Read Online The Braid: A Short Story by Angela Yuriko Smith - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Angela Yuriko Smith
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said Cambria. “Go to bed or I'm telling your parents.” She closed the door and leaned against the wall, hands pressed over her mouth as she tried to calm herself.
She hadn't meant to slap Missy and was scared of what her parents might say if they found out. She looked to the top of the stairs. She could still hear the creaking of the beam. Her mind gave her a visual to go with the sound—rope against wood, pulled taut, gently swinging to and fro...
“Like rocking a baby,” Cambria whispered.
Then it stopped.
Cambria blinked. The creaking was gone, and so was Missy's crying. The silence was worse. Her heart pounded, beating her breaths into shallow gasps, the only sound that assured her she had not suddenly gone deaf. The doorknob on the bedroom door started turning. Cambria lunged forward and held it to keep whatever was inside from getting out.
“Cambria—” came a soft whisper. “Please let me out. She's in here with me but she doesn't see me yet.” Cambria held tight, unable to answer. She gripped the knob, knuckles white, and looked down. Her feet felt vulnerable against the crack. As if sensing her eyes there, a whisper came up from the floor, barely audible. Cambria felt breath against her bare toes.
“Please let me out,” Missy whispered. “She's not funny anymore.” Cambria felt the metal turn to burning ice in her hands. Tentacles of frost formed a frozen web against the door, radiating from the spot she held. Cambria squeezed her eyes. Please let me get out of this and I swear I will never babysit again.
“Time to tie the knot...” came a whisper next to her, close enough that she felt a glacial breath move the hair against her earlobes. Cambria shrieked, staggered back from the door, and turned to scramble down the hall toward the stairs. She stumbled over her own feet as she rounded the corner, eyes fixated on the beam above the stairs, and tumbled down them to sprawl, stunned, on the ground floor. A voice sang softly in her ear.
Over, under, around and through
tie the knot and I'll dance with you.
“No, no—no, no...” She sobbed as she struggled to regain her feet. Wintry fingers brushed the back of her neck and she shrieked again, scrambling to the front door, leaving a trail of toppled bric-a-brac behind her. She reached the front door, wrenched it open, and stumbled out, still shrieking, onto the covered porch.
A car was just pulling into the driveway. The headlights blinded her and she missed a step to fall flat on the lawn. Her face looked up, bleached white in the onslaught of light, sobbing. Both car doors flew open and Missy's parents exploded onto the lawn in a torrent of questions.
The father caught Cambria and held her as she struggled to her feet. “What's wrong? What's going on—” he yelled over Cambria's cries. “Where's Missy?”
The mother took up his query like a panicked parrot. “Where's Missy?” Her voice was shrill and brittle as she gripped Cambia's shoulder and pulled her face-to-face. “Where's Missy?” This time her voice broke and she flew away, into the house, calling her daughter's name. Missy's father pulled her back to face him.
“Where is my daughter?” he said, his words slurred. His eyes, inches from Cambria's own, were slightly off focus and lined. The hot odor of beer, cigarettes, and garlic masked mild halitosis and made Cambria's breath catch in her throat, holding her words hostage there. From inside the house, Missy's mother screamed something unintelligible and started wailing. He shoved Cambria to one side, forgotten, and rushed to his wife.
She fell, unresisting, to the pavement, not noticing her palm jarring onto the cement, scraped raw. She rolled herself into a sitting position, Indian-style in the crushed petunias, and refused to look at the house. Her thoughts had washed away in the headlights that glared across the lawn, turning it into a field of splintered shadows.
The inside of the house echoed with voices,
She hadn't meant to slap Missy and was scared of what her parents might say if they found out. She looked to the top of the stairs. She could still hear the creaking of the beam. Her mind gave her a visual to go with the sound—rope against wood, pulled taut, gently swinging to and fro...
“Like rocking a baby,” Cambria whispered.
Then it stopped.
Cambria blinked. The creaking was gone, and so was Missy's crying. The silence was worse. Her heart pounded, beating her breaths into shallow gasps, the only sound that assured her she had not suddenly gone deaf. The doorknob on the bedroom door started turning. Cambria lunged forward and held it to keep whatever was inside from getting out.
“Cambria—” came a soft whisper. “Please let me out. She's in here with me but she doesn't see me yet.” Cambria held tight, unable to answer. She gripped the knob, knuckles white, and looked down. Her feet felt vulnerable against the crack. As if sensing her eyes there, a whisper came up from the floor, barely audible. Cambria felt breath against her bare toes.
“Please let me out,” Missy whispered. “She's not funny anymore.” Cambria felt the metal turn to burning ice in her hands. Tentacles of frost formed a frozen web against the door, radiating from the spot she held. Cambria squeezed her eyes. Please let me get out of this and I swear I will never babysit again.
“Time to tie the knot...” came a whisper next to her, close enough that she felt a glacial breath move the hair against her earlobes. Cambria shrieked, staggered back from the door, and turned to scramble down the hall toward the stairs. She stumbled over her own feet as she rounded the corner, eyes fixated on the beam above the stairs, and tumbled down them to sprawl, stunned, on the ground floor. A voice sang softly in her ear.
Over, under, around and through
tie the knot and I'll dance with you.
“No, no—no, no...” She sobbed as she struggled to regain her feet. Wintry fingers brushed the back of her neck and she shrieked again, scrambling to the front door, leaving a trail of toppled bric-a-brac behind her. She reached the front door, wrenched it open, and stumbled out, still shrieking, onto the covered porch.
A car was just pulling into the driveway. The headlights blinded her and she missed a step to fall flat on the lawn. Her face looked up, bleached white in the onslaught of light, sobbing. Both car doors flew open and Missy's parents exploded onto the lawn in a torrent of questions.
The father caught Cambria and held her as she struggled to her feet. “What's wrong? What's going on—” he yelled over Cambria's cries. “Where's Missy?”
The mother took up his query like a panicked parrot. “Where's Missy?” Her voice was shrill and brittle as she gripped Cambia's shoulder and pulled her face-to-face. “Where's Missy?” This time her voice broke and she flew away, into the house, calling her daughter's name. Missy's father pulled her back to face him.
“Where is my daughter?” he said, his words slurred. His eyes, inches from Cambria's own, were slightly off focus and lined. The hot odor of beer, cigarettes, and garlic masked mild halitosis and made Cambria's breath catch in her throat, holding her words hostage there. From inside the house, Missy's mother screamed something unintelligible and started wailing. He shoved Cambria to one side, forgotten, and rushed to his wife.
She fell, unresisting, to the pavement, not noticing her palm jarring onto the cement, scraped raw. She rolled herself into a sitting position, Indian-style in the crushed petunias, and refused to look at the house. Her thoughts had washed away in the headlights that glared across the lawn, turning it into a field of splintered shadows.
The inside of the house echoed with voices,
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