The House of Lambs

When I think back on my formative years, my mind fills with blissful recollections of fun, laughter, innocence, love, and discovery. My parents, though divorced, loved me deeply and did their best to give their only child the best childhood possible, something I’m very grateful for in my adulthood. I cherish those bright snapshots and revisit them often when I’m feeling nostalgic. Of course, I didn’t make it through childhood without acquiring some unpleasant memories too: painful doctor’s visits, being bullied, getting in trouble, losing my favorite toy, watching a movie that scared me - experiences that upset me enough to sear themselves into my consciousness. But I wouldn’t consider any of them to be particularly traumatic. All except one, that is.

In the summer of 2009 when I was twelve years old, my mom and I were living in an idyllic suburban neighborhood just outside of a major city. I’d lived there for four years already and I loved it: my school was close by, the neighborhood pool had a water slide, and one of the best snow sledding hills in town was within walking distance.

The only drawback was there weren’t any other kids to play with on my street and my school friends lived a ways away, so I didn’t get to see them much in the summer. Most of the time I didn’t mind; I preferred my mom’s company over anyone my age anyway. My mom did her best to entertain and play with me, but she tired out quickly and looking back now, she must’ve been pretty relieved when I finally got a new playmate.

One scorching hot day in June, a moving truck and a white mini van pulled up to the vacant house at the end of the street that had recently sold. I watched from my front porch, chewing on a Nerds rope, waiting to see if any kids would get out. A man who looked to be in his late 30s hopped down from the truck’s cab and opened the driver’s side door of the van for a woman around the same age.

Then the van’s back door slid open and I felt a rush of excitement as two kids stepped out: a girl who looked to be about my age and a boy a few years younger. My eyes fixed on the girl, small and pale, her blonde curls bouncing as she began helping her parents unload the truck. She spotted me on the porch and smiled. I smiled back, waving to her with my free hand.

The next morning, there was a knock at our door. My mom went to answer it as I peered out over the upstairs railing, curious to see if it was the new neighbors. Sure enough, the door opened to reveal the same girl who’d smiled at me yesterday and the same woman who I assumed was her mother. They wore identical smiles and white dresses with a red sash.

“Hey, I’m Susan!” said the mother cheerfully, “we just moved in and we wanted to introduce ourselves. This is Sarah,” she put her hand on her daughter’s shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze, “and my son, Matt, and husband, John, are busy unpacking.”

My mom returned Susan’s friendly smile and extended her hand for Susan to shake. “Welcome to the neighborhood, Susan! I’m Kathleen and my daughter, Heather, is around here somewhere.”

I winced as my mom called out my name, dreading the idea of having to make small talk with strangers. Still, my interest in the new girl was piqued and I let my curiosity lead me, albeit reluctantly, to the door.

“Hi, Heather!” Sarah chirped, mirroring her mom’s bubbly demeanor.

I offered her a sheepish smile. “Hi, Sarah.”

My mom, in an attempt to help break the ice between us, put her hand on my shoulder and said, “Heather, why don’t you and Sarah try out your new box of sidewalk chalk?”

I hadn’t expected her to send me off with the new girl so soon and anxious thoughts began racing through my head. How long had it been since I’d hung out with a kid I didn’t know? What do I even talk to her about? Should I be myself or…someone she might actually like?

Trying to imbue myself with confidence I didn’t have, I nodded and motioned for Sarah to follow me. The voices of our moms exchanging pleasantries faded into the background as I led Sarah to the garage and retrieved my chalk.

We sat down on the driveway, my box of chalk between us, and before an awkward silence could creep in, I asked, “So do you like your new house?”

Sarah retrieved a yellow and began coloring, looking up at me with a smile,“Yeah, it’s so big! At my old house, I had to share a bathroom with my brother, but now I finally get to have one all to myself. I don’t have to brush my teeth in a cloud of his smelly farts ever again.” She punctuated that sentence by sticking out her tongue and making a fart noise.

We both fell into a fit of giggles at that.

Little by little, we got to know each other. Sarah was funny, creative, surprisingly easy to talk to, and seemed to enjoy my company just as much as I did hers. I was a shy, nervous kid whereas she was a textbook extrovert and part of me worried that she would think I was weird, but it turned out she was a bit odd herself. She wore mismatched socks, whistled when she was thinking hard about something, and said strange things like “the moon’s name is Gloria” or “the Lamb told me when my pet goldfish would die”.

Sarah and I spent our days playing on the playground in her backyard, riding our bikes around the neighborhood, and decorating our driveways with chalk drawings of every color of the rainbow. Her parents were always polite to me, asking how I was each time they saw me. They seemed strict though, as they would never allow Sarah to have a sleepover with me. Sarah’s little brother, Matt, was nice too; I’d only met him once as he didn’t leave the house much, but on the rare occasions he did, he always smiled and waved.

One day at the end of July, I invited Sarah to come inside to cool off after hours of riding our bikes in the sizzling heat. I knew my mom wouldn’t mind, she was thrilled that I finally had a friend after all. Sarah looked up at the evening sky, then down at her pink Hello Kitty watch before giving me a nod.

I gave her a grand tour of my room, introducing her to all my stuffed animals and letting her look through my CD collection - the closest thing we had to a Spotify playlist in 2009. Then my mom got us some popsicles out of the freezer and we sat at the kitchen table, chatting and laughing and sticking out our tongues to see if the popsicles had dyed them blue. I asked Sarah if she wanted to play a round of UNO - winner gets the Ring Pop I'd been saving for such an occasion - and she glanced nervously at her watch before saying, “Sure, but just a quick one. I’ve gotta be home soon.”

Obviously there’s no such thing as a quick game of UNO, and time stretched on as we laid down card after card, the sun sinking lower and lower in the sky. My game play was masterful, my strategy effective, but in the end, it was pure luck - or at least that’s what I told myself - that carried Sarah to victory. She had just laid down her second to last card with a smug smile, much to my chagrin, and called out “UNO!” when the sound of knocking came from the front door. Knocking is too gentle of a word - it was banging. The incessant pounding was punctuated by rings of the doorbell which increased in frequency the longer the door went unanswered.

“Coming!” My mom called out, muttering a curse under her breath as she hurried to the door.

When she opened it, Sarah's mom, Susan, was standing there. You could see our kitchen table easily from the front door and as soon as she spotted Sarah, she yelled her daughter’s name with a spit-flying fury that made me flinch. Sarah’s head snapped toward the sound of her name, then her eyes darted to her watch and she froze like she’d done something unforgivable. Before my mom could say anything, Susan barged past her and stomped over to her daughter, her face red with anger. Susan grabbed Sarah by the arm and yanked her outside without a word to me or my mom, the both of us too stunned to say anything ourselves.

“I’m sorry, Mom, I lost track of time! I’m really sorry!” Sarah apologized as she was dragged down the driveway.

A wave of guilt washed over me as I listened to Sarah’s pleas grow fainter and fainter. Had I gotten her in trouble? It felt like my fault, and as I looked down at her final card across the table, a wild card, I decided I owed her an apology as well as the Ring Pop.

The next day, I walked over to Sarah’s house and knocked on her door, hoping she wouldn’t be grounded or mad at me. The beaming smile she gave me as she hopped onto the porch assuaged my worries and we headed to her backyard to swing on her playground swingset. I sat in the swing next to her and presented her with the Ring Pop, telling her I was sorry.

She thanked me for the candy and said gently, “Don’t be, it was my fault. I wasn’t paying attention. In fact,” she nodded her chin toward her house, “my mom wants me to tell you and your mom that she’s sorry.”

I shrugged. “It’s all good. Do you have a curfew or something?” I was too afraid of the dark for my mom to worry about imposing one on me, but if Sarah had one, I wanted to know so I wouldn’t get her in trouble again.

I watched Sarah unwrap the Ring Pop and pop it in her mouth with a satisfied “Mmm!” before taking it back out to say, “I didn’t used to, but if my parents want to speak with Him, I have to be home by sundown.”

I blinked. “Who? Matt?”

Sarah looked at me like I was stupid. “No, they haven’t been able to use Matt. We were supposed to take turns being the vessel, but they can’t break through to Him.” she explained casually, as if she were telling me what she had for breakfast. “So it’s just me for now.” She sighed in frustration and kicked at the dirt with her foot. “I don’t know why he won't accept the gift our parents have given us. He should be honored.”

I wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so I let silence settle between us. I had no idea what Sarah was talking about but the-matter-of-fact tone in which she said it made me uncomfortable. Then again, she said strange things all the time that didn’t make sense.

After a minute or so, Sarah piped up, “Hey, are you free on Saturday?”

“Yeah, I think so.” I said, and Sarah’s eyes shone with something I couldn’t read. Hope? Desperation, maybe?

We hung out on the swings for a while, laughing and chatting as usual. By the time evening fell and I was walking back home to my house, I was still mulling over what Sarah had said about her and Matt.

Days passed and Saturday arrived. I sat around all morning, bored, waiting for Sarah to knock on my door. That beautiful sound came just after 1pm and I leapt up from my seat and ran out the door.

“Ugh, it’s so hot today,” Sarah groaned as we made our way to her house, “do you wanna come inside and hang out in my room?”

I looked at Sarah, surprised. She’d never invited me into her house before. I just figured she didn’t want her brother pestering us or something, so I never asked. I’d been curious about it though, and after the incident with her mom I was a bit hesitant to bring her to my house again, so I replied, “Yeah, sure!”

Sarah led me inside through the garage and the moment I crossed the threshold, I felt it. It was like walking into a vacuum - no TV sounds, no smell of food, just silence. It was Saturday, so I expected the house to be abuzz with activity, but I saw no sign of Sarah’s brother or their parents. That wasn’t the strangest thing though.

The living room walls were covered in paintings of varying sizes and mediums, but they all depicted the same thing: lambs. Some were peaceful, standing in green pastures. Others…weren’t. One had its eyes gouged out. One had a lamb curled inside a human rib cage. Another had a lamb with human hands folded in prayer.

I gawked at the paintings, awestruck and disturbed. Sarah didn’t acknowledge them, just grabbed my hand and pulled me up the stairs.

A long hallway ran perpendicular to the stairs with a door at the end to the right, one at the end to the left, and one in the middle that greeted us at the top of the staircase.

“This is my parent’s room,“ Sarah said as we passed the middle door and headed left, then she jabbed a thumb behind her, “and the one down there is Matt’s room.”

There were more weird lamb paintings on the walls and I tried not to look at them as I followed Sarah down the hall.

Sarah’s room was small but immaculately clean. The only objects in the room apart from the furniture were a small clock and lamp on her bedside table and a stack of CDs next to a CD player sitting atop her dresser. There was a small closet on the far wall and an entrance to a bathroom adjacent to it. On the wall above the bed was another painting: a white lamb nailed to a tree like a crucifix, surrounded by fire.

"Do you like it?" Sarah asked, beaming with pride.

Um, no, it’s creepy as heck, I thought, but I didn’t want to hurt my friend’s feelings, so I simply nodded.

Sarah went to her closet and retrieved a plastic tub off a shelf, partially hidden behind a wall of clothes hanging up. From the looks of her room, I hadn’t expected her to have much in the way of toys but she actually had quite the collection of dolls, clothing, and accessories. We played for the next half hour, and as we did I would occasionally glance up at the lamb painting, feeling as though its red eyes were watching me, judging me, deciding my worthiness. Worthiness of what, I wasn’t sure.

Each time I looked at the painting, I could see Sarah checking her watch out of my periphery. At one point, she looked down at it, then stood and walked over to her CD player, pressed play, and turned the volume up high. A chorus of children singing gospel music blared through the speakers. Sarah turned back to look at me with wild eyes and a wide, almost maniacal grin.

“Let’s have a dance party!” She yelled, moving her body and trying to find rhythm where there was none.

I stared at her, confused. “What? Why?”

Sarah thought I couldn’t hear her, so she stepped closer and practically screamed in my face, “Dance, lady!”

Still unsure of why we were suddenly doing this, I began to move in a way that vaguely resembled dancing, swaying and throwing my arms around. Sarah took this as an invitation to grab my hands and force me to spin her around a few times, then she started spinning me, whirling me around the room. Eventually I had to stop and lean against the wall until the room stopped spinning too.

“I don’t think I can dance anymore.” I panted, “Can we play with the dolls some more?”

“Okay, but we have to keep the music on.” Sarah said, sitting back down amidst all the doll clothes that were haphazardly strewn about.

“Why?” I asked as I joined her on the floor.

“Because.” She said flatly, not looking up from her dolls.

I narrowed my eyes at her, wanting to press further but deciding against it. Why is she being so weird today?

Our dolls had decided they were going to go to the mall to pick out new outfits and while I set up the “mall”, Sarah took a bathroom break. As soon as she’d shut the door, the song ended and in the sudden silence, my ears picked up a noise coming from down the hall. Voices. They were faint, but I recognized the high and low pitches of Sarah’s mom and dad. Sarah’s door was closed, so I scooted over to it and lowered my ear to the crack beneath it, but the murmurs were quickly drowned out as the next song came on.

I knew I should mind my own business, but I had a bad habit of eavesdropping at that age, especially on strangers, and I couldn’t resist opening the door and taking a few tentative steps out into the hall. I expected the sound to be coming from the middle door, Sarah’s parents room, but instead they emanated from the door on the right, the one Sarah had said was…Matt’s room? What were her parents doing in Matt’s room?

Now this is interesting, I thought, a mischievous smile pulling at my lips. I stepped a little closer, holding my breath to listen.

From the other side of the door, Susan’s voice chirped excitedly, “Matt, it’s time!”

Then came the shrill, drawn-out whine of a young boy. “Noooo!” Matt sounded angry, defiant, but also on the verge of tears, like a tantrum was imminent. I bet Sarah would love it if he got in trouble, I thought, drawing on what little I knew about siblings.

“You have to, buddy.” That was the voice of Sarah’s dad, gruff and authoritative.

“No!” Matt shrieked, “I don’t wanna!”

As he continued to protest, the anger in his voice was overtaken by panic as he realized his pleas were falling on deaf ears. “Please, daddy!” Matt begged, beginning to cry. His desperate, wailing sobs carried an edge of fear that made me shudder involuntarily. They were the kind of cries you’d hear in a doctor’s office from terrified kids who knew pain was coming.

“Come lay down over here, honey.” Susan instructed, sounding cheerful despite her son’s obvious distress. “We’re just about ready.”

“Mommy, please, don’t make me.” Matt implored with a sniffle.

“Are you sure this will work?” John asked.

“No, but it’s worth a shot.” Susan said with a sigh. “We can’t keep putting this all on Sarah, he needs to share the burden.”

Then there was silence and the music coming from Sarah’s room drifted back into my ears. I realized she’d turned it on to prevent me from hearing whatever I was hearing. Before I could wonder why, my mind screamed at me, you can worry about it later, get back before she catches you!

Despite my instincts telling me to stay, to find out what was going on, I tore myself away from the door and darted back to Sarah’s room. I shut the door as quickly yet quietly as I could and sat back down just as Sarah stepped out from the bathroom. She looked down at me and raised a quizzical eyebrow at my startled, wide-eyed expression. “What?”

“Nothing!” It came out as a hysterical squeal. I cleared my throat and forced myself to sound less guilty, “Nothing. I just…” Thinking fast, I held up two pairs of stylish, tiny shoes to Sarah. “I was wondering which of these shoes you liked better?”

Sarah studied me for a moment, her eyes searching mine and I swallowed hard, hoping she wouldn’t find what she was looking for. Then her face softened into a smile and she pointed to one of the pairs. “That one’s cute!”

Relieved, I put the shoes on my doll and as I did, I noticed my hands were shaking slightly.

Five minutes later, Sarah checked her watch again and frowned at it. Then she looked up at me, really fixed me with her eyes. “Heather, I just wanted to say thanks for being my friend,” she said with an earnest smile, “you were so fun to hang out with and I’ve had an awesome summer because of you.”

I returned her smile, flattered that she was as grateful for my friendship as I was hers. “Thanks, Sarah. I feel the same about you.”

We went back to playing with our dolls, but the whole time I was dressing mine in 80s garb, something was nagging at me. Why had Sarah said “you were so fun” and “I had an awesome summer”? The summer was far from over and neither of us were going anywhere, so why had she used past tense? And when she’d said it, her eyes held the kind of melancholy you’d expect from someone saying goodbye. I tried to brush it off as nothing, told myself I was reading too much into it.

But Matt’s cries echoed in my mind and unease began to worm its way into my gut. Something wasn’t right. I could feel the painted eyes of the lamb on me and I suddenly wanted to be anywhere but there. I shifted uncomfortably, watching Sarah play and trying to think of a good excuse to leave. We could hang out another time, outside her house.

“Sarah,” I began, my fingers twisting nervously in the hem of my dress, “I need to -” I was cut off by a knock on the door and it swung open a second later. Sarah’s mom was standing there, her blonde hair neatly coiffed and her outfit as stiff and white as her toothy smile.

Sarah’s face paled slightly. “Mom-” She started, but Susan raised her hand and said almost reverently, “It’s time.”

My stomach tightened with anxiety. “What’s going on?” I asked, trying to sound calm.

“We just need your help with something.” Susan said, still smiling but her eyes held no warmth.

“I-I can’t,” I stammered. “I need to get home.”

“You can go home just as soon as you help us.” Susan said a bit impatiently. “It’ll only take a second.”

Then Sarah and her mother took my hands, one on each side. Their grip was firm, and I reluctantly let them lead me down the hall. My mind spun and twisted, confused as to what was going on and frantically trying to make sense of everything. Where were they taking me? What was going to happen? Should I try and run? When I realized we were going to Matt’s room, a lump of dread formed in my throat and I tried to swallow it down but my mouth had gone dry.

Susan opened Matt’s door to reveal what looked like an average little boy’s room. The walls were navy blue, decorated with posters of baseball players and other sports memorabilia. Toy cars and trucks were proudly displayed on shelves and a few scattered articles of clothing lay on the floor. There was a race car bed in the corner by the window and on it was Matt, lying motionless but awake. His tear-stained face was devoid of emotion and his bleary, bloodshot eyes lifted to us as we walked in. He looked drained, defeated. John stood next to him, arms crossed, staring down at his son with a detached look as if Matt were nothing more than a bug he was observing. When he saw me, his face instantly brightened with the same phony smile as his wife.

“Hi, Heather!” He said in a booming voice that made me flinch. “Can you do us a quick favor? Matt’s not been feeling well and we need another opinion on whether or not he has a fever. Could you touch his forehead and tell us if it feels warm to you?”

The request seemed innocuous enough, but my instincts were telling me that these people were not to be trusted anymore. I needed to get out of there now.

They all watched me, waiting. I could feel myself beginning to sweat, heart thudding in my chest. “Um,” I squeaked, wanting to disappear. “I can’t, sorry. I need to go ho-”

Susan, still holding my hand, yanked my arm forward, taking me by surprise. Before I could react, she used her hand to press the back of mine against Matt’s forehead.

The moment my skin touched his, the room changed and I gasped in shock. I was suddenly somewhere else. Not physically, but inside my mind. It was a vast, formless space, black and deep, stretching beyond thought. Fear slithered down my spine and coiled in my stomach as eyes began to emerge from the black. Dozens, then hundreds of pale lamb-like eyes floated in the dark. They coalesced into a sphere for a brief moment before dispersing, revealing a dark shape in what had once been the center.

It looked like a massive, mutated lamb; its woolen body was twisted and contorted like it had been cut into pieces and put back together wrong. Its face was split vertically down the center, revealing a gaping mouth lined with pointed teeth. It was ancient, starving.

The sight of it shook me to my soul. I quivered, my knees growing weak and my organs seizing up as an icy wave of terror engulfed me. Breathing heavily, heart racing, I watched the woolly abomination step toward me. A scream ripped from my throat and I instinctively yanked my hand away, severing the connection.

Suddenly I was back in Matt’s room. I gasped, stumbling back on shaky knees like I’d just been hit. I probably would’ve fallen if Sarah and Susan weren’t holding my hands, steadying me. Before I could process the horror I’d just witnessed, Matt began to scream. They were piercing howls of pain, as if taking my hand away had unleashed a great agony onto him.

Horrified, I found myself paralyzed, my body unable to do anything but tremble and watch Matt’s anguished face as his voice began to shift. It morphed from a human scream into a wavering, animalistic cry that was deep and wet like someone gargling mud. It sounded like…bleating. Garbled, distorted bleating.

The hideous sound sparked a new level of fear in me and adrenaline flooded my body, jolting it into action. With newfound strength, I dug my fingernails into the backs of the hands holding mine until their grip softened and I could pull myself free.

I bolted. Down the stairs, through the living room past the lamb paintings, their eyes following me as I fled. Sarah and her parents yelled after me in relieved, exalting voices, “It’s Him! You’ve drawn Him out! We’ve broken through! Thank you, Heather!”

I didn’t stop until I was out the door, down the street, and back inside my house, slamming the door shut and locking it.

My mom held me as I sobbed hysterically into her chest, shaking with fear. I wondered if she’d believe me if I told her the truth: Sarah forced me to see a demonic barnyard animal inside her brother’s head and now he was possessed by it. In the end, I just said Sarah played a mean, scary prank on me and I didn’t want to play with her anymore. She was angry of course, and it took a lot of convincing to stop her from marching over to Sarah’s house and informing her parents of their daughter’s misbehavior.

I expected Sarah to come to my door looking for me, but she never did. Not that I would’ve forgiven her anyway. I thought back to what she’d said, the sadness in her eyes when she’d thanked me for an awesome summer, for being her friend. I think she knew that by “helping” her brother, she would be sacrificing our friendship. And she was right.

I did my best to put Sarah out of my mind. Before I knew it, summer was over and school had started. Sarah was home-schooled, so I didn’t have to worry about running into her there. I couldn’t avoid her at home though - we lived in the same neighborhood after all and we did see each other a few times, but we never spoke.

My mom got a new job the following year and the day after I’d finished sixth grade, we moved. I never saw Sarah again.

I tried to convince myself it was just a horrible, vivid nightmare, but deep down I knew it was real.

I moved on with my life - grew up, went to college.

I still get nightmares sometimes though. Sometimes I dream of lambs, bleeding and silent, watching me with malice burning red in their eyes. Sometimes I dream that I’m trapped in a black void with that woolen monstrosity. When I wake up, sometimes I swear I can hear that god awful bleating, just outside my window. As I lay there in bed, trembling in the dark, I remind myself that if this was the most psychologically damaging thing to have happened to me in my childhood, then I was pretty lucky.

And that usually brings me enough comfort to fall back to sleep.