Grim by Anna Waggener

inside,” he said under his breath, and pushed her up the steps.
    Shawn sat down on the grass again and twirled the tennis ball on the dirt in front of him. He heard a familiar voice ask, “Was it like this every day?”
    â€œNo,” he said, and then looked up.
    The man named Jeremiah stood above him, with his hands in his jacket pockets.
    â€œShe stayed with him for so long,” Jeremiah said. “And she hoped so much that things would change. It’s a wonder she ever managed to leave.”
    Shawn stayed quiet.
    â€œDo you think that he loved her?” Jeremiah asked.
    â€œNo. Yes.” Shawn shrugged. “I don’t know.” He glanced back up. “You haven’t killed me this time.”
    â€œI haven’t killed you at all,” Jeremiah said. “You only ever do that once.”
    â€œWho are you?”
    â€œAt this point, I’m honestly not sure how to answer that.”
    Shawn nodded slowly. “Tell me,” he said, “am I dreaming?”
    A crack, like gunfire, echoed through the house. Jeremiah patted the pockets of his slacks.
    â€œDamn,” he spat. “Your mother’s a born thief, isn’t she?”
    â€œWhat?”
    Erika ran out of the house, splattered with blood. Her right hand gripped a pearl-handled pocketknife; her chest fluttered as she tried to catch her breath. Shawn leaped to his feet and watched his mother turn her eyes on him and smile. A soft, thankful noise escaped her throat. Then her eyes skimmed past her son and her smile disappeared.
    â€œJeremiah.”
    â€œYou don’t listen, Erika. I told you not to come back.” Jeremiah crossed the yard in two strides and wrestled the blade from her hands before tossing a look back at Shawn. “I’m sorry you have to see this,” he said, and then plunged the knife into Erika’s heart.
    A scream burst from the house and Rebecca crashed through the back door. She ran out, young and scared, with a toddling Megan on her bony hip, but when she looked at her brother, an odd flash of recognition made her eyes go wide. Somewhere deep in his gut, Shawn realized that she could see him. She knew that he was there, beyond sleep and beyond dream. Their mother vanished with Jeremiah, leaving behind a pool of warm blood. Shawn opened his eyes and saw the speckled shadows of his bedroom’s ceiling.
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    Jeremiah stood with his arms folded across his chest and his back to Erika. She crouched on the floor, doubled over and wheezing into the dusty carpet.
    â€œI told you not to do that,” Jeremiah said.
    â€œYou showed me how!”
    â€œI showed you how to get in. That’s not the same as getting out.”
    â€œI’m —”
    â€œKeep your apologies, Erika. I’ll see you at dinner.”
    Martha came in after Jeremiah left.
    She carried a roll of linen bandages and a ceramic bowl, which she filled with water from the bathroom. Then she knelt on the floor, saying nothing, and cleaned the gash on Erika’s left temple.
    â€œI just wanted to check on them,” Erika told her.
    Martha undid the roll of linen and began to wind it around Erika’s head, her movements careful and even. She knew that it ought to look like a ribbon rather than a bandage.
    â€œI know you did, dear,” she said quietly, because Erika expected it, and then turned her attention to the task at hand.
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    Rebecca jumped when her brother rounded the corner into the kitchen. “Shawn!” she said. “It’s two o’clock, why are you up?”
    Shawn sank down onto one of the wooden stools and slumped over the tiled counter.
    â€œI had a bad dream,” he said. He gave her a long, slow look from under his mop of hair.
    â€œOh?” She turned away to open the refrigerator.
    â€œBecca.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œBecca, when I sleep …”
    â€œNo, Shawn,” she whispered.
    â€œWhen I dream