IT WAS DRAFTY behind the TV, Jemma thought. The air whooshed back and forth passed her, flying down the small, alley-like area behind the television. It chilled her skin and blew her bright red hair about her face. Jemma rubbed her arms lightly and glanced around the end of the TV stand. The living room looked the same as it always did.
Footsteps started and Jemma hurried to duck back behind the TV before she was seen. This added a boost to the draft-air and goosebumps raised on her arms. She crossed her arms across her chest firmly and stared at the wall mere inches in front of her face. The footsteps came into the living room and Jemma held her breath, trying to be as quiet as possible. This was the best place she could think of to hide, there was no way she'd be found.
The footsteps stopped, probably in the middle of the room. Jemma swallowed and glanced at the cables that jutted out from the back of the TV. Don't look behind the TV, Jemma chanted silently, don't look behind the TV. When the footsteps started up again, they headed away from her. Once they'd faded completely, Jemma let out a breath and slumped against the television stand. She hadn't been found.
She grinned and stared at the cables since there was nothing else to look at. After a few minutes, her relief was replaced by boredom. She didn't hear searching anymore and no one was calling her name. Where had she disappeared to? Jemma frowned, her hand fiddling with a cable while she thought. What was the point of hiding if no one could find you? Was anyone even looking now?
Realizing what she was messing with, Jemma dropped the cable and wrapped her arms around her legs. She'd give her a few more minutes, just in case.
After what felt like an eternity passed, but was in actuality ten minutes, Jemma gave up. Playing hide-and-seek was her favorite past time, but if she couldn't even be found, it was no fun. Next time, she decided, she was going to hide in a worse spot. It didn't matter if the game was meant for you to stay hidden, she didn't want to stay hidden. She wanted to be found, to laugh and play some more, and to be the seeker. She couldn't be the seeker if she was the hider.
She clambered out from behind the TV, tripping on a few wires that had curled themselves around her ankles. She struggled to release her ankles and then bounced to her feet, wiping dust off of her favorite dress that her mother only allowed her to wear during spring. The air was still chilly.
Jemma started across the living room, giving the coffee table a wide berth. It wasn't very nice. One time, she'd been playing with her daddy and the rug had grabbed onto her toes. She'd landed head-first on a corner of the coffee table and it had laughed while the rug had screamed apologies. After that, she'd held a grudge against the coffee table and the coffee table didn't mind one bit. It hated her, too.
The rug tickled the bottom of her feet as she crossed it and the couch murmured a hearty hello. Jemma skipped passed it and winced when the hardwood that the rug was concealing started chattering away. The floor was what her mommy would call a “Chatty Kathy”. When you passed over it, it wouldn't shut up. Maybe it was lonely, Jemma thought. She couldn't find it in herself to care.
She stopped in the doorway to the kitchen. “Mommy,” she whined, stamping her foot once. “You forgot about me!”
Denise Niks turned and looked at her five-year-old daughter. “What?” she asked, baffled. “Jemma, I would never forget about you.”
Jemma's eyes narrowed accusingly on the cooking spoon in her mother's hand and her bottom lip jutted out as she pouted. “Yes,” she insisted, crossing her arms. “You forgot about finding me.”
The cooking spoon clacked as it hit the counter and Denise crouched in front of her daughter. “Jemma,” she murmured, “I haven't, nor will I ever, forget about you.”
A small, indignant noise left Jemma's throat. “That's not what I mean,” she snapped, glaring at her mother.
“Excuse me? I don't think I like your tone, young lady.” Denise frowned at her daughter, wary. Jemma had never acted like this before.
Jemma screamed in frustration. “No,” she shouted, shaking her head wildly. “No, you aren't understanding.” Big crocodile tears slid down her cheeks. “You forgot about finding me!”
Denise sighed, she could hear her husband coming down the hall. “What are you talking about?” she asked, desperate to find the answer before Ben got to the kitchen and lost his temper. “Jemma, you're right, I don't understand. Explain it to me, yeah?”
Jemma sniffled, her tears slowing as she stared at her mother. Before she could say something else, though, her father came into the room.
“What's going on?” Ben asked, staring at his two girls in the doorway to the kitchen.
“Shh,” Denise muttered curtly, rubbing her hands up and down Jemma's arms. “What, Jemma?”
“We were playing hide-and-seek,” Jemma said pathetically, staring down at her feet. Her tears had stopped and now she just felt tired.
Denise pressed her lips together and stared at the top of her daughter's head. “We were?” she asked. Even though she was getting too big for it, Denise grabbed Jemma underneath her arms and hoisted her onto her hip. Jemma nodded. “Are you sure we knew that?”
Jemma shook her head. “Daddy wasn't playing,” she muttered, messing with the ends of her hair. It was a nervous habit of hers. “He was working. But you were playing with me, you knew.”
Denise glanced over at Ben and their eyes connected. Ben sighed and ran a hand over the top of Jemma's head before taking her from his wife. “C'mere, kiddo,” he said, smiling crookedly. “Let's let your mother finish dinner, okay? We can go play a game or something.”
Jemma stared at her father blankly and nodded, leaning her head against his shoulder. Ben looked at his wife again and shook his head slightly, disappearing back down the hall.
Fifteen minutes later, all three of them were situated around the big people's table. Jemma sat facing the window-wall, both of her parents on either side of her. Sat wasn't the right word for what Jemma was doing, though. Since she was still so small, she had to sit on her knees to be able to eat properly. Her fork clacked against her plate as she scooped up some of her food.
“Hey, everything all right, kiddo?” her daddy asked after a few minutes of silence had gone by.
“Yeth,” Jemma said around a mouthful of food.
“Jemma, don't speak with your mouth full,” Denise reprimanded, smiling slightly. She sighed and set down her silverware. “I'm sorry about forgetting about our game, Jemma.”
Jemma shrugged and scooped more food into her mouth. She didn't feel like talking about it. As she munched away on her dinner, she glanced up at her reflection in the window. It was too dark to see outside, but she could see herself from the mid of her stomach up. Her long red hair was almost in her food. She pushed it behind her shoulders as lightning flashed outside.
The lightning revealed a figure standing outside and her fork clattered onto her plate. Jemma's eyes widened and she gasped, her hands slamming down on the table as she screamed.
“Jemma?” Denise exclaimed, reaching for her daughter's hand. “Jemma, what's wrong? Talk to me, baby.”
The lightning had disappeared, but the figure was burned into her mind. Tears pricked her eyes as she struggled to breathe, to erase the image from her mind. She didn't want to see how white the figure had been, or how there were pits where his eyes should've been. He was also missing a nose and his expression was stuck in a perpetual grin, like he found everything funny. But he didn't, even without eyes to convey that, Jemma knew. He didn't find anything funny.
Jemma hiccuped. “M-mommy,” she stuttered, clutching at Denise's hand. “Mommy, someone's out there.”
“What?” Denise exclaimed, glancing out the window. She couldn't see anything, of course, except for her family's reflection. “Jemma, are you sure?”
Jemma opened her mouth to confirm what she'd said, but something splattered onto her face. She flinched and looked over at her father, but he was laying face-down in his food. Even though she could see the hole in the back of his head, Jemma couldn't help thinking how odd of a time he had picked to take a nap.
“Ben?” Denise exclaimed. There was something in her voice that Jemma didn't recognize. “Ben!”
Jemma was still staring at her father. Her young mind wasn't comprehending what she was seeing, just telling her that her father had decided to take a nap in his food. Her mouth was still open and her face was starting to feel sticky.
Suddenly, her hand that was gripping her mother's was being pulled. “Jemma, get under the table,” Denise demanded, her voice too high and too breathy.
Hearing the panicked tone in her mother's voice, Jemma's heart finally began to speed up. “Mommy, what's going on?” she asked, climbing down from her chair and ducking under the table. “Why is Daddy sleeping in his food?”
“Shh, baby,” Denise murmured. Tears were streaking down her cheeks. “Just stay down and be quiet.” She pulled Jemma in for a tight hug. “Just be quiet, baby.”
Tears were streaming down Jemma's cheeks now, but she couldn't understand why. What was going on? She opened her mouth to ask again, but her mother shook her head. Denise put a finger to her lips and then moved out from under the table. Jemma watched her mother's legs in confusion, watching her hurry to the stove. Before she even got there, though, she fell to the ground.
Five, bloody welts were blooming on her back.
It clicked suddenly, what was happening. Jemma gasped and pushed her hands against her mouth, muffling the scream that still managed to escape. Mommy had said to stay quiet, but it was so hard. Crying quietly, she moved her hands to her ears and pressed hard, trying to block out all sounds. She squeezed her eyes shut and rocked back and forth underneath the table.
Just playing hide-and-seek, she thought. Stars were dancing in her vision now. Just playing hide-and-seek, and you're the champion, Jemma. You're the champion...
The man in the window flashed in her mind again.