If These Walls Could Talk

By J. L. Knight

They were arguing again. He could hear their voices rising, drowning out the sound of Johnny Carson on the TV. He pulled the covers over his head and tried to ignore them.

“Ugh, this stupid cabinet. I can never get this door open,” she said.

Downstairs, something smashed. His mother’s voice was becoming shrill and hysterical. His father’s was a low, threatening rumble, hard to make out the words. Another crash, then a sharp crack. Abruptly, the shouting stopped. Slaps and thuds mingled with the laughter from the TV. He recognized the sound of fists hitting flesh.

“Mom! Can you come up here and help me, please? The door is stuck again!”

An unnatural silence fell over the house. Usually their fights ended with his mother quietly sobbing and cursing his father, but tonight there was nothing. He listened intently. Johnny was doing his Carnac the Magnificent routine. He was starting to relax when he heard his father’s slow, heavy footsteps on the stairs.

“Why did we even buy this stupid house? I liked our old house better.”

“Oh, hush. We’ll have your father look at it when he gets home.”

“He already did. It still sticks.”

His heart began to pound. He’d been hoping his father would forget about him up here in his room. The footsteps were getting closer. He slipped out from under the blankets and crept to the little built in cabinets in the wall under the windows. Noiselessly he opened one of the doors and crawled inside, closing the door behind him. There was a knob on the inside as well, and he clutched it tightly, his knuckles white.

“Well, maybe you should find someplace else to keep your things.”

“This room is tiny. There is nowhere else.”

“Oof. You’re right, this door is really jammed shut. Come over and help me pull.”

His father entered his room, breathing heavily. Roared his name. Began tearing the room apart, looking for him. It didn’t take long before his father got to his hiding spot. He clung desperately to the knob, crying as his father pulled from the other side. He was no match for his father’s strength, even when stinking drunk. He knew he was making it worse. He could hear how angry his father was on the other side of the door. The knob was slipping from his aching fingers …

“There! Finally!”

“Yeah, for now. It’ll just get stuck again. I hate this house.”

“Will you please just try to make the best of it? You know we had to move for Dad’s job. We all have adjustments to make. I’ll call you when dinner’s ready.”

She scowled at her mother’s departing back. Behind her, she thought she heard a tiny sound, like a child’s stifled sob. She turned around. The cabinet door swung slowly closed again, the latch engaging with a soft click.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

J. L. Knight’s work has appeared in Unnerving Magazine, as well as several anthologies. She is a transplanted Bostonian currently living in Kentucky, where her day job is in the basement of the local library. Sometimes she emerges into the sunlight to scare the children.

Author Website