Chapter 36 - The Woman of the House

When I pull up the driveway, the house reels me in slowly and deliberately as gravel crunches beneath my tires. Outside, the wind whistles as branches bend to their limit, threatening to break with every gust that passes through them. Amid the chaos, the house stands tall and unmoving. The windows are dark. The front door looks like a black hole, an entrance to an empty abyss. I put the car in park before I take a deep breath, knowing that I have to go inside and face this once and for all. I fight against the wind to push open the car door and run toward the house, knowing that if I walk, I’ll lose the little nerve I have. My hair is a tornado around my head and my feet are like cinder blocks beneath me. I feel like I’m running in slow motion; the faster I move my legs, the farther away the house gets. Eventually, I reach the edge of the porch. The wood stairs bend under my weight as I take the front steps two at a time. I run past our overturned rocking chairs before I throw myself at the front door and fall into the house. A gust of wind slams the door shut behind me. I hear breathing, fast and gasping. It’s mine. I bring my hand to my mouth to muffle the sound. Now, the house is silent and still.

I run my hand along the wall next to me in search of the light switch. When I find it, I turn it on and brace myself for light to flood the foyer, but it doesn’t. I flick it on and off once, twice, three times. The house remains dark. I try to tell myself that I don’t need to be afraid of the house anymore. It’s just four walls and a roof.

It’s Mother I need to worry about.

I make my way from the front of the house to the back, where moonlight illuminates the otherwise dark kitchen. I go to the windows and look at my reflection. Something about staring at myself seems to conjure her up. I look past the dark lake thrashing against the wind in front of me, to the shadows behind me, and wait for Mother. She wanted me to come back. It’s only a matter of time before she appears. I know it.

Standing here in the house that was never my home, I can’t help but think of Angela. I picture her curled up on a couch in a loft in Chicago. The walls are lined with her artwork. Paintings of the city’s skyline, children playing in the streets, and the lake at sunset. An easel with a canvas sits in the center of the room. Her blonde hair is draped over one shoulder as she brings a glass of red wine to her lips. A faceless man walks toward her, and when she reaches for him, he falls onto the couch with her. I want this life for her, because I imagine it’s the life she wanted for herself. Still, somewhere deep down, something tells me that Angela’s new life is all in my head. Something tells me she never made it to Chicago.

A cloud shifts in the sky. Behind me, standing at the edge of the kitchen counter, I see her. Mother. I turn to face her, and for the first time she doesn’t disappear. A thin layer of transparent skin covers her skull. Long wisps of hair fall in front of her bones where her cheeks should be. When I saw her before, I thought her eyes were black, but now that I’m facing her, I can see they aren’t black. They’re closed. As if reading my mind, she opens them, revealing a pair of white eyeballs spinning around in their sockets. Her toothless mouth is stuck open wide, leaving her permanently screaming into the void. She’s wearing her hospital gown, the same one she had on the night she died.

Fear gathers in my gut as Mother stands in front of me, lingering somewhere between life and death. Every muscle in my body is tense, every cell is standing on edge. My jaw is clenched so tight that I feel my teeth crack against each other. My bladder gives way first, relieving itself while I stand in the middle of the kitchen. The last time I left the facility, I was comforted by the fact that no matter what happened next, at least Mother couldn’t get to me anymore. She was dead. I was alive. She had lost. I had won. But now I know that’s not true. She isn’t gone, she’s here. Lingering right in front of me. And I’m afraid she’s even more dangerous now than she ever was alive.

She holds one long finger in the air before placing it on the kitchen counter next to her. Her nail makes contact with the granite. Tap. Tap. Tap. What’s left of her mouth twists into a knowing smile. Breath leaves my body as terror propels me away from Mother. I run out of the kitchen but trip over my feet. My right hand knocks into the lamp on the side table before my hip catches my fall. There’s a loud crash. I get up and stumble toward the back door as glass cracks under my feet. The door is close, less than ten feet away, but it feels like I have miles to go. The closer I get, the farther away it seems. My hand reaches for the doorknob. I’m almost there. I can feel Mother right behind me, her breath hot on my neck. Blood is pounding through my veins so hard, I think I might explode. The doorknob turns in my hand. Everything will be okay if I can just get out. The door gives way to my weight and I’m through. I fall onto the grass on the other side and army-crawl through the yard, toward the boathouse. The trees look down on me in disapproval, but I don’t have time for their judgment. A bird crows in the distance. The water is a pool of blackness in front of me. A noiseless, bottomless pit.

Once I’m inside the boathouse, I lock the door behind me and sit in front of it. My cries are loud and desperate. All this time I’ve been obsessed with finding out what happened to Angela, when I should have been paying attention to what was happening right in front of me. All the calls from New Hope that I ignored, hiding Mother’s ashes in the closet, and lying to Brian, and to myself, about how she really died—all of it leads back to me and Mother.

I’ve tried to forget about what happened that night at the facility, tried to bury the memory deep down alongside my hatred for Mother, but I can’t. It’s too big to hide. Too awful to ignore. I could pretend I don’t know why she’s here or what she wants, but that would be another lie. Cowering in the corner of the boathouse, I’m honest with myself for the first time in a long time. I know why Mother is haunting me. The answer is simple. Revenge.

When I close my eyes, I see Helen’s bulging blue ones. Then Mother’s. I’m standing at Helen’s bedside watching her gasp for air, then almost instantly, I’m back at the facility leaning over Mother’s hospital bed. The smell of illness fills my lungs. A monitor beeps in the corner. Helen’s leg twitches just like Mother’s did.

No, that’s not what happened. Helen’s death was different from Mother’s. I didn’t kill Helen. I wasn’t even in the room when she died. I left her with Frances while I went downstairs to get her more water. Yes, that’s right. Frances was there. I saw her. We were together. I didn’t do anything wrong. I’m innocent.

I cover my eyes with my hands. I don’t want to see Helen or Mother anymore. I don’t want to see anything anymore. My fingers scratch against my skin, ready to rip my eyes out.

A coolness passes through the empty boathouse. Then the doorknob above me rattles. I look up to see it moving on its own. Mother. I picture her bony hand with its gray skin and too-long fingernails grabbing the doorknob and turning it as she tries to force her way inside. She’s come here to kill me. I know it. She wants to watch the breath leave my body, just like I watched her that night at the facility. There’s no time to think. I crawl toward the door on my hands and knees to stop her from coming in.

Open the door.

The sound of metal knocking against metal fills the small boathouse. I grab on to the doorknob to make it stop moving, but instead my whole body just rattles along with it. Soon, the whole door is shaking.

Open it.

“No!” I scream. “No, no, no!” She can’t get in here. She can’t kill me. I won’t let her. I grab one of the boxes lining the wall next to me to try to make a barricade. I pull one closer to me, then another and another, until soon the wall of boxes is between me and the door of the boathouse.

As quickly as the rattling started, it stops. I stand still, waiting for something else to happen. Blood rushes to the tips of my fingers, where it collects and pools. Nothing.

I’m surrounded by silence and stillness. I feel my way over to the dresser and pull myself up. Small pieces of glass, wedged into the skin on the soles of my feet, crunch beneath my weight. I open the top dresser drawer. After a moment, my fingers find the small pack of matches left behind by Angela and her family. My shaking hands light the lantern sitting on top of the dresser, draping the tiny boathouse in soft candlelight.

The glass window is in front of me. My long face, thick hair, and big eyes are missing from the reflection. Instead, I see her two white eyeballs, gray skin stretched over pointed bones, and strands of hair that fall from an otherwise bald head. Her lips, my lips, curl into a sideways smile. There’s no point in screaming. The fear I felt just moments ago has been replaced with defeat. I don’t even try to blink my reflection back into view.

Pathetic. You thought you could get rid of me that easily? Thought you could just walk away? No, not after what you did to me. You can’t escape me, Rose. You never can and you never will. I win. You lose. Always.

The voice inside my head, Mother’s voice, is right. I’m gone.

Mother is all that remains.