I did not write this story. It came in a book with a bunch of scary stories that I will share. The book is edited by Jane Yolen and Martin H. Greenberg. However, the story is actually written by Jane Yolen. *It’s long*
Hilary hated babysitting at the Mitchells’ house, though she loved the Mitchell twins. The house was one of those old, creaky Victorian horrors, with a dozen rooms and two sets of stairs. One set led from the front hall and one, which the servants had used back in the 1890s, leading up from the kitchen.
There was a long, dark hallway upstairs, and the twins slept at the end of it. Each time Hilary checked on them, she felt as if there were things watching her from behind the closed doors of the other rooms or from the walls. She couldn’t say what exactly, just things.
“Do this,” Adam Mitchell had said to her the first time she’d taken them up to bed. He touched one door with his right hand, the next with his left, spun around twice on his right leg, then kissed his fingers one after another. He repeated this ritual three times down the hall to the room he shared with his brother, Andrew.
“Once a night, And you’re all right,” he sang in a Munchkin voice.
Andrew did the same.
Hilary laughed at their antics. They looked so cute, like a pair of six-year-old wizards or pale Michael Jackson clones, she couldn’t decide which.
“You do it, Hilary,” the urged.
“There’s no music, guys,” she said. “And I don’t dance without music.”
“It’s not dancing, Hilly,” Adam said. “It’s magic.
“It keeps Them away,” Andrew added. “We don’t like Them. Grandma showed us how. This was her house first. And her grandmother’s before her. If you do it, They won’t bother you.”
“Well, don’t worry about Them,” Hilary had said. “Or anything else. That’s what I’m hired for, to make sure nothing bad happens to you while your mom and dad are out.”
But her promises hadn’t satisfied them, and in the end, to keep them happy, she banged on each door and spun around on her right leg, and kissed her fingers, too. It was a lot of fun, actually. She had taught it to her best friend, Brenda, the next day in school, and pretty soon half the kids in the ninth grade had picked it up. They called it the Michell March, but secretly Hilary called it the Spell.
The first night’s babysitting, after they had danced the Spell all the way down the long hall, Hilary had tucked the boys into their beds and pulled up a rocking chair between. Then she told them stories for almost an hour until first Adam and then Andrew fell asleep. In one night she’d become their favorite babysitter.
She had told them baby storied that time – “The Three Bears” and “Three Billy Goats Gruff” and “Three Litlle Pigs,” all with sound effects and a different voice for each character. Ather that, she relied on TV plots and the books she’d read in school for her material. Luckily she was a great reader. The twins hated to ever hear a story a second time. Except for “The Golden Arm,” the jump story that she’d learned on a camping trip when she was nine. Adam and Andrew asked for that one every time.
When she had asked them why Adam had replied solemnly, his green eyes wide, “Because it scared Them.”
After she smoothed the covers over the sleeping boys, Hilary always drew in a deep breath before heading down the long uncarpeted hall. It didn’t matter which stairs she headed for, there was always a strange echo as she walked along; each footstep articulation with precision, and then a slight tip-tap-ping afterward. She never failed to turn around after the first few steps. She never saw anything behind her.
The Mitchells called her at least three times a month, and though she always hesitated to accept, she always went. Part of it was she really loved the twins. They were bright, polite, and funny in equal measure. And they were not shy about telling her how much they liked her. But there was something else, too. Hilary was a stubborn girl. You couldn’t tell from the set of her jaw; she had a sweet, rounded jaw. And her nose was to snubbed to be taken seriously. Be when she thought someone was treating her badly or trying to threaten her, she always dug in and made a fuss.
Like the time the school principal had tried to ban miniskirts and had sent Brenda home for wearing one. Hilary had changed into her junior varsity cheering uniform and walked into Mr. Golden’t office.
“Do you like our uniform, sir?” she had said, quietly.
“Of course, Hilary,” Mr. Golden had answered, being to sure of himself to know a trap he was walking into it.
“Well, we represent the school in these uniforms, don’t we?”
“And you do a wonderful job, too,” he said.
Snap. The sound of the closing trap. “Well, they are shorter than any miniskirt,” she said. “And when we do cartwheels, out bloomer show! Brenda never does cartwheels.” She’s smiled them, but there was a deep challenge in her eyes.
Mr. Golden rescinded the ban the next day.
So Hilary didn’t like the idea that any Them, real or imagined, would make her afraid to sit with her favorite six-year-olds. She always said yes to Mrs. Mitchell in the end.
It was the night before Halloween, a Sunday, the moon hanging ripley over the Mitchells’ front yard, that Hilary went to for the twins. Dressed as a wolf in a sheep’s clothing, Mr. Mitchell let her in.
“I said they could stay up and watch the Disney special,” he said. ‘It’s two hours, and well past their bedtime. But we are making an exception tonight. I hope you don’t mind.” His sheep ears bobbed.
She had no homework and had just finished reading Shirley Jackson’s The Haunting of Hill House, which was scary enough for her to prefer having the extra company.
“No problem, Mr. Mitchell,” she said.
Mrs. Mitchell came out of the kitchen carrying a pumpkin pie. Her costume was a traditional witch. A black stingy wig covered her blond hair. She had blackened one of her teeth. The twins trailed behind her, each eating a cookie.
“Now, no more cookies,” Mrs. Mitchell said, more to Hilary than to the boys.
Hilary winked at them. Adam grinned, but Andrew, intent on trying to step on the long black hem of his mother’s skirt, missed the wink.
“Good-bye,” Hilary called, shutting the door before the Mitchells. She had a glimpse of the moon, which reminded her of the Jackso book, and made a face at it. Then she turned to the twins. “Now, what about those cookies?” she asked.
They raced to the kitchen and each had one of the fresh baked chocolate chip cookies, the kind with the real runny chocolate.
“Crums don’t count,” Hilary said. She scarped around the dish for the crumbs, and having counted what remained – there were 13- she shooed the boys back into the living room. They turned on the TV and settled down to watch the show, sharing the handful of crumbs slowly through the opening credits.
Adam lasted through the first hour but was fast asleep in Hilary’s lap before the second. Andrew stayed awake until nearly the end, but his eyes kept closing through the commercials. At the final ad for vitamins, he fell asleep for good.
Hilary sighed, She would have to carry them upstairs to bed. Since she wanted to watch Friday the Thirteenth, Part II – or at least she thought she wanted to watch it – she needed to get them upstairs. It wouldn’t go for either one to wake up and be scared by the sow. And if she woke them, they’d want to know the end of the Disney movie and hear at least one other story. She would miss her show. So she hoisted Adam in her arms and went up the stairs.
He nestled against her shoulder and looked so vulnerable and sweet as she walked down the creaky hall, she smiled. Playfully, she touched to doors in the proper order, turning around heavily on one leg. She couldn’t’ quite reach her fingers until she dumped him on his bed. After covering him with his quilt, she kidded his forehead and them, each of her fingers, in turn, whispering, “So there” to the walls when she was done.
She ran down the stairs for Andrew and carried him up as well. He opened his eyes just before they reached the top step.
“Don’t forget,” he whispered. To placate him, she touched the doors, turned, and kissed her fingers one at a time.
He smiled sleepily and murmured, “All right. All right now.”
He was fast asleep when she put him under the covers. She straightened up, watched them both for a moment more, listened to their quiet breathing, and went out of the room.
As she went down the stairs, to hollow tap-tap-ping echo behind her had a furtive sound. She turned quickly but saw nothing. Still, she was happy to be downstairs again.
The first half hour of the show was scary enough. Hilary sat feet tucked under a blanket, arms wrapped around her legs. She liked scary stuff usually. She had seen Alien and Aliens and even Jaws without blanching and had finished a giant box of popcorn with Brenda at The Night of the Living Dead. But somehow, watching a scary movie alone in the Mitchells’ spooky house was too much. Remembering the popcorn, she thought that eating might help. There were still those 13 chocolate chip cookies left. Mrs. Mitchell meant the boys weren’t supposed to eat them. Hilary knew she hadn’t meant the babysitter to starve.
During the commercials, she threw off the blanket and padded into the kitchen. Mrs. Mitchell had just had new linoleum put on the floor. With a little run, Hilary slid halfway across in her socks.
The plate of cookies was sitting on the counter, next to the stove. Hilary looked at it strangely. There were no long 13 cookies. She counted quickly. 7 – no, 8. Someone had eaten 5.
“Those twins!” she said aloud. But she knew it couldn’t have been them They never disobeyed, and their mother had said specifically that they could have no more. Besides, they had never left the sofa once the movie had started. And the only time she had left either one of them alone had been when she had taken Adam upstairs, leaving Andrew sleep… she stopped. Andre hadn’t been asleep. Not entirely. Still, she couldn’t imagine Andrew polishing off 5 chocolate chip cookies in the time it had taken her to tuck Adam into bed.
“Now…” she said to herself, “if it had been Dama Jankowitz!” She’d babysat Dana for almost a year before the moved away, and that kid was capable of anything.
Still puzzled, she went over to the plate of cookies, and as she got close, she stepped into something cold and wet. She looked down. There was a puddle on the floor, soaking into her right sock. An icy-cold puddle. Hilary looked out the kitchen window. It was raining.
Someone was in the house.
She didn’t want to believe it, but there was no other explanation. Her whole body felt cold, and she could feel her heart stuttering in her chest. She thought about the twins sleeping upstairs; how she had told them she was hired to make sure nothing had happened to them. But what if something bad happened to her? She shuddered and looked across the room. The telephone was hanging by the refrigerator. She could try to phone for help, or she could run outside and get to the nearest house. The Mitchells liked down a long driveway, and it was about a quarter mile to the nearest house. And dark. And wet. And she didn’t know how many someones were in the house. Or outside. And maybe it was all her imagination.
But – and if her jaw trembled just the slightest she didn’t think anyone could fault her – what if the someones wanted to hurt the twins. She was the only one home to protect them.
As silently as possible, she slid open the knife drawer and took out a long, sharp carving knife. Then slowly she opened the door to the back stairs and the man hiding there leaped at her. His face was hidden behind a gorilla mask. He was at least 6 feet tall, wearing blue jeans and a green shirt. She was so frightened, she dripped the knife and ran through the dining room, into the living room, and up the front stairs.
Calling, “Girly, girly, girly, come here,” the man ran after her.
Hilary took the steps two at a time, shot around the corner, and ran down the hall. If only she could get to the twins’ room, she thought, she could lock and barricade the door by pushing the beds and dressers in front of it. And then he’d wake up the twins and they’d go through the trapdoor in the closet up to the attic. They’d be safe there.
But the man was pounding behind her, laughing oddly, and calling out.
Hilary hears the chittering only after she passed the third door. And the man’s screaming as she got to the twins’ room. She didn’t take time to look behind her, and slid into the room, slammed the door, rammed the bolt home, and slipped the rocking chair under the doorknob. She didn’t bother waking the twins of moving anything else in from of the door. The man’s high screams had subsided o a low, horrifying man. Then, at last, they stopped altogether. After all, he hadn’t taken time to touch the doors or turn on his leg or kiss his fingers one at a time. He hadn’t known the warding spell. Once a night and you’re…
She waited a long time before opening the door and peeking out. When she did, all that she could see was a crumpled gorilla mask, a piece out of a green shirt, and a dark stain on the floor that was rapidly disappearing, as if someone – or something – were licking it up.
Hilary closed the door quietly. She took a deep breath and lay down on top of the covers by Andrew’s side. Next time she came to babysit, she couldn’t tell the “Golden Arm” story, Not next time or ever. After all, she owed Them a favor.