Chapter 2: Secrets in the Cellar

She started slapping her own cheeks, over and over.

“I shouldn’t have done it! My greedy hands picked up that rice!”

Her voice echoed through the kitchen, sharp as a scream. She sobbed, rocking back and forth, and I wanted to reach out but didn’t know how. The sight of the broken bowl and spilled porridge made my stomach twist with guilt and fear.

I was so frightened that I started bawling, couldn’t help myself.

Hot tears ran down my cheeks. I buried my face in my hands, wishing I could disappear. My little sister started crying too, and the whole house filled with the sound of us crying.

There was a beat of silence before I blurted, “This isn’t blood-bought rice—it was given by someone! I saw the person who left it!”

I blurted it out, hoping maybe it would make it true. I remembered the shadow on the porch, the way it moved—something about it stuck in my mind, strange and dreamlike.

“Tommy saw someone?” Both my grandparents rushed over, kneeling beside me.

They knelt beside me, their faces close, searching my eyes for hope. My grandma wiped my tears with her thumb, her hands shaking.

I nodded. “I saw them from far away. By the time I got outside, they were already gone.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to remember every detail. The memory flickered in my mind, strange and dreamlike. I could almost see the figure moving through the fog, just out of reach.

My grandma hugged me excitedly. “Good boy, what did that person look like?”

She gripped my shoulders, her voice urgent, as if my answer could change everything. Mom hovered behind her, biting her lip, her fingers twisting the edge of her shirt.

I tried to remember. “Really tall—about as tall as our fence. Really big, like two of Mayor Haskins’s prize-winning hogs. Walked funny, like a lady with a twisted ankle. Every step, their whole body twisted.”

I remembered the lurching gait, the way the figure seemed to bend in ways a person shouldn’t. It moved slow, then quick, then slow again. The image made my skin crawl, and I shivered despite myself.

Hearing this, my grandma’s face just crumpled. “Oh Lord! How could that be a person? After all these years, even though we’ve been hiding, why won’t it leave us alone?”

She clutched her cross necklace, lips moving in silent prayer, eyes darting to the window.

My grandpa sighed deeply. “It seems it won’t stop until it’s eaten every last one of us.”

He stared out at nothing, his face shadowed by old memories, like he was seeing something only he remembered.

My grandma whispered, “Earl, maybe we should find a place to hide.”

Her voice was just a whisper, barely more than a breath, and she glanced toward the cellar door, her knuckles white on her apron.

My grandpa shook his head. “Hide? Now that it’s got our scent, where could we hide?”

He sounded defeated, like the fight had already been lost. The words just sat there between us, heavy as thunderclouds.

My mom tried to calm everyone down. “Let’s not scare ourselves. Kids don’t always see things clearly. Let’s ask Old Ben, Mrs. Carter, and Blind Joe next door if their families got rice. Then we’ll know. As for the five scoops, maybe it really was charity, and they just gave us a little extra.”

She forced a smile, trying to sound reasonable, even if her voice shook. She looked at me, brushing the hair from my eyes. “Sometimes things aren’t as strange as they seem, sweetheart.”

My grandpa paused, then nodded. “You’re right. Maybe Tommy just got mixed up.”

He sounded almost relieved to have something practical to do, rubbing his hands together before grabbing his hat.

“Right, right, Tommy’s mother is right. Let’s go ask and find out,” my grandma said, hope flickering in her eyes. “I’ll go ask now. You all lock the door tight. That thing, after it eats someone, can pretend to be them. When I come back, I’ll knock three times, then cough three times. If I get it wrong, don’t open the door. If it really was that thing that brought the rice, it’ll come for meat tonight. We don’t have much time left.”

She looked each of us in the eye, making sure we understood. We all nodded, and the seriousness in her voice made me shiver. She grabbed her shawl and headed for the door, pausing to squeeze my hand.

My grandpa frowned deeply, looking grave, grabbing his pipe, and heading out.

He gave my mom a long look, like there were things he wanted to say but couldn’t. The door closed behind him with a heavy thud, and silence settled over the house, thick as fog.

Not long after, a fog began to rise outside, thin at first, barely more than a mist. My mom frowned, peering out the window. “Why is there fog in the middle of winter?”

She squinted at the pale mist creeping over the yard. I pressed my face to the glass, the cold biting my skin, watching the world blur and fade as my breath fogged the window.

My grandma walked out onto the porch, sniffed the air, and her face turned grim. “There’s a fishy smell in this fog. I heard it can spit out fog. This is a bad sign.”

She wrinkled her nose, pulling her shawl tighter. The smell was sharp and strange, turning my stomach. The porch boards creaked beneath her feet as she stared into the growing mist.

Nervously, I tugged at my grandma’s sleeve. “Grandma, what exactly is that thing? We don’t have any grain—where did it get rice from? Why does it eat people?”