Page 53 of Clever Little Thing

“What language is your diary in?”

“My language.”

“Armenian?” I hissed.

The reek of chlorine seemed to emanate from her, stronger even than when I’d visited the hot tub where Blanka drowned. I snapped on the light.

Last year Pete had made himself and Stella up as zombies for Halloween. He used latex makeup to craft realistic-looking open wounds. They’d been convinced I would be terrified, but I’d had to fake it completely. Stella was so very Stella, with her cloud of red hair and her precise little voice. Just as surely as I’d known that it was Stella under all that makeup, I knew now that thiswasn’ther. I swallowed down the urge to vomit. Stella wasn’t acting like Blanka because Irina had made her or because Pete had. She was acting like Blanka because, in some way I couldn’t grasp, shewasBlanka.

Breathe, I told myself, just like I always told Stella during freak-out mode. She could never manage a full, deep breath. But now I understood that terror makes you leave your body. I was just an observer, with no power at all to fill my lungs with air.

But Blanka was a person, or once had been. At this thought, I was able to breathe again. She was a spirit now, but I could still talk to her, like a person. I took her by the shoulders. “I want to help you, but you have to help me. Why are you doing this?” When she didn’t respond, I shook her, but I could hardly even move her. “Tell me what you want.” She looked at me with her stony gaze, and I shook her again, harder. “What do you want? For fuck’s sake, what do you want? What do you want?”

Pete thundered into the room. “What the fuck? What are you doing to Stella?”

I stepped away from them, realizing how loud I’d been yelling. I wiped saliva from my chin as Pete scooped her into his arms. “What the hell is going on?” he said.

I shook my head. I could beg him to look at the diary. But he would only read it if her life was at stake. I couldn’t convince him of that without proving that Blanka had possessed her, and the only proof of thatwasthe diary.

Stella slithered out of Pete’s arms and accused me. “You held me too tight. You hurt me.” She looked at me, but I could see that although she sounded like Stella at this moment, it was really Blanka in there. Blanka was the one talking, conspiring with me. I understood then that Blanka didn’t want Pete involved. This was between the two of us. She would perform “Stella” for Pete while I worked out what she wanted. Fine, I’d play along.

“I’m sorry, darling,” I said. “I was just trying to wake you up.” I turned to Pete. “She was sleepwalking.”

Pete shook his head. “You’re not supposed to wake people up when they’re sleepwalking.”

•••

I was exhausted. But I couldn’t fall asleep knowing that Blanka was inside our house, and not only inside our house, but inside our daughter’s body. When I thought back, I saw how crafty she’d been. She didn’t move in overnight. She moved in little by little. By the time I recognized what was happening, it was too late.

I went downstairs, leaving Pete asleep, and stood at the windows, but the city’s dully glowing sky pressed down. I closed my eyes and rested my forehead against the cold glass. Stella must still be inside herself somewhere, sharing space with Blanka. I hoped it was like being asleep and she had no idea what was going on. Or maybe she did have some idea. Maybe she felt more like a patient under botched anesthesia, paralyzed but fully conscious.

Or maybe she felt like she was being buried alive.

I banged my forehead against the glass. Then I forced myself to stop. I couldn’t afford to panic. Now that I knew exactly what was wrong with Stella, maybe the Internet would be more help. I sat down with my phone and learned that demons were usually the ones responsible for possession. It was rare for a spirit to enter a person. It was unfortunate that Stella had the spirit kind, because a demon was a lot easier to deal with. Irina’s grandmother had more or less the right idea: the main treatment was Bible readings and holy water. I clicked through link after link. People had plenty ofadvice about demons. But nobody knew how to banish a dead person’s spirit from your child.

Outside, the first bird began to sing, even though it was still dark. I realized I was going about this all wrong. I reminded myself that Blanka wasn’t merely a spirit. She was or once had been a person. This was more subtle, more complicated. In a way, it was a matter of etiquette, of finding out what she wanted and giving it to her without making her upset. Wasn’t I an expert on this very topic?

It was simply a case of getting a lingering guest to leave. But I had to do it—and this was what the trolls had never understood—without the guest ever realizing they had outstayed their welcome. “Turn out the lights of the room, and your guest will get the message,” a troll said. “Go to bed,” said another. No, because I didn’t want to hurt the guest’s feelings, and especially not when the guest was Blanka.

I paced the house. Obviously, Blanka had come back because she wanted something, and it must be something connected with Stella. Maybe she had a message for us, though that would be strange, given how reluctant she was to communicate when she was alive. She had loved Stella, so maybe something threatened Stella, and Blanka was protecting her. Though I wasn’t sure how taking over her body would help with that.

The cross opposite the fridge was still there, but it was in marker now. I could have sworn it was pencil last time I looked. I touched it with the tip of my finger. I thought of what Wesley had said: when children don’t have the language to tell us how they’re feeling, they use the tools at their disposal. Blanka wasn’t a child, but maybe this mark was her way of telling me how she was feeling. When she was a child, her mother had made her stand with her nose to the crosswhen she’d done something wrong. She stood there until she’d set it right.

Because this cross kept appearing right here in our kitchen, it was only rational to assume that the cross was for someone in the house. It wasn’t for Stella, because Blanka loved her. It wasn’t for Blanka, because why come back from the dead to punish yourself? It had to be for me or Pete. One of us had wronged Blanka.

With a shock, I saw that it could only be me. Pete hardly saw her, after all. But look what I’d done to her. When she repelled my efforts to get to know her, I took that at face value and left her alone. I thought she didn’t want to communicate with me, but her repeated answer, “Not much,”wasthe message. When she said nothing but “Oh yes,” I should have read volumes in it. Instead, I accepted her intimate service, her labor taking care of my child, and I didn’t trouble to get to know her, because deep down, I thought she didn’t matter.

Now she held my daughter hostage. This was her way of saying, “I matter.”

Charlotte Says: If in doubt, apologize.

I had to do it in style. A note and a gift would hardly work. I had to show Blanka that I did notice who she was. I did care. I had to think hard about what Blanka would like. The darkness was fading as I climbed into bed to catch a few hours of sleep. I had a busy day ahead.

30.

After Pete left for work, I went to Stella’s room and told her I was planning a special surprise. “I have to leave you on your own while I run errands,” I explained. It was the first day of the two-week Christmas break. Normally, I wouldn’t leave her home alone, but we both knew that she was only an eight-year-old on the outside.

“I can’t take you, because I don’t want you to guess the surprise,” I explained.

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