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The
Writing Life
"Night
Cries"
by Sandy Tritt
Jessica stood at
the bottom of the stairs and listened. Nothing. Just her imagination.
She pulled her sweater around her and made another tour of the
century-old house. Each door was latched securely. Everything was fine.
She looked at
the clock. 11:40. The Rouschs promised they'd be home shortly after
midnight. Jessica wouldn't mind if they were early. She hated this job.
Hated it. But the Rouschs paid premium rates, and not everyone trusted
a thirteen-year-old to babysit.
If only old
Mrs. Lattimer next door hadn't told her about the Peterson baby. "I
wouldn't stay in that house," Mrs. Lattimer hissed, her breath smelling
of stale gin and her teeth the color of algae. "They murdered that
baby." She pointed her arthritic finger at Jessica. "Murdered him, I
tell you. Right at midnight." She settled back on her haunches, nodding
her head as she spoke. "It was summer, hot and muggy, so of course all
the windows was open. I heard that baby cry and looked out my window
and I saw `em. Plain as day. Right there." She pointed her crooked
finger at the front bedroom. "They suffocated that poor little fellow,
they did. Held a pillow over his face until he stopped crying. They
did. Right at the stroke of midnight."
Jessica
shivered and looked at the clock again. 11:48.
A shrill cry
pierced the stillness, sending chills of terror down her arms. It's
only Zachary, she told herself. But four times in the last hour she
had heard crying, only to find Zachary sleeping soundly. She stood at
the bottom of the stairs, struggling to hear over the blood pulsating
in her ears.
Another cry,
louder than the first, continued for a long time, the tone changing to
a high-pitched moan that reverberated through her nervous system.
Jessica
resisted the temptation to race out the door and down the street to her
own safe home. She was responsible for Zachary, and it was her job to
see to him now. She flattened herself against the wall and edged up the
dark stairs, then inched her way through the massive hallway.
Zachary's
nursery was the last room at the end of the hall. Her knees grew heavy
and she struggled against gravity to move her legs past the front
bedroom. Icy tremors ran through her every time she passed that door.
She knew the Rouschs didn't use it—their bedroom
was the large one on the right. Earlier in the summer, she'd tried to
open the door, but it was locked. Not only that, but cold air blew
through the keyhole. In the summer.
With one more
shiver, Jessica forced her leaden legs to move on. The nearer the
nursery, the lighter her walk became. She slipped into Zachary's room,
the clown light throwing eerie shadows against the walls. But Zachary
slept, his knees tucked under him, his thumb resting in his mouth.
She relaxed.
The baby was fine.
And then the
cry, softer than before, yet closer, too. The pitch wobbled, then
heightened, growing louder, shriller, more urgent.
Jessica's right
hand held her heart in place while she gasped for air. Before her mind
began working, her legs took her from the room, down the hall, and
deposited her outside the locked bedroom.
The crying
stopped.
Trembling, her
hand touched the knob. She didn't mean to turn it, but it swung open
with great force. Cold air rushed from the room, taking her breath
away. Gray sheers, illuminated by the street light, flapped in the open
window.
And then the
clock chimed. Twelve long, slow, resonant times, each sound raising her
gooseflesh, each pause straightening her hairs.
She swallowed
hard to keep her heart from crawling up her throat.
A cat, a long,
thin, black cat, jumped on the windowsill. It hunched, its back a
perfect arc, its scraggly hairs on end. It looked at Jessica with
hungry yellow eyes.
She stared
back, paralyzed.
The cat's head
straightened, forming a silhouette. Its mouth opened, stretched wide,
and a forlorn cry filled the room.
Jessica's heart
pounded back to life. She breathed heavily. Her body shook. A cat. All
that noise from a cat. All that moaning from a cat. All that—
"Jessica?"
The Rouschs
were home!
Jessica stepped
out of the doorway and closed the door as quietly as she could.
"Jessica?" They
were closer now, at the bottom of the stairs.
Jessica
straightened her ponytail and forced her shoulders back. She met the
Rouschs at the top step.
"Is everything
okay?"
"Oh, yeah,"
Jessica said. "Just checking on Zac."
"Remember, we
need you tomorrow night."
For a moment,
Jessica was sure Mrs. Rousch's overbite had lengthened into vampire
teeth. She blinked twice. "Sure," she answered. "See you then." She
stepped back and made a broad circle around Mrs. Rousch, then bolted
down the stairs.
"Jessica!" Mrs.
Rousch called after her. "I haven't paid you."
Jessica didn't
care. She ran out the front door and down the street, not stopping
until she was safe in her own home, her own room.
And then she
saw the shadows on the ceiling. They moved...
© 1997. Sandy Tritt.
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