Here There are Monsters by Amelinda Bérubé

Author:Amelinda Bérubé
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sourcebooks, Inc.
Published: 2019-06-27T00:00:00+00:00

Fifteen

A secret. There’s only one secret. Deirdre was the only one who knew.

In my room I shove the sword out of sight under my bed, drop the necklace into an empty pot, and push it into a space between the plants on the shelves. And then I don’t know what to do with myself, with the hissing, laughing voices replaying in my head. I stand paralyzed in the cool, broadening light, listening to my breath rattling in my ears. Overhead, ordinary footsteps creak into the kitchen.

Denying it is a reflex, well-honed. It can’t have happened. I won’t think about it. It made about as much sense as nightmares ever do. And anyway, what they’re asking is impossible. I’m not throwing away everything I’ve built here because of some sort of fever dream. But it nags at me, belief—and fear—taking root, mushrooming up no matter how many times I try to cut it down.

I don’t have any choice. They have Deirdre. I’m the only one who can save her.

It takes me a couple of tries to make my fingers cooperate enough to manage a Google search on my phone. It’s three days until the full moon. I should have guessed. I have three days to burn everything down.

I want to tell myself I don’t know what they mean, that they’re messing with me. I keep looking for a loophole, some alternate interpretation. But I always knew that the Skye I’d started to create was a sunny falsehood, one I’d have to cut down. Make them understand. Make them hate you.

Some things you just can’t escape. Deirdre’s dragging me down into the mud again, like she always does, even from wherever they’re keeping her. It’s not fair.

I watch my parents moving like robots through the day, staring out the windows, fielding sad phone calls. They argue, once, dispiritedly, over Dad opening a can of beer. After that, Mom doesn’t stop him, and the empties clank into the recycling one by one. The police mill in and out of the driveway. None of it is as real as the certainty perched on my shoulders, digging in its claws. I know exactly what I have to do.

But day one bleeds into day two as I pace around my room, as I stare into the inane abyss of my notifications, as I clutch my phone with the contacts pulled up. But eventually I have to admit that I’m just procrastinating. Why would texts or a post even count? It’s not like the monsters follow me on Twitter. No, I have to do it face-to-face. March up the hill and start knocking on doors.

And I can’t.

* * *

I drag myself up the stairs in answer to Mom’s summons, and I almost jump when I find Sophie waiting for me in the foyer.

“Get your coat,” she says, with determined good cheer. “We’re going to Kevin’s place.”

“We’re—but I can’t,” I stammer, looking from her to Mom, but Mom turns an indifferent hand out and trudges wearily back up the stairs.

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