Vi and Eric had already seen.
The front of Iris’s head was shaved, and a thick red scar, raised and raw-looking, ran all the way over the top from ear to ear.
THE BOOK OF MONSTERS
By Violet Hildreth and Iris Whose Last Name We Don’t Know Illustrations by Eric Hildreth
1978
If you suspect someone you know might be a monster, there are steps you can take to get to the truth.
Expose them to holy water, garlic, silver, and gauge their reaction.
See if they make a reflection in the mirror.
Do you only ever see them at night?
Do they disappear on full moons?
Learn what kind of monster they are. Study their habits, their movements. Learn where they live, how they feed, what their weakness is.
Then make a plan to kill them.
Vi
June 2, 1978
YOU HAVE TO hit back,” Vi said with an exasperated sigh, after she knocked Iris’s block off for the tenth time. They were playing Rock ’Em Sock ’Em Robots, throwing punches by pushing the plastic buttons on joysticks. Vi was the red robot; Iris was blue. But Iris barely threw any punches. She pushed the head of her blue robot back on and waited for it to be knocked off again.
They were set up on the little table in the back sunroom. But there was no sun today. The enclosed porch, with its brown carpet and mustard-colored drapes, felt dismal. The old couch was covered in a crocheted sunflower afghan that Miss Evelyn had made. The beaded macrame wall hanging had been a gift from one of Gran’s patients. And the shelves held pieces of pottery that Vi and Eric had made: misshapen ashtrays and lopsided vases. The landscape with horses that Vi had painted by number last year hung above the shelves. Gran’s gin still bubbled gently behind them.
It was pouring rain, and nothing was on TV but crappy soap operas: The Edge of Night, As the World Turns, Guiding Light. After nearly a month, Iris still hadn’t spoken. Vi was starting to doubt that she ever would, but Gran said not to give up, to keep trying, to be patient and understanding.
Kapow! Vi pushed the button fiercely and knocked the head of Iris’s blue plastic robot off yet again.
This stunk. Winning was no fun when your opponent wouldn’t even try.
Vi shoved her chair back from the table and stood up, looked again through the stack of games on the shelves.
They couldn’t play Battleship or Go Fish. They couldn’t play Clue. You had to talk for all of those.
They’d done a zillion stupid Spirograph drawings and made designs with the Lite-Brite set. They’d already played Operation and Hungry Hungry Hippos and checkers. They’d spent almost an hour hunting for Big White Rat—Gran said she’d seen him when she was making her coffee and that he’d run into the crack between the refrigerator and counter.
“If I catch him, can I keep him?” Eric had asked.
Gran had smiled. “If you can build a cage strong enough,” she’d said. “That’s one smart rat.”
Vi turned from the shelf of games. “What do you want to do now?” she asked.
Iris only shrugged.
Of course.
If anything, Iris seemed more skittish now than when she first arrived. At times she seemed almost afraid of Vi. And Vi found it exhausting to constantly be having one-way conversations. Sometimes, like now, she wanted to shake Iris, beg her to talk.
Iris was wearing the disgusting blaze-orange hat. She never took it off. She probably slept in it, for all Vi knew. She was still dressed in Vi’s clothes: overalls and a long-sleeved blue shirt, which she had on inside out. Having this girl, this weird silent twin, walking around in her clothes, following close behind her like a shadow, was unsettling.