Night unfurled with a strain of hopeless sobs.
"They'll take you because of me. I won't be able to stop it. Because...you're his…you'll always be his…"
A young hand stroked the curls of her mother's hair.
"As long as you're here," promised her daughter's whisper, "I'll never go to Haddonfield. I'll never leave you."
XXX
Adorning the walls were strung stuffed animals, beady black beseeching eyes followed her path about the room. Suspended above the window, sunset curtains swept the floor — cold and dusty as her desk, white and chipped, pushed into the corner of the room, between two bookcases stocked with nursery rhymes and fairytales unread.
This room was intended for a younger occupant, but the air of it smelled old like forgetfulness and neglect.
It was a telling enough sign that no one had entered this room since the divorce and she hated the subtle reminder of it.
Carmen Doe warily noted the floorboards creak under her weight. Though the sound worried her, she stepped deeper into her room, hauling her heavy suitcase onto an upholstered bench located under the window. Below, a clear view of the ghost—quiet street of Cherry Fir Lane presented itself to her.
A plume of dust tickled her nostrils as she set down her suitcase. Carmen sneezed once. Twice. Before a third, she heard a familiar whine of wood and spun around with a yelp.
Her eyes riveted on her father's stalky form. The thinning of hair near his temples said clearly he was well into his fifties. It occurred to her now that she didn't know his age.
"Whoa whoa there, kiddo. It's just me," he raised his hands in a calming manner, gray eyes fabricated amusement.
"I know…" she said after her heart steadied.
Her father smiled at her and cast a fond glance about the room. "Could've changed up the room but I didn't quite have the heart to get rid the little girl who was still too young to play with her dolls." She saw him turn in the direction of her desk. Though she couldn't see his face, she knew he was frowning by the exaggerated slope of his shoulders and wondered if it would've mirrored hers.
"God, I haven't touched this room since…" He paused, containing a sigh, then said, "Well, since you and your mother left."
Something twisted in Carmen's chest and quickly she unclipped her suitcase. It always calmed her when her hands were moving. "I'm here now," Carmen croaked as she undid the straps securing her clothes.
"Your mother would want this," he said.
It wasn't the truth yet, Carmen couldn't find the words to disagree — it would be meaningless to try.
"Come on, kiddo," he said as he ruffled her hair. "Get settled in and we can head out for dinner. Maybe, buy some things for your room if the stores haven't closed yet."
Carmen laid out her belongings on her bed, separating the categories of her clothes in stacks. Pants. Blouses. Dresses. All those clothes with so many colors. But, red stood out to her the most. It was, after all, the color of the rose she'd dropped into her mother's grave.
Her hands stilled as parts of her concentration fell away, bit by bit until nothing could hold back the tears spilling down her cheeks.
She hadn't noticed his closeness until her father's hand clapped over her shoulder.
"I know you miss her." He said as gently as he could. " I do too, Carmen."
Yet even that didn't reassure her.
Because she was alone in a place where her dead mother never wanted her to be.
Never go to Haddonfield.