Hidebehind

Nineteen

I was alone in the dark bedroom that night. Penny was spending the night at some new friend's house (I didn't know how I felt about that), and even though she was my little sister, I definitely felt scared without her. I hate to admit that I felt that way, but I just did—there's no denying it. And it wasn't like Penny kept me safe, but just having another breathing person in the room with me made all the difference. This was the first time I'd been alone at night since we'd come to Great Grandma's. Back home, I'd had my own room, and I'd liked that. But here . . . well, let's just say I didn't hate having to share the room.

It was probably late. I'd slept a little while, but some dream of things past had woken me, and although I couldn't remember much about it, I felt something heavy in my chest and in my thoughts, and I had to force myself not to think about it—just to turn over and try as best I could to go back to sleep.

But that hadn't worked.

My brain started wandering to all the places that make being up alone at night even worse. You know how it is: there are all sorts of things that you just shouldn't think about when you're all alone in the dark, but it's like your brain automatically just goes there no matter how hard you try to keep it away, like it's trying to sabotage you. Well, that's what mine was doing.

It was hovering over my night in the woods—the certainty that I'd been chased by something . . . and then it tracked to another time in the woods, when I was following Grandpa to Luther's run-down house, and another sensation that something was behind me . . . and then to the day after I'd arrived at Great Grandma's, when I was exploring and thought I'd seen a movement . . .

No! Stop it! Stop it! I couldn't think about this stuff now. There was nobody to make me feel better if I panicked.

But what if there is something out there?

The instant that thought entered my mind, I heard something outside the window next to my bed. There were three long windows in the bedroom: two across from me, and one to my right, which looked out onto the little peach tree orchard. A floor-length see-through curtain hung over it, but the moonlight came through anyway, and I sucked in a huge breath when a man-sized shadow crossed into the rectangle of light.

It happened so fast that between hearing the sound and glimpsing the shadow, I hardly had time to get really scared, and somehow I found myself at the window, slowly peeling back the curtain to see who or what was out there. It must have been an instinctual movement because when I really thought about what I was doing, I knew I was crazy, so when I saw the figure of my Grandpa illumined in the yard, moving slowly but deliberately through the dead trees, relief washed over me.

I sat back and let out the breath I'd been holding, but then a chill went up my arms and neck. What was he doing out there in the middle of the night?

Great Grandma certainly couldn't have known he was out. Where was he going? Was he safe? Who was he?

I fished around under my bed for my shoes, then threw on a jacket and left my room. Stopping only to retrieve a flashlight from the junk drawer in the kitchen, I quietly exited through the front door and crept around to where I'd seen Grandpa. By the time I got there, though, he was gone.

I called his name as loud as I dared, waited several seconds, then shivered when no reply came. I shone the flashlight all around, but its beam was relatively weak, and nothing of interest showed up. I did notice, though, the distinct smell of peaches. As cold as it was and as dead as those trees were, I was sure I smelled peaches, and for a moment, I was lost in wonder.

But then I began to think about the shadows surrounding me, seeming to close in, and the way I'd felt not so long ago in the woods—I was an idiot to be outside at night! I turned and bolted back to the patio, wondering how I could have been crazy enough to come out. As I hurried toward the front door, something large and heavy rubbed up on my leg, and I screamed a little out loud; it was just one of the dogs—the three-legged one—and it gazed up at me with big weepy eyes, as if it wanted to know why I found it so freaky (or for all I knew, it probably had conjunctivitis). The tick jar caught a slice of moonlight and seemed to wink at me in some sick way, so I pushed the dog away with a snarl and practically leapt at the screen door, not even taking care to keep the noise down.

Once safe inside, I went to Great Grandma's door and knocked hard. I didn't want to wake her, but there was no other option. I didn't know where Grandpa had gone, and he probably wasn't safe, especially if he wasn't himself. Great Grandma had even told me the farm was dangerous because it wasn't taken care of, and I bet it was a lot more dangerous in the dark and when being roamed by a senile old man.

"Oh, what is it, Robert?"

One look at Great Grandma in her nighttime apparel nearly scared me as much the three-legged dog had. She had on a shower cap, an eye mask barely lifted above her lids, and a robe that wasn't covering up quite as much as it probably should have been. But I gathered my courage. "Grandpa is outside."

"Huh?" She seemed to wake up and clutched her robe about her a little. That freed me up a bit.

"Grandpa! He left the house. He's wandering outside, and I don't know where he went."

Great Grandma pulled off her eye mask, snagging and taking the shower cap with it as they both fell to the floor, and she hustled by me toward Grandpa's room. She rattled the doorknob.

"It's locked," she said, giving me a look.

I shrugged. "I know he's out there. I just saw him."

She pinched her mouth, then turned back to the door and rapped on it hard with her knuckles. "Thomas! Thomas, you let me in here!" We waited. Another knock. "Thomas? You there? Open this door!"

Much to both of our surprise, the door opened, and my bleary-eyed Grandpa peeked out at us.

"What is it, mom?"

That word—mom—it confused me. I felt something sink inside. Then I remembered that Great Grandma was Grandpa's mom.

"You been outside tonight, Thomas?"

Grandpa rubbed his eyes, yawned. He was wearing light blue pajamas; he'd looked a lot darker through the window. "Outside? Tonight? Do I look it?"

Great Grandma clucked her tongue. "No, Thomas. No, I suppose you don't. Go on back to bed, son." She gave me a frown. "Robbie's just having some strange dreams, must be."

With a nod, Grandpa gave me a weird smile. "People always have strange dreams when they're hiding something. Night, Robert."

"Night, Grandpa," I reluctantly responded. Before either of them could say anything else, I shuffled off to my room, where I fell asleep quickly and without any more problems.