Stonebird Read Free Page A

off the polished wooden floor and catches the pictures on the walls. They’re the kind of pictures you can stare at for an hour and still not see how they work. Trick-of-the-eye pictures. Jess doesn’t seem to notice them, though, just walks in front, blowing bubbles with her gum. Groans and mumbles drift on the air from corridors that lead off ours.
    Another moan, closer this time. It sounds like a zombie about to grab me and eat me and spit out my bones. I sneak a look into the room it’s coming from and see an old woman grinning at me. She has no teeth, and her gums are shiny-wet, like slugs clinging to her mouth, and even though I want to stare, I quickly glance away.
    Demon in Her.
    That’s what Jess calls it.
    She says there’s a demon living inside Grandma, eating her from the inside out. That’s why she forgets who we are, even though we’re family, and shouts and screams and cries when we’re talking. But looking at that zombiewoman makes questions buzz in my mind, and although I try to ignore them, they keep popping up.
    Like, Does everyone in here have a demon inside them?
    Like, Does the same demon live in all of them?
    Like, Where do the demons live when they’re not inside people’s heads?
    Mom stops outside a green door. She turns to us and whispers, “She’ll be very different from the last time you saw her. The dementia is getting worse quickly. It’s hard for her to follow any kind of conversation, and her memory—well, you’ll see. Just try to remember who she used to be. She’s still in there.”
    She knocks in that friendly way you do when you go around to a friend’s house— bap-bap-bap, bap bap! —and walks in without waiting for an answer.
    The thing on the bed can’t be Grandma.
    It’s not a person. It’s just sticks and sheets and ghosts.
    “Hi,” says Mom, walking toward the bed. “It’s only us.”
    “Oh, hello, nurse,” says Grandma.
    It’s weird how some things stick and some things don’t. For ages Grandma used to offer us tea and ask if she could take our coats, even though she can’t move from her bed. Now it’s clicked that she’s not living at home anymore. The problem is she thinks everyone’s a nurse, even Mom sometimes—even me.
    I look down at my shoes, look at anything, but not at Grandma. The room has that old-lady smell, the kind you notice in Oxfam when you look for cheap presents to spend your pocket money on. There are two vases offlowers on the windowsill, one from us and one from the nurses. I can feel Jess beside me, and I glance at her, but she doesn’t notice, just stares and stares at Grandma.
    I take a deep breath, and my heart thuds louder and louder and louder. Mom was right. She’s so different from the last time I saw her. Her wrinkly skin sags into the bed, and she’s small, so small. I reckon I could lift her up, probably, if I tried. Lift her up like a bag of twigs.
    “It’s us, Mommy,” Mom says again. She smiles. “It’s Sue and Jess and Liam.”
    Grandma’s eyes flick from Mom to Jess to me. Her eyebrows shoot up, and her eyes are wide and watery, and they’re locked on my face. She reminds me of Daisy when you startle her out of a nap.
    “We’re here for your birthday,” I say, and I try to smile too, making it as wide as I can and holding it until my cheeks ache.
    “Oh!” she says. Her eyes roam the room and settle on the bedside cabinet. There are four cards on it, big birthday cards with the kind of letters you could read from space without even using a telescope. “It’s my birthday . . . ,” she says.
    “I brought you this,” says Jess. She steps forward and hands Grandma a card she made. It’s got a pencil drawing of Grandma on it and a banner saying HAPPY BIRTHDAY in bright colors. I have to admit, it looks about a million times better than the other cards she has. “I drew it in art today.”
    Long white hands reach up from the bed and take the card from Jess. Grandma holds the paper right up