Page 20 of The Intruder

I grope around in the darkness, feeling for the pull string for the light. I know approximately where it is, and after about a minute of searching, my fingers make contact. Except it’s been a while since I’ve been locked in here. What if the light blew out?

I take a deep breath and pull the string.

Nothing happens.

My breaths start coming in quick gasps. It’s bad enough that I’m stuck in this closet, but it’s much worse that I’m stuck in here with no light whatsoever. Like, I can’t see anything at all. Also, there’s a smell in here. A really bad smell. Our house doesn’t smell great in general, but it’s way worse in this closet. It’s like somebody died in here. And because the stupid light won’t turn on, I don’t even know what stinks so bad. I have to just imagine what it might be.

Please, please, please turn on.

I wrap my fingers tightly around the pull string and give it another firm yank. This time, the bulb flickers and turns on. It’s dim, like it doesn’t have much life left in it, but at least I’m not blind anymore.

And oh my God, what is that smell?

I take a quick inventory of the contents of the hall closet. Really, it’s a coat closet, and I think there are probably some coats somewhere in here. But right now, most of the space is taken up by all those empty bottles as well as thick stacks of paper. My mother has never thrown away an empty bottle, a piece of paper, or even a pencil worn down the nub, and I’m not even exaggerating. Sometimes I wonder if she stashes her used toilet paper somewhere.

The smell is almost getting worse. The odor molecules seem to be multiplying, filling my lungs and almost choking me. Can a smell choke you to death? It seems possible while I’m standing in this closet. Mom will be sorry if she comes back and finds me lying dead in the closet. Or would she even notice?

What could it be? It doesn’t really smell like a dead body or anything like that. Not that I know what a dead body smells like, but it’s more of a garbage smell. But it’s also sort of sweet, and that’s the worst part of it. It’s sweet garbage.

I don’t have anything better to do, so I turn around as much as I can, craning my neck to search the closet. The right side is mostly papers, with some of those empty soda bottles stacked on top. I don’t see anything that smells bad. I’m sniffing things, and it’s really hard to tell because the stench is so strong, it’s hard to know if it’s stronger in one place or another. But paper doesn’t usually smell like that. Paper doesn’t rot.

Finally, I check the left side of the closet. Again, there are a lot of papers. But on top of one tower of magazines I spy a grocery bag. And when I look inside, there are peaches. Lots and lots of peaches.

I remember my mom telling me about some sale at the grocery store on peaches, and she got a lot of them because they were so cheap. Practically free. When was that? More than a month ago, for sure. Two months? Three?

As soon as I bring my face closer to the bag of peaches, I know for sure that’s where the smell is coming from. These peaches are rotting. They’re almost liquid. Even worse, I can just barely make out little worms squirming in a puddle of fetid juice.

Holy crap. The whole bag is teeming with larva.

I jump away from the bag, a sick feeling in my chest. I think I’m going to throw up. I am stuck in this closet with peaches that are rotting and growing worms. If the contents of the bag spill over the sides, I swear I’ll lose it. This is not cool. I can’t do this.

Before, I hit the door with the palm of my hand, but this time, I put both fists into it. I pound as hard as I can, hoping my mother hasn’t left the house yet. “Let me out of here!” I holler. “Let! Me! Out!”

Tears spring up in my eyes. This can’t be happening. I can’t spend the next several hours here. I can barely breathe.

“Please let me out!” I scream. “Please! Please!”

I scream and pound on the door for another ten minutes. By the end, my throat is sore, and my fists are throbbing. And the whole time, I don’t hear a sound. My mother has left, and there’s nobody else to hear me.

I don’t know what to do. If my mom is gone, my only chance is to get the attention of a neighbor somehow, which seems pretty unlikely considering my shouting is muffled by the closet, lined with paper and all her other crap. And even if it wasn’t—say the police came and found me in here—then what? The second the police came into this house, they would take me away from my mother.

And I don’t want that. My mom isn’t the best mother in the world, but I don’t want to get taken away from her. I don’t want to live with some pervy foster dad who is always groping at me. Or somebody who beats me for real.

Instead, I sink down in the corner of the closet. She’ll be back before bedtime. In the meantime, I’ll just breathe through my mouth. A smell can’t really kill me. I’ll get out eventually.

16

NOW

CASEY

When we get inside, the girl just stands there, hugging herself and dripping rain all over my floor. She doesn’t make a move to take off her coat. She just stares at me with those big blue eyes that seem to take up half her face.

“I’m Casey,” I tell her as I shake off my own coat, hoping she’ll reciprocate by either telling me her name or at least taking off her jacket.

She gives me a look. Yes, definitely a teenager. “I know. You told me.”

She doesn’t offer her own name. Fine—I can’t force her. She shakes out her hair, which is sopping wet. She also has a bunch of freckles spilling over the bridge of her nose that I never noticed before, but other than that, her face is deathly pale.