Christopher's Diary: Echoes of Dollanganger

Going on a double date with a college junior and senior probably seemed very sophisticated to them. It set off a flurry of conjectures and more questions, but neither Kane nor I offered any further details. At the end of the day, we both hurried out of the building, laughing about the buzz we had created.

“My phone will be ringing all day tomorrow,” I said.

“I’ll just have to keep you too busy to answer,” he replied, and we drove off to my house.

Right from the beginning, I believed that reading the diary together would either draw us closer or drive us apart. Seeing how he had reacted and knowing how I had been reacting did make sharing it something special between us, as he had said. Would I have felt this strongly about him if he had never found the diary and we had never started this? Maybe, I thought, but I would always be carrying the deep secret of the diary inside me, and he would wonder if my silences, my drifting back into something I had read, meant I was getting bored and losing interest in him. He might have pursued the reason, and that probably would have driven me away from him in the end.

Christopher, I thought, you never dreamed you would do this, that you would become a bridge between a boy and a girl, taking them across to a place they would fear and despise and yet be attracted to, maybe even in their special way cherish. You had no reason to believe that all that you felt and experienced would be understood and shared as if it belonged to someone else, maybe to everyone.

Kane and I walked up the stairs, now more than ever feeling like two explorers traveling to another country inside themselves. He went right to the trunk. I thought he had cast the wig aside, maybe feeling foolish about it, but I was wrong. He put it on and smiled. “Hi, Cathy,” he said, and began to read.

So much of what we did and how we lived the following year was the same as the first year that I can simply say another year passed.

Never in my wildest imaginings did I see us living in that small room and this attic for this long. Every day, I awoke the same way, with the same thought: Today, our grandfather will die, and we will return to the world. And every day, he lived on.

Momma wasn’t visiting us as frequently. A heavy wave of resignation settled over Cathy and me. We were the twins’ parents now, caring for their every need, teaching them what we could, amusing them every way we could, healing them when they had colds or bruises and cuts, and comforting them when they had nightmares. Nevertheless, it was good that they had each other. I didn’t tell Cathy this, because I knew she would go into some sort of rage, but I found an old book on the care and breeding of dogs. It was highly recommended that there be at least two if the owners were not going to be able to pay them enough attention. Children were certainly no less than dogs. They needed company.

For Cathy and me, expanding our territory somehow became paramount. I realized that on Thursdays especially, when the servants left for town, she and I could crawl out onto the roof and sun ourselves. It became our outing, our little trip to someplace else. We went there during the day and during the night. It gave us the desperately needed sense of some freedom.

Time wasn’t simply marked off on calendars. We had three, one dedicated to the death of our grandfather, because that was supposed to be the birth of our freedom and new life. Time was also marked by our own physical maturing. Cathy was far more aware of hers than I was of mine. Girls usually mature faster in so many ways. I knew she was intrigued about it because of her constant questions, the answers for some of which I had to research.

What happened next was my fault more than Cathy’s. One day, I found her gazing at her naked body, exploring the changes in her breasts, the curves in her figure, even touching herself between her legs. Suddenly, she sensed my presence and turned to look at me. I must have looked fascinated, because she didn’t rush to cover herself. Then she reached for her dress, and I said, “Don’t.” She held the dress but made no effort to put it on.

I kept thinking I shouldn’t be doing this, but I was so drawn to her sex, and I could see she was realizing her power over me. She didn’t tease me. At least, I don’t think she did, but all she said was, “You shouldn’t.”

I tried to explain

myself, to compliment her on her growing beauty, and then we heard the door being unlocked. She rushed to put on her dress, but she didn’t get it on fast enough to avoid our grandmother’s startled eyes. We watched as she gave a cold, satisfied smile. At last, she said, she had caught us.

Caught us doing what? I protested. I knew what she was going to accuse us of doing, but Cathy had no idea what she meant when she said she was positive now that Cathy had been permitting me to use her body. She made it seem like Cathy’s body, her beautiful hair, were all designed for sin. Of course, Cathy had no idea what she meant by “using her body.” Suddenly, our grandmother left.

Fortunately, the twins weren’t down from the attic to see and hear this. When they came down, I heard our grandmother returning and told Cathy to get into the bathroom, but she was in and on her too fast. She had brought a pair of scissors and said she was going to cut Cathy’s hair down to her scalp.

Cathy and I refused to let her, and she threatened that until Cathy cut her own hair, we all would have no food, even the twins. I thought it was an empty threat. Momma would be around soon, anyway. She left the scissors behind and shut the door. We had a little food left. The twins, of course, were so terrified they trembled. By now, Carrie had come to call Cathy “Momma,” and she often crawled into bed with her so Cathy could embrace her and comfort her. Cory always looked a bit stunned to me, his little mind twirling in confusion. How unnatural it all seemed even to one as little as he.

I didn’t know how long this terrible situation would last, and I had no idea that it would get even worse. The following morning, I awoke late and discovered that during the night, our grandmother from hell had snuck in, injected Cathy with some sedative she had probably taken from our grandfather’s medicine so that Cathy wouldn’t wake, and then poured tar into her hair. When Cathy realized it, she started to scream. I calmed her so that the twins wouldn’t be even more terrorized, and then I tried to shampoo it out while she sat in the tub. It didn’t work, no matter how hard I scrubbed. Hair was coming out in my fingers. I tried mixing some chemicals from a professional set Momma had brought me to keep me occupied with my scientific studies, but nothing worked. The twins kept asking about it. Cathy pretended she had done it to herself. She didn’t want them to know how horrible our grandmother was. It would give them even more nightmares and cause her presence to send cold shivers of fear through their little bodies. They trembled enough as it was for some reason or another every day.

And then it began. She was true to her threat. There was no food brought to us. I was afraid she would sneak in and cut Cathy’s hair anyway, so I tried blocking the door, and we planned to take turns playing sentry. We soon realized there was no reason to do it. She wasn’t coming back until she got what she wanted. She didn’t even check to see how we were doing without food. She brought us no supplies, either. Our toilet bowl got clogged. The twins were listless. All of us were weak without any food. Then I thought that if I cut off some of Cathy’s hair and she wrapped her head in a scarf, that could fool her. We thought it might work, but she still didn’t come with food. I even tried to feed the twins some of my blood for nourishment.

We were desperate. I planned to make a sheet ladder for an escape from the attic. I even prepared dead mice for us to consume for the strength we would need, and then, perhaps believing she had punished us enough, she left us a basket of food. What we discovered, however, was that she had removed every mirror and smashed the one in the bathroom. Cathy wondered why, and I told her I had read that the devil loves vain people. “She believes it and thinks she can stop us from having any pride or what is known as vanity.”

We were in the hands of an insane woman, and deny it as hard as I could, I couldn’t answer Cathy when she asked why—why would our mother let all this happen? All I could think was she didn’t know what her mother was doing to us.

Kane looked at me and stopped reading.

“Are you all right?” he asked. “You look sick to your stomach.”

I nodded. However, for a moment, I couldn’t speak. I actually ran my fingers through my hair as if I believed it had been magically bathed in tar and then cut off.

“He had to feed them his blood?” I said. “I felt my stomach churn when you read that.”

“He felt he had no choice. How could she do that to children so small? I have to say he was clever to cut her hair that way and make it look like she had obeyed the old lady’s insane demand. What would she have done if they had all died? Could she cover up something like that?”

“I don’t know. It gets back to whether anyone else in that house knew about them.”

He held up the diary. “I still say, how could they not? If I understand this correctly, he’s saying they’ve been there two years. That’s a long time to go without anyone else knowing they were there.”

“I suppose.”