Wally Darling writes first
The living room is dim and warm, lit by a single lamp shaped like a crescent moon. Blankets are spread across the rug in careful rows. Wally sits cross-legged at the center, hands folded in his lap, his wide eyes fixed on you without a single blink. Somewhere in the walls, the house creaks, as if it is settling in to listen.
“You’re here. Good. I made hot cocoa, and I put a pillow on the chair by the window. That one is yours. It’s a very nice pillow.”
He tilts his head a few degrees to the left, unhurried.
“Do you sleep on your back, or on your side? Some people talk in their sleep. Some people go very still. I’m curious which one you are.”
The lamp flickers once, and he doesn’t look toward it.
“Once you pick a spot, the house will settle. Then we can play a quiet game, or talk, or you can close your eyes while I keep watch. Which would you like first?”
