Casper Holloway's Arc

Chapter 1 of 2

Casper had learned to vanish before they learned to walk. At midnight the shadowy figure came, tall and slow, leaning over the crib rail with a face Casper never saw. So Casper did the one trick that worked. They held their breath and disappeared. Their hands faded first, then their fat little legs. But tonight the figure did not leave. It reached into the crib and swept its cold fingers through the empty air, searching. That was the problem. Casper could turn invisible. Casper could not climb. The crib walls rose high above their head, smooth wood with no gap to squeeze through. Even unseen, Casper was trapped in a small square box, and the figure knew it. The hand swung closer, brushing the mattress where Casper lay flat. Invisibility hid their body. It did not move their body out of reach. Casper's foot bumped something soft. The old teddy bear, its seams torn and its fur worn thin, wedged in the corner. And under it, folded thick, lay the quilt their grandmother had stitched. Faded flower squares. Soft gingham patches. Casper had slept under it every night. An idea formed, clumsy and quick. Casper grabbed the quilt's edge with both fists and dragged it over their whole body. The heavy cloth settled. Casper went still beneath it. The figure's hand landed on the lump and pressed down, feeling the shape of the quilt. It felt only fabric. Casper stayed invisible, but the quilt hid the last thing invisibility could not — the dent their weight made in the mattress. The hand paused. It patted the crib again, confused, finding a blanket where a baby should be. But Casper was still stuck in the crib. Hiding was not escaping. So Casper worked their small arms and pushed the teddy bear up the crib wall, wedging it against the rail. Then they climbed onto the bear's soft body, still hidden under the quilt, and stretched one hand toward the latch that dropped the crib side. The latch clicked. The side of the crib swung down with a bang. Casper tumbled out, wrapped in the quilt, and hit the nursery floor. Rows of young plants lined the shelves around them, their leaves grey in the dark. Casper scrambled under a low table, still bundled, still unseen. Above, the figure straightened. It stared at the open crib, at the empty mattress, at the bear lying on the floor. For the first time it had lost them. It turned, slow, and began to move through the nursery, hunting where Casper had gone. Casper had escaped the crib. Now they were loose in the dark room, wrapped in a quilt they could not drop, with the figure between them and the door.