The Blanks (The Shivers Collection, #3)

by Grady Hendrix

They’re standing in the trees, barely ten feet away, outlined by the Stannards’ backyard light. There are more of them than I’ve ever seen before. Their tall, still shadows stand out against the trees; their dead eyes reflect yellow in the houselights. All of them stare at this window—all of them stare at my son.

Callum saw a Blank and now I’m Sherry Litvak. “Cool,” I make myself say. “Some other time.”

relax. I practice smiling in the window over the sink until I look normal again.

“I want to watch a movie,” I say. “Nothing scary,” Callum says. His voice already sounds a little abstract.

“Our daughter,” I hiss, “is not going to grow up without a father because you wanted to pop the hood and look at the engine! I am not going to be a single parent because you wanted to do performative macho bullshit!”

so many of them—filing across our living room, past the little potbellied stove, padding upstairs to our son’s bedroom, going to take care of the one who saw them, because you’re not supposed to see them, no one sees them; you look away, you ignore them—everyone knows you ignore them; as long as you don’t see them, everything is okay; as long as you don’t notice them, you’re lucky. You’re blessed.

The worst part are the noises we hear after that.

family that was touched by tragedy. But that will only make us appreciate each other more and love each other stronger.