Whisper Down the Lane by Clay Chapman (inspiring books for teens txt) 📕

clinging to his Star Wars sheets. It almost seemed like she’d never left his side after they said their bedtime prayers. “What time is—”

“Ssh,” she hissed. Sean felt her fingernails dig into his skin, leaving their mark. She glanced around the room as if to make sure no one heard. “Don’t say a word. They’re here.”

She took his hand. Her breathing was erratic, chest rising and falling. “I woke up when I heard something outside my window. Scratching. Claws. I peeked out and I—I saw them.”

Mom’s grip tightened, crushing his birdlike bones.

“Mom, you’re hurting me.”

This seemed to bring her back to the room. To Sean. She blinked once, twice, looking at him, almost as if she had forgotten who she was talking to. “They’re trying to find a way in.”

Sean had a nightlight next to his bed—a plastic mold of Papa Smurf that glowed a dull blue. There wasn’t nearly enough light to illuminate his whole room, but it was adequate at keeping the shadows at bay around the headboard of his bed. To protect you from monsters, Mom had promised when she first plugged it in. Bathed in this blue light, Mom looked a little like a monster herself. Her skin was drained of blood. Her eyes were sunken, her cheekbones hollow.

“We have to get out of here,” she whispered. “We have to go. Now.”

She leapt to her feet and yanked Sean out of bed, almost dislocating his arm.

“Ow!”

“Quiet,” she hissed again. They made their way into the hall. Pressing her back against the wall, Mom slowly slid down the darkened corridor. She kept one hand against Sean’s chest, shielding him from whatever danger might be hiding a step or two ahead, a mother bear protecting her cub.

They passed the kitchen. Mom had stopped doing the dishes weeks ago. Stacks of dirty plates and bowls rose up from the sink, spilling onto the counter. Sean could just make out the faint buzz of flies. The lingering smell had a greasy sting to it. Rotten fruit and spaghetti sauce. When did they last eat spaghetti? Wasn’t that a week ago?

The days blended together by now. When was the last time he’d left the house? Sean didn’t want to tell Mom she’d missed his sixth birthday. He was pretty positive it was a month ago by now, but maybe he was wrong. The last time he mentioned it to her, she merely stared off into space, not focusing on him but drifting into a thought that she didn’t want to share.

The curtains in the living room were always closed now. If Sean ever went near them, Mom slapped his wrist. Even during the day, she insisted they stay down. Sunlight never made its way into their house anymore. The family remained sealed behind the blinds for fear that one of the lingering news crews might be right outside their window, ready to capture them on camera. They wouldn’t leave Sean alone. Whenever the two of them stepped out for an appointment with Miss Kinderman, the reporters swarmed. The women in their pencil skirts, mics in hand, shouting their questions. The probing lens of their cameras, zooming in on Sean’s face.

The longer the trial dragged on, the more interest there was in Sean. There were always a half dozen roving eyewitness-news vans stationed on the block, barricading their driveway. The network call letters seemed like complicated math equations Sean wasn’t equipped to calculate. K12 TV. UH89 NEWS. KBCW-TV + WGBO-4. But once the sun went down, the reporters left.

So who was Mom so afraid of now? Who was outside?

“Stay away from the windows,” she said. “If they see you, they’ll know we’re here.”

“Mom, I’m scared…”

Mom knelt before Sean. “I know, baby. I know…I’m scared, too.” She tried to put on a brave face for him, but it looked so flimsy. A maternal mask that didn’t quite fit. Even in the dark, he could tell she was pretending. She held her hand up but hesitated to touch him, struggling to find the most consoling spot on Sean’s body. She settled on combing the hair out of his eyes with her fingers, just the gentlest brushing back of his bangs from his brow. It had been so long since he’d gotten a haircut. Mom used to do it, tried to, at least, but the last time she had taken a pair of scissors to his hair his bangs came out completely lopsided. He can’t look like a weedwhacker attacked him, the prosecutor scolded her. Here’s five bucks. Take him to the barber and fix it. That had been months ago.

“I need you to be brave for me, okay?” Mom said, snapping Sean from his thoughts and back to their living room. “I need for you to stay here while I go get a few things, okay?”

“Don’t leave me.”

“It’ll just be for a little while, okay? Less than a minute.”

“Where are we going?”

“It’s not safe here anymore,” she said. “They know we’re here. We need to get out of the house. Just stay here, sit on the couch, and stay very, very still. I’ll be right back.”

“No!” He grabbed her this time, wrapping his arms around her and holding on. She pried free from his grip, holding him at an arm’s length.

“Just don’t make a sound. Do you understand? Be brave for me.”

Sean nodded.

“Good, baby. That’s good.” She wrapped her arms around him and squeezed, forcing the air from his lungs in a little puff. “I promise I won’t let anything happen to you. Not this time.”

This time.

Sean didn’t understand what she meant by this, not at first, but after she left him on the living room couch and he was all alone, all by himself, with nothing but the silence of the room and his own wandering thoughts, it dawned on him, slowly but surely…This time meant Mr. Woodhouse. The other teachers. She meant Sean’s story. About them hurting him.

She believed him. Always believed him. Believed every word.

His words.

Sean slowly turned his head toward