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July 31, 1968—Coram House

Tommy

It’s dark. Not outside. Outside there’s a full moon. The gravestones glow white on the black grass so they look like they’re floating. Some stones are so old you can barely read them. One just says Baby on it. Like they didn’t care enough to give him a name.

Outside is noisy with summer sounds. The crickets are singing like crazy. In here, the only sound is breathing, which should be quiet, but there are too many of us. And anyways, the quiet doesn’t mean anything. Something could still be waiting in the dark. Listening for me to get out of bed just like I’m listening for it.

I pull the blanket up to my chin, even though I’m sticky with hot. But it doesn’t help. The darkness is inside already. I can feel it coming from all the scary places. Under the beds. Inside the cabinet with the door that never latches.

It’s all the new kid’s fault. He brought it in with him. The darkness. He says it’s slimy and slithery with sharp teeth. He says it lives in the lake but I can feel it breathing. It’s inside Coram House. I know it is. I try so hard not to think about it. Because I really have to pee. But I can’t put my legs down on the ground. Can’t walk through all that dark to get to the bathroom.

It’s just like today at the beach. Sister Cecile told me to get in the water with the others. I tried, but all I could think of was what was waiting in the down deep. Swimming and waiting. And I couldn’t move. I tried. I really did. There is no can’t in the eyes of our Lord , Sister Cecile said, right before she said I’ll deal with you tomorrow in a voice that made my skin get goose bumps.

No, I wanted to say. Tomorrow, we’re going to build a fort. Deep in the woods with branches for a roof and sticky sap for glue. Or maybe burn out a hollow tree like the kid in that book. Catch one of the falcons that nests on the cliffs and teach it to hunt rabbits. It will be far away. So deep that no one will ever find us. Tomorrow we’re going to do it. Or maybe not tomorrow but a tomorrow that comes after that. One of these tomorrows, we’ll do it.