Hooray.
* * *
She fell asleep in the middle of Nick and Nora’s Infinite Playlist and woke to the sound of scratching. Joy sat up, clawing at the unfamiliar obstruction over her eye. Then she remembered: Weirdo in the club. Knife. Scratched cornea. Her fingers came away from the latex weave as she adjusted to the idea of being awake.
Alone. Dark. Ditched by Monica. Decent movie. Cold pizza. The TV was a blue screen. The clock said 2:18.
The scratching came again.
Joy threw off the afghan, removing the warmth from her body. The condo felt chilly and very, very empty. The automatic thermostat was set for sixty-two. Energy-saving mode. She shivered and got to her feet, accidentally knocking cold pizza slivers onto the floor. Grumbling, she knelt and tossed them back on the plate, ruffling the thick carpet with her hand to mask the stain.
Making her way to the door, Joy wondered if Dad had lost his keys. Why didn’t he just knock? Her brain waded through the fuzz. That didn’t make sense. She yawned. It was late. Or early. She was too tired to think straight.
The scratching came again. But it was coming from the kitchen window.
Turning around, Joy squinted. The sky outside was a patchwork of blue-orange low-glow. The wind was blowing through the backyard. She could hear it whistling outside. Maybe a branch was scraping the glass?
There was a long, drawn-out scrrrrrrrrrrrick!
A large shadow with glowing eyes loomed in the dark. The eyes were shaped like arrowheads and fiery, electric white.
Joy stumbled.
The eyes slanted in amusement. There was a scratch at the glass again.
Joy’s back hit the wall, her whole body tingling. The kitchen phone was still on the couch, impossibly far away. So was her voice. So was her breath. She stared, quivering.
A large palm pressed flat against the glass, thick fingers ending in points. There were only four of them. The hand flexed and dropped into darkness, but the eyes were still there, burning.
Joy blinked her one eye over and over, gripping the edge of the sliding closet door. She couldn’t be seeing what she was seeing. She wanted to hide behind the coats, but she didn’t dare let the thing out of her sight. If it didn’t stay where she could see it, it could be anywhere.
Wake up, she told herself. Wake up, Joy!
The eyes narrowed. The claw reappeared and thumped dully against the glass. Once. Twice.
Joy could feel her head shaking. No no no no. Her fingers gripped the fake wood. No—go away!
The heavy hand retreated and reappeared as a fist. It struck casually, with a little more force. The window shivered. Sealant creaked. She watched the hand draw back again and slam down, spiderwebbing the first double pane.
Joy screamed on the third impact. Screamed again when the web spread. Her heart skittered as a single gray talon tapped the splintered glass, skipping on a shard or jag, white light shimmering as the finger drew words:
Joy stared at the words as they slowly flickered and died. The eyes and their owner faded from sight.
She wanted to move, bolt for her room or the couch or the phone and 911.
Smack! A bulbous nose plastered itself against the window. Joy shrieked and grabbed the flashlight out of the closet. She threw it at the broken window, knocking the light over the sink. The hanging lamp swung wildly, throwing erratic light and shadow.
The monster laughed, lips peeling back over fat brown tusks, and slid its tongue recklessly over the shards. The mouth opened wider. Its tongue curled and shot forward, shattering a waterfall of glass.
Joy sprinted for the couch. Laughter followed her like a rusty saw through wood. She dove, clearing the cushions, tucking smoothly into a tight, upward crouch. Her fingers shook as she grabbed the phone and dialed, botching the numbers. Joy hung up, swearing, and glanced back at the window.
Nothing.
She froze.
Joy glanced around, breathing hard.
Where was it?
She squeezed the phone, shaking, refusing to let go. Behind the patch, her eye burned, salt tears stinging. She was dreaming. Wasn’t she dreaming? She’d been watching old movies. She’d fallen asleep. It could have been a nightmare.
Joy peeked over the couch into the kitchen. The window wasn’t webbed in shattered glass. It reflected nothing but shadows and the light above the sink.
She sank back and blinked her one good eye, feeling her heart pound. Had she just woken up? Had she grabbed the phone, half-asleep? Her body tingled with leftover adrenaline splash.
Vaguely wondering if she had subconsciously picked up some horror movie preview, she dropped the phone, glad that she hadn’t dialed an emergency operator in her sleep. Joy rubbed her patch. She’d had one too many emergencies lately, thanks.
She shook out her hands and checked the clock: 2:29. Joy shivered and wondered what Dad was doing out so late. She grabbed the pizza plate—something for her hands to do—and went to dump it in the sink.
Froze.
There were shards of broken glass in the four corners of the window, like jagged photo holders.
One pane left.
The plate shattered against the floor as Joy grabbed the phone and called her dad’s cell.
CHAPTER TWO
JOY GAVE THE same statement for the third time, bundled in a sweatshirt and her tea growing cold. She kept forgetting to drink it. She held the mug in her hands, letting the warmth seep in. She said she’d seen a “monster face” at the window and had thrown the flashlight at it, but decided not to mention the words written in light. She remembered hearing stories of her great-grandmother seeing things, and they’d ended up putting her in an asylum. The idea of being crazy had haunted Joy throughout her childhood.
“Could’ve been a prank,” the officer said. “Someone wearing a Halloween mask. Having any problems at school, Joy?”
“No.”
“Anyone bothering you on the bus? On your way home?”
Joy rotated the #1 Dad mug in her hands. “No,” she said and took a lukewarm sip.
“What happened to your eye?”
Her father glanced up at the question, too.
She set the mug down, not liking to link the two things together. “I got a scratched cornea at the Carousel—a splinter, I think. I was looking up when something fell.” Joy pointed at the patch. “I have to wear this thing for two more days.”
The officer glanced at her, then Dad, forehead crinkled in a what-can-you-do ripple. He dug into his pocket and held out a business card. “Well, we didn’t find anything out of the ordinary outside. We’ve got your statement. If you remember anything else you want to add, my number’s on the card. Feel free to give me a call.” He handed the card to Joy’s father, who nodded.
“Thank you, Officer Castrodad,” he said with a firm handshake. “I appreciate you coming out.”
The policeman nodded. “Just doing my job.” He cast a last look at Joy, who hid her face behind the cheap ceramic cup. “Mr. Malone. Joy.” The officer let himself out.
Her father flipped the card onto the table and took a stroll around the room.
“Well, that was some excitement,” he said, setting his hands on his hips. “You certainly got my attention.”
Joy