But today he’s stuck in the city because of the snow, at a conference that ended last night. And Annie is stuck in the house with Mrs. Keller and Suzy, the three of them alone together for the first time in what seems like an entire season, though that can’t possibly be true.

Mrs. Keller comes down, her head wrapped in one of the brightly colored turbans she’s taken to wearing, her bones peeping through the sweats she now wears around the house because she’s so cold. Suzy is on the floor playing with a puzzle while Annie washes the breakfast dishes. Mrs. Keller pours herself coffee and sits at the table. Annie can feel her stare.

“I bet you like this, don’t you.” Annie takes her time turning around, wiping her fingers methodically with the dish towel. She can’t help the scowl that grips her lips as she faces Mrs. Keller, who looks so grotesque, so weak, her eyes bulging out of her tiny white head, veins purple at her hands and temples. She looks like an alien come to snatch away a human baby to take back to her planet and perform tests on. Annie wants to grab Suzy and go far, far away into the blizzard outside. Far away from this house, this creature.

“What do I like?”

Mrs. Keller snorts. “It’s written all over your face. I see you, even if you don’t see me. I know you like me like this, old and decrepit. You think it’s easy for me to see you prance around, so young and limber? I want to snatch your energy and hide it from you, feed it to myself.” She takes a sip of her coffee. “Sometimes I want to sneak into your room at night with those scissors—” she points to the pair on the knife rack “—and cut off all that long, luscious hair of yours and make a wig for myself. I want you to wake up bald, with fuzz prickling your head, cuts and bruises mottling your scalp, those long pretty eyelashes of yours plucked out one by one.” Her voice has grown quieter, raspier, and Annie has to take a step forward to fully hear, her hands still twisting the dishcloth.

“You know, when my mother was dying, I hired a nurse for her, someone around 24/7 so she’d never be alone and in pain. And my mother hated her. She’d scream at her, call her names, throw her own urine at this poor woman. I couldn’t understand it. I would never call my mother docile, but she wasn’t abusive by any means. Yet right before she died, she turned into this horrible person, this monster, and I never understood why.” Mrs. Keller pushes her coffee mug back with her index and middle fingers.