, voice distant. “She said food was poison. She said the walls wanted her to starve. My father made her eat. He made her swallow glass once. She bled for days.”

I gagged on the bread, fighting the urge to vomit. I forced it down, eyes watering.

He crouched beside me, the burlap mask brushing my shoulder. “Are you sick, little bluebird? Are you going to die on me? I’d rather you didn’t. I like your eyes. They’re green, like the pond behind the house. The one where the fish float on their bellies.”

He reached out, tracing my cheek with a gloved finger. “If you’re good, I’ll take the chain off. If you’re bad, I’ll put you in the hole. Do you want to see the hole, Starla?”

I shook my head, unable to speak.

He grinned behind the stitches. “That’s right. The hole is for bad girls. For girls who run, for girls who scream. My father used to leave me there. He’d say ‘Don’t fuck up, or you’re going in the hole.’ My mother used to sing to me through the floor. I don’t have that house anymore, it went away in flames, but I made a new hole here.”

“Just because your father was a monster, doesn’t mean you need to repeat his actions,” I told him.

That was the wrong thing to say, because he stood abruptly, knocking over the plate. The food scattered, crumbs and meat and a splash of water soaking into the floor. He slammed the door behind him. The bulb buzzed, swinging on its wire.

The room closed in. Dark pressed on my skull, squeezing until my vision danced with spots. I rocked back and forth, knees to my chest, humming to myself to drown out the silence.

There are no monsters. There are no monsters.

I heard something moving behind the walls. Scratching, whispering. I pressed my hands over my ears, but the noise sank into my bones. I tried to remember my name, my mother’s face, anything that belonged to me.

When the door opened again, I didn’t look up. I stayed curled on the floor, fighting to stay present, to stay alive.

The man entered quietly, the mask still in place. He didn’t speak at first. He stared at me, head cocked, breathing slow.

After a long time, he knelt beside me. “Do you know what happens to good girls, Starla?” he asked softly.

I shook my head.

“They get to stay alive. They get to see the sky. They get to be loved. If you’re good, I’ll love you.”

He reached out, stroking my hair again. I didn’t flinch this time. I was too tired. Too far gone.

When I finished, he leaned close. “You belong here now,” he murmured. “Don’t forget.” He left me in the dark, the mask’s stitched mouth the last thing I saw before the light vanished.

I curled up on the mattress, clutching my knees to my chest, the chain biting cold and deep.