All I heard was screaming.
It was loud. So loud that it seemed to fill the whole room, louder than the wind outside and louder than the branches scratching against my window. I didn’t know who was making it. I sat up beneath my blanket and looked around. My room was dark except for the moonlight coming through the window.
One looked like a hand. Another looked like a woman standing in the corner. I pulled the blanket closer to my chest. Maybe they were screaming. My bedroom door flew open so hard it struck the wall. Mother stood there in her nightclothes, one hand holding the doorframe and the other resting against the roundness of her belly.
Mother stopped for only a moment before grabbing my shoulders. “Wake up!” She shook me. I stared at her. “Wake up, damn it!” I was awake. Wasn’t I?
Father appeared in the doorway behind her. He didn’t rush in. He only stood there. His shirt hung loose around him, and his eyes looked dark and empty.
He rubbed both hands down his face. “I can't do this again.” Mother looked back at him. “Not now.” “I have to work in three hours.” “Please.” Father came into the room. For a moment, I thought he might pick me up. Instead, his hand struck the side of my face.
Everything became quiet. Completely quiet. I touched my face. My eyes filled with tears. Father stared at me as though he had surprised himself too. Then he looked away. “Now go to sleep.”
Mother still held my shoulders. Her hands were shaking. “Who was screaming?” I asked. Her eyes closed. For a moment she said nothing.
“You were, my sweet girl.”
I shook my head. “No.”
“You were.”
“I heard it.”
“I know.”
“But it wasn’t me.”