she knew that voice. It was her father’s voice. Slowed down like his old 45 records played at 33 speed.
“thE aNswer is goD.”
Then, Mrs. Collins raised the can and painted over Kathy Keizer’s insides.
Chapter 80
They had to kill the hissing lady.
They had to get the key.
The nice man lifted the attic stairs, and they climbed out of the shelter. Out of the refrigerator. Into the morning light. Christopher was invisible to all but the nice man, but that didn’t take away the fear. The hissing lady had been out in the imaginary world all night. Waiting for them. Setting traps. Preparing.
“Come on,” the nice man said. “We have to find her while it’s still daylight. It’s our best chance.”
They started in the woods. Retracing their steps. The trail led to the clearing, which led to the tree house. The nice man climbed the ladder one more time to make sure the tree house was still locked. He found two words left on the door. Written in blood.
TICK TOCK
The nice man tried to hide his fear, but Christopher could see it. Growing with each step. It’s not what they found. It’s what they didn’t find.
The woods were completely deserted.
It was as if the imaginary world were empty. Or hiding behind a corner. Waiting to strike. They searched for her in the woods for the better part of an hour, but found nothing. Except deer tracks. So, they followed them until the tracks went around in a circle like the beginning of the yellow brick road. It was all a trick. It was all a game. Christopher could feel the hissing lady’s cat and mouse with every step. She was playing hide-and-seek like a little girl. Waiting out the daylight. Waiting for the night to come, so that she could yell…
“Olly Olly In Come Free!”
They left the woods. Christopher walked behind the nice man, who moved quickly through the bushes without making a sound. The streets were empty. No mailbox people. But the tracks were fresh. Thousands of footprints on the pavement. Little ones from high heels. Big prints from shoes or sandals or bare feet. Some from children. Some with an extra track left by an old person’s cane. Some of them missing limbs. Or toes.
“Where do the mailbox people come from?” Christopher asked.
“They’ve always been here. They’re her soldiers.”
“Maybe we can turn them. Maybe we could cut the strings that hold them together and set them free,” Christopher said.
“I tried that once. I cut the yarn that held a little girl and her sister’s mouths shut.”
“What happened?”
“They tried to eat me alive.”
The nice man approached David Olson’s old house on the corner. There was no one inside it. No hissing lady. No David. No mailbox people. Just words written in blood on David’s bedroom window.
TICK TOCK
The nice man stared at the words bitterly. Christopher gazed at the same window where the hissing lady had led David Olson fifty years ago. He could almost see the boy sleepwalking into the woods. Never to return again. The nice man was quiet, but Christopher could feel some of his thoughts leaking out of his skin like a dripping faucet. Words laced with guilt and sadness. The last time the nice man tried to kill the hissing lady, David Olson died. Christopher could feel the burden weighing on the nice man’s shoulders like a cross.
I can’t let…
I can’t let…this happen again.
The nice man looked at the sun getting higher in the sky. The clouds were getting darker and moving closer to the ground.
“Christopher, we’re going to run out of daylight. You’re God here. You have to quiet your mind. You have to find her.”
Christopher tried to locate the hissing lady, but each time he closed his eyes, all he could feel was the real side’s growing madness. With every blink, the picture changed like a vacation slide. He could hear the clown’s bullet hit his skull. He could taste the paint going down Mrs. Collins’ throat. He could feel Mrs. Henderson’s blood-soaked nightgown as she drove the sheriff’s car, listening to the radio. No police left to pick her up. The sheriff’s blood dripping in surgery. Warm and sticky like the blood from the bullet wound in the clown’s head. The bullets rolled to Special Ed. He is loading the gun. He is preparing for war. His friends were in danger. He had to get out. Christopher felt the nice man’s hand on his shoulder.
“Don’t let the real side distract you. Just breathe.”