The Braid: A Short Story

The Braid

Angela Yuriko Smith

THE BRAID Copyright © 2015 ANGELA YURIKO SMITH

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form without written permission except for the use of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents ither are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

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Nine o’clock—Cambria yawned, stretched, and groped for the remote. Clicking off the television, she listened to the quiet house. It was too quiet.

“Hey, brat!” she yelled. “What are you destroying now?” It was time to put Missy, the girl she was babysitting, to bed. She waited for an answer. Still quiet. Cambria's forehead crinkled in annoyance.

“You better answer me…” Her voice trailed off as she listened. A gargle and cough answered her. She dropped the remote and ran to the staircase to see Missy on the top step, face blue and eyes bulging out of her head. The five-year-old’s tongue protruded from her mouth.

“Oh my God!” Cambria rushed to her. “What happened?” She stuck her fingers in Missy’s mouth, searching for whatever she was choking on.

Missy pushed Cambria away. “Stop it!”

“What the hell are you doing? You scared me to death.” Cambria wiped her hand on her jeans.

Missy giggled. “Your fingers taste like butt.”

“How would you know?” said Cambria. “Been eating butt sandwiches lately? Knock it off or I won't babysit for you anymore.” She scooted the girl to one side and sat down. “It's bedtime anyways.”

“No!” Missy said, protesting. “I’ll be good. I was pretending to be the woman with the braid. She was making funny faces.” The little girl turned her face away from Cambria and looked up into the empty air above the stairwell. Cambria's eyes followed.

The ceiling was high and in shadow. A dark wooden beam crossed over the stairwell. The dust was so thick along the top Cambria could see it from where she sat, a grey layer softening the rough edge. As she stared, a sprinkle of dust trickled down to the stairs below, silhouetted against the large window facing them. The wood creaked slightly as the house shifted and Cambria felt thick silence stuff itself into the empty rooms around them, making her ears feel pressurized like they were about to pop.

“What woman—?” she asked, her voice low. Missy pointed to the beam. The creaking was regular, rhythmic and Cambria wondered why she’d never noticed the sound before. She swallowed.

“There’s no one there, stupid.” She felt a trembling that began at the base of her spine and traveled upwards, like a frozen slug, sending shivers through her hair.

“C’mon,” she said, standing up. Her voice rang through the house, loud like an alarm. “Let’s get you to bed.” Missy continued to stare at the shadows over the stairs, so Cambria tried again. “C’mon and I’ll give you a braid like hers.” Missy looked up at her babysitter, blue eyes wide with shock.

“No, Cambria, don’t give me a braid like hers! That’s why she makes funny faces.” Missy cocked her head at a sharp angle and let her jaw go slack. She rolled her eyes, showing the whites, as she held her breath. Her tiny tongue protruded from her mouth sideways. Cambria’s chest tightened and her heart throbbing against her ribs, as Missy pretended to choke.

“Why would her braid do that?” asked Cambria, voice cracking. Missy stopped her pantomime.

“Because the braid’s around her neck,” she said.

Cambria stiffly turned her head to stare up at the beam that still creaked softly in the shadows. Another sprinkle of dust filtered down past the window as she watched.

Missy made another choking sound and Cambria's hand shot out, slapping the little girl across the face. Missy held her hand up to her red cheek, tiny lips making an “O” shape as her eyes filled with tears. Ashamed, Cambria felt like she might cry herself and her cheeks flushed with heat.

“I told you to stop it,” she said. “It's time for bed, not playing games.”

Missy was in full wail as Cambria nudged her into the hallway and toward a bedroom.

“Oh, shut up!” Cambria said. The little girl's sobs grated across her nerves like steel wool. She opened Missy's door and shuffled the girl inside. “Don't even worry about brushing your teeth,” 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, footsteps pounding, and doors slamming as Missy's parents turned the house inside out. Cambria was deaf to their clatter and cries as she sank into herself, lulled by the rhythmic creak of rough rope against wood that drifted soothingly across the lawn to her.

Tie the knot...

The whisper rushed from the house, slicing through her comfort like winter wind. Reality crashed over her in a cacophony of voices and spinning lights. She was strapped to a gurney that was being fed, headfirst, into an ambulance. To one side she could see Missy's parents—her mother, crying uncontrollably, wrapped in a navy blue blanket. Missy's father was shouting and pointing at her, a policeman pressing him gently but firmly into a sitting position.

The house loomed over them all, flashing red and blue like a disco rave. Every light inside was on, and Cambria searched the windows, looking for Missy. Through the tall, arched window that faced the stairs, Cambria saw a figure standing in empty air. Confused, she blinked as her gurney bumped backward, the legs folding to lock into place.

The figure slowly rotated around to face her and Cambria took in the twisted expression, eyes rolled up to show empty whites. The mouth moved, stretching into a crooked grin and it reached its hands toward her. Cambria screamed as the doors closed before her, blocking her view, and didn't stop screaming until she had been sedated twice by a technician whose hands shook worse than his grandmother's.

Tie the knot...

The whisper woke her from a long, dreamless, dark feeling as blank as the room she woke up in. The walls were lifeless beige, devoid of decoration. She lay on a green, plastic-covered foam rectangle with no sheets. A stainless steel toilet bowl clung to the wall across from a brown painted door with a small, square window. Overhead, a harsh, florescent square bore into her eyes, making her head ache.

Cambria sat up and was overcome with nausea. She rolled off the low bed to the toilet and vomited into the bowl. As she crouched there, trying to make sense of things, the door opened behind her. She turned, and a sudden draft across her bare skin made her shiver. She looked down to see herself in nothing but a threadbare hospital gown, open at the back.

“I'm sure you'll want this,” said the pleasant-looking man who had entered the room. The door closed behind him with a loud
click
and then a
beep
. He held out a thin, yellow blanket. Cambria struggled to her feet, clutching the gown around her and took the blanket before sitting down on the bare mattress.

“Tell me about Missy,” he finally said. “Apparently, you were pretty upset when her parents came home.” Cambria's mind brushed over the last time she'd seen the girl and she shuddered. The man watched and said nothing else. A question swelled in her throat, threatening to choke her if she didn't let it out. She bit her lip hard, willing herself to stay silent, but she had to ask.