Slivers of pain darted up Lorie’s arm. She drew away from the edge of the bed. “Mom!”
It was a child’s cry. At twenty, Lorie had hoped to be beyond that stage. She thought about calling out again, but, with the sleepiness fading, decided against it. If she couldn’t tell the difference between a bad dream and reality, then--
The bed jumped beneath her.
Lorie frowned. Screw maturity. She wanted her mommy. “Mom!”
Surprised sounds appeared down the hallway.
A moment later, yellow-white light circled the closed door. Footsteps grew louder, and then the door opened. Light stabbed Lorie’s eyes.
“Is something wrong, Lorie?” her mother asked.
“Yes. There’s something under the bed.”
Her mother put a hand to her forehead and made rubbing motions. It was a gesture Lorie had usually seen associated with her older brother. “You had a nightmare,” her mother said.
“No.” Lorie held out her hand. In the distilled light, seven thin lines shone red-black. “I felt something tugging at me. It scratched me when I pulled away.”
Her mother moved closer. It was a sleepy walk, and her dragging feet made a sshhhing sound. “How long are your nails?”
Lorie dropped her hand. “What?”
“You fingernails,” her mother said. “How long are they?”
“They’re not”--a look revealed that they were long--“that bad. I didn’t do it.”
Her mother slumped at the end of the bed. Nothing grabbed at her. Lorie was surprised. If the thing wouldn’t attack her mother because she was an adult, why did it bother her?
“Lorie, there’s nothing under the bed.”
Denial, Lorie thought. If it hadn’t been for the cut on her hand, she probably would have denied this too.
Still, this reminded her of something she’d heard in an Intro to Psychology class the year before. A series of steps that people went through before accepting the inevitable. How did that order go?
Lorie held out her hand. “Something cut me.”
Her mother took her hand, turning it to one side, then another. Her mother’s eyes narrowed. “This looks like fingernail scratches.” Low tone. Like clouds about to surprise the world with lightning.
Anger, Lorie thought. That was on the list. “There are seven even marks,” she said. “I’ve only got five fingers.”
Her mother’s eyes relaxed. The storm passed. “You do have long nails, honey. If you like, I could get the nail clipper and some Neosporin.”
Bargaining, Lorie thought. “I didn’t do this.”
Her mother patted the flannel sheet, smoothing it out. “You hate the house.”
“What?” This must be the out-of-left-field stage, she thought. Not quite depression, but just as confusing.
“When your brother visited, he said he had nightmares every night and blamed the house.”
“I don’t blame the house.” Yet. Lorie made a mental note to call her brother in the morning.
Her mother shifted, turning to look at the edge of the bed. “Those are nasty looking scratches,” she said.
And finally acceptance, Lorie thought.
“Maybe you should cut your nails.”
Okay, maybe some more denial.
Lorie sighed. Maybe this was why the thing the attacked her. She was willing to believe in it, just like those guys in horror movies. No one ever believed them, leaving them alone to face Things Man Was Not Meant To Know. She was a woman, though, so she’d probably be all right. “Mom, go back to bed.”
“What?”
“Go back to bed. I’d rather take my chances with the monster."
