That phase came to a head at the beginning of the third week in April.
For four days in a row, all three boys visited their parent’s bedroom. Only this time, they did more than just stand by Catherine’s side until she woke.
“Mom! Mom!” Will was half-whispering, half-shouting in her ear, his voice urgent with fear and need. “Mom, wake up!”
She sat bold upright.
“Shhh. Don’t wake your father.”
“Too late,” Willard rumbled from the other side of the bed. “What’s going on?” He felt for his own alarm clock next to his side of the bed, and lifted it up close to his face. “Two-fifteen? What…?”
“It’s all right, Willard. Will just had a bad dream or something.”
“No, it wasn’t that,” Will whispered, as if afraid that someone else, someone not his father or his mother would hear. “I thought I saw…something…some one in my bedroom. A shadow by the closet. It moved. I’m scared.”
By this time Willard was sitting up as well. “There’s no one there, son, you must have been dreaming or…”
“No, I wasn’t asleep. I haven’t been asleep for…for the longest time now. I was just laying my bed looking up at the ceiling. Sometimes I see birds up there, I think. And I like to watch them fly in little circles. In little circles.” His voice too on a dreamy, muffled quality that Catherine found unsettling.
“Then that was it,” Willard said, laying back down and hunching under the covers. “You were dreaming. Go back to bed. I’ve got to get to sleep now.”
“Mom,” Will whispered again. “It wasn’t a dream. It wasn’t like before, with the birds”-at the mention of the phantom birds, Catherine felt a chill along her spine-“this time there was something in there.”
“All right.” Catherine got out of bed, threw on her robe, and stepped into her slippers. “Let’s go see.”
As the two of them left the bedroom, she carefully, quietly closed the door. Willard really did need his sleep. The drive into L.A. was hard enough without doing it half-awake.
In the boys’ room, she picked up Sams and put him back in his bed, then flicked on the Mickey Mouse lamp. The dim light cast shadows across the room, shadows that danced with each movement she or Will made. She padded to the closet-there hadn’t been a door on the closet when they moved into the house and, in spite of his promises, Willard hadn’t yet installed a new one. She slid the row of shirts and coats back and forth, showing Will that there was nothing behind them. She even lifted some of the fallen clothing from the floor and stacked them onto the upper shelves.
“Nothing here.”
“No. Not now.”
“All right, then. Up you go.” She waited for Will to climb into the upper bunk and settle himself, then returned to her own bed.
She was still awake when she heard another whisper in her ear.
“Mommy?”
It was Burt this time, standing so close to her that she could smell his warmth and the slightly acrid sweat on his pajamas.
“Yes?”
“I saw something in my room. A monster, I think.”
Catherine sighed. It much be contagious. Monster-itis, or Something-spooky-in-the-dark-itis. And both boys had caught it.
“Catherine.” Willard didn’t move or say anything else, but she understood his message. Get him back to bed and let me sleep!
“Come on, Burt.”
Together they walked the length of the hallway and entered the back bedroom. Then she went through the same routine. Pick up Sams and put him in his bed. Turn on the light. Check the closet. Reassure Burt that everything was okay. Get him bundled into his bed. Check on Will, Jr., retrace her steps to the master bedroom. Slide into bed as quietly as possible so she didn’t disturb Willard again.
This time she had slipped into sleep, had even begun to dream-another of those vivid, surrealistically realistic, unmemorable dreams, even though she didn’t realize it, since the dream seemed merely an extension of the night’s alarms-when her eyes opened yet again.
Sams.
He didn’t speak
He didn’t even wait.
As soon as he saw that she was awake, he crawled onto the bed, over her, and under the covers between her and Willard.
“What the hell…!” Willard shot out of bed, brushing frantically at the front of the well-worn Lakers T-shirt that was part of his night wear. That and his boxers. Winter or summer, never anything else.
Catherine sat up just as abruptly.
“Willard!”
“He’s wet! Soaked! Just feel.”
She did. She hadn’t noticed it when Sams crawled over her into the bed, but he was drenched, sopping, the front of his pajamas stained shades darker than the back.
Sams had been wearing extra-thick pull-up night diapers for a couple of months now. He had never had an accident before. He was almost completely potty-trained. Both Catherine and Willard were proud of how well he had managed the transition.
But now, he lay curled up on the bed, deeply asleep in spite of having just come into their room seconds before, and smelling pungently of urine. There was a dark spot spreading on the sheet beneath him, and a matching dark spot across most of Willard’s chest.
“Okay, Willard. You change. I’ll take care of Sams. And the bed.”
By the time she had picked the baby up, he was awake. He started to whimper.
“You’re all right,” she began. Then: “Willard, he’s shaking like a leaf. Trembling all over.”
Now that he was over the shock of awakening to the feel of wet-baby against him, Willard seemed more in control. He had stripped out of the T-shirt and, since they were damp as well, out of his boxers.
Naked, he circled the bed and put his hand on Sams’ back.
It felt like he was touching an electric vibrator set on ‘high.’
Willard rummaged in the closet for an old sweat shirt while Catherine removed Sams’ pajamas and the diaper. Urine dripped from the plastic lining, ran glistening down the back of Sams’ legs.
Willard grabbed him and wrapped him in the sweat shirt, holding him close while Catherine pulled sheets and blankets off the bed and threw a new set onto the top of the dresser.
She had just tucked the last corner of the fitted bottom sheet around the mattress when: “Daddy, why aren’t you wearing any clothes?”
Will, Jr., stood in the doorway, his eyes riveted on his father.
Willard grabbed one of the cast-off blankets-fortunately mostly dry-and whipped it around his waist, never letting go of Sams.
“Will, what are you…?”
“Daddy didn’t have any clothes on?” That was Burt, coming up just behind his brother to stand in the doorway.
“It’s okay,” Catherine said, hurrying over to the two. “Sams just wet himself in our bed and Daddy’s clothes got all wet, too.”
“Oh.” Both boys nodded. Curious mystery of nature explained.
“Why does Daddy…?”
“That’s enough.” Willard let more than a little of his impatience-and embarrassment-show in his tone. “What are you guys doing up. It’s”-he glanced at the clock-“3:15.”
“We couldn’t sleep.” Will answered for both of them.
“And we can’t go back to bed.” That was Burt.
“There’s something in…”
“Oh, for…” Still wrapped in the blanked, still clutching Sams to his chest. Willard led the boys back down the hall. Catherine had told him about the frequent night-time visits over the past days, and Willard had thanked her for taking care of things and letting him sleep. She had also told him about the putting-which-ever-boy-it-was-to-bed routine.
He didn’t have to put Sams in bed. The baby was still shaking, although not as much, and was fast asleep. Willard didn’t want to disturb him. And anyway the kid didn’t have a diaper on yet.
But he could turn on the Mickey Mouse lamp, check the closet and with one hand shift the hangers around to reassure Will and Burt that nothing lurked behind them. He watched Burt crawl into his bunk and Willard climb up the end of his, then stretch out and pull the sheets up. He switched off the lamp, called a quiet “Good night,” and left before either of the boys could answer him.
“Catherine, what in hell is going on?” He was whispering but his voice carried over the soft rustling of bedclothes being smoothed.
“Let me have Sams. And you put something on.”
She laid the sleeping Sams onto the bed and deftly dressed him in a dry diaper and fresh pajamas. She had already tossed the wet things in the hamper in the bathroom, but the air still carried an ammoniac tinge. Willard wrinkled his nose in distaste.
He dressed in fresh boxers and a different-but just as faded-Lakers T-shirt and crawled into his side of the bed. Catherine laid Sams between them and settled herself.
“Are you going to let him sleep in here? I thought we agreed that he was old enough…”
“Just this once. I think the poor baby was really frightened. He felt like a nestling that has dropped to the ground, terrified and shaking and… And I want him to stay with me tonight.”
Willard stared for a moment.
“Okay. Now let me get to sleep.” He grunted and rolled over, his back to Sams. Catherine noted that he left a small space between his body and his son’s. Just in case.
The rest of the night-what was left of it-passed undisturbed. Willard managed to pull himself out of bed when the alarm clanged, changed quietly enough that Catherine and Sams never stirred. When he left, he carefully closed the door, although something inside of him wanted, oh so badly needed, to slam the door.
Let them see what it was like to get wakened from a sound sleep.
That morning at breakfast, the boys were subdued, even more than they had been for the past little while. Suze was fine; she chattered and ate and got ready for school with no problem.
Sams was sleepier than usual but that was perhaps to be expected. And-Catherine noted with no little surprise-he didn’t bring his blanket with him to the table. As soon as he had eaten, though, he disappeared for a minute, then came wandering back into the kitchen with the wretched thing dragging behind him. Okay, so he was all right.
Will spoke very little. He didn’t remember why he had come into his parent’s room that late. He didn’t remember dreaming, or thinking he had seen anything. Neither did Burt.
Both boys did remember seeing their father without any clothes. Willard was fairly modest-except, of course, when he and Catherine were alone…they did have four children, after all. So none of the children had ever seen him naked.
The boys started to ask questions, but Catherine simply shook her head. No, this is not the time.
They both seemed unduly fascinated by what they had seen.