Page 5 of Out of My Flocking Mind

Not a moment after the girl concealed herself, the door to the trailer opened with a crash as it slammed against the counter inside. The faces of the people were hidden from me, probably because I’d never seen them. I’d only spotted their feet from my hiding place, after all.

Three people—men, from what I saw of their shoes—entered the trailer.

“Check the bedroom,” one said.

Steps signaled that one obeyed, heading back toward the one bedroom that my mother and I had shared.

The shadow stepped up beside me, and the way he stared at me made my skin feel too tight on my frame, as though I could sense his gaze like an unwelcome caress.

“Bitch isn’t here,” one man said.

“What about the kid?”

I felt my younger self shiver at the threat in those words. They’d come knowing about me, looking for me if they couldn’t find my mother. This version of me, of my mother, felt so far removed from who were now that I’d tried to block a lot out.

“Place seems empty. Kid is pretty young—probably with a babysitter.”

One man picked up the picture I’d been coloring and the broken crayon rolled off it, then over the edge of the table and to the floor. “You know why I’m so successful at collecting debts? Because I know the trick is finding a person’s weak spot. If you can find that, you can apply pressure and get exactly what you want.” The man bent forward and drew on the paper with other crayons on the table, the scratching of the colors loud in the silent room. “Let’s go. I think she’ll get the message.” One loud bang echoed before the men left.

Younger me remained in her hiding place, shaking, for another few minutes before crawling out. It was then I spotted what the men had left.

“A little on the nose, isn’t it?” the shadow asked.

I swallowed hard as I stared at the picture. The yellow girl I’d been drawing remained, but other things had been added. Black X’s now covered the eyes and aggressive red lines slashed through the body. A knife pinned the picture to the wall.

Younger me stared at the knife, at the picture that even at my age I’d understood for the threat they’d meant. It had been the first time I’d really understood the dangerous world I lived in, when that sense of security children have had shattered.

I’d understood that no matter how much my mother loved me, she couldn’t protect me. I’d realized that locked doors and adults and hiding in couches didn’t actually keep people safe.

“Oh, that’s a pretty fear,” the shadow purred. “Your pain is almost sweet, so much better than most. Why is that? Why are you different? Your brain’s like a maze I want to spend forever lost in, tearing apart each memory, each pain, each pleasure, all of it. Why?”

The feeling of helplessness swamped me, so strong that I struggled to pull in a single breath. It was like it was still as large and overwhelming as it had been when I was a child, as though it had grown along with me until it crushed me. My hands shook, my gaze locked on that knife.

What if they’d found me that day? What would have happened? I watched as the younger me—braver than current me, apparently—ran up and yanked down the picture, shredding it into a million pieces, then pulled the knife from the wall. She ran out of the living room, and the memory of hiding that knife, not wanting my mother to see it and worry, made my knees weak.

I collapsed to the ground, the weight of so much on my shoulders. Despite my fear of those men, of what they might do, my priority had been protecting my mom, not wanting to see the pain on her face when she found out.

It was the feeling of isolation, of recognizing how truly alone I was.

“Is that what rests at the center? Are you that afraid of being alone? Oh, how much fun we’ll have together exploring it.” Something brushed the side of my face, a touch so cold it made me tremble.

As soon as it happened, however, it stopped. Something on the edges of my awareness came through, a feeling, a ripple through the world that caused the trailer to waver.

The shadow shrank back, then let out a hollow laugh. “Seems our time’s over today. Don’t worry, though, I’ll come back for you.”

His withdrawal hurt as much as the initial attack had, as though he tore a wound wider by pulling away so fast. The surrounding trailer collapsed, the memory falling around me until it faded away, and with it, my consciousness.

My last thought before it all went dark was just how ominous his last words really felt.

I should have stayed home and just masturbated…

Chapter Two

Usually, I woke up a bit like an old man getting up off the couch. There was a lot of groaning and took far longer than it should have. Maybe it was because I didn’t care for getting up, most of the time, but it was never easy.

Which was the first thing that clued me into a problem when I bolted out of bed as though I were one of those horribly annoying morning people.

I stared around me, trying to make sense of my surroundings. I found myself in my own room, standing beside my bed, with light pouring in through the open window.

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