Monsters

“Mommy, I want to go home.”

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, trying to swallow the scream building in my throat. "This is your home now, sweetie."

Rosie crossed her arms. She had been a nightmare all morning, sliding around on the hardwood floor in socks and nothing else, barely dodging the buckets set out for the leaky roof. She was so delighted by my fruitless attempts to catch her that it had become her favorite game every time I dried to dress her. Jason never had a problem getting her ready; she always listened to him the first time. Mommy, however, was too much fun to torment. 

I finally wrangled her into a chair, and she was still fighting me as I thrust the yellow rain boots onto her squirming feet. 

“Ow!”

“Rosie, please, you have to get dressed. Aunt Jess will be here any minute.”

She slumped in her chair, bottom lip beginning to quiver. “This house is spooky.”

“It’s not spooky,” I said, brushing away the hair stuck to my sweaty forehead. “It’s just old.”

“There are monsters in my closet, I can hear them!”

“Honey, that’s just Elliot.” Even the cat was sulking. I hadn’t seen him since we moved in, but I figured he was hunting the mice that were most definitely in a house this old, especially one that sat empty for so long. 

“Mommy, Elliot isn’t big enough to be a monster.” 

“Rosie, I promise that it’s just Elliot exploring the new house.” 

Her puckered forehead and scrunched nose warned me that she too was on the brink of a meltdown. I picked up her pink, glittery lunchbox. “Aren’t you excited to see Aunt Jess? And I made you a jelly sandwich for lunch!” 

“I wanted peanut butter and jelly.” 

“I’m sorry honey, we don’t have peanut butter.” Although I could have sworn that I had seen one recently, half of the kitchen was still in moving boxes, and it was impossible to keep up with the foods Rosie would and wouldn't eat.  

Jess, my savior, knocked on the door. Rosie immediately brightened and bounced over to her. With a wave, they were gone, and I was finally alone. 

I exhaled and sank to the kitchen floor, feeling the chill from the tiles seep through my clothes. My alarm clock today was water dripping from the ceiling onto my face. I stubbed my toe on Rosie’s toy while chasing her down in the morning, and knocked over a bucket of rainwater while chasing her the second time. Now, she wanted to go home and thought the new house was spooky. 

I looked up at the kitchen’s avocado walls, which looked seasick in the overcast daylight. Paint was peeling off in strips, and yellow spots dotted the ceiling. It was old and outdated, yes, but that was the point. Jason and I had built our old home together, but every inch of that place was haunted with memories: the living room floor where we had dinner the night we moved in. The bathroom where I found out I was pregnant. The kitchen where Rosie took her first steps. The front door where a cop knocked and brought it all crashing down. 

I needed this project. I needed this house. It was away from school and work, but it was also away from people - from nosy neighbors bringing casseroles and pity for the new widow. I needed the isolation. 

I needed to be alone. 

Groaning, I peeled myself up off the floor and shuffled to the coffee maker. I only had a few hours until Jess returned with Rosie, and I couldn’t spend them laying on the floor, even though most days it was the only thing I wanted to do. 

I poured myself a mug and rummaged through the refrigerator, but I couldn’t find any milk. I could have sworn we had some left - I vaguely remembered seeing it the day before. Or, was it the day before that? It felt like I was losing track of everything: the milk, the peanut butter, my green paw print socks that I know I threw into the hamper….

I rubbed my temples. It felt like my brain had been pureed and poured back into my skull. If that wasn’t a sign that I needed coffee, I didn't know what was. I raised my cup to my lips, and before I could drink, the tarry smell hit my nose. I took a sip and grimaced. Jason’s love for black coffee was something that I didn’t understand, and I always complained about the taste after he kissed me in the morning. There was a hollowness in my chest where those memories lived. I never thought that I’d miss that taste on his lips. 

I looked over at Elliot’s food dish, and felt a knot in my stomach. Either his hunting wasn’t up to snuff or he was overindulging, because his food dish was empty every morning. The knot tightened as I tried to remember the last time I saw him. I should check on him, I thought. Make sure he’s okay, cheer up Rosie a bit. 

And yet - I didn’t miss him. I was relieved he wasn’t around. He was always Jason’s cat, despite Jason insisting that Elliot didn’t have any favorites. Jason picked him out, Jason scooped his litter, Jason fell asleep with him curled up on his chest. It hurt to be in the same room with another creature who didn’t understand why Jason wasn’t coming back. 

I set my cup down and surveyed the walls again. As much as the peeling paint bothered me, it was prudent to start with the Pepto-Bismol pink bathroom. There was tile flooring to rip out, drywall to tear down, and black mold to eradicate. Then, I would move onto the kitchen, the den, Rosie’s room, my room - this entire house had to be gutted. With no more remnants of the past, I would be ready to build it anew. 

***

Rosie’s cheery mood quickly soured when she came home and saw the bathroom floor stripped of the tile. “It’s broken,” she said, balling her hands into tight little fists and stomping her foot. 

“Sometimes you need to break things to fix them, honey.”

“Put it back!”

“I will! Once we fix the bathroom, we’ll put in a nice, new floor. I’ll even let you pick out the color! How does that sound?” 

“I liked the old floor,” she said, her arms flapping as she jumped for emphasis. 

“Rosie,” I began, “that’s not how we -- ” But tears were already racing down her ruddy face, and she ran into her room. She hid in there and refused to talk to me for the rest of the day. I decided to give her space, and cleaned up the bathroom the best that I could. Maybe if it wasn’t so messy, she wouldn’t be so upset.  

Night fell, and the rain was still coming down outside. Lightning flashed across the sky, so bright that I could see it with my eyes closed. I could hear the drip - drip - drip as water splashed into the buckets around the house. I made a mental note to call a roofer the next day, but in the meantime, I had a preschooler to make amends with. 

Rosie was still in her room, sitting on her bed and hugging a Teddy bear. I knocked as I entered, holding a grilled cheese sandwich. “Do you want dinner? I made your favorite.”

She was still pouting, but nodded when she saw the sandwich. I came inside and placed the plate on her nightstand, spotting a familiar grey, fuzzy lump among her blankets. 

“Well, look who decided to show up.” I sat on the bed and reached over to scratch Elliot behind his ears. He looked rough - his fur was thinner, and I could feel his bones as I pet him. Elliot, though, didn’t flinch when I touched him. His eyes were fixed on a yellow water stain blooming across Rosie’s ceiling. 

“There are noises,” Rosie said, burying her chin into Teddy’s stuffed head. 

I sighed. “It’s an old house that’s new to you. It’s going to make all kinds of -- ” 

The words turned to dust in my throat. The padded scratching that I heard at night, that I always blamed on Elliot - I could hear it now, and it was louder than before. 

“It’s an animal,” I said, swallowing hard. “We must have raccoons or squirrels in the attic.”

But the cadence of creaks was slow - deliberate. Grabbing Rosie’s hand, I was ready to lie to her the way they all lied to me - that it’ll be okay, it’ll all be okay - when I heard a crunch. There was a split second of silence, and then with a great splintering crash, a man fell through the ceiling. 

I clutched Rosie as she screamed and grasped hold of my sweater, but I was frozen to her bed. As the plaster and dust settled, I could see that the man was rail thin, little more than a skeleton with flesh stretched over it. I could see his tattered clothes, threadbare and moldy, except for the socks - green paw print socks. The ones I couldn’t find four days ago. 

Move, said a voice in my head, and that was all it took to break the spell. I scooped up Rosie and sprang to my feet, running past the man on the floor without a second glance.

Get out, get out. Keys, wallet, phone, and get out. 

I sprinted into the kitchen. Spotting my purse on the counter, I slung it onto my shoulder and fumbled for my keys. It wasn’t until I was out in the rain and making a beeline for my car that I realized I wasn’t wearing shoes, and neither was Rosie. Every step I took, my socks soaked up puddles of water, and every pebble in the driveway was like a dagger. It didn’t matter. I wasn’t going back for any reason. 

Get out, get out. 

Rosie was crying, her words coming out in blubbery spurts. “It’s okay honey,” I said as I sat her down in the backseat. “We’re going somewhere safe.” 

“B-but...Ell-Elliot….” she sobbed. 

I froze and looked back at the house. Oh God. 

I wasn’t going back for anything, I already decided that. I had to get Rosie to safety. 

But…

But Elliot loved Jason too, since the moment he came home with us, since he was a tiny puff of fur that could fit into the palm of Jason’s hand. He had been around since before Rosie. He was family. I abandoned him and neglected him, but he was at Rosie’s side when she needed him the most. 

Before I could talk myself out of it, I dashed across the driveway and back into the house. 

I burst into the kitchen, almost slipping on the tile. I looked around, desperate to find the cat without having to go further into the house, but Elliot wasn’t there.

The attic man was. 

He was in the doorway between the kitchen and living room, and he was watching me. He had spotted me before I saw him, and in the split second before his yellow eyes locked with mine, he began to head straight for me.  

I backed up towards the kitchen door, my desperate eyes searching for anything I could wield as a weapon. The cast iron I used earlier was behind him, and the knives were too far away. I didn’t like my chances against him in a fistfight. My only option was to run, and run fast. 

Just as I tensed up to bolt, a flash of grey darted out of the living room and startled me. I screamed before the attic man lunged, but he never saw the cat in his way, and he crashed to the floor with a force that rattled the dishes in the sink.

I turned and ran, and even in the inky darkness, I could see Elliot scampering toward the car alongside me. I opened the driver’s side, and he jumped in before me. As I was backing out of the driveway, he decided that he much preferred to be with Rosie, and leapt over the center console to curl up next to her. 

With a shaking hand, Rosie pet Elliot’s sopping wet fur. “I knew it wasn’t you,” she whimpered. “You’re our Elliot. I knew you weren’t the monster.”