The Bruise That Kept Growing

The night air was thick with the smell of rain and old wood when I arrived at my aunt’s place to watch my cousin, Leo. The house was a Victorian relic, all creaking floorboards and drafty windows, nestled at the end of a gravel lane that swallowed sound. Leo was five, a quiet kid with eyes that seemed to see more than he let on. I’d looked after him before, but something felt different this time, a pressure in the air like before a storm.

I got him into his pajamas, a worn pair with tiny rockets, and he was happily stacking blocks in the living room while I warmed his bottle in the kitchen. The hum of the fridge and the hiss of the kettle were the only sounds, until a sudden, sharp wail cut through. I dropped the bottle and sprinted in. Leo was sitting amidst the scattered blocks, his face red and streaked with tears, and on his forehead, a bruise was blooming, a deep purple spiderweb that hadn’t been there moments before. There was nothing he could have hit; the coffee table was too low, the walls too far. My heart hammered as I knelt, trying to soothe him, but his crying only intensified when I touched the bruise.

I convinced myself it was a fluke, a blood vessel that popped from crying too hard, but the paranoid part of me whispered otherwise. I checked the room for anything out of place, but it was just toys and furniture. So I pushed it aside and tried to get back to the routine. I carried Leo up the stairs, his little body stiff against my chest, but as we reached the landing, he began to squirm and whimper, his gaze fixed on the top step. ‘No,’ he said, his voice small but adamant. ‘Don’t want to go up.’ I tried to coax him, but he refused, so I took him back down and let him brush his teeth in the kitchen sink, the whole time his eyes kept darting toward the stairwell.

I figured he was just being difficult, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was watching. After we finished, I carried him back up, this time he was calmer, but as we passed the landing, I saw a shadow shift at the edge of my vision, the shape of a woman standing at the entrance to the attic. I turned, but nothing was there. Leo clutched my neck tighter, and I quickened my pace. I tucked him into his cot, his teddy bear pressed to his chest, his dummy in his mouth. He looked at me with those big eyes, and I saw the bruise had spread, now covering his whole left temple, a sickly green around the purple. I forced a smile and whispered, ‘It’s just a bruise, buddy. It’ll heal.’ He shook his head, his eyes wide. ‘It’s not a bruise,’ he said, his words muffled by the dummy. ‘It’s a door.’

A chill ran down my spine, and I backed out of the room, closing the door behind me. I stood in the hallway, trying to steady my breathing. I went to the bathroom, splashed water on my face, and looked in the mirror. Behind me, the reflection of the hallway was empty, but I could swear I heard a faint humming, a lullaby I didn’t recognize. I shook it off and started down the stairs. Halfway down, I stopped. The living room was dark, but I could see shapes moving in the shadows, small figures that skittered like insects. I blinked, and they were gone. And then, from behind me, I heard Leo’s door creak open.

I turned, and there was Leo, standing at the top of the stairs, his face pale, the bruise now covering his entire face, pulsing like a heartbeat. He opened his mouth, and his dummy fell out, clattering on the floor. ‘She’s coming,’ he said, his voice not his own, a low rasp. ‘She’s in the walls.’ And as he spoke, the walls began to pulse, the floorboards to groan, and the lights flickered. I ran back up, my legs shaking. I scooped him into my arms, and I felt the bruise on his forehead, cold and hard like stone. He was trembling.

I flew down the stairs, my mind a blur, and out the front door, not stopping until I was in the car, choking on the dry air. I looked in the rearview mirror, and the house was dark, but in the upstairs window, I saw the silhouette of a woman, her hand pressed against the glass. Leo hadn’t stopped staring. ‘She’s not done with the bruise,’ he whispered. ‘She’s coming for the rest.’ The bruise had spread down his neck, and I could see the veins beneath his skin turning black. I started the engine, and as we drove away, I could still feel her eyes on us, and I knew she was following, because the bruise was growing, and it wouldn’t stop until it had everything.