The Test

Buried in the Qingqiu Mountains crested with lines of pine trees and soaring peaks, lived Lin and Grandfather. They dwelled in the sloping valley at the base of the mountains, where the snow would melt to feed vegetables that were grown in Lin’s garden. 

In the day, she was allowed to roam wherever she wished. She tended to her garden and the goats, ran through fields of wildflowers with her bare feet, and visited the creek. Sometimes, she would see a beautiful woman with black hair dangling her feet in the crystal water. Lin later learned her name was Pani through a stick drawing in the dirt. She never spoke—only listened quietly as Lin chattered on. 

Lin liked Pani but always felt something was off—her eyes too green, her smile too wide—but she was lonely and Pani was her only friend. They would traverse down the creek, drenching their skirts while fishing and holding contests to see who could skip the farthest stone. As for their races, Lin was lithe and easily beat the stumbling Pani. 

How can someone be so clumsy? She thought as she darted back to help Pani out of the water for the third time. She winced as Pani’s nails sunk into her arm and wrenched it away. 

“Let’s go back.” She suggested and Pani nodded slowly before she followed. 

When Lin returned to the house, Grandfather listened as she recounted her adventures. She acted out stories and he would laugh, his deep rumble bubbling in the pit of her stomach.

“And then Pani tried to catch a fish and fell into the water!” 

Lin mimicked falling and Grandfather caught her. She glanced up at his face, expecting a smile. He saw her looking and tried at one, but she could tell it wasn’t real. 

“I haven’t seen any new houses around here.” 

She shrugged, “Maybe she lives on the other side of the mountain.” 

Grandfather smiled again, but he looked unsettled. He was doing it again—Lin realized—smoothing out his wispy white beard, his eyes sinking into deep thought. She decided not to mention her friend again, she didn’t want to worry him—he was rather protective of her. 

Every night since Lin was barely old enough to remember, Grandfather would do the same routine. He would rap on the door six times, lock it, set his chair and a pile of bricks against it, unlock it, seal the windows from the draft, and lock the door once more. Lin never questioned his motives. She was glad she and Grandfather were safe in their snug, warm house. Nothing could touch them while Grandfather was here. 

He had brought Lin here after her mother died. He told her he wanted to get them away from the fighting. But Grandfather was a kindly man and the townspeople trusted him. He had to go into town sometimes to help them with things they needed, trusting Lin to be by herself. Sometimes at night alone, she would hear strange things, but they would disappear the moment she pressed her head into her pillow and covered her ears. 

As fall sank into the birth of winter, Lin grew increasingly excited about the first snow day—they celebrated it every year. But one frosty morning, Grandfather sat Lin down. She looked up at his tired, warm eyes. 

“You must listen to me very carefully, sweetheart.” 

Lin nodded. 

“There’s a woman in the town who needs my help. She has four children and winter is fast approaching. Her husband and the rest of the men are off fighting the war. She came to me yesterday begging for help in preparing her roof. She and her children will freeze if it’s not fixed in time.” 

“How long?” 

“Three nights.” Lin swallowed. This was the longest he would be gone. 

He grasped her little hands and looked at her sternly, “Remember. You will not open the door for anything. Every night, you will lock the doors and the windows. You will not look outside the windows. Do you understand?” 

“Yes.” 

“If you hear five knocks, that’s me. I’ll arrive in the morning.” 

“Be careful.” 

Grandfather nodded. He put on his old straw hat and laced up his shoes. Lin brought him a basket of bread and cheese from the goats for his meals. For the children, she placed in the basket red ribbons for them to tie to their hair. She giggled as his beard tickled her forehead when he kissed her goodbye. As she watched him hobble out the door, she suddenly noticed the holes starting to appear in the heels of his shoes. 

He’ll be fine.  She reassured herself. The sun is early in the sky. 

The worry lessened off her chest and she hummed as she began her chores. She dusted off his desk, swept the floors, and changed the sheets on the bed. She ate her lunch in the grass with her feet kicked back as she soaked in the afternoon sun. Lin did not go to the creek to play that day. She took the animals in early into the stables and locked them securely with water. She shut the door when the sun was setting, rapped six times, locked it, set Grandfather’s chair and a pile of bricks against it, unlocked it, sealed the windows from the draft, and locked the door again. Then, she drew the curtains she had sewed across the glass of the windows. There!

She ate dinner by the fire and put it out before she snuggled beneath the covers, waiting for sleep to claim her. When it did, she fell deep into its embrace, dreaming of snowballs and roasted venison. The wind whistled in the distance. It flew across the mountain range, chilling and vicious—an early winter wind. As it reached Lin’s house, it banged across her door in greeting. She awoke with a start, her heart pounding in her ears. She had heard something—heard something in between the howl of the wind and the silence of the night. She sat up and strained her ears. 

Somewhere far away—no, it was close, but where—? A reedy, weakened cry pierced through the cracks of the walls. Something was scratching at her door. Fear gripped her. Put your head under the pillow. She told herself and trembled as she did. But nothing disappeared. The cry continued. It was like a baby’s cry. Lin remembered Grandfather’s warning. Her nails dug into the sheets. She waited and waited some more. She felt paralyzed; she could not sleep. Something sharp was twisting inside of her. It hurt—stop—she grasped at her chest. Finally, after hours of incessant screaming, the voice drained away. Lin dug her head out of her pillow and squinted as light filtered through the curtains. It was morning and she had not slept. 

Lin did not go outside. She thought of the baby and how desperately she had wanted to open the door. She thought of the deep gouges the creature must have left on the door and was overcome by the urge to cry. Through her thick, gulping tears, she prayed with all her might that Grandfather would come home soon. She could not do anything but stare blankly at the fireplace. That evening, she ate her porridge quietly and then tied her wrists to the bed with a string she found in Grandfather’s cabinet. She tied them as tightly as she could bear. She could not fall asleep.  

It came as soon as the darkness fell. The scratching started at the door. She could hear how wide the scratches were and pictured how thick the claws must be. The wail lifted like the wind and splintered in her ears. It coughed and cried out her name. 

Lin… It moaned. Help me!

How do you know me? 

It’s Pani. 

You’re a liar. Pani can’t talk.

I can. I didn’t want to talk because I didn’t want to scare you. 

Lin hesitated. She thought about Pani. She always thought it was strange how she moved when they were catching fish—all stiff and clumsy if she didn’t know how to control her own limbs. Lin would tease her and Pani’s lips would unfurl upward as she smiled. It was like her mouth was too small to contain her teeth. 

She suddenly felt very cold. 

Lin!

Come and see me in the morning. 

Lin, I’m your friend. I’m begging you to help me. 

I won’t come out. See me tomorrow. 

The voice screamed. Lin’s heart plummeted. 

You’ll regret this!

It began to cry again. Lin was no longer paying attention. Terror was flowering in her. She wanted Grandfather back home. She wanted to tell him about Pani. She tried to stand, but her legs wobbled underneath her. Tears spilled from her eyes. She began to sob and her breaths—in, out, in, and out—felt sharp enough to be knives in her throat. 

She must make it until the morning. 

She must make it until the morning. 

She must make it until—

Lin rocked back and forth in the darkness. Time dissolved. 

As the first rays of the sun lit the horizon, she felt her limbs relax as the terrible screeching faded away. She untied her wrists and wobbled as she swayed. Black spots filled her vision. Exhaustion clung to her. She had not slept in two days. 

“How can I—how can I be strong?” She whispered to the emptiness. 

There was no answer. 

The next hours were a blur. She ate little before she vomited it up. 

As the moon crossed the sky, she was almost glad. She was tired of sitting. Tired of staring. Tired of waiting. Lin sat at the desk by the door as she waited for Pani’s voice, knees drumming against the wood. She braced herself for the torment that was to come. 

An hour passed. Then two. 

She looked at the old clock hanging from the wall. 3’o clock. 

It had not come tonight. 

 It was like all normal nights—the wind blew past and the goats crunched on their feed. Even with the curtains, she could see the two bright green lights flaring outside her window. She wanted to feel relieved. 

Three knocks sounded at the door. 

“Lin?” Grandfather’s voice rasped, “Let me in, sweetheart.” 

Her heart filled with ecstasy. At last! She stumbled as she stood, placing her hand on the chair for balance. She set the chair aside and pushed the desk outward with all her might, leaving scratch marks on the polished floors. 

I’ll clean it later. She dismissed and eagerly picked at the lock until it clicked. The door screeched open. The shadow of Grandfather stretched across the floor. She waited for it to stop growing. Fox-like ears sprouted from his head. Tails too—9 of them she counted in heartbeats. A loud ringing filled her ears. Lin slowly raised her head. 

A beautiful woman. Glossy black hair, ruby red lips. 

A beautiful woman with a red ribbon tied in her hair. Wisps of white hair trailed the collar of her kimono. 

Lin almost laughed. She could see through it. The illusion—it hid the ugliness. But it was too late. Pani smiled through her bright, green eyes and opened her snout. 

“Hello, sweetheart.” Grandfather’s voice said.