“No way. It’s weird enough she has a TV.”
Audrey laughs. “Well, they rent them out. I can show you, if you like.”
Claire shrugs. The road narrows. It’s lined with old houses that have been converted to shops and restaurants. One of them has a painting of a pizza on the sign, and the word Arcade glowing in the window.
“Oh cool,” Claire says. “An arcade.”
Audrey glances at it and tosses her hair. “If you’re into that sort of thing. Here, there’s the video store.”
It’s attached to a motel, old-fashioned-looking, the NO in the vacancy sign switched on. The video store just says Alvarez Video and there’s a poster for the Twin Peaks movie in the window.
“Wow, awesome,” Claire says, and for the first time since her mother announced how she’d be spending her summer, she sparks with excitement. “They’ve got good stuff. The Blockbuster by my house just has popular crap. You know? Cartoons and rom-coms.”
“The Alvarezes are very successful,” Audrey says, a little primly. “Do you want to see the beach? It’s just a little ways down the road.”
“Sure.”
They drive on, and Claire starts feeling better about her summer in Indianola—making the best of the situation, the way her mother told her to do on the boring drive down. There’s an arcade and a beach and a cool-looking video store and Audrey, even if she is too perky. Maybe these three months won’t be entirely wasted.
The beach appears suddenly, the road diving off into the dunes. Audrey parks the car so that it faces the water and they sit in the air-conditioning, watching the waves roll in.
“This summer’s going to be wonderful,” Audrey says. “Don’t you think? The beach, the video store, the two of us! We’ll have such fun.”
“Yeah.” Claire nods. The roar of the AC covers the roar of the Gulf. She can’t shake the sudden feeling, stupid as it is, that Audrey was rooting around inside her head. “Totally.”
CHAPTER
Two
CLAIRE
Cicadas whine from their invisible hiding places in the trees. Claire repositions the standing fan so that it blows directly on her like a blast of static. She found the patio outlet this morning while she was sweeping grass off the cement, and now that’s it the middle of the afternoon she’s grateful. It really is noticeably cooler out here in the sea breeze than it is trapped inside Grammy’s house.
Claire has been in town for three days. Audrey’s driven her to the grocery store to buy a few toiletries she left at home, but Claire hasn’t had time to go swimming at the beach with her or really hang out. The chores Grammy mentioned on the first day take a lot more time than Grammy led her to believe. Already Claire has cleaned the house from top to bottom, in addition to cooking Grammy’s meals, helping her in and out of bed, and bringing her the little white pillbox three times a day. No wonder Grammy refused to hire a nurse. What she really wants is a maid.
At least Claire has this afternoon to herself. Finally.
She switches on her Walkman and arranges a sheet of stationery on the old encyclopedia she’s using to write on. She found the stationery in her bedroom, buried deep in the desk. It’s old, with swirls of blue flowers and a yellow tint to the paper. She thinks Josh will appreciate it. He likes old things.
Josh, she writes, leaving off the Dear because it sounds too girlfriend-y. I’ve been listening to the tape you gave me. It’s great! I really
She stops and lifts her head and stares out at the empty backyard, keeping one hand pressed against the stationery so it doesn’t blow away. The music doesn’t quite cover up the hum of the fan. She doesn’t know how to describe this music. She has to make it clear that she appreciates it, but not that she thinks it’s too heavy or dark (which she kind of does).
She turns back to her letter.
like the fourth song (“Prelude to Agony”). The lyrics really speak to me.
She reads over what she wrote and feels revolted. She scratches out speak to me, digging the pen in so deep, the words completely disappear.
captures what it’s like to
Claire sighs. She thought it would be easier to write to Josh, since then she could think about what she’s going to say before she says it, but it turns out that she thinks too much. Maybe she ought to call him. But then Grammy would ask about the charges, and she’d probably tell Claire’s mother about them, and it would be a whole big thing and just not worth it. Plus, what if Josh doesn’t want her calling anyway? Definitely not worth it, then.
The wind picks up, smelling of the sea. Claire can’t hear it over the music, but she can see it knocking the palm trees around. Something ripples in the grass—a shadow, a dark quick movement.
It stops.
That’s when Claire knows that it’s not some trick of her eye. She stays still, watching the dark spot in the grass. It’s too big to be a rat. A rabbit, maybe? A little thrill of excitement goes up her spine. She never sees wild animals in Houston. Well, not anything interesting, just birds and maybe a nutria if she goes to the park.
The shadow twitches again. Claire reaches down and turns off the cassette. She pushes her earphones down so they loop around the back of her neck. The fan pushes her hair away from her face.
Out in the grass, the shadow lifts its head.
At first Claire isn’t clear what she’s seeing. The head is reptilian, gray scales glittering in the sun. But it’s too big to be a lizard or a snake—
An alligator? Are there alligators around here?
She freezes. The excitement evaporates. She remembers a school trip she took last year, out to the Big Thicket, and how the guide warned them about alligators as they were racing down the banks to the river. “Don’t get too close,” he shouted over the shrieks and giggles of delight. “If you hear it hiss, you need to back away!”
Claire isn’t sure if she’s too close right now. Slowly, she gathers up the encyclopedia and her stationery and pen. Maybe she can dart inside and call animal control. Grammy probably won’t want an alligator in her backyard.
She stands up, moving slowly, not taking her eyes off the alligator.
It hisses.
Claire drops the encyclopedia. Her letter to Josh flutters across the patio.
And then the alligator stands up.
Those are the only words Claire has for it—the alligator stands up, on two hind legs, like a person.
It’s about two feet tall, its body covered in thick, glossy gray fur, the scales of its head scattering around its shoulders. A tail curls around its legs, flicking out at the end, catching the light of the sun.
A red scarf is draped around its neck.
Claire doesn’t move. She considers the possibility that she’s hallucinating. But then the creature lifts one hand, the fingers too long and curving in arthritically at the last joint. It points at Claire.
“Girl,” it says, in a low hissing voice.
Claire screams. Blind with panic, she runs into the house, where she slams the door shut and jams the lock into place. The window beside the door is still open, the wind stirring the curtains. She can see the creature—the monster—staring at her through the mosquito screen.
She shrieks again and bangs the window shut. The monster still stares at her. She knows she has to close off the rest of the house, but her fear has her rooted in place.