Page 51 of Mazywood

Tasha was afraid she would wake up Johnny—until she noticed that Johnny was already sitting up in the shadows, his feet swung across the edge of the bed, halfway to standing.

Even in only the dim porch light barely reaching their window, the alertness of his bearing told her he had been awake first. Something was wrong.

“What is it?” Tasha whispered.

“Did you hear that?” Johnny said.

Tasha only heard the residual drumming of her own heart pulsing in her ears. “What?”

“Something’s in the kitchen.”

Tasha reached for the night table to turn on her cell phone, which was reduced to a clock and night-light: two in the morning. “One of the girls?” she said. The more she spoke aloud, the further her dream retreated, softening her rigid limbs. She rubbed sleepiness from her face.

A loud clattering clawed past their soundproof wall from the neighboring kitchen. Something rolled rhythmically on the tile floor, making a racket with every turn before it slowly quieted to silence. One of the metal mixing bowls they had used to serve the chips at dinner? Bumping and scurrying came next, in a short burst. Then silence again.

It didn’t sound like the girls. Tasha remembered Johnny’s phrase: He’d said something was in the kitchen, not someone. The noises were frenetic and scattered, the way Imani’s temper tantrums had echoed through the house, her rage inchoate as she threw shoes in her room. But Imani wasn’t having a temper tantrum now. She wouldn’t do that here—only at home.

“Shhh. Stay here,” Johnny said, and leaped from the bed.

He disappeared into the dark, so Tasha shined her phone’s dim screen light toward him enough to see him open a narrow closet behind the hook on the door, where Mazelle’s robe swung. He pulled out what she thought was a broomstick at first—but it was a rifle! Johnny stood on his tiptoes, reaching for a closet shelf.

“Turn on the flashlight,” he said, and she switched on the brighter light while he spoke because she’d had the same idea. She wanted to be sure of what she was seeing.

“A gun? What if it’s the girls—”

The gun sounded multiple clicks as he loaded it, enough to make her jump. His fingers were moving fast across the weapon, with confidence, such an unlikely sight that she could still be dreaming. But guns don’t kill ghosts. The thought appeared, unwelcome. Tasha shivered in her nightshirt, which was too thin despite its long sleeves.

“I won’t shoot the girls.” Johnny’s voice was concentrated calm. “Hand me that light, Tash.”

When Tasha extended her phone, Johnny grabbed it with a single swipe. He readied the flashlight above the rifle as he opened the bedroom door a crack. “Stay here,” he whispered. “Lock the door behind me… in case someone broke in.”

The house might have squatters! How had she lulled herself into dismissing the Jeep outside when it bothered her so much at first?

“Johnny, be careful!” she said, too loud for a whisper, and he waved a hand to shush her. She climbed out of bed, swaying and dizzy because she moved too fast. Vaguely, she felt the tickle of nausea, but mostly her heart was a jackhammer.

“I love you,” she whispered.

“Everything’s okay,” he said, and she only remembered a few seconds later, after he had slipped into the dark hall and she had clicked the door’s lock in place after him, that they were up at 2 a.m. and he had conjured a rifle because everything was super fucking not okay. Were Imani and Sharise exposed upstairs? What if an intruder had ventured up there first?

Tasha was already unlocking the door with new panic when she heard a small commotion in the hall.

“You heard it too?” Imani stage-whispered.

“Do you even know how to use that, Dad?” Sharise asked, not whispering.

Tasha flung the door open. “Shhhh,” she said. The flashlight strobed in the hall as Johnny helped herd their daughters into the bedroom, shushing them as they asked questions, their eyes flashing wide in the bright beams, winking away in the dark. Tasha smelled their excited perspiration and guessed their hearts were racing too. “Come in. I’m locking the door.”

She managed to pull the door closed without slamming it, forcing herself to ease it slowly to avoid more loud noises. She didn’t want to make Johnny any more nervous than he must already be, even if he wasn’t showing it.

Imani had thought to bring her phone for its flashlight too, and Tasha was grateful that they hadn’t lost their light with Johnny. She had no idea where his phone was.

“Imani… do you have a signal?” Tasha whispered, almost mouthing the words.

Imani took her cue for silence and only shook her head, looking forlorn.

It’s okay, Tasha mouthed, trying to enchant Imani with the same spell Johnny had tried on her. But again, it didn’t work. Imani nestled herself beneath one of Tasha’s arms with Sharise beneath the other, her babies again. They huddled beyond the door, listening.

They must have all been holding their breath, because utter silence enveloped them. Tasha couldn’t hear Johnny’s footsteps. What if Johnny shot someone? Or someone shot—