Smoked

  On nights like this Bethie thought long and hard whether a baby sister was a good idea or not.  Ruthie was only 3 years old, and was more afraid of the dark than Bethie, if that were possible. So, because no amount of night-lighting or soft music or late-night glasses of water could soothe the screaming toddler, Bethie lay wide awake, left to deal with the fallout of her own fears.

It was a frigid four degrees in the New England suburban town of Capeton, New Hampshire. Too cold to snow according to Bethie’s dad. Bethie wasn’t sure if that was true or not, but she knew the wind was causing the house to creak. As if that weren’t enough, the windows clicked and crackled underneath sheets of frost. 

Bethie took a deep breath and flung her blanket over her head. With the covers to shield her from the noise, she was left to briefly savor the waft of crisp air before she made it stale with her own breath. She loved the way her house always smelled in the winter. The pungence of pine laced with the warm undertones of fresh-baked gingerbread cookies. It made up for the extra hours of darkness. 

Suddenly everything went quiet. Once again, she couldn’t hear her own breath. Chills began to crawl up her spine like tiny frozen fingernails. She felt her heart pounding against her five-year-old rib cage, and she trembled as the revelation dawned on her. It’s back. The frightful reality jolted through Bethie’s small frame so violently that it left her needing the bathroom. I CAN’T wet my bed again! I promised!

Without hesitation she threw the Strawberry Kidz blanket off and roll-jumped to the floor. She could hear her breath again, and she could see the vapor from her mouth beginning to swirl its way backward towards that thing that always showed up on nights like this. Not tonight Shadow Lady! With that she ran as fast as her bare size-five-kid’s feet would bring her down the hall to the bathroom.

“Bethie! Is that you?” A voice from beyond the restroom door sent a new wave of chills along her spine. It was the man of the house, Bruce.

“Yeah, it’s me!” Bethie responded.

“Yeah? Did you just say yeah to me?” Bruce growled.

“Yes!” Bethie stiffened. “I mean no! I mean… I’m sorry!” 

“Yes, you are sorry! But not as sorry as you’re gonna be!” Bruce snarled.

“Bruce, please not tonight we just got Ruthie down! You’re gonna wake her up.”  It was Deb. She was the girls’ mom, and she was too tired to fight. She had a six-a.m. shift to start in a few hours and she needed her sleep. Bethie heard her mumble something about an early birthday present, and then the door to her mom’s room slammed shut. 

Bethie wondered what was so funny about birthdays that caused all the muffled giggles. She let out a deep exhale as she wiped. She took a couple of extra moments to watch her feet dangle before she hopped down and proceeded to wash her hands. She was tall enough now that standing on her plastic Harriet the Hippo footstool meant she could see her reflection in the mirror. 

The soft buzz of the mirror light had an oddly soothing effect while she stared into her own light brown eyes. They sat perfectly proportional to her face which was aptly framed by her lush mane of curly, straw-blonde locks. Another exhale sent out a puff of vapor that thinned out into wispy strands and danced around her reflection. It was cold again, and the hum of the lights had waned. Shadow Lady is back! Bethie no longer recognized the face staring at her in the mirror. She was beautiful, though, and her hair was the same. But she was older, and her eyes were also the same, but much darker. Bethie stumbled off the footstool and steadied herself with the towel rack. There was too much going on for her to notice the towel sliding to the floor. 

“Why are you afraid?” 

Bethie didn’t realize how tense she’d wrapped her fist around the metal rack, or how tight she’d closed her eyes, or even when she’s stopped breathing.

“Why are you afraid?” The woman in the mirror whispered. 

“Who are you?” Bethie whispered back. “And what do you want?”

“You will not know who I am until you know who you are.” 

“What does that mean?” Bethie whimpered.

“And you will not know what I want until you know what you want.”

“Leave me alone!” Bethie yelled.

The next thing Bethie knew, she was back in her bed nursing sore thighs and drowning out the sound of her sister’s screams with her own sobs. She’d woken up her baby sister, disturbed Bruce’s early birthday present, and thrown her mom’s new towels to the floor “for no reason.” And Bruce had made sure she knew that she was the problem. Eventually, she took her bruised legs and shattered heart to sleep while the Shadow Lady’s whispers danced in her head. Why are you afraid?

At breakfast the next morning, energy from the prior night’s events hung heavy in the air. Ruthie squirmed in her seat and refused to eat her oatmeal. Bethie spread her eggs around her plate until it was time to wait outside for the bus. Bruce sauntered into the kitchen, grabbed a beer from the fridge and looked at no one as he gulped it down. He took two more cans back to his bedroom as Deb cleared the table. 

“Don’t get off the porch until the bus comes, Bethie!” Deb yelled through the screen door.

“I won’t!” Bethie hollered back. She sat on the steps bundled from head to toe in a pink and yellow polka dotted snow suit and matching boots. It was only thirteen degrees, which meant she could use that time to practice breathing rings into the winter air. She’d seen the adults do it on TV, and balked at the idea that she couldn’t do it too. 

Bethie’s bus came right on time, and she was glad about that. She loved school. The teachers always smiled at her and complimented her hair. They protected her from the boys when they got the notion to pull it or fire spitballs into it. The days when she got graham crackers and chocolate milk were the best. Sometimes the kids mocked her for getting free lunch, but once Ms. Libby, the art teacher, told her the kids were just jealous, she was ok with it. They can have their jealousy. I get my graham crackers and chocolate milk. So there!

  It was the end of the day that loomed over Bethie like the shadow that taunted her at night. It was Bruce, at home waiting to blame her for this, or that. It was her mom, looking the other way or pretending not to hear Bethie crying.  It was “Shut up before I give you something to cry about!” that sunk her stomach like a ten-ton anchor. So, there she was, on the bus again, this time headed home, completely deflated. 

  She stared at her reflection in the window and blinked away tears. Why couldn’t Bruce see what the teachers saw? What was it about her face that made him want to slap it? What was it about her eyes that made him want to flick them? Why couldn’t he see-

  “Why are you afraid of me?” The Shadow Lady had found her on the bus!  The reflection was staring back at her but the whispers… the whispers bounced off the inside of Bethie’s skull like a Ping-Pong ball.

“Who are you?” Bethie thought to herself. She had to admit that she was less afraid than she was curious at this point. Yes, this lady was scary, but she was also beautiful and never hurt her like Bruce did. 

            “Who are you, Bethie?”

            “How do you know my name?”

            “Who are you?”

            “I am Elizabeth Marie Peters.”

            “Who is Bethie?”

“I am a little girl. I love animals, but big dogs scare me. I like to read, too. And Ms. Libby says I’m really good at art.” Bethie continued. “I really like stories about dragons. People are afraid of dragons, but I’m not. Sometimes I wish I was a dragon. Nobody likes bothering them.”

            “Wish again.”

            “I… wish I was a dragon.”

“Wish again.” Shadow Lady was no longer whispering. Her voice had morphed into a deep, mellifluous growl.

“I wish I was a dragon!” Bethie shouted. Her belly was on fire. The skin on the back of her neck went from cold and prickly to being so hot that it curled her baby hairs. The heat rose to the top her head and rushed down her forehead into her eyes. Her reflection was almost normal again. Except for the fire in her eyes. Entranced, she watched the flames dance.

“Quit being a weirdo!” One of the big kids shouted from the back of the bus. The kids erupted in laughter. Even the driver struggled to stifle his smile. But Bethie didn’t care. And she was no longer afraid.

At home, Bethie enjoyed a ham sandwich and a glass of apple juice before doing her homework. Bruce was probably at the bar already, so the house was at peace. Ruthie was watching some show for babies that taught them the alphabet. Word Wizard, or something like that, Bethie thought. Bethie loved these afternoons. Her mom did laundry or washed dishes or started dinner, what ever moms are supposed to do. She usually wished those quiet afternoons would remain until they were quiet nights. The kind where little girls got to play with their dolls or eat popcorn and watch a movie while Mom gave baby a bath and put her to bed. 

Not this time, though. After Bethie finished her homework, she slid into the bathroom and locked the door. She stood on her stool and waited for Shadow Lady to appear. After twenty minutes with no contact, her mom knocked on the door.

            “Bethie? You okay in there?” She asked.

            “Yeah- yes Mom!” Bethie answered. “I’m okay.”

            “Well come on out of there, then. Your sister needs to go potty.” She replied.

Bethie opened the door and looked up at her mother. Deb had the same curly blond hair and brown eyes, but the hair was limp, and her eyes were sad. Bethie felt again like she was looking in the mirror, at her future. 

“Bruce will probably be late again, tonight. What do you want for supper?” Deb asked.

“Supper?” Bethie tilted her head, attempting to drag her thoughts away from Shadow Lady. She had so many more questions, and talking about supper wasn’t going to get them answered.

“Never mind.” Deb sighed and rolled her eyes. “We’ll have left over spaghetti. Set the table please.” 

“Okay, Momma.” Bethie scooted past her and headed down the carpeted hallway towards the stairs.

“Momma?” Deb asked. Bethie stopped at the top of the stairs and looked back.

“Did I say something wrong?” Bethie asked. She frowned and waited for a response.

 “No! No, not at all.” Deb assured her. Bethie relaxed the shoulders she didn’t even realize she’d tensed up.

 “It’s just you haven’t called me Mama in a long time.” Deb said. “It’s nice to hear, that’s all.”

 “Oh! Ok Momma.” Bethie smiled and headed downstairs to the kitchen. 

 They enjoyed their dinner at ease until Bruce came home. Ruthie sat in her highchair and ate her “Sketty” with a fork like a big girl. Bethie sat next to her in a booster seat (yes, she was five years old and still needed a booster seat. She had a small frame, I said!) and was finishing up the last of her garlic bread. Deb had hardly eaten anything. She was too busy watching the girls eat and smiling to herself. But, as usual, Bruce burst his drunken self through the front door and instantly changed the whole atmosphere.

“May I be excused, Mama.” Bethie asked. She didn’t feel like eating any more.

“Sure, Honey.” Deb said. “Clear your plate. I’ll be in to say goodnight later.” Bethie stood before gulping down the rest of her fruit punch. 

“If you can finish your drink, you can finish your food.” Bruce slurred as he stumbled into the dining room. The room went silent. Not the kind of silence where you can hear the clocks ticking and the electricity humming, but dead silent. Deb put her fork beside her plate and hung her head. Ruthie sat poised to cry on que. Bethie though, snatched up her dishes and headed for the kitchen sink.

 “I said, finish your food!” Bruce growled.

Bethie dropped the dishes to the floor. Luckily, she’d used her Strawberry Patch Kidz melamine dinnerware set so nothing broke. She didn’t even pause to look down at her mess before dashing past Bruce and running up the stairs into her room.  She slammed the door behind her and belly dove unto her bed, covering her head with a pillow. The silence was shattered with cries from Ruthie, pleas from Deb, and shouting from Bruce. But loudest of all was the pounding of Bethie’s heart and the deep, heavy breaths that poured hot empty air into her lungs as she waited.

“Get back here you ungrateful little twit!” Bruce stomped up the stairs so hard that the plush carpet did nothing to hamper the sound.

“I’m not a twit!” Bethie whispered. “I’m a dragon!”

“Say it again.” Bethie wasn’t sure when Shadow Lady had turned up but there she was; behind her. Under her. In her.

“I’m not a twit! I’m a dragon!” She wasn’t hiding under her pillow anymore. She wasn’t on her bed at all. She stood, small-framed, flatfooted and shoulder-squared next to her bed and waited. Bruce didn’t bother with the doorknob. He kicked the door open so hard that it bounced of the jamb and slammed shut again. He opened it again, this time using the knob.

“What did you say?” The rage burned in his words and dripped from his mouth along with the drool that slid down his chin.

            “Leave me alone.” Bethie whispered.

            “What did you say to me?” Bruce growled again.

            “Tell him again,” said Shadow Lady.

“I said, ‘LEAVE ME ALOOOOOO-” Bethie never got to finish her sentence. The anger that had burned in her belly ever since Bruce had ruined their dinner with his presence, burst into literal flames in her mouth, and reached out to Bruce like a pair of hands. 

Instantly, his eyes morphed from furious slits in his flushed face to panicked saucers. He prepared to scream, but the fire shot into his mouth before he could utter a sound. It escaped out through his eyes, ears and nose while he flailed his arms and danced a horrific jig. 

Ten seconds later, Bethie was back under her cover whispering about not being a twit. Bruce was in a catatonic pile on the floor in a puddle of his own urine, still drooling. Deb was screaming, and running up the stairs, sure that he’d killed her little girl this time. When she got her doorway, she stood in confusion. 

“Bethie! What…what happened? What’s burning?” Deb asked, as she looked around for clues. 

“The Shadow Lady got him, Momma.” Bethie said, softly. Deb blinked quickly and swallowed hard.

“Shadow Lady?” She asked as she tried to rouse Bruce. Bethie watched intently as Deb’s repeated attempts to awaken Bruce from his stupor failed.

“Don’t worry, Momma. He’s not going to bother anyone again.” She said with a sweet smile.

Bethie was right. Six months later, Bruce sat in a wheelchair wearing a diaper and a bib, staring out of the living room window. Deb, as his guardian, collected his checks every month, which was enough to cover a nurse for him and pay the bills.

As for Bethie, she had gotten her wish. Peaceful afternoons of ham sandwiches and homework turned into pleasant evenings filled with movies and popcorn and hearing little Ruthie squeal in delight while Momma gave her a bubble bath.  Sometimes Momma would even let her watch a movie about dragons.