with her large brown eyes and said, “It’s okay. She won’t say either.”
Something tightened. I kind of laughed. “Well, babies can’t talk yet,” I answered carelessly. “But what kind of secrets?”
Her response was delayed. Hopped from the chair after kissing her sister’s forehead. “I’m hungry,” she said. “Can I have a cookie?”
Could have been nothing. A strange child thing. Lina was creative. She imagined a dragon called Toffee and thought clouds were God’s pillows. She stated it in a manner that raised questions in my mind.
I didn’t talk to James that night. His workload was already high with Lina, myself, and the baby. No need for odd child whispering.
Our daughter Elsie arrived two days later. Lina made the ideal older sister. She brought diapers, sung lullabies, and reprimanded her toy giraffe for being too noisy while the baby dozed.
However, she never referenced “secrets” again. No time soon.
Up to two months later. Lina played with her dollhouse in the living room on a wet Tuesday. While breastfeeding Elsie on the sofa, half-asleep, I heard her chatting.
No, we don’t tell Daddy. So goes the rule.”
Her back to me, dolls in each hand, she spoke firmly.
“Why not tell Daddy?” Sitting up, I asked.
She turned swiftly. Too quick. Like I caught her doing something wrong. “Nothing! Doll stuff.”
I said, “Hmm,” casually. “You have many doll rules.”
“They have to follow them,” she remarked, leaving for her chamber.
I told James that night after the girls were sleeping.
“She keeps saying about not telling you things,” I added, dropping my voice.
He frowned. “Like what?”
“No idea. ‘Secrets.’ And Elsie would keep them, she insisted. Today, she warned her dolls not to tell you.”
James laughed. The girl is four. She probably meant ‘I had an extra cookie’ or ‘I didn’t clean my teeth.’”
“Yes,” I answered. “Probably.”
It still seemed wrong.
A week later, I heard her talking to Elsie. They lay on a backyard blanket. Watering the hydrangeas. I approached, pretending to examine the plants, and she said, “Remember, if Daddy asks, we say the monster only comes when he’s not home.”
My heart stopped.
Walking over, I said, “Lina.” “What monster?”
She stared at me, surprised again. Just a pretense. For our game.”
“You said it only happens when Daddy’s away.”
“Yeah. Those are our heroic days. We fight.”
Sitting alongside her, I tried to be cool. “What does this monster look like?”
She shrugged. “Tall. Shadowy. No face. It sometimes bangs windows. Sometimes it hides in the kitchen.”
Forced a grin. “Quite an imagination.”
“Elsie sees it too,” she replied, caressing her sister’s belly.
I scarcely slept that night. James worked two evenings a week at a call center. Did for years. As I lay awake, I replayed every whisper Lina uttered.
I asked subtle inquiries. Not pushy. Just “Hey sweetie, do you ever hear weird noises when Daddy’s gone?” “What games do you and Elsie play when Mommy showers?”
She responded with stuff like talking lights and flying socks. Other times, she was silent. Or switch topics.
I installed a hallway baby monitor with night vision and motion sensors. James believed I was overprotective.
Maybe I was.
But three nights later, I saw something.
Around 11 p.m. She was fussing, so I watched the monitor for her to relax. The corridor was dark. All doors closed. I saw Lina.
She stood outside our bedroom. Wearing nightgown. Watching the door.
She didn’t knock. Stayed put.
Just stood. Nearly 10 minutes.
She turned around and returned to her room.
Next morning, I inquired whether she had a nasty dream.
“Nope,” she answered, eating cereal.
“Did you visit our room last night?”
Shaking her head. Stayed in bed.”
I knew what I saw.
Her room was examined that night. To feel in control. A folded paper was all I discovered beneath her pillow.
It was drawn. It was crude crayon lines, but I knew.
Black, tall. No face. Behind what looked like our kitchen table.
Next to it—two little people. Lina prefers red suspenders, one yellow.
Under, in weak letters: “Don’t let him take her.”
Blood chilled.
I showed James that night. His face paled. “This is messed up.”
