Page 38 of Horror and Chill
Stevie’s face is blotchy red. Rowan won’t meet my eyes.
“They got into an argument over the monkey bars. Stevie pushed Rowan. Rowan punched her. We stopped at the nurse first. Rowan’s scraped up a bit from the mulch, but Stevie’s gonna have a real shiner.”
I shove the button and note into my desk drawer before she can see my hands shake.
“Thank you,” I say, clearing my throat. “I’ve got it from here.”
She gives me a relieved nod and backs out of the room fast, like she’s glad to drop the problem off and vanish.
Once she’s gone, I squat in front of the kids. They both look like they want the floor to swallow them whole.
“Okay,” I say gently. “Start from the beginning.”
Stevie huffs. “He said I cheated. I didn’t.”
“You skipped rungs,” Rowan mutters, eyes on his sneakers.
“It’s still the monkey bars!”
“It’s not if you skip!”
“Enough,” I say, holding up my hand. “Does hurting each other solve anything?”
They both shake their heads.
“Do either of you feel good about how this went?”
Another round of noes.
I lean closer. “Then what’s the right thing to do?”
They look at each other. Stevie crosses her arms. Rowan blinks fast, already close to tears. Then, surprisingly, he steps forward and mumbles, “I’m sorry I punched you.”
Stevie frowns. Then sighs. “Sorry I pushed you.”
They hug like it physically pains them.
“For the rest of recess,” I say, “you’re staying inside. Grab some crayons and pick a Bluey page. You’re going to color side by side like best friends who will never ever hurt each other again.”
They nod and shuffle off to the supply shelf.
I sit down at my desk, heart still pounding, not from the fight. From the drawer. From the envelope waiting quietly inside, like a bomb disguised as sentiment.
They know where I work.
They sent it here.
The door is locked. The lights are on. The kids are coloring in silence. I should feel safe.
I don’t.
I press my palms to my thighs and breathe slowly.
Do I take a leave of absence? Would that help? What would I even say… my cam girl stalker might be lurking in the bushes? He? They? I still don’t know. The note said us. And the guy from the woods wasn't the guy from the barn. Either that was poetic or literal, and I honestly don’t know which terrifies me more.
But they haven’t hurt me.
Not in a way I didn’t like. Not in a way I didn’t crave again.
