Ordinarily, no matter how late Davey was allowed to stay up, Penny was
permitted one more hour than he was. Being the last to bed was her just
due, by virtue of her four-year age advantage over him. She always
fought valiantly and tenaciously at the first sign of any attempt to
deny her this precious and inalienable right.
Tonight, however, at nine o’clock, when Aunt Faye suggested that Davey
brush his teeth and hit the sack, Penny feigned sleepiness and said that
she, too, was ready to call it a night.
She couldn’t leave Davey alone in a dark bedroom where the goblins might
creep up on him. She would have to stay awake, watching over him, until
their father arrived. Then she would tell Daddy all about the goblins
and hope that he would at least hear her out before he sent for the men
with the straitjackets.
She and Davey had come to the Jamisons’ without overnight bags, but they
had no difficulty getting ready for bed. Because they occasionally
stayed with Faye and Keith when their father had to work late, they kept
spare toothbrushes and pajamas here. And in the guest bedroom closet,
there were fresh changes of clothes for them, so they wouldn’t have to
wear the same thing tomorrow that they’d worn today. In ten minutes,
they were comfortably nestled in the twin beds, under the covers.
Aunt Faye wished them sweet dreams, turned out the light, and closed the
door.
The darkness was thick, smothering.
Penny fought off an attack of claustrophobia.
Davey was silent awhile. Then: “Penny?”
“Huh? ”
“You there?”
“Who do you think just said ‘huh?”
“Where’s Dad?”
“Working late.”
“I mean . . . really.”
“Really working late.”
“What if he’s been hurt?”
“He hasn’t.”
“What if he got shot? ”
“He didn’t. They’d have told us if he’d been shot.
They’d probably even take us to the hospital to see him.”
“No, they wouldn’t, either. They try to protect kids from bad news like
that.”
“Will you stop worrying, for God’s sake? Dad’s all right. If he’d been
shot or anything, Aunt Faye and Uncle Keith would know all about it.”
“But maybe they do know.”
“We’d know if they knew.”
“How?”
“They’d show it, even if they were trying hard not to.”
“How would they show it?”
“They’d have treated us different. They’d have acted strange.”
“They always act strange.”
“I mean strange in a different sort of way. They’d have been especially
nice to us. They’d have pampered us because they’d have felt sorry for
us. And do you think Aunt Faye would have criticized Daddy all evening,
the way she did, if she’d known he was shot and in a hospital somewhere?
“Well . . . no. I guess you’re right. Not even Aunt Faye would do
that.”
They were silent.
Penny lay with her head propped up on the pillow, listening.
Nothing to be heard. Just the wind outside. Far off, the grumble of a
snowplow.
She looked at the window, a rectangle of vague snowy luminosity.
Would the goblins come through the window?
The door?
Maybe they’d come out of a crack in the baseboard, come in the form of
smoke and then solidify when they had completely seeped into the room.
Vampires did that sort of thing. She’d seen it happen in an old Dracula
movie.
Or maybe they’d come out of the closet.
She looked toward the darkest end of the room, where the closet was. She
couldn’t see it; only blackness.
Maybe there was a magical, invisible tunnel at the back of the closet, a
tunnel that only goblins could see and use.
That was ridiculous. Or was it? The very idea of goblins was
ridiculous, too; yet they were out there; she’d seen them.
Davey’s breathing became deep and slow and rhythmic. He was asleep.
Penny envied him. She knew she’d never sleep again.
Time passed. Slowly.
Her gaze moved around and around the dark room.
The window. The door. The closet. The window.
She didn’t know where the goblins would come from, but she knew, without
doubt, that they would come.
Lavelle sat in his dark bedroom.
The additional assassins had risen out of the pit and had crept off into