Don’t forget

The reading room is quiet. Maybe it’s holding its breath. Maybe trying to remember what it’s forgotten…as always, the book is here, it’s green leather seems faded today, or maybe you just forgot the shade. You shrug, and sit down, taking the book up and snuggling down into the cushions:

Don’t forget…

“It only appears when you forget its name-” Grandpa said, with a flourish of his eyebrows. “You can write it down, but don’t be surprised when the paper goes missing, or the ink fades like a bruise until it’s just a few shadowy lines. It’s the sort of thing that tickles its way though your thoughts leaving gossamer trails. Do you wish for webs or slime running across your mind?”

“Dad, stop, you’re gonna give him nightmares,”  Mom said, but Jack could tell she didn’t really mean it. For one thing she was sort of laughing when she said it, and for a second thing, he didn’t get nightmares and she knew it.

“Do you remember its name, son?” Grandpa asked, his green eyes sparking, his beard trembling with suppressed laughter. 

“Dad,” Mom said, fast and sharp like a smack.

Jack just nodded, he clapped his hands over his mouth to hide his giggles.

“You have to remember. I’m serious now, Jack, if you don’t…”

“He’ll take over my mind!” Jack blurted. A little thrill going over his whole body. His heart sped up just a little. Should he say it? Should he tell Grandpa its name, so that they all remembered for another day?

“What about the neighbors? They don’t know your story, Dad, so why doesn’t it take over their bodies,” Mom asked, putting the last dish in the strainer and wiping her hands on the little towel that hung on the door of the oven. “Really, Dad, stop. Do you know how long I thought it was real?”

Grandpa got still for a second, his eyes lost their shine and he looked at Mom in a way that Jack had never seen before. Like maybe he was scared. “Brook,” he said, his voice matching his look, hard and a little worried. “It is real,” he told her with his eyebrows up and his mouth turned down.

Mom rolled her eyes and turned to the fridge. “I have to make dinner, Dad.” 

“Brook, what is its name?” Grandpa asked like he was telling her what to do.

“Dad,” she puffed out.

“Brook Avery Masterson, answer me,” Grandpa commanded.

Jack’s giggles died.

Mom turned around, holding a package of hamburger meat. “Dad,” she said again and shook her head. “I don’t want to say it, now stop, please.”

“I don’t care what you want, young lady, say it,” Grandpa told her. He sounded just like Mom when she was mad at Jack.

“You don’t really believe it and-”

“Say its name!” Grandpa cut her off, almost shouting.

“Oh for the love of God, Dad. Fine,” she put a pan on the stovetop, cranked the knob so the burner hissed and somewhere something click, click, clicked until blue flames wooshed into life. Still shaking her head she said, “fine. It’s–” She made a face like she was hurting.

“Brook?” Grandpa started to stand up.

Jack was about to blurt out the name, because he was, all the sudden, covered in goosebumps and his heart was going way too fast. But, what was the name? Had Grandpa ever told him? Did he ever say it outloud?

Grandpa, still bent like he was about to stand slowly lowered back down. “What was its name?” he asked, rubbing his big hand over the back of his head until his gray hair was the one that finally stood up.

“Jack, you remember, don’t you?” he asked.

Jack shook his head. “You never told me, I don’t think.”

“I did!” Grandpa said, his green eyes were getting bigger.

Mom was staring at her pan, she didn’t put the mean in, just stood there, staring.

“What did you tell me?” Jack asked. He looked up at his grandpa, and frowned. His heart slowed. His skin stopped prickling, he felt sort of sleepy, when he blinked, it took him a long time to open his eyes. When he did, it was nighttime. And there was a black shadow sitting on the chair at the table. It wasn’t Grandpa anymore. Whatever this was had a rounded back and was almost as big as the fridge.You forgot… a voice whispered, and Jack couldn’t be sure if he heard it in his head, or coming from the thing in the chair.