Page 14 of The House of Quiet

Chapter Ten

An Unquiet Sleep

Cook and a man sit in a meadow. She’s nearly unrecognizable.

Gone are the lines gouged into her face by time and strain.

Her hair is thick and dark, her jawline firm.

Between them is a child. Their posture is angled toward her, shielding her, looking only at each other and their girl.

Which is important, because all around them on the edges of the meadow, unseen children are crying and screaming and begging for help.

“Would you like cake?” Cook asks, stroking the girl’s hair.

But Cook’s gaze isn’t filled with love. It’s filled with desperation.

“Tell Mum what you want, love. Anything for my little mouse. Anything.” Cook keeps whispering anything over and over like she’s trying to drown out the sound of suffering and terror all around them.

But the cries are inescapable. They threaten to swallow everything, to take over.

With a sickening ripping sensation, at last another dream appears.

It’s not much better. A girl with freckles and a scar like a chalk line through her eyebrow is carried past. She’s covering her ears, screaming and incoherent with pain.

The House Wife rushes forward and takes her into her arms, carrying her gently back toward her room.

Lake watches it all happen, curious.

“She has hair like yours,” Lake says to the maid Birdie, who is suddenly standing next to the girl. Birdie doesn’t answer.

“Are you dead?” Lake asks. “Or are you not even here yet?”

“Lake, honestly.” Birdie sets down an armful of sheets and takes Lake’s hand. “Let’s get you set up with Dawn and Nimbus. I have too much to do today to keep an eye on you. I’m sorry.”

“Arrow has a knife.” Lake watches as Minnow, covered in blood, walks past them. Right through Birdie.

“If I meet an arrow, I’ll be careful,” Birdie says.

“You already have.” Lake throws her hands in the air, exasperated. “Being stuck makes everyone so stupid . It’s exhausting.”

And then Birdie’s gone, as are the walls and the house. It’s just a vast and empty bog. But Lake is still there. She sits where she is, contentedly humming to herself. “It’s peaceful before everyone gets here,” she says, turning and staring, inviting conversation. “Don’t you agree?”

It is peaceful. So peaceful the dream can’t be held on to. Relaxing is always a bad idea.

Back in the shed. Not the kittens again. But this time Rabbit sits on the floor, glassy-eyed, petting the stationary creatures. Everything is muted, like the world has been padded with cotton. There’s none of the fear or frantic energy of last time. Rabbit doesn’t need help.

Does she?

A red circle appears behind her.

No. No no no, not that. Not that.

It’s brilliant and burning, getting closer and closer. The darkness and the crying were bad, but this is worse. It’s so much worse. The red circle will swallow everything. It’s not Rabbit’s dream. It’s not anyone’s dream.

A dream without a dreamer. And now it knows someone’s here, and it doesn’t want to let go. It doesn’t want to let any of them go.