The hissing lady looked around the room. Sniffing the air. Sensing something.
“Are you in here?” the hissing lady whispered. “Are you in here, Christopher?”
Christopher started to inch back out of the parlor. Little steps. Don’t breathe. Don’t let her hear me.
“Just say something. I won’t hurt you,” she whispered.
Christopher looked outside. The sun was setting. He was running out of daylight. The mailbox people lined both sides of the road now. The hissing lady moved to Christopher’s mother.
“Are you watching, Christopher?” she asked calmly.
The blood pounded his temples. He knew it was a trap. His mother was the bait. He stood in the hallway, crouched down. Ready to rush at her if she did anything to his mother. The hissing lady whispered in Christopher’s mother’s ear. Christopher saw his mother scratch her ear absentmindedly.
“If you don’t come out, your mother is going to die,” she hissed.
The hissing lady pursed her lips and blew on his mother’s neck. She instantly shivered and found herself reaching for the thermostat. Christopher’s heart pounded.
“Ready? Now, watch this, Christopher,” the hissing lady said.
Mrs. Collins burst into the room, angry as a snake.
“Your son burns my son’s arm, but that’s not good enough for you,” Mrs. Collins barked at Christopher’s mother.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Collins. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You left my mother alone in her room. She wandered off again!”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Collins. I had to help Mr. Olson. The volunteers are gone. We’re understaffed tonight,” she replied wearily.
“If you had a dollar for every one of your excuses, I’d be working for you!”
“Why weren’t you watching her, Mrs. Collins?” Ambrose barked. “She’s your God damn mother.”
Christopher could feel the anger in the room rising higher and higher.
“This is just the beginning, Christopher…” The hissing lady smiled. “It will keep going…and going…and going…Now, watch this!”
Suddenly Mrs. Collins’ mother came into the room in her wheelchair.
“Mom, thank God,” Mrs. Collins said.
The old woman stood up on her crooked legs. She looked right at Christopher.
“Oh, hi. You’re here. You can see me,” the old woman shouted.
“Who can see you?!” the hissing lady asked.
“The little boy. He’s standing right there.” She pointed. “They all think I’m talking nonsense. But he knows. He knows.”
The hissing lady leaned and whispered into the old woman’s ear.
“Death is coming. Death is here. We’ll die on Christmas Day!” the hissing lady whispered.
“Death is coming. Death is here. We’ll die on Christmas Day!” the old woman screamed.
“Mom, get back to your room!” Mrs. Collins barked. “Mrs. Reese, help me!”
But the old woman would not stop. She chanted over and over. Screaming at the top of her lungs.
“Death is coming. Death is here. We’ll die on Christmas Day!”
The hissing lady left her and turned in Christopher’s direction. She smiled.
“I’m surprised you haven’t made a sound,” she said. “But that’s not why I showed you all this. I just had to keep you entertained until nightfall.”
The sun dipped below the horizon. David Olson uncurled from her neck.
Christopher could feel the room turning cold around him. The cotton candy smell turning to blood. He looked back at the hissing lady, who smiled.
“Because we can see you at night, buddy. There you are. What a handsome boy.”
The hissing lady started running right at Christopher.
“You’re off the streeeeeeeet!” she screamed.
Christopher ran to the front door. The hissing lady jumped at him just as Christopher opened the door, and his eyes were hit with the flashlight.
“CHRISTOPHER! THANK GOD!” Mary Katherine exclaimed as she opened the door to his tree house.
The flashlight from her cell phone blinded him. For a moment, Christopher didn’t know where he was. He grabbed her arm, thinking she was the hissing lady. The heat from his fever shot from his forehead through his fingertips.
“Ow!” Mary Katherine screamed. “Stop it! You’re burning me!”
Christopher looked around and realized that he wasn’t in the old folks home anymore. He was back in his tree house. The hissing lady wasn’t grabbing him. It was Mary Katherine. Christopher let go of her arm. She ripped off her jacket and rolled up her sweater. Her skin was red. Tiny blisters popped up over her arm.
“I’m sorry,” Christopher said.
“Where the heck have you been?” Mary Katherine asked, angry and frightened, rubbing the burn.
“I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d come out here and play,” he said.
“Well, you could have gotten us both in a ton of trouble, you know