Lucky

The alarm wailed throughout the house. Having been tucked in for the night reading by lamplight, I had nearly jumped out of my skin, it startled me so. In my nightrobe, I scrambled out of bed and shot like a bullet down the hall. The white paneled door ornated in cut-out stars and construction paper rainbows was still closed. “Lucky, stay in your room!” I shouted to my little girl, Rebecca, on the other side, knowing she would be lying wide awake in her bed beneath the purple butterfly blanket, clutching Baily Bear, frightened. Taking the stairs two at a time, I cinched the ties of my nightrobe, preparing for a fight. Nearly to the bottom of the staircase, I was already glancing into the den below for any sign of intruders. Shadows. Flashlight. Any movement at all. Heart hammering in my chest, my fear mounted with every step. Racing thoughts suggested that I should go back upstairs and call the police, but it was too late, as realizations tend to be. It was too late to turn around. Too late to stop. Too late to think this through. The urgency of the alarm drove my rattling bones down every step.

Losing their battle to stay grounded, I didn’t notice my feet had tangled until I was already soaring through the air, grappling reflexively and unsuccessfully for the banister. My body launched forward until the hardwood floor broke my fall. I was more concerned about the sound of wood splintering accompanied by the shattering of glass to even notice the pain pulsing through my head. Someone was crashing through the backdoor!

The floor was slick and warm as I leapt to my feet. In a heartbeat, I snatched the poker from the fireplace as I charged by. Adrenaline flood. Just the thought of someone—anyone—breaking into my house and… Rebecca…

I swallowed my fear, a barbed ball of emotion raking unmercifully down my constricted throat until there was nothing left but the raw, unbridled monster of a mother protecting her child. I became invincible. Indestructible. A machine fueled by coals of burning rage. Whatever was coming through that backdoor would soon meet its end.

Poker clutched tightly, almost fused to my crushing fist around it, ready to strike, I navigated the short distance to the backdoor. Blind with fury, pulsing shades of red thrummed in my eyes. Heart galloping. Lungs squeezed. Every muscle rigid and hard as stone, I braced for what I would see, what I would face and fight, then I flipped the light switch.

Light poured down into the foyer, spilling into both the adjacent kitchen to the left and the den from which I had come. Beneath the merciful florescent bulbs, there was nothing but palpable relief.

0-5-2-5-#

Rebecca’s birthday, and my lucky number.

The alarm silenced into dead quiet. So quiet that my acclimated ears continued to ring long after the shrill warbling stopped. I checked the door. Shimmied the knob. Locked. The bay windows flanking either side, intact. Curtains and doormat lie undisturbed. Parting the pleated eggshell curtains, I peered out the window into the still quiet void of night. The motion sensor had not detected any movement in the last five minutes. Not even a rabbit had crossed its ever-watchful eye. But what was that buzzing?

The ebb and flow of anger and fear tipping once again, I crossed into the kitchen, poker slick in my sweaty palm, and circled the island. The pantry was nowhere near deep enough for any person to hide, but the echoes of just-in-case paranoia beckoned me to check anyway. Shelves lined with canned vegetables and snacks. But still, that buzzing. The incessant buzzing. It was coming from my head. Rubbing a free hand across my face, the pain finally made itself known.

Flinching to the sharp burning pain that seared through my neck, I let the poker drop with a clatter. Exhausted, I returned to the base of the stairs. The mess at my feet prevented me from going any further. Tall and freestanding, the grandfather clock leaned back against the wall like an ancient pillar fallen to time. Its antique gears showcased behind the broken glass lay in pieces behind the lifeless pendulum. Shards of glass and debris lie scattered across the floor, glinting like a spray of glitter in the pale reaches of the foyer light. My shoulders slumped. I loved that clock.

After cleaning the mess, I ascended the stairwell to Rebecca’s door. I tapped on the door gently before cracking it open, and whispered, “Everything’s alright, Lucky. Another false alarm.”

I didn’t sleep that night for anxiously pacing the downstairs, patrolling the house past 5am until the drapes glowed with sunrise. On leaden feet like anchors, I trudged up the stairs and crawled into my bed, promising not to fall asleep until after Rebecca was up. But promises to oneself are often broken ones. The plush downy blanket wrapped me like a babe in the cradle while the feather pillow cushioned my throbbing head. The Sandman delivered before I could complete another thought. It was the first time I missed seeing Rebecca off to school.

That night, I reclined in bed for what I call, “single mom after hours”, with a steamy cup of tea on the nightstand and a book propped in my lap. The D’s after Divorce: Dreaming, Dating and Doing You. So far, it was crap. I didn’t—I couldn’t—relate to any of what Dr. Linda Love, PhD in Nonsense, spoke about in the first three chapters. The decision to ditch Dr. Love for Stephen King was not a hard one to make. Drawing a long slow sip of tea, I shook my head with disappointment. Sorry, Linda, you had your chance. Stephen gets me and he never lets me down. I nearly choked when the house erupted with a deafening scream.

That tea will be impossible to get out, I thought as I threw the blanket back and raced out of the room, leaving Dr. Love beside an overturned cup of hot tea. At the top of the staircase, I called down the hall, “Lucky, stay in your room!” Where fear meets bravery, that’s where I found myself caught, a torpedo down the stairs, skipping every other step. Securing the satin ties of my nightrobe around my waist, I instantly regretted coming this far. I should go back. Call the police! But I had come too far to turn back.

Dread gnawing at the center of my gut, I fought the rising panic with anger. Swells of heat rushed from my core and into every limb and, with it, an explosion of adrenaline. When finally the den came into view, I surveyed for any sign of intruders. I wasn’t aware that my feet had left the ground until I was prone on the floor.

It was the shattering of glass and a heavy resounding thump that urged me to pick myself up. I grabbed the poker from the fireplace and marched into darkness, swatting the foyer light switch immediately. I was ready to swing at anyone—anything—that shouldn’t be there. But there was nothing. My head swam with confusion as splintering pain shot through the base of my skull and into my neck. I winced.

The door was still locked. I threw the curtains back to unbroken and unblemished windows overlooking a quiet, uneventful night. Not even the motion sensor lights had come on. The pantry, I thought. Rushing into the kitchen, I swung the pantry doors ajar. Clear. All clear.

I sighed quietly and let the poker drop from my hands. Concentrating on the pain in my neck, I made way for the bedroom, however, stopped short at the base of the stairs. Glass. Everywhere. Like an old fragile man, the clock slumped against the wall. The intricate mechanical entrails lay in pieces.

“Mom?”

I turned quickly to the soft shy voice behind me. A woman, haloed by the foyer light, stared at me with eyes as big as saucers. Regretting my decision to leave the poker behind, I recoiled and pointed a trembling finger at the woman. “Who are you? Why are you in my house?”

The woman raised her hands to cup her face. She breathed as tears pooled in her eyes. “Mom, it’s me.”

“Who are you?” I shouted.

Rolling her sweater sleeve up, the woman flashed her wrist to me. “It’s me,” she said again. “Lucky.”

I couldn’t ignore the tawny horseshoe-shaped marking that was unique to Rebecca, who was tucked in bed upstairs, probably scared out of her mind. Stepping closer to the woman, I gasped. The flow of tears rushing to my eyes matched hers. Glancing up the staircase, I debated running. Run as fast as I could up to Rebecca’s room and, then what?

“I’m not up there, Mom,” she said.

“What’s going on?” I sobbed. Rebecca moved closer to me with her hands out. “It’s you,” she breathed. “It’s been you this whole time. I left right after you died and—”

“After I died?” I asked harshly.

Rebecca glanced at the staircase. “The night of the break-in, Mom. You don’t remember? You fell down the stairs and hit the clock that was standing here. You… broke your neck.”

Touching the back of my neck, I took in a sharp breath.

“People have moved in and out of this place for years. They always leave. I saw it again on the market three months ago and… well… here I am.” Lucky fanned her arms. “And… here you are. The jiggling doorknobs. The stomping down the stairs. The curtains mysteriously opening at night. The pantry doors. I find the poker on the kitchen floor at least once a week. And all this time… it was you.”

A long shadow formed behind her, stretching across the floor from the kitchen until a small body emerged from around the corner, wielding a bag of chips. “Momma, who are you talking to?” The little girl asked curiously. My eyes widened. Those chestnut curls and heart-shaped face. Rose petal lips and calm sea green eyes. A mirror image of the Rebecca I remembered, the Rebecca that should be upstairs waiting for me to assure her everything is fine, the Rebecca that will be getting up in just a few hours for school.

“Nobody, sweetheart.” Lucky twisted a half-turn to the little girl and nodded. “Irene, I’ll be right there. Go find the brownie mix, would ya, kiddo?” Bouncing excitedly at the mention of brownies, the little girl raced away, filling the house with joyful squeals.

“You—you’re a mother?”

Rebecca nodded with a smile. “She’s named after you.”

“My baby. You’re so grown up. How long?” I asked, reaching for her hands. “How long has it been?”

“It’s been…” she hesitated. “Twenty-one years, Mom.”

“Twenty…” I trailed. “I—I’ve missed so much.”

“No,” Lucky touched my cold hands. “You’ve been with me this entire time. But it’s time for you to let go, Mom.” Her face puckered with tears. “It’s time to end this cycle you’re stuck in and find peace.”

Awareness settled over me like a dense fog. It all made sense now. I was an incorporeal being. I remembered. The steps. The fall. The shattering glass around me. I remembered it all.

Thumbing the tears on Lucky’s face, I smiled at the beautiful woman my little girl became. My body pulled. The pain lifted. “Mom?” she cried. “Are you there?” Her eyes moved past me as she took a step forward. The light spilled around her. She was wearing scrubs. A stethoscope hung around her shoulders. “A nurse.” I said proudly. She shook her head as the florescents faded into a warm natural light. “A doctor,” she whispered.

“A doctor,” I repeated. “Doctor Lucky.” The sound of my own voice was so far away. An echo. Manifesting around me was a tunnel of every flower imaginable. Lilies, roses, bluebells, daffodils. A vortex of beauty leading into a lush green field. An inviting force drew my preternatural body in. A gentle vacuum from which I did not struggle.

Entering the bright emerald plains beyond, I heard her soft voice transcend the fabric of time between us. “I’ll always be your Lucky girl, Momma.”

And that, she would be.