Open Curtains in a Coal Town

Dane opened one eye just wide enough to peak past his eyelashes at Monica. He could tell by her breathing that she wasn’t getting up. He took a deep breath and forced it out so that the air hissed through his mouth and nose simultaneously as he pulled his legs to the side of the bed and let them drop, easing the job of sitting. If Monica was pretending to be asleep, at least she’d know he wasn’t happy about it.

Past the door, down the hall, and through another door Elena was crying—whining. Mama. Dada. Baba. It was the third time in the last two hours. Monica had gotten up with her the first two times, so Dane couldn’t complain. As he reached the door, a voice half-whispered, half-yawned from the bed.

“She’s probably thirsty.”

Of course. Monica was awake. No one could fake sleep like Monica.

Dane exited the door and started down the stairs, flattening each foot in hopes of avoiding the loud creaks and groans. It was useless. Luckily, his four year-old, Angelica, was a deep sleeper.

Dane walked across the house to the kitchen. The room was freezing. Monica, in her obsession with natural light and fresh air had left the kitchen window cracked and the curtains wide open. Though he was annoyed about the cold house, what really bothered him were the curtains. Someone could be looking right into the kitchen. Disturbing. He closed his left eye and hustled past the window to the fridge, allowing the routine to take over. Pour the milk. Open the microwave. He was going to have to close the damn window. 3. 4. enter/start. It was bad enough Monica had the sheer curtains in the dining room. Shit. The microwave hummed as Dane walked toward the window.

He stood to the side, feeling unworthy of his role as protector of the house. He was spineless. It was a window. He took a few breaths. He could do this. So what if someone was outside? The trick was to be prepared. Dane played through the reel of monsters alive and well in his photographic memory. I can do this.

Pivoting in a half turn that put him directly in front of the window, Dane prepared himself for the worst. His heart bashed in accelerated beats. He suddenly realized he couldn’t see anything. He had closed his eyes again. He forced them open and faced the night, but, of course, there was no one there. He pushed the window down in one swift movement and engaged the lock and drew the curtains, reestablishing the fabric barricade that made him feel like a man again. He took one last deep breath. God that was scary.

Dane turned away from the window then stopped. He had heard a tap at the window; he was sure of it. A cold current of electric fear spread throughout his body, extending every hair full-length. Tiptap. There it was again. No. He was going crazy. He was imagining it. But Dane couldn’t afford to go crazy. It was just in his head. His trembling hand moved forward and took hold of the curtain. Be a man.

Dane’s hand threw back the curtain. He tried to scream. Nothing came out. In the window was a tall and skinny man holding a coal pick. His face was deathly white, like it had spent the last hundred years void of even the faintest sunlight. His eyes were a bleached blue.

The man swung the pick and smashed the window. Now both children were awake and screaming upstairs. But Dane’s body didn’t move. How could it? Dane’s spirit was now floating in a corner of the kitchen ceiling, watching the horror unravel. The man was climbing in. What if he got to the girls? To Monica?

Dane waved what felt like his arms in a swimming motion, but nothing happened. He didn’t have arms—at least not in his current state. The man burst through the window and knocked Dane’s body to the ground. With a disciplined swing, the man sent the pick through the top of Dane’s skull. Dane could feel himself fading. He heard gunshots. It was Monica. The man fell to the floor, landing on top of Dane’s body. Sirens sounded in the night. His family was safe now. It was over. That was when he saw the man’s spirit rising, smiling at him. For Dane, it was just beginning.