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Her daughter moaned aloud into the robe, as if these words pained her.
Then, a slippery, skipping noise, the sound of infected lung laughter.
A slew of her grandmother’s Southernisms jumped up unbidden.He’s half off plumb. He’s nuttier than a five-pound fruitcake. Loony as all get-out. Mad as a wet hen.
Yes, the man must be splitting apart, his marbles tumbling out and around him.
“A strong man sees piggies are delicious. He sees all the rest for what they are. Weak men with weak desires. Urges tied up. Defeated. Civilized.”
A forked tongue stroked over the word “civilized.”
“A weak man whimpers at the slimmest female obstacle. He thinks she’s something more than the used-up nothing she is.”
She buried her face for comfort close to the scalp of one child, then the other.
Of course he’s crazy! Who else would be here, doing this? Who else would have hunted us down except someone not right in the head? Twisted and warped and strange.
“But a strong man? He steps over. Steps over all your prissy little rules. Free. A gentleman? He takes what he’s owed. What he deserves.”
Her head swiveled involuntarily to track the path of the voice. Its frantic, disembodied route penetrated the wall here, then there, high then low, in a way that dizzied her.
He’s pacing, that’s all.
She imagined the voice slipping out of flabby lips, a stretched rictus smile that matched the cruel joy of the instructive tone.
“All these things you do to try and make me soft, to make me a sheep. To take my pill and like it. No. I step over. I’ve stepped over.”
He’s stepped over rules. Sheep and pigs. That’s what you are to him. Oh God.
Silence. Silence from the children, silence on the other side of the wall. Her head pounded in pain, swam with disorientation; her heartbeat reverberated in her ears as she listened, fighting the sureness that the man had transformed into some unknown creature that could match the horror of that voice and its bizarre words. She tried to shoo away the conviction that she could physically feel this monster listening ever closer for her and the children.
Stop it. It’s just a man. Don’t let him scare you. He’s trying to scare you into making noise.
“Little gir-rl? Little pig-gy?”
Her daughter’s fingers tightened around her arm to the point of pain in response to the summoning lilt of that voice. Her protectiveness flared, and she felt the depravity of the man’s intentions bumping like braille under her skin.
“Don’t you know you should be grateful? Once it starts you’ll see. It’s in your nature. Don’t you know the whole point of little piggies is to bedelicious?”
The word “delicious” was exhaled with such a drawn-out sibilant hiss of deep desire that her heart contracted. She plunged her face to her daughter’s beloved cheek, inhaled the girl’s smell, hugged her narrow hip bone and trembling, birdlike limbs. She pulled the soft and bony body closer to prove that her daughter was present, real, safe, alive.
Maybe he’s crazy. Maybe not. He’s trying to frighten us into giving ourselves away. Don’t let it work. It’s not a monster. It’s a man.
“Enough of quietness.” His voice was a low, threatening rumble. “A woman learns in full submission. I’ll find you. You’re mine, and that’s all you are. I’ll find you. Because you want me to.”
The words were so steady, so filled with predatory resolve, she closed her eyes against them.
Footfalls moved heavy across the rug. The needs-replacing board groaned as the man left the office. She became aware of the silent, still attentiveness of the children beside her.
How do you explain this? How do you keep them quiet after that? Breathe, breathe.
She could feel the space the man had stood in on the other side of the wall. She had a clear picture of his demon smile. Could smell his inhuman reek.
Instinctively she flinched, registering the voice again. But it was distant; it traveled from another room. She slouched with relief. She made out the word “piggy.” The word “delicious.”
Stop. Stop thinking of him as some creature. He’s a man. Which is worse. He’s doing a voice. “I’ll get you, my pretty!” “Why so serious?” “My precious.” That’s all. That’s it. Playing the part of the bad guy. Which he is. He’s very, very bad. Is he in the kitchen? Is it possible that he never knew you were here?That he’s going to do that same fucking terrifying song and dance in every room to try and scare you out?
Yes. Because he doesn’t know where you are. It’s all right. It’s all right.
