The Summer Is Ended and We Are Not Yet Saved Read Free Page B

a kid at eighteen. I knew I’d have to give up opportunities.”
    “Lord almighty, is this a crying party all of a sudden?” Carol said. “You’ve been so excited all night. Have some more wine and turn that frown upside down. Of course you’re going to figure this nonsense out. But this sounds like a problem for sober Elizabeth. Let her handle it tomorrow.”
    “Sometimes things just don’t work out,” his mother said.
    “Blah blah blah,” Carol said. “You have to drink through this. Have. Some. More. Fucking. Wine.”
    In the kitchen, Martin’s mother laughed. “Don’t mind if I do,” she said.

CHAPTER THREE
    Martin woke in the dark, certain that there was a man in the bedroom with him. He covered his mouth to keep from making any noise and listened. There were quiet sounds from the street coming through the window, but what else? Was there someone breathing? A man could be standing in the corner there, just smiling. Any second he could whisper Martin’s name, his lips pulling back slowly, his hairy fingers slick with sweat. Martin was going to scream and kick and thrash. He could feel it. He closed his eyes and pulled the comforter tighter. Nobody was there. It was just the dream again. Nobody was there. He squeezed the blanket to protect himself and listened.
    He could hear his mother snoring in her bedroom down the hall. Maybe it had been that sound that woke him. She was loud enough. Every snore started quietly and got louder and louder.
    But then he heard the clink of glass on glass. It had come from the kitchen.
    Someone was in the apartment.
    Martin wanted to stay in his bed. He wanted to pull the blankets up over his eyes and count to ten over and over again until he fell asleep, like it was just a dream and all he had to do was calm down. But he couldn’t. He had heard something. Someone was there. Maybe a burglar. What if they were dangerous? What if they went looking in his mother’s room and tried to hurt her. He couldn’t just pretend there was nobody there.
    He lifted the blanket as slowly as he could, holding the edge between his finger and thumb. It made a quiet sliding sound, and Martin gritted his teeth. His mother snored, and when it was at its loudest, Martin pulled the blanket back quickly. Then he waited for her to snore again and rolled out of bed and onto the floor. He reached out for his glasses and unfolded them.
    There was no man in the corner of his room. Martin stood perfectly still in the quiet between his mother’s snores, listening.
    Nothing.
    She snored again, and this time Martin made it across his carpet to the doorway. His door was open just far enough for him to see down the hall. There was no light on in the kitchen, and no movement. He should go back to bed. Everything was okay. There was no dangerous man waiting in their kitchen. There was no home invasion. But Martin didn’t go back to bed. He waited for the next snore and he slowly pulled the door open wider, terrified that it would squeak. He had never heard the door squeak, but now, in the dark, he felt certain that it would. But it opened smoothly and quietly, its bottom brushing over the carpet.
    Martin looked down the hall again. If he was right, and nobody was there, then at least he would have peace of mind. That was better than going to bed and being wrong.
    On the next snore, he made it halfway down the hall. The floor wasn’t carpeted here, so he had to move slower to stay quiet. His bare feet slapped a bit on the tiles, but the snore covered it. The second snore got him to the doorway, and he held his breath and crouched down low.
    It could be anything in there. Maybe it wasn’t a burglar. Maybe it wasn’t human at all. What if it was an animal of some kind? A big dog thing, or something worse. What if it was a ghost? Just a little child standing in the middle of the room, with black, black eyes. Martin shivered and tried to get ahold of himself. What would a ghost be doing in their