Hide and Seek (4 page)

“Agatha?”

She heard someone calling her name and felt cool hands on her face. Someone shook her shoulders, softly at first, then with more force.

“Agatha!”

She sat up and rubbed her eyes. Her body ached; she could feel something hard beneath her.
The plank in the attic
, she remembered.
I fell asleep on it
.

“Agatha, sweetie, are you alright?”

The last blurry edges of sleep fell away from Agatha’s eyes, and she saw her mother kneeling on the attic floor beside her. Her mother’s forehead was creased with worry, but her eyes softened in relief when Agatha blinked and smiled at her.

“Hi, Mom,” Agatha said. “What are you doing up here?”

“What am I doing up here? What are
you
doing in the attic?” Her mother turned her head and called down the trapdoor. “Frank, she’s okay!”

“I decorated. For Christmas.” Agatha waved a hand, indicating the strings of Christmas lights that twinkled around them and the scene of Santa and his reindeer on the floor.

“Yes, I can see that.” Agatha’s mother gathered her into tight hug. “Do you have any idea how much you scared me? We came up here to get the presents, and I saw you on the floor… I thought you’d asphyxiated or something. Frank ran downstairs to call 911.”

Agatha’s stepfather poked his head through the trapdoor. “Agatha! Thank goodness you’re alright. How did you get up here?”

“Summer and Rain tricked me into it. They locked me inside.”

Her mother and stepfather exchanged concerned glances. Her mother pressed her wrist against Agatha’s forehead, but Agatha shook it away.

“Mom, I’m fine. I just fell asleep, that’s all.”

“You’re sure? You feel a little warm, and you’re not—”

“That’s just because it’s so hot up here,” Agatha interrupted, peeling off the Christmas tree sweater. “It’s like a sonar.”

Her mother’s mouth twitched upward in a smile. “A sauna, sweetie.”

“Whatever.” Agatha stood and brushed off her jeans. “Let’s go downstairs. I’m starving.”

Her stepfather helped her back down the ladder, and her mother followed behind. Agatha took a few steps down the hallway and stopped to stretch her arms above her head. She made a mental note to never fall asleep on a plain wooden floor again—it made her feel worse than when Summer and Rain got matching Indiana Jones costumes for Halloween, complete with whips.

Her mother took her by the hand. “Come on, I’ll make you a grilled cheese.”

As they went downstairs, her stepfather disappeared back up the ladder to collect the Christmas presents. Agatha felt like she’d missed an incredible opportunity. If she’d been able to find the boxes where the presents were hidden, she could have stomped on the twins’ gifts and snuck a peek at her own. They’d probably been in one of the tall pyramids of boxes that she hadn’t dared to climb. Now she’d have to wait until the morning, and nothing would stop the twins from getting everything they wanted.

When they reached the kitchen, Agatha saw that the table was covered by her mother’s collection of miniature artificial pine trees, and red cinnamon-scented candles lined the counter.

“Our decorations are out!” she said, plunking down into a hard wooden chair.

“Of course they are.” Her mother pulled out a can of tomato soup and emptied it into a saucepan. “It would hardly be Christmas without them.”

Agatha sat in contented silence while her mother cooked, happy to be in the warm kitchen with her mom. As her mother set down a plated sandwich and a mug of soup, her stepfather called them into the living room. Agatha carried her meal there, and gasped when she saw that the tree was now surrounded by presents, all wrapped in shining red and green paper. There was even a fire crackling beneath the mantle. It was a picture-perfect Christmas scene, just as she’d imagined in the attic.

She sat down on the couch and took a large bite of the sandwich. Cheese stretched between the bread and her mouth, and she sighed happily. As long as her mom was home, she felt safe from the twins and their twisted games.

“Where are Summer and Rain?” she asked, dunking her sandwich into the steaming soup.

Her mother and stepfather exchanged glances again.

“Sweetheart, what do you mean? It’s Christmas Eve,” her mother said in a gentle voice.

“Yeah, I know. So shouldn’t they be here?”

Her stepfather pursed his lips. He stepped back into the kitchen and gestured for his wife to follow. “Can I talk to you for a moment?”

Agatha’s stomach was beginning to feel warm and full, and she smiled at the thought that the twins might be about to get into trouble. Not only had they locked her in the attic, but they’d left her home alone while they went out into the neighborhood to do who-knows-what. It was so rare for them to be caught doing something wrong. It would be satisfying to witness.

“… delirious.” Her stepfather’s voice carried in from the kitchen.

“Maybe it’s just mild heat stroke,” her mother said. “It was very warm up there.”

In the flickering light of the fire, something glinted in the corner. There were two shiny somethings poking out from beneath the tree skirt. Agatha thought they might be ornaments that had fallen off a branch or two and got up from the couch to retrieve them. When Agatha reached the tree, she saw that the firelight was reflecting off a pair of tiny porcelain dolls. Each one was barely the size of her hand, and they looked like they were created in the same style as the Santa Claus she’d found in the attic, but on a much smaller scale.

They might be his elves
, she thought.

They didn’t look like elves, though. Normally, Santa’s helpers were clad in red and green, but these two dolls were wearing matching blue dresses. Agatha frowned. Something about them was familiar. The blue dresses and long blonde pigtails…

Envy stabbed Agatha’s stomach. She knew who these dolls reminded her of: her stepsisters. They were miniature hand-painted versions of Summer and Rain. They must have been made for them as Christmas gifts, and Agatha had been left out. She didn’t see a doll in her own likeness anywhere under the tree.

Agatha gripped the dolls in one hand and walked over to the fireplace. She had half a mind to toss them in so that Summer and Rain would each be short a present. That would teach them to lock her up somewhere on Christmas Eve. As she stood before the flames, trying to decide if she’d get into trouble for lighting something on fire, the family portrait above the mantle caught her eye.

It was different than before.

There were only three people in it.

“It’s the middle of winter, it’s snowing outside, and she’s asking why it isn’t summer? Why it’s not raining?” Her stepfather almost sounded angry. “That’s not normal, Patricia!”

“She just ate, Frank. Let’s give her time to settle back down. She doesn’t have a concussion. She might be a little dehydrated, that’s all. If she’s still talking nonsense in an hour, we’ll take her to the hospital.”

Agatha stared up at the portrait. In the picture, she sat alone on the bench. Her mother and stepfather stood behind her, resting their hands on her shoulders. All three of them were smiling.

She dashed back over to the tree. This couldn’t be right. It had to be a joke. She pawed at the Christmas presents, checking the tag on each one.
to agatha, from mom and frank. to patricia, from frank. to frank, from patricia.
There wasn’t a single gift addressed to either Summer or Rain.

And then she found it, one stray tag poking out from the tree skirt where the dolls had been.

to agatha, from santa
.

Agatha’s heart began to pound away at quadruple speed. The memory of her wish to Santa Claus came barreling into her mind:
I wish that they can never hurt me again
. She uncurled her fist and studied the little figures once more. They really were expertly crafted. They looked exactly like the twins.

Could they be…?

There was only one way to know for sure.

“Mom, did you see these?” she asked, carrying the dolls into the kitchen.

Her mother took the porcelain figures and held one in each hand. “Oh, these are beautiful, sweetie. Where did you get them?”

“I found them. They’re not from you or Frank?”

Her stepfather shook his head. “I’ve never seen them before.”

“Don’t they look familiar?” Agatha pressed.

Her mother frowned down at the dolls. “Maybe… I can’t say from where. That
Heidi
movie? With the little girl in pigtails?”

“Honey, are you alright?” her stepfather cut in. “Your mom and I are worried.”

Agatha took back the porcelain dolls from her mother. She walked them over to the cupboard under the sink and set them down in the back corner behind the cleaning supplies. It felt like a fitting place for them to spend the next few years, and maybe after that they could take a turn beneath the porch. As she turned back around to face her parents, she felt a slow grin spread across her face.

“I’ve never been better,” she said.

About the Author

Caryn Larrinaga is a writer living in Utah with her husband and two cats. Despite obtaining a degree in Anthropology (which is much cooler than you might think), she explored several career paths before deciding that she had to follow her passion. Suddenly, writing fiction was the only thing that made sense. When she’s not writing, Caryn likes to spend her time swearing at video games and guzzling chai tea.

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Thank you for reading!