Page 89 of The Vanishing Place
Nothing. He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. The small curl of him lay motionless in the sleeping nook.
“I’m scared,” said Tia.
Effie wiped her hands on her top, her fingers slimy with her brother’s vomit, and wished for Aiden to open his eyes, to be him. She wished it with every part of her.
But then, it happened again.
Tia screamed as some invisible horror took hold of their brother. It thrashed through him, distorting and twisting his limbs, jerking and tugging at him like a puppet pulled on strings. Aiden’s arms spasmed and smacked into the mattress, over and over, his bones and skin banging against the floor and the hut wall.
“Make it stop,” cried Tia. “Make it stop.”
Effie scrambled, grabbing pillows and blankets, anything to soften the force of her brother cracking off the wood. Tears dripped down her cheeks. “I don’t know how.”
Aiden’s body arched, his scrawny frame contorting into a bridge of flesh and bone, and Effie pushed Tia back.
“He’s going to snap,” cried Tia. “His bones are going to snap.”
“Aiden!” Effie shouted as she reached out for him. “Stop it. Please stop it.”
Aiden’s arm lashed out, fist clenched, and whacked Effie hard across the nose. Pain exploded through her face, and something trickled into her mouth. She wiped it away with the back of her hand, tasting blood, and inched back.
“He’s going to kill himself.” Tears and snot drenched Tia’s words.
Shaking, Effie slipped her hand into Tia’s. They stood there, with Tia’s fingernails digging into Effie’s wrist, and watched Aiden thrash, seeing and feeling it all, not letting their little brother go through it alone.
When Aiden screamed, Effie thought she might throw up. Her brother coughed and wheezed, his face locked in a mask of terror. There was no movement to his jaw. It was as if his mouth was carved from stone, frozen in fear. Aiden screamed again, the sound chilling, and Effie burst into tears.
“Please, Aiden,” she whimpered. “Please stop.”
Eventually, as before, the invisible horror released what was left of him, and Aiden slumped to the mattress. His head lolled to the side and blood spilled from his mouth as he gurgled and spluttered. Effie rushed to him, scooping it from his mouth with two fingers.
“I don’t think he can swallow,” she said. “I think—”
“Why’s there so much blood?”
“I think he bit his tongue.”
Aiden murmured and opened his eyes. “Help me.”
Effie climbed over the mattress to lie next to him, and Tia knelt by his side, taking his hand, one hand for each sister.
“We’re here,” said Effie. “You’re going to be okay.”
“Dad?” muttered Aiden.
Effie looked at Tia, then back at her brother. Dad and Four had left early to go fishing. They’d left when Aiden was still whole. When Aiden was just a bit pale. Just a bit unwell. They’d gone to get him something nutritious for dinner, to fight off whatever winter bug he’d picked up.
“Dad will be back soon,” Effie lied.
She glanced at her watch, an old one of June’s, then bit into her cheeks. The last two times, they’d only had three minutes—three minutes before the horror stole him away. And each time, it gave a little bit less of her brother back.
“While we’re waiting for Dad,” she said, forcing herself to keep talking, to keep the fear from her voice, “I could tell us a story. A rugby story—you’d like that.”
Effie squeezed his hand, and she imagined the feel of him squeezing back. She imagined the sound of his voice and the size of his smile.
Please don’t die.
Then she supported his head as best she could so that the blood and saliva dribbled out of his lips, and she spoke into his ear.
