Free Scratch by Brian Keene Page A

 
    Then, “I hate that mean old cat!”  
    Valerie stiffened, and reached for the doorknob. I reached out, clasped her hand, and motioned again for her to be still. We continued eavesdropping on her conversation.  
    “It’s not fair that you have to hide from him,” Ellie complained. “You were here before he was.”  
    There was a pause, and then, “I know. But Daddy and Mommy never go into the field, so they won’t find the door. If we could just keep Hannibal out of there, too ...”  
    Another pause, and then Ellie giggled.  
    “They think you’re make believe. I don’t understand why you don’t just show yourself to them. Then you could live with us. Hannibal can’t get you if you stay inside the house. Mommy won’t let him in here because he pees on the wall.”  
    In the living room, Valerie’s cuckoo clock, which had belonged to her grandmother, chimed softly.  
    “Mommy and Daddy would like you,” Ellie said. “They’re nice. Not like Hannibal.”  
    I frowned.  
    “But why do you have to wait for the rest of your people? Maybe Daddy can help you fix the door? He’s good at fixing things. He fixed my wading pool last year when it had a leak. Maybe he could—”  
    She stopped in mid-sentence. I felt a mixture of amazement and panic. Ellie’s imagination was elaborate enough to have Mr. Chickbaum interrupt her when she was speaking.  
    “I don’t know what that word means,” Ellie said. “Just remember, you promised. When you get the door open and your friends come through, you promise you’ll show yourselves to Mommy and Daddy?”  
    Valerie and I glanced at each other. Her expression mirrored my own confusion. I didn’t understand this bit about the door.  
    “And then you can live here with me?”  
    Valerie shrugged. We turned our attention back to the door.  
    “The whole world? But you’ll let everybody else stay, right? You won’t hurt them?”  
    I bit my lip, trying to make sense of what I was hearing.  
    “How soon until you can open the door?” A pause, and then, “Really? That is soon.”  
    Then, “But you always spend the night. How come you can’t now?”  
    “Okay. I understand.”  
    “I love you, too, Mr. Chickbaum. You’re my best friend forever and ever.”  
    Ellie grew quiet. We stood there, listening to the silence, waiting for more. Small feet padded across the carpet again. The box spring beneath her mattress creaked.  
    The sound of small feet continued for a brief moment after.  
    It startled me. That couldn’t be right. She’d already gotten back into bed. I glanced at Valerie to see if she’d notice it, too. If she had, she gave no indication. I shook my head, frustrated that I’d let my imagination get the best of me. First, I’d been listening for Mr. Chickbaum’s voice. Now I was imagining his footsteps.  
    I yawned, realizing just how tired I was. Worrying about Ellie had left me mentally and emotionally exhausted. In the dim hallway light, I noticed dark circles under Valerie’s eyes. It was impacting her, as well.  
    We tiptoed carefully down the hall and went into our bedroom. We didn’t speak—undressing in silence. I brushed my teeth, gargled, and pissed. Then I climbed into bed while Valerie took her turn in the bathroom. When she slid into bed beside me, we still didn’t speak. We didn’t have to. Our fears were mutual. We lay there in the dark, holding each other, afraid for our daughter.

                   

    I didn’t remember falling asleep, so when I awoke in the middle of the night, I was startled and disoriented. My heart hammered in my chest, and I was holding my breath, but I didn’t know why.  
    Then, outside our bedroom window, Hannibal howled, chasing some unknown prey. I waited, listening for the answering cry of another cat, or maybe a possum, skunk or raccoon. But no response was forthcoming. Hissing, Hannibal took off across the yard. I heard his paws swishing through the