September 19, 2015

“The walls grew closer together. No matter where we went, mother was always there. She breathed over us. If we entered our rooms, mother lurked directly behind the door, her back to the shadowed wall. If we went into the bathroom, mother was already crouched in the bathtub, the curtains drawn around the rim, concealing her. If we thought it might be nice to take a nap in the middle of the afternoon, mother was in the attic, walking back and forth overhead, her steps falling so heavily that the floorboards seemed to crack. In the basement where we played hide-and-seek, mother stood on the clothes dryer, looming over us all. As we came up and down the stairs, she stood beneath the staircase so that we could glimpse her between the spaces in the wood. Mother bared her teeth when she grinned.”

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