Her mother was all smiles and hugs when she answered the door, but Lisa could sense the resentment lingering beneath the greetings. It had been five years since they spoke in person, nearly fifteen since they’d been together under this roof. Lisa crossed the threshold, her mother’s welcoming hand upon her shoulder, and could immediately feel the moisture forming on her palms. She took a deep breath and tried not to let her voice waver.
“I love the new color in here, and the sconces!”
Gina, an expert in small talk who had taught her daughter well, resisted the urge to snap back. The redecorating in question was a decade ago, and seemed an audacious way to make conversation.
“I’m glad you like it, dear. You know this house always needs more light.”
They did a bit of catching up, as much as they could, sharing little in common but unhealed wounds and a tenuous relationship with the dead man behind this funereal reunion. More people would arrive in the morning, but for now, the only option was mutual discomfort. Tightly held tongues over sips of Earl Grey.
Lisa squirmed as talk turned to the inevitable, crossing her legs on the floral sofa and glancing at the staircase that led to the second story. All those years ago, her departure was marked with trauma, the first step of many toward therapy, repressed memory, and a divorce-borne exodus that fractured the family. Gina was gentle in broaching the topic, or tried to be.
“So, how are you sleeping?”
The floorboards seemed to lurch, the tea catching in Lisa’s throat. She gave a graceful nonanswer, some brief mention of restfullness in her apartment on the other side of the state, and urgently changed the subject. Gina smoothed her skirt and didn’t press the issue. In an attempt to bridge the emotional distance between them, they talked of church groups, soup recipes, and innocuous gossip as the sun drifted westward into dusk. All the while, Lisa eyed the staircase, and fought to ignore the vague sensation of insects inside her skin.
Night fell, and the armada of lamps scattered across the house did their best to combat the impending shadows.
For all her parenting flaws, at least Gina remembered to stave off the darkness for her daughter’s sake, even if she doubted the reasoning. The hands of the grandfather clock in the entryway ticked forward with a mechanical thud, and the soft sound of the chimes, eleven in total, told Gina it was time for bed. She gathered the teacups and saucers, locked the doors, and made her way to the staircase. Halfway up, she stopped and looked down at her daughter still sitting nervously on the sofa.
“I know it’s odd to be back here, sweetie. Plenty of hurt to process. Let’s try to get through this for your father, for his memory. He chose you over me once, and I’ve had to forgive him for that. Your room is all made up for you. Maybe this is a chance to face some old fears, like the doctor said you should.”
Lisa said nothing as her mother ascended the remaining stairs, fragments of painful memories stealing away any response she may have had. After an hour of mustering her courage, her eyelids heavy and her body weary from travel, she rose from the sofa and approached the stairs with her suitcase in tow.
Outside of the door to her childhood bedroom, she paused to let her heart rate slow. Standing next to the nightlight casting an orange glow against her ankles, she thought of the last time she left this room. Her mother had been shouting, her father frantically packing essentials. Even then, Lisa knew neither of her parents believed her, but paternal protection outweighed the outrageousness of her claims. He didn’t have to believe her. Her nightly screams were enough. When the bruises began to show up and Gina blamed teenage angst, too many scary movies, anything to divert the focus from Lisa’s proverbial monster in the closet, the troubled father could take no more.
It was a Sunday morning when they left, and Lisa hadn’t slept in a week.
She cracked open the door and took a hesitant step into the room. Things were mostly as she remembered, though the posters on the wall had long been removed, and as she took another step forward, her skin prickled with gooseflesh. With both lamps on and the closet lock secured in place, Lisa stretched out on the bed she hadn’t touched since her last sleepless night. She spoke to herself aloud, conjuring reassurances learned from hundreds of hours of professional care.
“Tricks of the mind are powerful, but I am stronger than my fear. I have a condition that wants to break me, but I am in control. It’s all in your head. It’s all in your head. It’s all in your head. Closure is created by bravery.”
She pulled the covers over her heaving, hyperventilating chest and stared at the ceiling, reciting the words of numerous therapists who thought the only danger was Lisa herself. She wanted to believe them, but as the lights flickered and the room’s temperature dropped, Lisa knew that her courage had only led back to a curse.
She thought of her father, of how angry he would be that she returned to this place after all he sacrificed to save her, and felt a familiar thump on the underside of the mattress.