17 December 2027
Friday. He came in. The Beeping Man came up my stairs tonight, with his sister and three of her friends, and he left his box in the cupboard downstairs like everybody else. He shook the whole way up. I could hear his knees.
He didn’t say anything for the first part. Then he started noticing things, the way the quiet ones do, and pointing, and by the end he was shouting at his sister to look behind the thing she had already looked behind. I have never been so proud of anyone.
They found their way out, of course. They always do, the clever ones. But he stopped at the door and looked back at the nursery for a long time, and he said, very softly, ‘See you down the hall.’
Down the hall is ten years later. He knows that. He is coming back to see the older me. Everybody comes back in the end. That is what the other house is for.
Merry Christmas, reader. Bring three friends. I’ll leave a candle in the window.
— Cathy (please come back)
