Emma Hartley's Arc

Chapter 1 of 4

Emma Hartley pressed Mr. Whiskers to her chin and counted the cracks in the ceiling. Downstairs, her mother's voice broke on a word, and her father slammed something flat against the counter. Emma was seven. She had learned that if she wished hard enough, sometimes the shouting stopped for a night. Tonight she wished her parents would love each other again. Tonight the shouting only got louder. She slid off the little grey bed with the mouse cutouts on the headboard. The floor was cold through her worn sleeper onesie. She held Mr. Whiskers with both hands the way she always did when her chest went tight. Through the lace curtains, the houses across the way glowed yellow and calm, like other families were fine. Emma turned her back on the window. Under the bed was her only plan. She had never made it a real hiding spot before. She got on her knees and lifted the dust ruffle. Something was already there. A girl her size sat cross-legged under the bed. Ink-black, pigtails, a small black mouse in her hands. Two white eyes, wide and scared, blinked at Emma. Emma knew this shape. She had seen it stretched on her wall every night for as long as she could remember. It had never turned its head before. "Don't scream," the shadow said. Her voice was flat and quiet. "I've watched you a long time. I know about the shouting. I won't think about that now." Emma's hands squeezed Mr. Whiskers until her knuckles hurt. Downstairs a door banged. Her mother started to cry. "You want it to stop," the shadow said. "I know a place where wishes work. Come with me before you go thin." Behind the shadow, the floorboards were gone. A black circle had opened where the wood should be, its edge cracked like broken plaster. It swallowed the lamplight. Emma could see nothing inside it, not even the shape of a bottom. Downstairs, something glass hit a wall. Emma flinched. Mr. Whiskers slipped in her grip and she caught him by one ear. The shadow held out her small black hand. She did not smile. She did not promise. She only waited. "Can it fix them?" Emma whispered. "If you wish it there," the shadow said. "Not here. Here nothing works." Emma crawled forward. The dust ruffle brushed her back. She did not take the shadow's hand, but she crawled past her, to the rim of the hole. Up close it smelled like cold basement. She looked down once at her sleeper, at the mouse in her fist, at the yellow line of light under her bedroom door. She tipped forward. The fall was not long. It was not short. Her room was gone above her. Mr. Whiskers pressed to her chin. The dark closed over her head like water, and then it opened again, and she was somewhere else.