Locked Away

Everything is fine. 

I’ve locked her in the attic.

That’s what my mother told me one night when I shot up in bed, soaked in sweat, desperately trying to escape my dream. I often had bad dreams when I was little. Shadows reaching through my bed, faces in the windows, monsters in the closet. All I knew was that if I screamed loud enough my voice would make it out of my dream.

Mom would open the door, letting the nightmare escape, and I’d be okay again until morning. Except this night was different. 

She stood at the door blocking the hallway nightlight, before shuffling her slippered feet over to the side of my bed. Shh. Shh. She stroked my hair and kissed my head, lingering with her eyes closed, already half asleep. Everything is fine, sweetie. I’ve locked her in the attic.

The thing is, I never said a word about the attic. 

We had a ritual. Every night before bed, my mother and I would repeat the same thing after she read me a story and sang me a song: Go away bad thoughts! Only good thoughts here!

We recited it like a chant, pumping our fists with gusto as though our enthusiasm could push away the dreams we both knew were coming. She’d plug in my nightlight and wait for me to arm myself with my duvet so that not even a hair was showing. Then she’d blow me a kiss and shut the door. And we’d both wait. 

My father had long since gotten himself a pair of earplugs since I “wasn’t a baby and didn’t need coddling.” But Mom remembered what it was like. She knew that if a kid wasn’t careful, the nightmare would claw its way into the waking world. 

I asked her about it the next morning before my dad came down for breakfast. She smiled at me a little warily. “What?” she asked, pouring cereal into my favourite bowl and setting it down on my mermaid placemat. 

“You said you locked her in the attic. Who were you talking about?”

The toilet flushed. Dad was coming. Mom sat down with her coffee and opened the newspaper to the real estate section. “There is no one in the attic, Tabby,” she said firmly, glancing at the stairs. “It was just a dream.” She turned the page.

“But I wasn’t the one who…” I pressed my lips together when Dad appeared.

As far as I knew, the only thing in the attic was dust. There was a hatch in the ceiling outside my door and if you pulled on it a set of stairs would flop down. Dad used to store our Christmas decorations up there but stopped after Mom said they were covered in mouse droppings. I was banned from exploring due to airborne contaminants, as my Mom said. But also, it was too high up for me to reach. 

“Richard, look at this!” Mom exclaimed, slapping her hand flat against the paper. 

“Hm?” he asked, coming over to stand behind her chair. 

“Laura is selling her house. Just look at what she’s asking for it!”

“Goodness,” Dad said, rocking on his heels.

“And you know they cut costs on the kitchen. She doesn’t even have a dishwasher.”

“Well,” Dad said, nodding his chin. “Should I call Dale?”

“I’m not saying I want to move.”

“Of course not.”

“But it would be nice to know,” she said and shot me a look I didn’t understand. 

I used to get my hopes up every time my parents floated the idea of moving. We were far from my school and my friends, and we didn’t even have a big yard to make up for it. Our house sat on the curve of a lonely cul-de-sac adjacent to swathes of open fields, where the promise of a thriving community never quite took shape. 

The developer envisioned winding streets lined with homes painted in one of three approved colours. There would be a park in the middle with a playground for the little ones and a huge fountain where you could toss coins for wishes and dip your toes in the summer heat. There’d be holiday cookouts, fireworks and movie nights, a community message board with ads for dog-walking services and weekend lemonade stands. But the community didn’t come. So a dead patch of grass where the sales trailer used to be and the fallen billboard proclaiming, “If you lived here you’d be home by now!” were all that was left. 

I could see the billboard glistening white as bone from my bedroom window. Dead leaves danced over its crushed body. A gust of wind swept them upward and they disappeared in shadow, like bats against the moonlight. I sat in bed, trusting my mother would soon come and tuck me in. Knowing we’d recite the words that would protect me from the nightmares waiting outside. But she didn’t. Dad said Mom wasn’t feeling well, so he read me a story, closed the curtains, and wished me good night. It wasn’t enough. 

The lights clicked off and my eyes shot open. I opened my mouth but my voice died under the weight of darkness. My nightlight. Dad forgot to plug in my nightlight. I threw open the curtains, but even the moon was hiding. The only thing I could see was the blue glow of the hallway light, seeping under my door. It was pulsing in time with my breath. 

I unwrapped myself from my duvet and touched my toes on the creaky wood floor. A whisper of cold air brushed against my ankles. A breath. I flung forward, stumbling over toys I had promised to put away and found the wall. My hands swept over the bare wall, searching, but I couldn’t find the switch. The pulsing blue glow disappeared. The door disappeared. I blinked, trying to see shapes, anything recognizable, but all I saw was darkness. I ran back to my bed, throwing the covers over my head. 

A cold hand slipped into mine. 

Falling backwards, kicking off the sheets, wild eyes scanning the darkness, I opened my throat and unleashed a silent scream. Fear strangled my voice. All I knew was that I had to escape. I slammed into the window, my hands grasping at the curtains to pull them open. The moon peaked out from behind a cloud. In the hollow light of night, I saw her. A shape in the darkness, reflected in the glass behind me. 

I fumbled with the latch and pushed the window up in its tracks. A small opening. Big enough for a child. Or a ghost. I swung my leg up and over and squeezed myself out onto the roof. My bare feet slipped on the wet leaves, and I skidded dangerously close to the edge. I yelped and grabbed onto the eaves trough, cutting my palms against the sharp metal edge. With the eaves in one hand to guide me, I scooted backwards on my bum, as far from the window as I could. 

The night was quiet. Waiting. 

There was no wind, but the leaves resting on the roof started to move. I heard the sound first. In the silence, each rustle was an explosion. They were being crushed by invisible feet. She was coming.

I tried to get up, knowing the only way out was to run past her, but the world spun out from under me and I lost my footing. I was falling fast. My face bounced against the ground, and my arm, caught under my body, snapped out of its socket. I rolled to a stop, a broken heap on the frost-covered grass. Pain shot through me so sharply that I grabbed each breath like it was my last. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t scream. I was alone in an empty field of broken promises, with only the billboard to keep me company. 

Snow drifted down from the heavy clouds. I closed my eyes. 

I felt her next to me. A breath. Cold. Weightless. She smoothed my bloody hair and whispered words I couldn’t hear. Then a light clicked on in my room. A dull golden glow. And a voice so close I could touch it. 

“Tabby?” Mom said. “Dad said he forgot the nightlight. Go to sleep, little one. Everything is fine.”

***

I almost didn’t recognize the house. It was David who pointed it out. 

“This one’s nice,” he said, scrolling through the roll of pictures on the real estate listing. “Hey - look at that! Each room has a nightlight. It’s like it was made for you,” he laughed. 

We went with our agent. It had been repainted and a new addition was put on the kitchen, but other than that, whoever lived here after us didn’t change much. David checked out the appliances while I headed upstairs, poking my head in each of the rooms, smiling at the flood of memories.

I opened the door to my old room and drifted over to the window. The field behind the house was still empty, but there was a new sign promising community living. I stared at the spot I had fallen in my dream. I don’t know why it still bothered me. It was just a dream, after all. I rubbed the back of my neck. There must be a draft in here. 

“So?” David appeared behind me, resting his chin on my shoulder. “What do you think?”

“Maybe,” I shrugged away from him and ambled through the halls with him following behind, checking all the lights and faucets. My therapist was urging me to face the past. I still whispered those magic words every night. Go away bad thoughts… I smiled. I don’t think she meant to face the past this literally. 

“It’s got good bones,” David said, banging his fist against the wall. 

Something jingled from the vibration. We both looked up. A small brass lock dangled off a hatch in the ceiling outside my old room. The attic. A breath seeped out through the cracks. Cold. Weightless. 

“That’s weird,” David said, reaching up to tug on the lock.

My hands shook and the hair rose on the back of my neck. Don’t, I thought, but the words wouldn’t come. 

David lifted the lock with his finger and let it drop again. He grinned. “Who do you think they’ve got locked up there?”