Bogeyman

Her sister’s breathing hesitated, a long pause during which she repeated her talisman phrase again. Then the sounds Rachel made settled back into that same pattern of wheezing inhalation followed by sibilant release.

Mama always said Rachel slept like the dead.

Mama…

If she got out of bed and tiptoed across the floor to the door, surely with the noise of the rain, she could open it without him hearing. And if he didn’t hear, then he would never know that she’d told.

If you ever tell anyone…

She quickly destroyed the image his words created. Denied them because she couldn’t bear to think about what would happen if she didn’t go to the window….

She took a breath, squeezing her eyes shut to stop the burn of tears. Please, dear Jesus.

Except Jesus hadn’t answered her prayers any of the other times. Somewhere inside her heart she knew he wasn’t going to answer tonight.

Which meant that nobody would. There was nobody she could turn to. Nobody who could do anything about what he’d told her he would do if she didn’t mind him. Nobody but her.

She opened her eyes, raising her arm to scrub at them with the sleeve of her nightgown. He didn’t like it when she cried. He said it spoiled everything. And that if she wasn’t real careful—

She drew another breath, fighting to keep it from turning into a sob. Then, moving as carefully as she could, she pushed back the sheet and the piled quilts and sat up, putting her bare feet on the stone-cold floor.

By the time he tapped again, she was at the window. As she put her fingers around the metal handles of the sash to lift it, she couldn’t find even enough hope left inside her heart to repeat the words she’d prayed all night. The ones they had told her at Sunday school would protect her from evil.

Now she knew that they, too, had lied.

1

Present Day…

The storm had increased in intensity, rain pounding against the windows as if demanding admittance. Not for the first time Blythe Wyndham regretted the isolation of the small rental house she and her daughter had moved into two months ago.

She’d never been easily spooked—not by thunderstorms or by being alone—but right now she was wondering why she hadn’t taken her grandmother up on her offer to move back into the family home. The hundred-year-old farmhouse, which the Mitchells had occupied since its construction, was almost as isolated as the one in which she and Maddie were currently living. Still, it had been home for most of Blythe’s childhood, and she had always felt completely safe there.

Safe?

Blythe shook her head, wondering at her use of the word. There was no reason to think the house they were in wasn’t safe. She couldn’t ever remember consciously worrying about that before. Why the thought would cross her mind tonight—

“We haven’t said my prayers.”

Her daughter’s reminder destroyed Blythe’s momentary uneasiness. Smiling, she brushed strands of pale blond hair away from the forehead of the little girl she’d just tucked into bed.

No matter what else might have gone wrong in her life, Maddie was the one thing that had always been right. And the reason Blythe had chosen to return to the small Alabama community where she’d been raised.

“Then say them now,” she prompted.

Maddie closed her eyes, putting her joined hands in front of her face, small thumbs touching her lips. “Now I lay me down to sleep. I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take.”

Blythe wondered who had decided that was an appropriate prayer for a child. Of course Maddie, who said the words by rote, was probably not even cognizant of their meaning.

Thank God.

“God bless Mommy and Miz Ruth and Delores.” Maddie’s listing of personal blessings that had grown by two since their move to Crenshaw. “And God keep Daddy safe in heaven. Amen.”

“Amen,” Blythe repeated softly.

Her daughter’s blue eyes flew open to catch her mother studying her face. “You didn’t close your eyes.”

“If I did, I couldn’t look at you.”

“But you aren’t supposed to look at me. You’re supposed to bow your head and close your eyes. Everybody knows that.”

As Blythe herself had always been, Maddie was an obeyer of rules. The trait made her an easy child to handle, but Blythe often wondered if it shouldn’t be her role to introduce the occasional urge to rebel into her daughter’s well-ordered existence.

“Sorry. I guess I forgot,” Blythe said, her smile widening at the note of concern in Maddie’s voice.

“You better ask forgiveness. Before you go to sleep. You hear me?”

The culture of the area was obviously making inroads, not only on the little girl’s speech, but on her thinking as well. Blythe could hardly complain, since that was one of the reasons she’d brought Maddie back. That and the fact that the only family she had left in the world was here.

“I will, I promise. And you promise to sleep tight, okay?”

“Okay.” Maddie turned slightly to one side, one hand sliding under the feather pillow, another item on loan from her great-grandmother’s house.

The necessity of that kind of borrowing had also, like it or not, played a part in their homecoming. The little insurance money that had been left after the bills had all been paid, including those incurred by the move, wouldn’t have extended to luxuries like feather pillows. With her grandmother’s generosity, it would go a little further and hopefully keep them solvent until Blythe could find some kind of permanent employment.

“Just don’t say that thing Miz Ruth always says,” Maddie ordered without opening her eyes.

“What thing?”

“About the bugs biting me.”

Blythe could almost hear her grandmother’s voice, its distinctive Southern accent repeating the same good-night wish she’d whispered to Blythe when she was a child. Sleep tight. Don’t let the bedbugs bite.

“That’s just a silly old saying.” She bent over to press a kiss on the little girl’s temple. “There are no bedbugs here or at Miz Ruth’s.”

Maddie had quickly picked up on the name by which most of the inhabitants of Crenshaw referred to Ruth Mitchell. Or maybe because that was how her grandmother’s housekeeper always addressed her, and the little girl spent her mornings with the two old women.

In any case, given the growing closeness between them, Blythe had decided that it didn’t matter what Maddie called her great-grandmother. Ruth Mitchell would be for Maddie exactly what she had been for Blythe—friend, confidante and role model. The child couldn’t have a better one.

Blythe pushed up from her perch on the edge of the bed, reaching over to turn off the bedside lamp as she did. The flash of lightning that illuminated the darkened room was followed closely by a clap of thunder.

Blythe glanced down at the little girl in the bed, but her eyes were still closed. Apparently the storm didn’t bother her.

Normally, they didn’t bother Blythe either. There was something about this one, however, that had kept her slightly on edge since the rain had started. If the power went out—

That’s what she had intended to do, she remembered. Locate the flashlight and gather up any candles she could find. Despite having been here for a couple of months, she hadn’t managed to get everything unpacked.

Of course, working at Raymond Lucky’s law office half a day made it hard to get much done at the house. And she couldn’t have managed either the job or the unpacking had her grandmother and Delores not been so eager to look after Maddie for her.