windowpane. She had lots of picture books. Princesses and cuddly animals and little girls running and playing. She liked the pictures of the little girls. They made her hungry.
When Mother was asleep, Emily slipped out her window and went out into garden. The air was chilly and moist and she liked it. On her hands and knees, she dug George up and he was nice and cold. And very yummy. Especially the meat of his throat and all the stuff inside his belly. When she was done, Emily covered him back up because she understood that certain things-like lunch and supper and breakfast-had to be kept secret.
Emily liked secrets.
She knew lots of things other people didn’t.
But she would never tell.
*
The next few days, Emily and Mother settled into their new life together. It was not exactly like it was before. But Emily did not mind. She liked to watch Mother and her craziness. The way she talked when there was no one in the room and the way she sometimes cried. Her eyes were very red and her hands shook. Sometimes she would look at Emily like she was disgusted and other times she would look at her like she was afraid of her. Emily did not mind, because Mother kept telling her that she loved her and Emily believed her.
Mother took a lot of pills and drank from one of George’s bottles of whiskey. She had quit smoking last year because Emily had asked her to, because smoking could kill you, they said at school. At the time, Emily did not want Mother to die, but now that did not seem like a bad thing. It was a fun thing, really. Regardless, Mother was smoking again. She smoked one cigarette after the other and when the phone rang, she sometimes cried out. She would answer it, but her voice was always very funny. Emily went to answer it once herself, but Mother stopped her just in time.
Still, there were fun games to play.
Mother told Emily that if someone came to the door, she was to go hide down in the cellar. Emily had never liked the cellar. Especially the old coal bin with its dirt floor and dank smell and stone walls threaded with spider webs. But the new Emily liked it just fine. She spent a lot of time in the coal bin. The door was big and heavy and it creaked when you opened it. Just like a crypt. Emily liked to play down there. She liked to pretend that it was her tomb. She would lay on the dirt floor and cross her arms over her chest just like dead people on TV. She dug herself a grave and sometimes she laid in it. She took her old dolls down there and buried them too.
It was great fun.
Those first few days people came and went. Emily’s funeral had been ten days before, but still the people came. They still brought cards and casseroles, plates of ham and pies. So much that Mother started throwing it away. She rarely ever ate and then only when her head was spinning and she couldn’t stand up. She told Emily that she had no appetite.
So sometimes Emily would hide in her tomb in the cellar-a place Mother would not go, which was good because Emily had buried some parts of George down there which were getting green and delicious-smelling-or sometimes in the spare room upstairs when people came to visit. Then she would watch them leave through the parted curtains. Mother told her not to do that, but Emily liked to. One time, when Aunt Doris stopped by, Emily had been watching her leave through the curtains and Doris had looked up and saw her. At least, Emily thought so. Doris took one look and ran to her car and did not come back.
But Emily did not tell Mother about that.
And she didn’t tell her about the kids in the neighborhood. She liked to watch them through the curtains, too. Mother would not let her go out and play with them. She said Emily was sick. Maybe another day. But Mother was lying and Emily knew it. So she just watched the kids. She knew all of them, used to play with them. Sometimes Missy Johnson from down the street, Emily’s old best friend, would ride her bike past the house and look up at it. A couple times she stopped out front and just stared. Then she rode away fast. Emily knew Missy was crying. Missy was sad because Emily was dead. Emily thought that was funny.
But Emily was getting sick of staying in the house.
She wanted to go out. She wanted to see her friends and tell them all the secrets she knew. They would like that.
But Mother made her stay inside, so she played alone and listened to the people passing by on the walks. The mailman and the neighbors, her friends riding their bikes and rollerblading and skipping and singing songs. She wanted to skip and sing with them. Next door, she could hear a baby crying. It was Mrs. Lee’s new baby that had been born just a couple weeks before Emily’s funeral. Emily liked to listen to it cry. She had always liked babies. She still liked them…but for other reasons.
She wished she had a baby of her own.
A fat, squealing, pink little baby to play with.
Maybe one night, Emily would go over there and play with it.
*
Nearly two weeks after Emily had been out of her grave, the house was filled with flies. They were attracted by Emily’s special smell and despite all the sponge baths and perfuming Mother did, that smell remained. Finally, when some of Emily’s skin came off in the tub, Mother stopped doing that. She just got used to the flies. Emily didn’t mind them. They liked to cover her like a blanket, always buzzing and nipping. Sometimes when she opened her mouth, flies flew out. There were things burrowing under Emily’s skin, too. Some were in too deep for her to get at, but others were close to the skin and she could dig them out with her nails. There had been a big swollen spot at the side of Emily’s neck and when she scratched it open, dozens of fat white worms came squirming out. Emily kept them in a jar, but they died.
Mother spent a lot of time out of the house.
Usually when she came back she was drunk. She was worried about George, she said, because people were starting to ask questions about him and there might be trouble if they didn’t stop.
But Emily didn’t care about that.
There wasn’t much of George left now. Just some bones and scraps and Emily was getting hungry again.
When Mother was gone, sometimes Emily would put on dress-up clothes and look at herself in the mirror. Feather boas and tiaras, wedding gowns and long evening coats that did not fit very well. Emily was no longer just white, she was gray now. There were patches of furry stuff growing up her cheeks and around her neck. It itched something terrible. Sometimes when she combed her hair, locks of it would come out. There were lots of white squirmy things in her scalp.
One afternoon, while Emily was alone, there was a knock at the door.
She hid upstairs. Whoever it was just wouldn’t go away. They finally opened the door and came in. It was Aunt Doris. “Liz? Liz, are you here?” she called out. She waited for an answer but didn’t get one. But she didn’t leave. She just walked around and Emily could hear her saying things about the smell in the house, the flies, and the mess.
Emily hid at the top of the stairs, watching her.
But Aunt Doris must have heard her, because she turned around and said, “Liz? Liz, is that you?” No answer again. Emily giggled, even though she did not mean to. Doris just stood there. “Is someone there? Who’s up there?”
Emily ran off to hide.
Doris came up the steps and Emily could smell the fear on her. It was getting so that she liked that odor. It made her hungry. It was like good odors coming out of the kitchen when supper was cooking in the old days. Emily remembered that she had never really liked Aunt Doris. She was always pinching Emily’s cheeks and kissing her and her breath always smelled like garlic and her perfume was just awful. It would linger in the house for hours. Mother sometimes called Aunt Doris a “no-good nosey Nelly.” Emily had thought that was funny.
But now she understood.
Aunt Doris was being nosey. She had no business here, but she came anyway. So Emily waited in the hall closet for her. She tried not to giggle, but it was not easy. Aunt Doris was walking back and forth, looking in rooms. Emily could still smell the fear on her. It was a thick, sour yellow odor that Doris was not even aware of. She walked around, muttering things to herself. Emily hid in the darkness. It was like playing hide-and-seek. She wondered if Aunt Doris liked hide-and-seek. Smiling, Emily rattled her fingers on the inside of the closet door.
