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The creeping sensation of familiarity brushes over my skin, as unbidden voices in my head take me back to a time I can’t even remember.
“Tell us a story, Maw Maw Day. Not a baby story. A scary one.”
“A scary one, huh? You think dat’s a good idea, when you and your daddy are alone in this big house?”
“Yes. Please. I’m not scared. I promise.”
“Mmmm. I dunno, Cee-Cee. Your daddy told me different.”
“What’d he tell you, Maw-Maw? ‘Cause whatever it was, it’s not true!”
“Settle down, child, I’m just playing wit’ you.”
“I’m not afraid of nothing. No-thing. I even watch scary movies.”
“What scary movies you watched?”
“Casper the Friendly Ghost. And GhostBusters. All kinds.”
“Those are scary, for sure. But nothing like what I’m about to tell you.”
“Tell us, Mamere,” Brie begs along with me. “I want to hear it, too.”
“The story I have in mind is one my mother used to tell me when I was just little. Any of you ever hear the story of TonTon Macoute?”
“TonTon?” Arm wrapped around my stomach, I bend forward on a giggle. “What kind of name is that?”
“It means Uncle. TonTon Macoute is sort of like the Boogeyman.”
The laugh dies in my throat as I swallow a gulp. “The Boogeyman?”
“Yes. Let me see if I can remember …
“He carries on his crooked back
A ragged burlap gunnysack
And in his hand he wields a blade
Of children’s’ bones, from which it’s made
He hunts the night for those who’ve lied
There’s nowhere you can run, or hide
He’ll swipe you up right out of bed
And by first light, you will be dead.”
The memory slips away to the present, the figure still sitting in the chair across from me.
“Your daddy’s gon’ go mad, if you don’t go up and see what he’s callin’ after you for, child.”
A hum of fear vibrates across my bones as, keeping my eyes on her, I push to my feet. Screams lay trapped inside my skull, bouncing around, warning me to get the hell out of here, but I can’t. Curiosity compels me to find my father, as she said. I want to see him. I’ve yearned to see him again.
The boots I slept in all night hardly allow me to tiptoe across the creaking wood floor on my way to the staircase. Having ascended halfway, I twist to find her standing at the foot of the stairs, her gaze locked ahead, but not on me, which keeps the deformed side of her face hidden by white, straggled hair. She doesn’t move toward me, but remains still, as if standing guard. The child inside of me recognizes her, misses her, as I would a mother, but I’m not a child anymore, and this isn’t real. It’s a dream. A horribly cruel dream.
At the top of the stairs, I scan over the corridor, left to right, confused on where to go next.
