Service projects are so stupid, and such a waste of my time. Who wants to help some old lady clean out her house? After all, it’s not my problem that she doesn’t know how to let go.

Every school year we are required to complete four service projects. They can be anything – raking leaves, scooping up trash on the side of the highway, changing diapers during PTA meetings. For whatever reason it seems like the majority of our projects have something to do with old people. And they’re usually pretty grumpy about it, even though we are taking time out of our day to help them. It makes no sense to me.

A few weeks ago my mom reminded me that I needed to do two service projects before Christmas break. It’s fall now, and I figured that while it was still warm outside I should try to see if I could find an outdoor project. I saw a sign-up sheet on the bulletin board outside home room for an elderly lady who needed her house cleaned up from a lifetime of things she should have gotten rid of a long time ago. Now here I am on a bus with nine other middle schoolers and one high school senior, Freddy, who signed up to drive the mini-bus to get volunteer hours for his college resume. He counts as an adult chaperone even though he just turned eighteen.

Jenny, my best friend, signed up to come with me today. We have this thing where if one of us signs up for a service project the other does too. That’s how it goes when you’re best friends. Jenny and I are sharing a bag of Skittles when Freddy turns down the music that he’s been playing. All of us turn our attention to him. It feels like we have been driving deep into the woods for hours.

“Alright guys,” Freddy starts, “from what I hear, there’s a lot of crap in this house. I’m not sure how much this woman expects us to do but I guess she just needs someone to start the process for her.”

Everyone on the bus collectively groans. No one really wants to do this. 

“What’s this lady’s name?” Aaron, one of my eighth grade classmates, asks.

Freddy looks at a sheet of paper that is spread out on the dashboard. “It says her name is Eudora.”

“That’s a dumb name.” Benny Bozwell, affectionately nicknamed Bozo, laughs. 

“At least she doesn’t walk around enjoying being called Bozo,” Freddy snaps back, sending all of us into a frenzy of laughter, even Bozo himself. Freddy goes back to business. “I say we do as much as we can in the time that we have so we don’t have to come back and finish it again later.”

“Would that count as another service project? If so, I could use it – I want to have as many as possible on my record.” Avery, a seventh grader, proudly declares. Definitely a teacher’s pet. Jenny and I share a look and roll our eyes. 

“I’m not sure,” Freddy says absent-mindedly. “But we are almost there now.” All around us has been nothing but half-dead trees with brown leaves that barely hang on. It’s almost dizzying when you try to look through the thick woods, and it’s a little maddening when it all looks the same. I can’t imagine living out here would be any fun.

When we pull up to the house, it doesn’t look as bad on the outside as it supposedly is on the inside. The clapboard siding on the house is worn and the paint has chipped, making it look older than it probably is, beaten by several years of southern seasons. The brick chimney reaches toward the treetops with a thin line of smoke twirling up through the leaves. When I get out of the bus it almost looks like the house is sagging in the middle. Probably because she has so much crap in there. There are no houses around us, at least none that we can see.

Freddy jumps out of the driver’s seat and puts on his best fake smile. From what I’ve heard, that’s how he manages to steal the hearts of the high school girls. He leaps up the steps and knocks on the door loudly, a little louder than I would knock on an old lady’s door. It would be pretty bad if we scared her to death. That would not be something I want on my service project record. 

It’s been a while and Freddy has knocked a few times. I start to get nervous, but I quickly realize why she can’t hear us. From inside the house there is a rhythmic pounding. Is she hanging up photos? Tenderizing meat? Maybe she has started away at cleaning the place up, or making us a hot meal for our services. Freddy seems a little unsure so he tries the door handle and it opens. He leans in just a little, and the pounding sound floods out to where we stand. All of us look at one another and shrug, not sure what to think.

“Hello, Ms. Eudora?” Freddy calls into the house from the front stoop. “We’re here from Ringgold Middle School to help you clean up your house?” Instantly the house falls silent and the pounding ceases. It’s almost creepy how silent it is without the pounding. 

Now there are hurried footsteps from within the house, approaching the front door. The woman who appears before us is almost exactly what I was expecting a woman named Eudora who lives alone in the woods to look like – her long, white hair is pinned up into a bun on top of her head, and she has on a smock dress that looks like it’s made of something earthy. Eudora almost looks like the type of woman that could make a delicious pan of homemade cookies. But her face isn’t really telling us she will be offering up homemade cookies anytime soon.

Eudora looks over the rim of her glasses, the smug look on her face unwavering. “I suppose you all better start then.” Without another word the old woman turns and heads back toward wherever she came from, almost like we aren’t even here.

“She could have said hello to us or something,” Jenny rolls her eyes as she walks toward the front door. Freddy holds the door open for us as we all pile into Eudora’s house. Before I step into the house I look out into the autumn woods once more. Branches stick every which way in tendrils, like thin, purple veins through pale skin. Now that Eudora is no longer pounding away deep in her house, I notice that somewhere not too far off, dogs are barking in a frenzy. There must be neighbors not too far off. I wonder if Eudora has ever stomped up to their door to complain about the noise.

When we get inside we all see why this woman needed help. Just from what we can see, in what appears to be the living room, there are narrow walkways all throughout the house between piles and piles of junk. It’s all a mess of old magazines, boxes, baskets, books, toys, anything you could think of. There is furniture, but there is so much stuff on everything that the furniture has only been cleared for one spot, which I guess is where Eudora sits. How can one person live like this, much less kick up their feet and relax? Just standing in the room makes me feel like I have too much to do to relax. 

Eudora emerges very suddenly from the back of the house, rigid, which scares me a little bit. She can move pretty quickly for being so old and for having hardly any room to walk. “Just start throwing things into bags, anything that looks worn or broken. If there are any books that are still intact, please put them on the shelf,” here she points to a shelf that would have to be decluttered before a book could even go there, “and anything salvageable should go in one pile.” Again, Eudora flees the room a little too quickly and we are all left with the mess.

Freddy turns to us and shrugs. “I know she didn’t give us much direction, but just try to follow what she said so we can get this over with. I have football practice at 4:00. And I really want to hit up Taco Bell before then.”

A collective groan escapes the other nine of us. There is a lot that needs to be done – too much, really.

Jenny and I pair up and decide to work on the bookshelf. The other students show up every once in a while around the stacks of stuff in the walkways to drop off a book or two they find. Before we can even begin to organize the books we have to remove everything on the shelves, which is all kinds of things – knick knacks, sewing kits, paper weights. It feels like we have been working for hours by the time we clear the shelves.

“Okay, how do you think we should sort these?” I ask Jenny.

“Hmmm,” she puts her hand up to her chin. “Maybe we do by color? I feel like this place could use some color.” When we turn to look at the small mountain of books that has been brought to us, we realize there isn’t a whole lot of color left in their worn spines. 

“I think we should just do alphabetical, by title.” Jenny nods in agreement and we sit down to start grouping letters together. We’ve only sorted a few when someone calls out from upstairs.

“Guys! Holy crap! You have to come see this!” Bozo practically falls down the creaky stairs. “This place is creepy as hell!”

“Shhhh!” Freddy comes out from down the hallway and gets close to Bozo’s face. He whispers: “She can hear you, you know.”

“You gotta see this room, man,” Bozo whispers back, pointing upstairs. Freddy scoffs but follows anyway. Curious, Jenny and I drop the books we’re holding and make our way up the stairs behind them. 

At the top of the steps to the right, Freddy leans into a dark room. The light that shines through the window at the end of the hallway casts itself onto the floor, the dust floating around in its warmth. I haven’t even been able to peek into the room yet.

“Oh my god,” Freddy says, practically breathless. I shove my way through and peer into the room with Jenny. 

On dark homemade shelves that line the entire room, there sit dolls and stuffed animals from another time. All of their faces, aged and dusty, look down on us, seemingly pleased that we’ve discovered their existence. I can’t explain why, but this room sends a chill down my spine. And yet, something in me feels bad for her. 

Why does she keep all of these?

“Nope, I’ve seen enough – I’m done,” Freddy throws up his hands and backs away from the room. “I’ve seen too many Stephen King movies to stay in this house.”

“We can’t just leave,” I call after him as he leaps down the stairs. “We came to help her and we haven’t finished.”

“Yeah, well, there’s too much stuff in here anyways. It would take way more than two, even three trips, to get this place in a liveable state again.” Freddy looks around, doesn’t see Eudora anywhere. Surely she can hear all the commotion. “Ms. Eudora, I’m afraid we are going to have to head back to the school. The principal just called and the students have a, uh, a mandatory test that they have to do. Crazy that they would let this get scheduled at the same time, huh?”

From her secret place in the house Eudora emerges from the shadows, once again stiff. “What do you mean?” She looks around her and shakes her head. “Hardly a dent’s been made.”

“Yeah, well, I can’t help that the school called me. I’ve gotta take them all back. But you know, I’m sure if you call the school they’d be more than happy to reschedule another trip for the students to come back and finish the job.” Freddy begins rushing all of us out of the door. I look back at Eudora. For the first time since we have been here, her expression has changed, and it says that she knows what’s really going on; it even shows a little bit of hurt. All it takes is that one look for me to know what I need to do. When I step out the door behind Freddy, Eudora follows us out and watches everyone pile into the bus quickly. She is clutching her chest, now appearing desperate. I can’t get back on the bus, not right now.

“Hey, Freddy,” I grab the corner of his shirt and whisper to him, “I don’t feel right leaving her. Look how upset she looks.”

Freddy turns his fake smile into a stiff line and looks down at me. “Well I don’t feel right about this house. Something’s up here; I’ve had the heeby-jeebies ever since we got in the woods. Besides, she’ll probably die soon anyway.” 

“I’ll have you know that I will call the school myself to ask about this testing you talk about, young man,” Eudora pulls out her best old-lady voice. “And I will also let them know that what I asked of you was not done.” Freddy stops in his tracks, closing his eyes in frustration. I know just as well as he that he needs these volunteer hours, and he’d be in a heap of trouble with the school for doing what he is about to do, which could also mean that he may not get to finish out his senior year of football.

“Let me stay. I’ll help her. She can bring me home tonight.” I say all of this confidently, even though I haven’t seen a car parked anywhere.

Freddy sighs and turns back to Eudora. “If I leave one student here with you, will you promise to get her home tonight, and to please not call the school on me?”

Eudora glowers at Freddy, but she nods once in agreement. If even one part of this plan doesn’t happen, Freddy is going to be in big trouble, whether Eudora calls the school or not. And even though I feel bad that Freddy could be in huge trouble, something tells me that staying to help Miss Eudora is important. 

Freddy bends toward me and pats my shoulder. “Good luck. I saw a house phone in there, on the wall. If you need any of us, call us from there.” As I watch Freddy load into the bus, all the other eight students peering at me through the bus windows, I think to actually pull out my own cell phone for the first time since getting here. Of course: no signal. Freddy already knew.

Jenny looks at me with wide eyes through the bus window, asking me what I’m thinking. I just look at her and shrug. All I am met with is Jenny rolling her eyes and falling back dramatically into her seat. Freddy fires up the engine and the bus rolls away. I’m out here alone in the woods with Eudora. The dogs still bark in the distance.

“Ready?” Eudora huffs. I nod and climb the steps, pushing past her into her house, back to my pile of books that Jenny and I left scattered around the living room after seeing that room with the dolls and stuffed animals. Even though I am here to help her, I really hope she doesn’t expect me to go back in there.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s been hours by now. Eudora pops her head in every now and then to sneakily check my progress; I feel her behind me every time but I don’t say anything. It’s beyond me how she continues to be so rude when I’ve agreed to stay and help her.

Occasionally I hear her, deep, deep within the house, muttering to herself, and I jump the few times I hear the pounding sound. It comes so suddenly every time, and my own house is so quiet that I never think about such a loud noise coming from somewhere inside. Every time she starts with it I feel more claustrophobic. Like I am hearing something I shouldn’t be hearing. Maybe Freddy was right when he said he didn’t feel right about this house.

The more the hours creep by, the worse I feel about it here, too. It’s deathly quiet out here in the woods, minus the ticking of a wall clock out of sight, random creaking from the floor when Eudora moves around, and of course, the dogs out there in the woods somewhere. Gosh, does anyone ever tell them to stop? I simply don’t believe that Eudora hasn’t gone to give them a piece of her mind. I guess she likes dogs and doesn’t care. But each time she starts again – that dull, repetitious beating – I curl even tighter into myself. It becomes unbearable. I need to get out of here. I’ve already been here way too long. In fact, I’m not even sure what time it is. According to the failing light outside I should be home by now. 

She starts again.

I really, really need to go home. 

Without thinking, I stand up from my place in her living room, after trying my best to sort some of the mess, and take long strides to the front door. I throw the door open, unlatch the screen, and let the fresh air slap me in the face, free of the antique mall smell that permeates the old lady’s house. 

It was that easy. All I had to do was walk outside. I am free. I’ll start walking down the way that Freddy left with the bus. I’ll head toward the house with the dogs. They can call the school, or better yet, my parents.

When I start moving, my courage fails me. I stop dead in my tracks, only steps from the house, when I notice that the dogs sound like they’ve gotten closer. Have they always been close, and I’m just now noticing? They definitely weren’t that loud before…

Hands are on my shoulders and I feel my breathing catch in my throat. The hands, they’re tight, digging underneath my collarbones. Eudora spins me around, her eyes wide, her brow knit together in fury.

“Watch for the hounds, child!” Eudora whispers in my face through gritted teeth. I’ve angered her somehow, but why? She is not the one who so badly wants to go home and get away from here. 

“What do you mean?” I ask, my mind feeling fuzzy. This place, these woods, they’re having an effect on me.

“Daddy says to watch for the hounds or they’ll come get you. They’ll finish you off, they will. Come inside, child. Mind the hounds.” Without argument, I let Eudora drag me back into her house by my elbow. My blood runs cold. I’m back where I started, but I want to get out as soon as I pass the threshold. Her words, what was she talking about? Is she actually afraid of dogs?

Before I can ask her anything remotely along those lines, she has flown to the back of her house once again, and this time I call it.

WHACK….WHACK….WHACK….

Frozen in place, I decide to count how many times I hear that sound.

WHACK….WHACK….WHACK….

It keeps going. She keeps going, and by the time she is done, I’ve counted sixty-five times. The silence that hangs in the air when she stops makes my ears ring. What is she doing back there?

Just as quickly as she fled back there, she emerges once more, and her dark figure coming out of the dark half of the house makes my legs go numb with fear. In this dim house with the light fading outside, Eudora appears far more sinister than she did before.

“I have a bed for you,” she says once she comes close enough to me. I have to keep from cowering away from her. “It is much too late for me now to drive, what with it being dark and my vision being so horrid. Come, I’ll show you.”

For the first time since being here, I feel desperate. My heart falls to my feet, and I begin to cry. There’s not much I can do to help it at this point; I let myself sound like the child I still am. “But I’m supposed to be home. My parents will want to know where I am. I want my own bed.”

“I’m afraid it’s just not possible tonight, dear. Come along.” Dread tugs at my insides and I feel sick, even though I haven’t eaten anything. Eudora can stand in front of a crying child and not even bat an eye. How can one person be so heartless? I sniff back some of my tears once I come to terms with the fact that I have no choice for the night. I miss my mom and my dad, my own dog, I miss my friends. It’s only been hours since I’ve seen all those faces, yet it seems like it’s been days. Time is a vacuum here.

Swallowing what’s left of my tears, I force one foot in front of the other, making my way behind Eudora to “my room”. There really isn’t much to say about the room. An old lady decorated it, that’s for sure. A small, twin-sized bed sits in the middle of the room, backed up to a window draped in frilly, lace curtains. A dull fluorescent light shines through, and then I think the buzz from that light will either lull me to sleep or keep me awake all night. Hopefully Eudora will turn it off before she goes to bed. 

But this room is strange. It’s not like the rest of the house at all. I can see the floor, the

walls. There is nothing stacked high on the bed. It’s like the room has been kept this way for a reason, cleared of all clutter and kept spotless for guests.

How many guests does she get out here, deep in the woods?

I gulp back my fear once more. It won’t get me far, not with Eudora, this unfeeling old lady. To further my feelings about her, and despite my evident reservations, she points to the bed, indicating that I should try it out. Quickly, I plop myself on the left side of it, letting my body absorb the shock from the stiffness of the crinkly mattress. To reassure her, I give Eudora a thumbs up, even though everything going on is more of a thumbs down.

Eudora gives me an approving nod. “You get settled now. I’ll bring you a glass of water and then I’ll be off to bed myself. Don’t fret, I’ll turn that light out so it’s not in your eyes all night.”

Good. Or not good. Good to not have the light but not good without the noise. In the front of the house I hear Eudora turn on the tap. You can hear everything in this house – the water trails through the pipes in the wall so loudly that I think the walls may burst. They don’t, which I am grateful for, and at this point I notice the eerie silence that has taken over. The outside light is off. No more buzzing, just the distant sound of dogs. It doesn’t make sense that Eudora lets the barking go on the way it does. It’s constant.

Now she’s come in and placed a glass of water down on a doily on the nightstand. Much like the room, her expression is not right. For the first time since I’ve been here, her eyes are shining, appearing expectant, hopeful even. “Good night, darling.”

Eudora backs out of the room into the hallway, not once looking away from me, until she fades away from the light and I can no longer see her. I don’t say goodnight back, and I fight the terror that threatens to grip me, only because I don’t know if she is still there, watching me. Two can play this game. I lean over to pull the lamp chord, also not taking my eyes off the entry to my room. I would like for the door to be closed but I don’t dare try it. Something about the way she left, the way she looked at me, makes me want to run to the door and lock it. Maybe even put something under the doorknob so she can’t come in here and do that again. Instead, I roll over in the dark and pull the blankets far over my head, leaving just enough space to breathe. 

Through that small hole, out of the corner of my eye, I think I see Eudora still standing in the hall, still with that twinkle to her eye.

All I want is to go home.

~~~~~~~~~~

Once Eudora stopped moving around and making noise, sleep must have come to me quickly because I am suddenly pulled from it. In my half sleep I think there is something in the room, but there can’t be. Rain patters on the windowpane above my bed. Eudora is asleep. The dogs are too. Finally.

Not fully understanding what’s going on, I decide to investigate the noise so I can go back to sleep and be done with this miserable house and even more miserable old woman. Like a drunk person scared sober, I bolt upright and all the hairs on my neck stand at attention. Eudora is not asleep. She is here, in my room, in my space. Never mind that this is her house, for the time being this is my space that she is invading. Not only is she in my room, but she’s huddled up in the corner with her back facing me. What is she doing?

Curiosity gets the better of me and I carefully throw the covers aside, letting one of my feet touch the floor as I start to stand up. But then I’m frozen.

Eudora isn’t just in my room, and she isn’t just leaning there. No, Eudora is rocking back and forth, stroking the head of one of those creepy dolls from that room that freaked Freddy out so badly. My eyes go wide. She holds it in her arms, gazing into its eyes, muttering so quickly in a harsh whisper that I can’t make out any of the words. I’m not sure why, but I decide to move closer to her. It’s like I want to understand what she’s saying to the doll. There are so many questions I could ask, but I listen instead. When I listen hard enough, I can make out one word, the same word, that she says at least once during every statement she makes.

“Daddy”.

Is she talking about her daddy, the same daddy she mentioned when I was pulled back into her house? Does she think the doll has a daddy? I’ve heard sometimes that old people can become catatonic. I’ve also heard that sometimes nursing homes give baby dolls to their patients to take care of. Eudora doesn’t seem that old, and I guess for the most part she seems not too far gone in the head. I’m still left wondering why she would be talking about someone’s daddy. Thinking maybe she has episodes in her sleep where she does this, I reach out and tap her on the shoulder, and whisper to her.

“Are you okay?”

Suddenly, I wish I had not spoken. I should have minded my business, or at least watched from the comfort of hiding under my sheets. What Eudora does next is like watching a scene in a horror film – it’s happening in front of me but I so badly want it to be a dream. The dogs are crooning once again, but they’re closer again. Their cries echo deep in the woods. Eudora’s head snaps to the right, toward the door, listening intently as she stops her mutterings mid-sentence. Like a military soldier, the old lady leaps off the ground and bolts out my door and down the dark hallway at a rate I’ve never seen someone her age move. All I can do is stand there, mouth open, doing my best to make sense of everything that’s just happened. I want terribly to go back to bed, or to wake up if this really is a dream. What snaps me to attention is the loud crack of the front door closing. Do I tuck myself back in and pray for morning, or do I see what’s gotten into Eudora?

Slowly, I tread down the black hallway, my hands out to my sides so I can feel the bends of the walls around corners as my eyes adjust to the night that has enveloped the house. As I turn in the direction of the front door, wet moonlight shines through the screen door. I see her out there, I hear her, muttering again like she was in my room. Instead of rocking back and forth like before though, she’s busying herself on the treeline that extends just beyond her pine-needled driveway. What can she be doing out there, in the pouring rain, still in her nightgown, that can’t be done in the morning? If she is trying to unsettle me, she did that a long time ago. I want to tell her this, to just get her to stop so we can all go back to sleep and morning will come. Home feels like a distant memory at this point. Creeping toward the door, I feel pattering rain bounce off the tops of my feet through the screen. Water is getting into the house. I don’t think she minds all that much.

“…daddy said, yes he did, didn’t he? Daddy said get someone to take care of ‘em. We got to make sure they’re taken care of…”

I can make out some of her phrases through the screen door, and still none of it makes sense. Curiosity gets the better of me again, though I should have known better from last time. Should have learned to just stay in bed, mind my own business, just for one night.

Through the screen I peek, squinting against the moonlight that engulfs the screen door, seeing through the sheets of rain. My hand is on the wood of the door, ready to throw it open. I see now through everything in my way – screen, rain, and moon – that she is spooning something, something dead, into large, grimy bowls. My stomach does a somersault, threatening to toss up the nothing that I have eaten all day. 

Before I can fully grasp what this dead stuff is that she rations into bowls, I notice a shift in the atmosphere. Something – some things – are coming. The hair on the back of my neck creeps to attention.

It’s the dogs. They’re at it again. Closer this time. Closer, closer, coming closer still, until there they are. A whole lot of them. An entire pack of sharp teeth, flopping ears, and tails at half-mast, lurking through the winter-dead trees that have put off their old self. I’m not afraid of dogs, but this isn’t right. These dogs don’t mean well. 

I want to watch and see what they do, want to see if these are truly Eudora’s beloved dogs or not. But the way they stalk, the way they hang back away from her, freezes the blood in my veins. I should look away but I can’t.

Before their baying starts, I bound back to my bedroom, my heart racing. My body feels like it is still here but my soul feels like it’s gone elsewhere, somewhere better than here, hopefully somewhere safer. I am afraid of those dogs. As desperately as I want to jump in bed and throw the covers over my head, I slam my door shut and turn the lock. For extra measure, I drag a small chair from the corner of the room and prop it underneath the doorknob, to keep out these human and inhuman threats that linger just outside this clapboard house. 

As I shake to the sounds of snarling and howling dogs, then from Eudora’s thirty-sixth, thirty-seventh, thirty-eighth banging of wood, by some miracle I am lulled to sleep, my body now meeting my soul in the safer places…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

… Until there is a pounding on my door. 

My eyes fly open. My brain thinks that I am home, my home, but it only takes a second for me to remember. I am with Eudora and her packed house and those stupid dogs. Just the memory of the dogs scares me all over again.

“Time to wake up, dear.” Eudora croons from just outside the door. Part of me wonders if she is even aware of her nightly events. I want to throw open the door and scream at her. Why did she so badly want to keep me here overnight, and why did she want to scare a young girl so horribly. I bolt upright from the bed and make a beeline for the door, ready to spew everything in my mind at her. I swiftly remove the chair propped under the knob. I am fully prepared to rip into this old lady, to demand she take me home now or…

The first thing I see when the door flies open is the inside of her left palm, spread out toward me in invitation. It is not an ordinary hand. The inside of it glistens with fresh blood and once-red scabs of rust brown. All of her palm is covered in thick calluses, the mark of repeated labor. After taking in her hand, I look up into her face, which is forlorn. Eudora bears a light, pitiful, closed-mouth smile and a faint gleam in her eye. The expression almost looks like pride, but no, it can’t be. Not after what happened last night. Eudora does not look like the same old lady I met yesterday. There is a youthfulness that has returned to her face.

Forgetting my manners, forgetting my own youthfulness, I go to smack her hand away from my face. The look on her face stops me halfway. Her hand floats near my face and I am forced to take it in once more. 

Those banging sounds. Those sixty-five, monotonous, haunting claps. She was smacking something with her bare hand, and this is not the first time she’s done this, not with those calluses. I think she can hear my thoughts, or she sees it in my face.

“Daddy used to tell me that if I didn’t watch for the hounds, I needed to pay penance for my sins sixty-five times. For they are God’s creatures, and even though they’re God’s creatures, that don’t mean they can’t hurt you. But I always loved them hounds – always. I always wanted to take care of ‘em. Daddy said once I found someone else to take care of ‘em, I didn’t need to watch for ‘em no more. I could let go. You see, last night I tried to mind ‘em. I didn’t watch for ‘em, and they coulda gotten me.”

Gooseflesh breaks out on my skin, starting at the base of my skull, working its way down to my feet. My knees are weak. “You’re scaring me, Miss Eudora.”

“Yes, yes, but now – now I have someone to take care of ‘em. Now I don’t need to mind those stinking hounds. Now I can let them take me. I can finally leave daddy because you’re here to watch for the hounds, and I don’t gotta be scared of them dogs no more.” Eudora pulls her hand away from my face, the mark of her punishment. Eudora’s father did more to her than tell her to watch for the hounds, and all the evidence is there in her palm.

Like a ghost, Eudora floats down the hallway. I haven’t learned the last two times I should have, because I follow her. Afraid yet unable to stop, I follow this woman, no – this poor, young soul who has not found peace since her daddy first punished her. As if called by it, I look first down the hallway to where her bedroom door now stands ajar. Right there, plain as day now, is an old wooden dresser, the front of it worn to its raw form to match the inside of its owner’s hand. 

The screen door claps against the doorframe, pulling my attention away from the source of Eudora’s physical and mental anguish. I rush now to the door, looking for her. I don’t want to be lost out here. She can’t leave me. There are too many questions.

Eudora, still dressed in her damp nightgown from the night, makes her way to the woods one feeble step at a time. The sunshine pours down on her, making her shine like an angel, fit to match the solace splashed across her face. And as if she has summoned them, the dogs, oh, those disgusting dogs, swirl around deep in those woods, minding her now. I feel them once again the way I did last night, I hear their paws disturbing the earth. I clutch the door frame, the screen open before me, and my nails dig into the rotting wood. 

All I can do is stand there and watch, and when they come for her, I still will not move.

She has watched for the hounds long enough, and now she won’t have to.