Count Me In

CW: Death, grief and traumatic accident

Amanda Vandacamp woke to a scream.

Her eyes opened into darkness. She didn't move.

Beside her, Jude slept on his stomach, one arm buried beneath his pillow. Rain tapped steadily against the windows. Beyond them, the woods hissed and shifted under the downpour.

Amanda listened.

Nothing.

No scream.

There were no clocks in the room, so she reached for her phone.

2:17 a.m.

Jude breathed in... out.

“Some dream...” she murmured. “It's already gone.”

One.

Amanda frowned, pushing back the covers and climbing out of bed.

Anna's door was slightly open. Amanda peered inside. Her daughter slept with one leg outside the blanket.

Two.

Adam was next. Amanda opened his door and found him sprawled across the bed, his phone on the floor beside him. She watched his chest rise.

Three.

Amanda stepped back into the hallway.

Three. Then, herself.

Four.

There.

Everyone.

Everyone?

No.

She didn't return to bed. Something was wrong.

Amanda looked toward the end of the hallway. Lightning flashed suddenly, and she gasped. A dark, still figure stood beside the last bedroom door. For just an instant. Then nothing again.

Amanda stopped breathing. She reached back carefully in the darkness, her hand closing around Adam's doorknob.

Lightning flashed beyond the hallway window a second time, and for one brilliant moment, the corridor flooded white. A woman stood there, arms crossed over her chest.

Amanda stumbled backward into Adam's room. He shifted in his sleep but did not wake.

Amanda hurried into her bedroom, shutting the door.

Jude stirred.

“Amanda?”

“Go back to sleep.”

She climbed beneath the covers, watching as Jude's breathing eventually deepened again.

Hers never did.

She stared at the ceiling until morning.

The rain continued through the next day, and by evening, water had gathered along the edge of the garden, turning the earth beneath the trees almost black.

“Every year,” Jude muttered, looking through the kitchen window. “It's like this place is trying to float away.”

Amanda looked up. Something about the sentence bothered her.

“Every year?”

Jude glanced at her.

“The drainage.”

“Oh.”

Of course.

Adam came in through the back door, shaking rain from his hair. Amanda watched him toss his keys into the ceramic bowl on the counter. They struck the bottom with a sharp metallic sound.

Clink.

Amanda flinched, blinking against a distorted flash of an image behind her eyes.

Adam looked at her.

“You okay?”

“Fine.”

She wasn't sure why she'd answered so quickly. Her eyes remained on the keys for a moment.

“Amanda?”

She looked at Jude.

“What?”

He nodded toward the plate in her hands.

She had been drying the same plate for nearly a minute. Amanda set it down.

“I'm a little tired,” she admitted, wondering if she should bring up the details of her long night.

She didn't.

Amanda went back to bed after dinner.

Amanda woke to the sound of a scream.

Somehow, she slept until nighttime.

No one woke me?

She reached for her phone.

2:17 a.m.

“What?”

Two nights in a row.

She shook off the slight feeling of dread.

Jude was beside her again, breathing softly.

One.

Amanda sat up.

“No.”

She whispered it to herself. She wasn't doing this again.

She lay back down.

Seconds passed.

Minutes...

Amanda threw off the covers.

Anna.

Two.

Adam.

Three.

Herself.

Four.

Amanda stood outside Adam's room. Her heartbeat quickened before she even turned around.

Don't.

She turned toward the hallway, eyes closed tightly. Then, slowly, she opened them.

It was still raining, but there was no lightning this time.

The figure from before loomed in the dark. A woman. Same place. Same door. Arms crossed.

Amanda gasped.

“NO!”

It came out almost as a command.

She squeezed her eyes shut, wrapping her arms tightly around herself.

Cold.

“No, no, no, no, no.”

Suddenly Jude was there.

Amanda jumped, grabbing his arm.

“Jay...”

His arms closed around her, and Amanda pressed herself against him, trembling.

“I saw... I saw something down the hallway.”

As he held her, Jude followed her stare.

The hallway was empty.

Amanda looked again.

Nothing.

“I saw something... someone. By the door.”

“It's okay.” Jude's arms tightened around her. “You were probably still half asleep.”

Amanda wanted to tell him that he was wrong. That this wasn't the first time. This was the second night.

Instead, she said nothing.

“Come back to bed,” Jude urged.

“Okay.”

Somehow, Amanda slept until afternoon.

For a few disoriented seconds, she thought it was morning and climbed out of bed expecting the usual sounds of the family starting their day.

Instead, the house was empty. Everyone had managed without her.

Weird.

But she wasn't complaining about the unexpected day off.

She strolled into the living room, looking for her phone. It wasn't in the bedroom.

The living room was large but warm, all dark wood, deep cushions and tall windows overlooking the rain-soaked woods. Her eyes passed over everything familiar until they settled on the lamp in the far corner.

Its slender brass stem rose into a broad cream shade.

Beautiful. Expensive. Wrong.

Why?

Amanda crossed the room slowly and crouched. Four square impressions were faintly visible in the wooden floor beneath it.

A chair?

A chair was here.

Her fingertips met one of the marks.

The room flickered.

A mahogany chair.

A book.

Bare feet tucked beneath a skirt.

A woman's laugh.

Mrs. Vandacamp, leave those children alone.

Amanda jerked upright.

The lamp returned.

Her heart thundered.

The woman from the hallway...

“Mar...”

Nothing followed.

Amanda pressed a hand to her mouth.

What had she been about to say?

Upstairs, something creaked.

Amanda looked toward the ceiling but didn't move toward the sound. Instead, she lowered herself slowly to the floor. Cold again. She wrapped her arms around her knees and rocked. Tears slipped silently down her face.

She didn't know why.

The next night, the rain became a storm.

Amanda woke to the sound of a scream.

It wasn't a dream.

She was certain this time.

She reached for her phone.

2:17 a.m.

Jude slept.

One.

Amanda got up.

Anna.

Two.

Adam.

Three.

Amanda.

Four.

She stepped into the hallway.

This time, she didn't have to force herself to look. But the end of the hall was empty.

Amanda waited.

Nothing.

A strange disappointment moved through her.

Then...

Clink.

Amanda's blood went cold.

The sound had come from behind the door.

Metal against wood.

Keys.

She didn't know how she knew.

She just knew.

Amanda stared at the door.

Every instinct she'd had told her to stop.

Turn around.

Go back.

Again.

Stop. Turn around. Go back. Again.

Stop.

Turn around.

Go back.

Again...

No.

Instead, she walked. Slowly. Cautiously.

Halfway down the hall, a memory surfaced so gently she almost mistook it for imagination.

A woman leaning against that doorway, arms crossed, watching two children shuffle reluctantly toward their rooms.

Adam, younger, protesting.

“I'm fifteen.”

And I'm forty-three. Bed...

Anna, mockingly, “I'm thirteen.”

Amanda laughing.

The woman looking at her.

Warm brown eyes.

A smile.

You too, Mrs. Vandacamp.

Amanda stopped walking.

“Marcia.”

The name broke something open.

The hallway vanished.

Marcia.

“Marcia.”

Amanda stood before the door.

She didn't remember walking the rest of the hallway. Her hand hovered over the knob. She should turn back, just as she had the last two nights.

But she couldn't.

She turned the knob.

The door opened.

Amanda held her breath.

Nothing happened.

No woman.

No scream.

No keys.

Just a bedroom.

A perfectly ordinary guest room.

A neatly made bed sat against one wall beneath a pale quilt. Matching lamps stood on either side. An empty dresser. Framed prints Amanda couldn't remember choosing. Nothing to suggest anyone named Marcia had ever lived here.

Amanda stepped inside.

She knew this room.

But not like this.

Her eyes moved slowly across it.

Bed. Dresser. Wardrobe. Window.

The window.

Goosebumps.

Something shifted.

The pale quilt disappeared. The framed prints vanished. Boxes crowded the floor.

And Marcia stood beside the window.

Human. Normal. Anything but scary.

“You're sure about this?”

Marcia looked over her shoulder.

“About what?”

“Coming all the way out here with us.”

Amanda stood among the moving boxes, arms folded, relaxed.

“We're miles from everything. Everyone.”

Marcia pushed at the window. It resisted for a moment before scraping upward.

“We'll get that replaced soon...ish,” Amanda said sheepishly. “There's a whole list of things to be done.”

Marcia leaned toward the opening and looked over the trees below.

“Gives the room character. As they say.” She smirked.

Amanda laughed.

Beside the window stood an enormous wooden clock.

Amanda pointed at it.

“Not that hideous thing next to it?”

“You weren't calling it that when you gave it to me.”

“It was the first thing I ever made in woodworking.”

“Yes, you've come a long way, Ms. Bigshot.”

Marcia glanced at the clock.

“There's just something about it.” She paused, turning back to Amanda. “You know?”

Amanda smiled. “You're terrible.”

“Besides, beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”

Their eyes met and held.

Amanda looked away first.

“You know you don't owe us anything, right?”

Marcia's voice softened.

“There is nowhere I'd rather be, Mrs. Vandacamp.”

Lightning exploded outside.

Amanda screamed.

For one impossible second, the new window disappeared.

Broken wood.

Rain.

A hand slipping from hers.

Marcia screaming.

Amanda bent over, hands covering her head.

“No!”

“Amanda!”

Footsteps thundered down the hallway.

Jude reached the doorway first, Anna close behind him. Adam appeared last, hovering just outside the doorway, never actually coming into the room.

“Mom?”

Jude stared at the open door.

Amanda stared at him.

Nobody said anything for a moment.

Anna's eyes filled.

“Mom...”

“What?”

Jude stepped toward her carefully.

“Amanda, you haven't been in this room for three years.”

Cold swept through her.

Lightning flashed again.

Adam flinched.

Amanda saw it.

Her eyes moved from him to the window.

Then back.

“What... what happened here?” she managed. “What happened to Marcia?”

Three Years Earlier

Eight-thirty.

Amanda stood at the bottom of the staircase, listening to the house settle.

Jude.

One.

Anna.

Two.

Adam.

Three.

Marcia.

Four.

Herself.

Five.

Everyone home.

Everyone safe.

Amanda switched off the downstairs light.

She didn't hear Adam's bedroom door open later. Didn't see him creep downstairs. Didn't know Jude's car keys were already in his pocket.

She didn't know her count was wrong.

Adam returned sometime after two. He eased the back door shut behind him and stood still, listening.

Nothing.

He pulled his father's keys from his pocket and was about to toss them into the ceramic bowl as he always did.

“Enjoy yourself?”

Adam jumped.

“Jesus, Marcia.”

“Not quite.”

She stood in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed.

“Why... why are you awake?”

“Where were you, Adam?”

“Shhh... Marcia, I can explain.” His voice was barely a whisper.

“Give me the keys.” Marcia's voice was stern.

“What? Why?”

“Really?”

Adam looked away.

Marcia's voice softened.

“You could go to jail this time, Adam. Think about what that would do to your family. We came out here for a fresh start.”

“It was one time. There's no one on the roads out here anyway.”

“That's not the point.”

Marcia held out her hand.

Adam hesitated before dropping the keys into it.

“Go to bed.”

“Wait. Will you tell Dad?”

“No. You will.”

“What...” Adam shook his head, frantic. “Marcia, no. He'll... I... Dad can't know.”

“Adam, either you tell him or I will.”

“Marcia, please.”

“No, Adam. This is serious. Last time someone almost died, do you understand that?”

Something flickered across Adam's face.

“Maybe you should stop acting like you're my damn mother.”

Marcia stared at him. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. You're not telling Dad shit.” He rushed on before Marcia could respond.

“Because I can tell him something too.”

Marcia frowned.

“Adam...”

Adam's courage faltered but his mouth didn't.

“I see the way you look at Mom.”

Marcia went still.

“I'll tell Dad.”

“Stop.” The word came quietly.

Adam hesitated.

“I'll tell him you're in love with Mom.”

Silence.

Marcia's fingers tightened around the keys.

“Go to bed, Adam.”

“Marcia...”

“Goodnight.”

She walked upstairs.

Adam waited a few minutes before following Marcia. He knocked once on her door before opening it. It was never locked.

“Marcia.”

She stood beside the open window, looking out over the woods. She glanced at him but said nothing.

“I'm sorry," he said. Honestly.

“Me too,” Marcia admitted. She sighed. “It's late, Adam. You really need to be in bed.”

“Yeah... yeah. Soon.”

But Adam didn't move.

“Adam?”

“Maybe... maybe we can work something out.”

Marcia turned to the boy but said nothing.

Adam stepped farther into the room.

“You have a secret. I have a secret.”

Marcia's expression hardened.

“Adam. Stop. Your room. Now.”

“Don't tell Dad and I...”

“Adam.”

“We're just talking, Marcia.”

“No. Not anymore.”

She moved past him.

Adam caught her arm.

“Marcia, wait.”

She pulled away.

“Don't do that.”

“I'm just trying to talk to you.”

Marcia tried to pass Adam again, but he blocked her path.

She stepped back slowly, warily. Her hand found the windowsill behind her.

Adam reached for her.

Marcia knocked his hand away, sending the keys flying across the room, unnoticed by either of them. He caught her arm again.

“Marcia, please. Plea...”

“Let go of me.”

She jerked herself free, and Adam stumbled forward, slamming straight into her.

Marcia's body struck the sill hard.

Crack.

They both froze.

But it was too late.

The old window frame gave beneath their combined weight.

Marcia went backward, screaming.

Adam grabbed for her, and for one impossible second, he had her.

Then they both went over.

Amanda woke to a scream.

She was out of bed before she understood what she'd heard.

Another scream.

Amanda ran.

Marcia's door was open.

For seconds, Amanda couldn't understand what she was seeing.

Adam and Marcia hung outside the broken window. Adam had managed to hook one arm around what remained of the frame. Beside him, Marcia clung desperately to the sill.

“Mom!”

"Help!"

Amanda lunged forward instinctively.

She caught Adam first, her hand closing around his free arm.

Then she reached for Marcia.

Marcia caught her hand.

“HOLD ON!”

Adam slipped.

“MOM!”

Amanda screamed as Adam's weight dragged her forward. Her stomach struck the windowsill.

"Amanda!" Marcia cried, her fingers locked around Amanda's.

Jude rushed into the room, wrapping both arms around Amanda's waist.

“PULL!”

They pulled.

Nothing.

Rain blew through the broken window, soaking them. Amanda's arms burned.

“MOM!” Adam sobbed.

“I GOT YOU!”

Jude pulled harder.

Amanda screamed with the effort.

“Amanda,” Marcia breathed. "Let me go."

Her voice was calm.

Amanda looked at her.

“No!” Amanda and Adam shouted in unison.

Marcia kept her eyes on Amanda.

Something in Marcia's expression terrified her.

“NO!"

"MOM!"

Marcia's face softened. Tears and rain streaked her face.

“No.” Amanda tightened her grip. “Don't!”

“Amanda.”

“Marcia... don't...” Amanda breathed, panting with the effort.

“I love you.”

Amanda stopped breathing.

She had known.

Nothing had ever happened between them. But of course, she'd known.

Marcia smiled, releasing Amanda's hand.

“NO!”

Amanda grabbed at empty air.

Marcia disappeared into the darkness.

“MARCIA!”

With one arm suddenly free, Amanda grabbed Adam with both hands.

“Jay! Pull! Pull!”

Jude hauled Amanda backward.

Adam came through the broken window with her, and all three crashed onto the floor.

For a moment, nobody moved.

Then Amanda scrambled to her knees.

“Marcia!”

She crawled over Adam and reached the window. Cold air struck her face.

Rain poured through the broken frame.

“Marcia!”

Nothing.

Only darkness.

The ravine below swallowed everything beyond the edge of the house.

“MARCIA!”

Jude grabbed Amanda before she could climb any farther through the opening.

“Amanda... she's gone...”

“Jay, she's down there. Jay...”

“I know.”

“Jay, she's... she's... Jay, no...” Amanda was barely breathing around the words.

“I know.”

Behind them, Adam was crying.

“Mom, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.”

Amanda twisted out of Jude's arms.

“Wha... What?”

“It was an accident.”

Something glinted on the floor.

Keys.

She stared at them.

Jude's keys.

Amanda picked them up.

Adam was sobbing now, almost hysterical.

She turned to him.

“What... what did you do?”

He sat beneath the broken window, blood streaking one arm, his face wet with rain and tears.

“Mom, I'm so sorry.”

Amanda looked at the keys.

Then at her son.

“It was an accident. I swear. I tried to save her. I didn't mean to...”

A violent gust tore through the broken window.

Amanda shivered.

“A... Adam... what did you do?”

“Mom...”

Her fingers opened.

Clink.

The keys struck the floor.

The room tilted.

“Amanda?”

Jude's voice sounded far away.

He reached for her.

Everything went black.

“Mom?”

Amanda opened her eyes.

Adam knelt beside her.

Not fifteen.

Eighteen.

Alive.

Behind him stood Jude and Anna.

The window was whole.

New.

Amanda looked around Marcia's room.

No.

The guest room.

Three years. Three years of new paint and new furniture. Three years since Jude had replaced the window. Three years of no Marcia.

They'd begged Amanda to leave this house.

She always refused.

She'd never been able to explain why.

Until now.

Amanda reached for Adam and immediately he folded into her arms.

“I'm sorry.”

“I know.”

She held him tighter.

“I remember.”

By morning, the storm had softened, but Marcia had never been found.

Amanda remembered that now too.

The searches. The ravine. Waiting. Then doctors. Pills. And eventually, forgetting.

Downstairs, Amanda stopped beside the lamp. For a moment, she saw a mahogany chair instead.

A book.

Bare feet beneath a skirt.

Marcia's laugh.

Mrs. Vandacamp, leave those children alone.

There is nowhere I'd rather be, Mrs. Vandacamp.

I love you.

Amanda sobbed, covering her face with her hands.

"I love you too, Marcia," she said finally.

Then she counted.

Jude.

One.

Anna.

Two.

Adam.

Three.

Herself.

Four.

The familiar wrongness came.

Amanda looked toward the empty corner.

This time, she understood.

“Marcia.”

Five.