Silent Night

The drive from California to Montana was slow and tedious, not because it was really that far in the large scheme of things, but because none of us wanted to go. Even my parents, who weren’t in the same vehicle but talked on the phone several times on the trip, had a tone of melancholy in their voices that Grayson and I were unable to miss. It was quite clear that they were just going through the motions. Whatever had sparked this sudden, necessary move, it wasn’t something my mom or my stepdad was thrilled about either.

I sat in the middle seat of my mom’s minivan while Grayson sat in the passenger seat next to my mom. The rest of the van was full of our luggage which held the items we’d need for overnight stops. We had planned on making two because Max didn’t like driving the large moving truck with his truck towed behind, and we’d gotten a late start Friday evening. By the time I’d gotten Grayson back to the house, the movers were almost done with their part, but we still had boxes to pack and load into the truck, and Max had to figure out how to get his truck on the trailer and hook that up. It had been dark by the time our sad train had pulled away from our house. I’d tried not to cry as I looked back at it one last time through the small spaces between the suitcases out the back glass of the van, but a tear had slid from my eye despite my best efforts.

Now, it was Saturday evening, and we were preparing to stop one more time. We were in Montana now, but the state is a lot bigger than one might think. Not as big as California, but still expansive. We pulled into the parking lot of a hotel that screamed potential murder scene, and waited while Max went in to see if they had a room with two beds or two rooms with one bed.

“This place looks gross,” Grayson said. Her arms were folded beneath her chest, her eyes narrowed, her mouth in the perpetual pout it had been in since we’d left the house the day before.

“There’s not much to choose from around here.” My mother was looking out the window, doing her best to pretend she hadn’t noticed Grayson’s disgust.

My eyes were focused out the window. We hadn’t gotten into the deep woods yet, like the ones that surround my grandma’s house, but there were a few copse of trees dotting the area behind the hotel. For a moment, I thought I saw a pair of eyes staring back at me through the darkness, glowing eyes, not red but not white either. I blinked and looked again. Whatever I thought had been there was gone.

I remembered the wolves then. It was the first time the pair of suspect creatures had come to my mind since the moment they’d disappeared in the distance a few days before. My forehead furrowed as I considered whether or not that had anything at all to do with this sudden move. Whenever my sister and I asked questions about the why--why we were leaving--neither of our parents would answer. It seemed strange to think that the appearance of two wolves in our back yard could spook them into pulling up roots and leaving, but my mom never seemed to care much for the creatures. I could remember visiting the zoo once and seeing them. Mom had kept her distance from the cage. Did she think the wolves were a threat in some way:? It seemed silly, but it was the best guess I’d come up with yet for why we were leaving, assuming Grandma Agnes wasn’t ill, and they’d given us no indication that she was.

I decided not to ask my mom about the wolves. I figured, even if their appearance had something to do with it, she wouldn’t say, not right now anyway. I kept my mouth shut, like both of them, and waited for Max to come back out of the hotel--or was it a motel.

It didn’t take long for him to emerge. He kept his head down, his ball cap pulled over his ears, his jacket collar up. It was definitely still chilly here at night, unlike California, but I didn’t get the impression that it was the weather that kept him moving that way as he approached the van. When he got close enough, I could see he had something in his hand. A glint from the parking lot lights caught the items, and I realized he was carrying a few papers and two metal keys, real keys, not keycards. How old was this place?

“Okay.” Mom sighed. “Why don’t you and Harlow take the room with the two beds, and Gray and I will take the other?”

I didn’t necessarily like that arrangement, but only because I thought I’d have a better chance of getting more information from my mom than Max, but he nodded. He told my mom where to move the van to, and I stayed seated until she went around to the back of the building and pulled in. Max left the moving truck with the trailer around front where he’d initially parked it since that was the biggest spot.

Without speaking, we got out overnight bags out of the van and headed into the motel rooms. I had decided that’s what it was since the rooms had outside access. Max unlocked our door, and an odor of must hit my lungs. A glance inside revealed it hadn’t been remodeled in at least twenty years. The carpet was a gastly orange, the bedspreads a pattern with the same shade, as well as gold and brown. I kept myself from gagging but heard Gray shout, “Oh, barf!” from further down the corridor when she saw the room she’d be staying in.

“It’s just one night,” Max said quietly. I nodded and followed him in, thinking the reason they didn’t have two rooms together probably had more to do with uninhabitability than too many guests at the end.

Once inside, I took a look around. The shower was gross. I decided I’d wait until I got to Grandma’s to wash up. The hotel we’d stayed in the night before was much nicer, still in California, and I’d showered then. Besides, it wasn’t as if I’d done a lot of vigorous activity sitting in the van. 

I sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled my phone out of my pocket. My friends had freaked out when I’d told them what was going on. I had several texts from Vicky and Mara now, but I had no idea how to respond to any of them. They all wanted to know what was going on, where we were, how long we’d be gone, all questions I couldn’t answer. I put my phone aside and tentatively laid down on the bed, not pulling the covers back.

Max must’ve decided the shower was worth the risk. I heard the water running. He was in there for a long time. The television set was so old, it didn’t have a remote, so I didn’t bother turning it on. Instead, I closed my eyes, hoping I could just fall asleep and wake up when this nightmare was over.

Strangely enough, it seemed to work--at least to a degree. I did fall asleep. When I opened my eyes again, Max was in the bed next to mine, the lights off. The room was a little chilly, so I contemplated climbing under the blankets, but it was still a risk I wanted to avoid.

Instead, I tucked a hand under the pillow, wishing I could just go back to sleep. It was then that I realized Max was talking in his sleep.

It was something my mom had complained about many times over the years, though I’d never heard it myself. I couldn’t remember a time when I’d ever slept in the same room as Max, except for in last night’s hotel room when we’d all been together. If he’d been talking in his sleep then, I hadn’t noticed. 

Most of what he was saying was gibberish. Only the occasional word burst through. Mostly, I could understand the word, “No!” but I also heard, “house” and “away.” It wasn’t until the muttering picked up significantly, that he really seemed to become distressed, rolling back and forth on the bed that alarm grew inside of me. 

I sat up on the bed, staring at him, wishing my eyes could better cut through the darkness. Should I wake him? I had heard one shouldn’t do that. He was really working himself into a fury now, and it was beginning to frighten me. He twisted back and forth on the bed, his arms flaying, hands spread. Then, when I was just about to call my mom and see what I should do, Max bolted upright in bed, his eyes wide open, though focused on nothing. “Run, Annabelle! Run!”

Without another word, he collapsed backward onto the pillow, still as the dead. The only sound in the room was the pounding of my heart in my chest.