In or Out

Droplets of rain streamed down the clear glass windows as leaves of yellow fluttered across the lawn.

Inside, inert orbs of orange light bounced off of marble counters stained with coffee rings and sticky strawberry-pink handprints. A blue-painted clay vase was stocked with store-bought peace lilies that bloomed beside a crystal frame encasing a grinning toddler in the arms of his mother.

Joanne Brown stood before the kitchen sink, scrubbing melted cheese off of the two ceramic plates left over. She and her son Oliver had split a grilled cheese sandwich before she left him with a Saturday Halloween special.

As she loaded the dishes, thrilling spells of laughter bounced off of the plain white walls, droning softly around her.

Her eyes drifted to the doggie door, which was bolted and painted over at the foot of the back door.

Back when Marcie was alive, Joanne started a game with Oliver. She called it their “In or Out” game.

She would ask Oliver if Marcie was in or out as the dog leaped back and forth through the doggie door before they’d both burst into giggles.

“In or out?” she’d ask Oliver after drawing a batch of chocolate chip cookies straight out from the oven. In, and they’d tuck the cookies back into the oven’s warm light. Or out, and she’d pull the rack onto the counter and together they’d fan the cookies they each reserved on their plates, though she’d always trust her own judgment on whether the cookies needed more time to bake or not.

“In or out?” She would ask him if he wanted to walk with her out in the rain, sealed away in his yellow raincoat and squeaky red boots, or if he wanted to stay inside while she read him stories about knights and wizards.

“In or out?” she had asked when he first started learning how to swim. In, and he’d stay in the pool, waddling in the blue waves with a purple ring in his hand and yellow floaties around his arms. Or out, and she’d wrap a towel around his shaking shoulders and thin white legs before they’d shuffle out to the car in matching flip-flops.

“In or out?” she asked as they both leapt into and then back out of the hammock hanging from the two maple trees planted outside their backyard.

The “In or Out” games became more of a check-in as he grew up beside her. He was now seven.

In, did he want to stay in with her and snack on the pouches of M&M’s (that she had initially bought for her students) as they watched some not-so-spooky Halloween movies, or out, did he want to play catch with his friends after driving with Henry and his dad to the petting zoo by Franklin Farm?

Did he want to paint paper plates into grinning black cats and howling cloaked ghosts, or did he want to carve pumpkins with the neighbor’s twin daughters while stuffing as many pieces of candy corn as he could into his little pink mouth?

Was he in or out?

They used it so often they hardly knew what in or out meant in any other condition—those were their words and they only made sense to them. In meant with her, and out meant with them.

In or out. Today, they planned their Halloween costumes over grilled cheese while the TV rolled out every Halloween special. She smiled at the ones she had watched as a child herself and glued her eyes onto the ones she had never seen before.

A chill caught the back of her neck before quivering down her spine. Her ponytail stretched her hairline back too tight.

She felt as though she was being watched.

A soft curl hanging over her shoulder tickled the side of her neck.

Jerking her head back to face the living room, which lay just past the kitchen, she found Oliver with his small fingers tucked into his mouth. She was immersed by the warm aroma of apple cinnamon, which was kindled by a crimson candle’s glassy flame.

Twisting the tap closed, she dried her hands and wrung out the plain rag before tossing it near a new roll of paper towels.

Her pecan-brown woolen socks slid over the cool hardwood floor as she stepped into the living room.

She sat beside Oliver, folding her legs beneath her before kissing his soft head. Slipping deeper into the sofa’s corner, she looked up at the screen, her eyes blankly sweeping over the bright colors and sailing black lines.

“Mama?”

Her attention reeled back to Oliver. His face looked pale. Was it the M&M’s? Or the Tootsie Rolls? Oh, he had probably gobbled down a cauldron’s worth of sugar today, and it was only just past noon.

“What is it, honey? Are you okay?”

His eyes were dark as they spiraled down her face, stopping at her chin. “There was a man. I saw a—I saw a man, Mama. Outside.”

She scrunched her brow. “When? Outside? When you biked to Timmy’s?”

He shook his head, whining.

“No, just now! He was right over there!” the boy cried, pointing to the kitchen window. No, she was right there. She would have seen—she would have noticed something if there was a man right outside the window.

A chill swept past her shoulders, wrapping itself around her throat as she tried to choke out the voice she used to calm her second graders.

“Ollie—Oliver, you must have seen my reflection. There was no one else there. It was just me.”

He shook his head adamantly. “No, I saw a man! He was tall. And he had long fingers, they were so long and white.”

It must have been all the Halloween specials they had been watching.

She cooed, “Oh, honey. It’s okay. Why didn’t you tell me before?”

Her cool palm smoothed his hunched back as images of every villain, monster, and ghoul flooded her mind.

A tall man with long white fingers?

She summoned back her college days when she and her friends would sneak into theaters with a bucket of popcorn each, right before Halloween, to watch the latest horror movie. And sure, there were spidery men with their terrifyingly long fingers flickering white as they crawled across bed frames and window sills in those movies.

But Oliver hadn’t watched anything like that. “Why didn’t you say anything, honey?” she asked again, running her fingers through his straw-blond hair.

Oliver whispered back, “Because he was looking right at me, Mama.”

A chill creeped up her spine. Was there really a man outside?

She raced to the window and her eyes scanned the yard. But it was just the two maple trees stretching out an old hammock draped in sheets of cobweb.

“Oliver, I don’t see anyone out here,” she sighed, returning to the sofa as her arms swathed the small crouching child.

“It’s okay, honey. You probably saw the tree’s shadow or maybe—maybe it was your imaginary friend. You remember Anna?”

“Anna’s a girl!”

“Well, maybe this guy’s a new imaginary friend.” 

“But I don’t want him to be my friend!”

Oliver burst into tears that streaked down his red face.

Joanne sighed through her nostrils. “Oh, honey, no! No, of course not! It’s fine. It was just a tree, dear. Oh, but look! Look who’s on the screen! It’s Tony the Black Cat! Your favorite, Ollie!”

The little boy glanced up through his tears, which his mom wiped away with the side of her palm before he finally smiled.

“Mama, can I have Ezekiel?” he sniffed.

Ezekiel was Oliver’s favorite stuffed animal, a border collie who resembled Marcie in how her ears used to flop and the way she’d hang her sweet pink tongue out in a bright smile all the way to her soft white-tipped tail. Ezekiel was Oliver’s gift on his fifth birthday after Marcie had passed away.

“Of course you can. I think you left him at the table. Let me see if he’s still there.”

Stretching her legs, she strolled across the living room to enter the kitchen.

She hesitated to look out the window just in case there really was someone watching her. Waiting for her. But when she finally looked, there was no one there.

Just a plain white sky and leaves of orange, red, and yellow bordering the glass.

Her heart was at her throat as she turned around to grab Ezekiel, who had fallen over onto his side next to Oliver’s seat.

There were three chairs at the table. She was no longer with Jason. He had left her so he could move in with their realtor Shirley Abbott. They had left for Italy or Spain—somewhere nice. Somewhere warm.

So it was just her and Oliver now. Joanne worked at Franklin Elementary, only a few blocks down from the petting zoo and close to the city hall and fire station, which made for fun field trips.

Her parents would send her a check every month to help her manage the rent. They would visit her and Oliver soon, once Thanksgiving came around. Jason would call her so he could talk to Oliver, which she supposed was something.

She glanced back to the window again.

The soft crunch of leaves crept along the walls as the crisp autumn air weaved through the yard.

She knew she had to check it out. For Oliver and for her peace of mind.

Tucking Ezekiel into the boy’s open arms, she patted his knee, trying to get his attention.

“Hmm?” Oliver looked up, his eyes wide and glass-like, as clear as the kitchen window. “Ollie, I’m just going to step outside for a minute. I’ll be right over there—in the backyard, alright? Just give me a holler if you need anything. If I’m not back, call the numbers on the fridge. Call 9-1-1 and then call Grandma, okay?”

“Okay.”

His attention fell back to the cartoons flashing across the screen.

She eyed the small blue foam baseball bat resting against the pinewood bookshelf. One half was filled with her journals, her work binders, cards from her former students, and all the romance and true crime paperbacks she was halfway through. The other half contained Oliver’s favorite books, a small wooden train model, and some finger paintings of tigers in bright green jungles.

She tore her eyes from the foam baseball bat. No, that wouldn’t do any damage. She would take a rolling pin instead.

With the cool maple wood clenched in her fist, she kicked her way through a pile of damp brown leaves, jerking her head one way and then the other to spot anything out of the ordinary.

But besides her, there was no one else around.

A few cracked branches had fallen onto the dark grass below, but other than that, everything was the same.

Wringing the rolling pin in her hands, she decided to head back inside where it would be warm, and she could make some hot chocolate for Oliver and herself before curling up in the bundle of blankets her mother had knitted for her. She could also grade some of the cursive worksheets and basic multiplication problems she had collected on Wednesday. A new pack of puffy Halloween stickers awaited her with rows of grinning jack-o-lanterns and bright-eyed bats! The door knob took a couple of yanks to let her back in, but soon she shoved her way through the narrow door frame and sighed with relief as she saw Oliver safe and right where she had left him.

“Is everything alright, Ollie?” 

“Mhm.”

She turned back to the kitchen and noticed that his favorite blue plastic cup had been moved to the other end of the counter.

“Did you get some water, Oliver?” 

“Mhm.”

She muttered, “Did you make the comet that wiped out the dinosaurs?” 

“Mhm. Wait, what comet?”

Stifling the smile threatening to spill over her lips, she shook her head.

“Keep watching your show, Ollie. I’m going up to find some of Gammie's blankets. I’ll bring some down for us.”

Tapping Oliver on the nose playfully, she sped up the stairs while her thoughts began to drift in waves away from her. With her vision darkening in spots and her knees wobbling right above the edge of the next step, she clutched onto the railings to keep from falling over.

Taking a seat on the staircase, she dropped her head into her open palms.

She had probably taken off too quickly. A rush of nausea surged from her chest to her throat as she lifted her head against the harsh light.

Why were the lights so bright? Had they always been this bright? Had someone broken in and changed all the lights just to blind her and take Oliver? No, that was ridiculous. She had just gotten up too quickly. Turning her head away, she looked to the walls by her side. Had they always been this dark? Or had someone broken in and repainted all of their walls just a hue bluer?

Footsteps creaked closer, approaching her from behind. The floorboards groaned beside her hip. Trying to face the darkness behind, she twisted her neck, pulling a muscle bound to her shoulder.

But no one was there.

Door hinges squeaked open and close; the step of heavy boots marched—where—to Oliver’s room? A faint ringing was overcome by the oven’s shrill timer going off.

Was something burning? An acrid stench gagged her throat as she crawled downstairs.

Flipping onto her back, she closed her eyes, feeling warm sand beneath her, enveloping her smooth arms, waves coursing all the way up to her fingertips, the sun’s rays kissing her pink toes. She was somewhere nice. Somewhere warm.

Her clenched back melted over the floor. Fluttering her eyes open, she took a breath in. 

Everything was normal again—back to the way it was.

She heard Oliver burst into laughter as one of the on-screen cartoon cats was hit with a bat and subsequently slipped on his tail.

Heading back to the kitchen, she looked out the window once more.

Oliver’s blue robot poked out from the ruined pile of leaves.

She hadn’t seen it a minute ago.

“Oliver! Did you leave—” She paused, trying to remember its name. “The—the blue robot man—” 

“Kevin!” Oliver’s voice rang out from the living room.

“Why is he in the backyard?” she called back, groaning at the thought of having to go back into the brisk autumn gale without her mother’s blankets swaddling her. “I don’t know! I think Timmy threw him out the window.”

She didn’t like the sound of this Timmy—she’d have to talk to his dad about him messing with Oliver’s toys again.

“Honey, stop letting him boss you around! They’re your toys!”

She knew the boys would be out in the yard again, and if she waited for Oliver to pick Kevin up someone would trip over the robot and crack their head open on the tree trunk or worse. So she had to go, of course.

Sighing to herself, she twisted the door knob open again and stepped through the pile of leaves strewn across the dark earth.

She picked up poor Kevin with one hand. He was dripping wet.

Snapping a lid on the wave of nausea threatening to roll out from her again, she turned to head back inside.

The lights suddenly flickered before shutting off completely, leaving the house dark, only lit by the white light streaming from the clear glass windows.

She darted inside. Why was Oliver turning off the lights? Was he going out to play with his neighbors? Why hadn’t he asked her?

She stopped in her tracks—there was no one in the living room anymore.

“Oliver! Oliver!” she shrieked, her voice now blistered and raw.

Where was he? The door was still closed, and she didn’t hear any voices coming from outside. She heard coughing trickle down from upstairs.

Racing up the narrow staircase, she immediately headed for Oliver’s room.

Entering the small room, painted navy blue with glow-in-the-dark stars pasted above the astronaut-themed bedding, she slipped past the tub of soccer balls, plastic dinosaurs, and toy fire trucks. Oliver lay bundled and wrapped in his dark blue covers, pale against the mahogany headboard looming above him.