“Okay, you’re not dreaming. But you’re definitely seeing things. No one would be outside in this—”
Knock, knock!
“Who’s there?” She giggled drunkenly. I am insane.
Holding the lamp, she cracked open the back door.
Two shivering children stared up at her as they huddled together beneath a drenched blanket.
“Can we come in?” they asked in unison.
Apparently, even the dead needed to get in out of the rain.
Sadie opened the door wider, expecting the children to vanish. When they didn’t, she nudged her head and they stepped inside. As she helped the smaller child slide the blanket from his shoulders, she recognized his shaved head immediately.
“Adam.”
He gave her a brief smile.
The girl had to be his sister. Ashley. The girl from the woods.
Then she remembered what Irma had told her. Adam and Ashley were dead.
So who are they?
She watched while they made themselves comfortable on the sofa. They were a peculiar pair. Ashley’s damp blond hair was cut dreadfully short—far too short for a girl—and it hadn’t been brushed in a while, much less washed. She was dressed in a pink cotton nightgown this time. Adam’s blue striped pajamas had been replaced by solid gray ones and he wore boots that matched his sister’s. He looked thinner and paler than the other night. Then again, trekking through the woods in a storm wasn’t altogether healthy.
Their presence made no sense.
Unless I’m delusional.
“I’m cold,” Adam whined.
She hurried into the bathroom, returning a minute later with some bath towels, all the while telling herself that the children didn’t exist. They’d be gone when she returned to the living room.
But they were still there.
Sadie passed a towel to Adam. “Make sure you dry off good or you’ll catch a cold.” She handed the other towel to the girl. “Ashley, right? Adam’s sister?”
“Yes,” Ashley said in a subdued voice.
“I’m Sadie.”
“We know,” Adam said. He grinned and she saw that a front tooth was missing.
“I hope the tooth fairy came last night,” she said.
His smile faded. “There is no tooth fairy.”
“Of course there—”
“Father doesn’t like us talking about make belief things,” Ashley cut in. “We’re too old for that stuff.”
“You sound ancient,” Sadie said with a chuckle. “Don’t be in such a hurry to grow up.”
“I’m almost nine,” the girl said, straightening.
“I’m six,” Adam piped up.
Ashley handed her the wet towel. “Thanks.”
“Why don’t I brush your hair?” Sadie offered. “It’s a mess.”
“It doesn’t matter. It’s always a mess.”
“I promise I’ll be gentle.”
The girl trudged into the bathroom behind her, and when Sadie reached for her, she half expected her hand to move through insubstantial waves, but her hand touched wet hair.
How could these children be real?
I’m drunk, that’s how.
She carefully separated strands of Ashley’s neglected hair, while Adam perched on the toilet seat, watching them.
“Can I have hot chocolate?” he asked.
“Sure. With extra marshmallows.”
He made a face. “Yuck! I hate marshmallows.”
“Well, you ate them last time,” Sadie said, surprised.
“No, I didn’t.”
“Adam doesn’t know what he likes,” Ashley interjected. She smiled at the mirror. “Hey, my hair looks… pretty.”
And it did. The soft glow of the lamp brought out golden lights in the girl’s naturally blond hair, and because it was so short, it was almost dry.
“You should let it grow a bit,” Sadie suggested.
Ashley’s smile disappeared. “I can’t. Father—”
“Won’t let us,” Adam finished.
There was an awkward silence.
“Go sit by the fire,” Sadie said. “I’ll make the hot chocolate.”
She went out to the veranda to get the milk jug from the cooler. An arctic wind whipped at her hair, but the overhang protected her from the drizzly rain. In the kitchen, illuminated by the lamp, she unsteadily scooped hot chocolate powder into a pot, filled it with milk and set it on the Coleman stove. It took her three tries to light the damned thing, but she finally got it working.
Her gaze drifted toward the children. Big sister Ashley had grabbed Sadie’s blanket, the one she’d left on the chair. They sat side-by-side, covered with it, anxiously waiting for her return. Occasionally, their heads would move close and they’d whisper to each other, their expressions serious.
Sadie rubbed her eyes.
The children were still there when she opened them.
When the hot chocolate was ready, she handed them each a mug and offered Ashley a bowl of marshmallows. The girl picked out two and dropped them in her mug. When she took the first sip, the smile with which Sadie was rewarded was one of complete bliss.
“This is the best hot chocolate,” Ashley said in awe. “Adam was right.”
“Yeah, Adam was right,” her brother mumbled between sips.
Sadie frowned. Not many kids referred to themselves in third person. It was more than a little weird.
Ashley and Adam.
Why would they lie about their names?
The wine she had polished off earlier still made her brain fuzzy and she took a deep breath. “Listen, this prank has gone on far enough. I know your names aren’t really Ashley and Adam.”
Ashley jumped to her feet, a terrified look on her face.
“That’s a lie! My name is Ashley.”
“Ashley and Adam are dead,” Sadie said gently. “Who are you really?”
Adam, his mouth trembling, tugged on Ashley’s arm. “We gotta go.” He pulled her toward the back door, yanked it open and stepped outside.
In the doorway, Ashley whipped around. “He told us you’d come for him. For us. We thought you were the one. I don’t know how we could’ve been so wrong.”
Sadie lurched toward them. “Wait! Who—”
But she was too late.
The children darted across the grass. At the edge of the woods, Adam skidded to a stop and spun around. “Saa-deeeee!” His voice sounded desperate and clear—no lisp.
In fact, now that she thought about it, he hadn’t lisped during the entire visit. Not once.
“What the hell is going on?” she murmured.
She moved down the steps, thinking to call them back, but then the strangest thing happened. Before her eyes, Adam and Ashley multiplied into four small shapes. Then six. Like human cells duplicating and separating.
Sadie blinked, but they remained, cloaked in shadows, indistinguishable. Six ghost children.
“Jesus…”
Voices began to chant. “One fine day, in the middle of the night, two dead boys got up to fight…”
“Stop it!” she screamed.
The chanting died instantly.
In the distance, they studied her, and it made her skin crawl.
“Leave me alone!” she yelled.
At first, none of them moved. Then, one by one, the children withdrew, merging into the colorless void of night.
Sadie stepped back into the cabin, slammed the door and leaned against the wall. Her breath came in quick pants and she dug her fingernails into her palms.
What did these illusions, these children, want from her?
Giving into temptation, she grabbed the second to last bottle of Cabernet and staggered back to bed. By the time she had nearly finished the wine, she had convinced herself that Ashley and Adam’s visit had been nothing more than another alcohol-induced hallucination. That’s why she’d seen six of them. She had conjured them up because of her own loss and culpability.