The Boy with Words for Skin

Chapter 24: Trying

We helped Keys out of the bedroom and over to the tea table. He didn't say anything at all. He didn't even cringe when Kit sewed up his knuckle. He just sat there, his face blank, eyes empty. It was scary to see him that way, but it seemed like he needed some space. So, we left him in the toy room as we cleaned up the bedroom.

It actually didn't take long to clean everything up. Everything had been thrown around, but nothing was broken. Not even any of the clothes were torn.

Once the room was straightened up, we all stood around and tried to talk about normal things. What was for dinner next? It took too long to dry clothes hanging them up in the parlor—what could we do about that? No one wanted to split up, go back to their rooms, try to go to sleep. The only one who didn't seem to mind was Keys. He came in, laid down on his bed, turned his back, and closed his eyes.

The room fell into silence. It was obvious we were all thinking the same things. That thing was so much bigger and stronger than any of us. We were lucky it hadn't killed anyone. Would it attack again? Who would it be next time?

When I slipped back into the bathroom, I found Boy and Rope huddled in the far corner of the tub with The Headless Dog between them. They had been quiet, but they started crying the second they saw me.

I got into the tub and put my arms around them. I waited for them to calm down, but before I knew it all three of them were asleep and I was stuck sitting with my back against the hard wall of the tub. It already hurt to sit like that, but I didn't want to move and wake them up. They needed the sleep. And I needed the quiet to think.

I didn't know how to feel about the attack. Part of me wanted to scream at Keys. "You should've listened to me! You should've locked the basement door when you had the chance!" But the fact that the thing had taken the key for the basement door seemed to say something. Had it known someone wanted to lock it down there? Had it felt threatened? Would it have even attacked if it hadn't felt that way? Did the attack mean the boys in the basement didn't have it "under control" like they thought? Or had they let it attack us? Whatever had happened, whatever had caused the attack, did it even matter? The key was gone. There had been a key, but now it was gone.

By six-thirty, my back was killing me. I tried to slide the boys off without waking them up, but their eyes popped open the second I moved. Rope burst into tears, The Headless Dog started barking, and Boy screamed, "Don't leave us alone! Please don't leave us!"

I pulled them into a hug and tried to shush them. "I'm not leaving you," I said. "I'm not leaving."

When they calmed down, I asked them if they wanted to go downstairs for breakfast. When neither of them answered, I knew what they were thinking. Breakfast would be in the kitchen, and the kitchen was where the basement door was. They didn't want to go near the basement door. Neither did I.

"Is it daytime now?" Boy asked.

"I nodded."

He thought some more. "Okay. Let's go."

We all got out of the tub. I stretched my back. I made sure my sleeves were pulled as far down as they could go. I adjusted my beanie. I wasted as much time as I could. Then I picked up Rope and we went downstairs.

The walk down the front hallway to the kitchen felt longer than ever before. Just before we entered the kitchen, a string of fears entered my mind. What if it hadn't gone back into the basement? What if it was waiting for us, crouching just inside the open basement door?

The basement door was closed. The kitchen was empty.

At first, I was relieved. We were safe. Then it hit me. Kit wasn't making breakfast. She'd never missed making breakfast before.