The Man in the Curtain (Part I)
“Have you met the man in the curtain?”
Sarah sighed and pushed her thumbs into her eyes, exasperated. She was beyond tired of having this silly conversation. For nearly a week, every evening had ended with this question. This was the last time.
“Yeah, sure, I met him,” Sarah said by way of appeasement. “Go to sleep now.”
Annie scrunched her little face. “Did you really?” she asked.
Great. The same creepy question for days and now that I finally give her what she wants she doesn’t even believe me . . .
“Yes,” Sarah answered, punctuating the word with a curt little tug on the girl’s bedsheet. She had a habit of sleepwalking and Sarah was sick of being startled by a tiny, silent waif staggering down dark hallways. It wasn’t going to happen tonight. She tightened the sheets further.
“Alright, well, good night,” Sarah said and straightened.
“Did he ask you to play with us?’
Sarah shuddered. For just one night, she would like to not be creeped out to her core. Turning back to the bed, she found Annie lying there, waiting, looking up at her with those strange, vacant doll eyes of hers.
Was this really worth the pay? Yes, but not by much. The Andersons were rich, but unlike the misers one might expect to live in such a palatial estate, they were not tightfisted. She was being well compensated (extremely well compensated, if she was being honest) for what amounted to a few hours of babysitting an eight year old girl over the course of one week. But this particular eight year old girl . . .
Annie was . . . strange. Pale as milk and delicate as a finch, she was more like an expensive figurine than a little girl. She was soft spoken but not shy. In fact, she talked a lot, but it was mostly to herself. On multiple occasions, Sarah had found the frail child whispering to herself, often stroking an idle hand across the back of her pet rabbit. That alone may not have chilled Sarah as much had it just been the idle nattering of a bored child, but no, what she had heard from Annie was pointed conversation, always whispered and always to a window. Whenever Sarah would come near, Annie would stop, turn and smile.
To be continued…