There’s Something That Haunts My Hometown, And I’m Terrified What Will Happen If They Ever Find Me

When my father came home, he and my mother would immediately begin locking up. My grandparents always came to spend the night with us. I would sit in the living room with them and watch as my parents went about their careful procedure.

My father would carefully lock each and every door and window in the house. My mother would follow him, double checking each lock and crossing them off a list she carried. When they were done, they would make another sweep of the house, my father triple checking the locks, and my mother pulling down the blinds and closing the curtains. Then they would place a steel plate over the fireplace, screwing it in with practiced ease, and do the same to the front and back doors. In the morning, they were removed and put back in the attic.

The nights were most awful during winter. Not being able to light up the fireplace meant that the only way to keep warm was to bundle up in blankets, which never felt like they were enough, even with six of them piled on top of us.

After the locking ceremony, we’d gather in the living room, closing that door also, and wait out the night. We could talk, but not very loudly. No one usually felt like talking, anyway. We could sleep, but it was rare that anyone actually felt relaxed enough to even try. We always opened the sofa bed, though, to spare my grandparents’ backs if they wanted to. They never did. We were all too tense, jumping at every slight noise – if the furniture made a cracking sound, we’d almost have a collective heart attack. A sneeze could induce a panic attack.