The Playhouse

By Shayna Krishnasamy

Nine-year-old Benjy stalks up to an old house and hammers on the door. He’s looking for his sister. He’s furious with his sister. But the girl who opens the door isn’t his sister, or is she?

From the bestselling author of Hide and Seek and The Sickroom comes a dark short story about what it’s like to be a kid in an adult world, and the lengths we’re willing to go to protect ourselves and the people we love from all the dangers and devils lurking inside The Playhouse.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Shayna Krishnasamy
• Release date: Dec 1, 2013
• ISBN: 9780981335254

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Copyright

The Playhouse

About the Author

Copyright © Shayna Krishnasamy 2012

All rights reserved.

This short story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

ISBN: 9780981335254

Cover Photography: D. Sharon Pruit/Getty Images

The Playhouse: A Short Story

          Benjy wiped his eyes and started up the steps toward the front door. The doorbell was broken as he'd expected, its button hanging right out of the socket. He banged on the door with his left fist, not his right.

          He didn’t much care what happened next. He hadn’t really thought about it. What mattered was that he’d come and he’d knocked on the door as he’d been planning all afternoon, sitting in his room on the brown shag rug, grinding his teeth. He’d planned to come to this door and bang.

          That’s what he wanted to do, that’s what he cared about. Not anything else.

          He hammered on the door for a good long time—at least half a minute. It made a big noise. If he hadn’t been so set on not caring about anything, he might have been impressed with himself.

          Once he was weary of banging on the door, he didn’t really know what to do. He stood on the top step looking out at the dark street wet with rain. A streetcar went by. He scowled at it. He scowled at the shiny sidewalks.

          He was nine years old and had never been out after dark by himself before.

          He couldn’t remember the way home. No, that wasn’t it.

          He couldn’t bring himself to go home.

          He heard a scuffling on the other side of the door, but he didn’t turn around. Whoever it was, he wasn’t going to turn around. He held his body rigid and breathed hard through his nose. After a moment of thought, he puffed out his chest.

          Who’s there? a voice called. It was a girl’s voice.

          Benjy didn’t answer.

          I heard you banging! I know you’re there, the voice said.

          Benjy swung around. I didn’t! he shouted.

          Who’s that? the girl demanded. Who do you think you are, anyway?

          She was giving him sass.

          Benjy’s hand curled into a fist and he walked up to the door, right up close until his nose was touching the wood. He was shaking.

          Who is it already? the girl asked. She sounded bored now.

          That was too much. That was just too much.

          ME! Benjy shrieked. Red came flooding up his neck and speckled his cheeks. He vibrated against the door. It’s me, ok? It’s me! ME!

          Well, why didn’t you say