Free Mason's Daughter by Cynthia J Stone

that popcorn before bedtime.
    The door to my bedroom was shut, and I crawled up on a chair to unlock it from the inside and crossed the hall to the bathroom. The drinking glass on the lavatory sparkled like crystal in the moonlight. I pulled up the little step stool so I could reach the faucet and filled the glass. I stood on tiptoe to peek at myself in the mirror. The light was not bright enough to check my front teeth, which were getting loose. After two full gulps, I swished my mouth, gargled, and tossed the leftover water down the drain.
    When I reached the doorway, I didn’t move. A door opened down the hall, but no one closed it. I remembered the rules. Always keep your bedroom door shut at night, Daddy told me.
    Maybe someone was too sleepy and forgot. I passed Aunt Mary’s room, where she was probably already tucked in tight behind her closed door. She always poked the side edges of her blankets under the mattress, so she wouldn’t fall out of bed, I supposed.
    The hall looked different in the dark, with too many places for someone to hide. I stopped and turned around, ready to run back to bed. Silly me. Daddy and Clyde wouldn’t let anyone scary into our house. I turned back and kept walking.
    Now I spotted the problem farther down the dark hall. A pale beam of light shined from the doorway to my mother’s room. I loved her bedroom, with its watery blue walls and silk comforter floating like a raft on her huge bed. Whenever I bounced on her bed, it was like a beautiful lake, calm and smooth, unless she had been cleaning out her closets. Then there was no room for me because she tossed her clothes and shoes all over the bed and the floor, and later the maids had to come in and put everything back.
    Mother might need my help or just a drink. She didn’t want any popcorn earlier, but she could have gotten thirsty like me. Maybe she pressed the buzzer during the night and the maids hadn’t come yet. The buzzer looked like a doorbell connected to the wall by a wire and sat on her bedside table. I pushed it once just for fun, and a few minutes later Mrs. Gussmann came running into the room. I didn’t get in trouble, but she warned me never to do it again. Mother laughed, although I could tell Mrs. Gussmann meant business.
    I peeked into Mother’s room. With the moonlight behind him, a very tall man cast a shadow across her bed. She was sound asleep, so I kept extra quiet. He picked up her medicine bottle from her bedside table and emptied the pills into his palm. As he counted them, I recognized my father’s steady movements, but I couldn’t see his face.
    The doorknob was cold against my cheek, so I covered it with my hand and hung on, resting my chin in the crook of my arm. My eyelids got heavy watching him replace the pills and set the bottle on the table. When Daddy turned on the lamp by her bed, my eyes popped open.
    Mother didn’t move, not even an inch. He stared at her blonde hair, grown long enough to cover her pillow like a shawl. He picked up a thick length of it and twirled it around his fingers, then let it fall, one strand at a time. The way the light shined through it, her hair looked like spun gold.
    As Daddy twisted sideways to turn off the light, Clyde’s big knife dangled from his left hand. He tossed it and caught the handle mid-air in his right hand, as if it weighed no more than one of Mother’s slippers. He pulled on her hair again and raised the knife, then cried out words I couldn’t understand. He cut off a thick piece of her hair and threw it on the floor behind him.
    I gasped and stepped backward, yelling, “No, Daddy! No!” I covered my face with my hands and felt tears on my cheeks. The door slammed, and I was left standing alone in the dark hallway. Only the sound of my screams broke the peaceful night.
    Moments later, Mrs. Gussmann put her arm around my shoulder and pulled me into her marshmallow of a bosom, all but smothering me. “Gracious me, what happened?” she