Brenda sat on the floor with her eyes shut. Thick black mixed with bits of color swam before her eyes.

“Go upstairs, honey.”

“But Mommyyyyy...” Brenda whined, begrudgingly opening her eyes. “I’m bored! All you ever do is sit there with those needles.”

“Oh you hush. I’m sewing. You go play upstairs with your brother and sister. Tommy and Rachel are coming over this afternoon. You should rest up so you have energy when they get here.”

“Tommy and Rachel don’t like me. They always win when we play.”

“Nonsense.” The needles swept in and out of the punctured sheet of yarn. Like silver slivers diving in and jumping out of pools of rainbow fibers.

3:05 PM. The doorbell chimed, as if the clock’s afterthought.

“Why hello, Mrs. Baur. Come on in.” Brenda’s mother stood back from the door, clearing a path for her guest to enter the house.

“Why thank you, Eileen. You don’t know how much I appreciate you having the children over.”

“Oh, it’s no problem at all. They get along wonderfully!”

“Oh, that’s so good to hear. Tommy and Rachel always look forward to coming over here.”

“Brenda enjoys it too. I think it’s a great experience for all of them. And they’re so quiet! I sit in the study for most of the time–just working on my embroidering and such–and they occupy themselves playing. It’s amazing to see such young children behave so well,” Brenda’s mother remarked.

“Alright then. I’ll see you in a few hours. Thank you so much!”

“It’s no problem at all.”

“Okay Brenda, you’re ‘it’.”

“Why am I ‘it’?”

“Because you’re always ‘it’.” Tommy and Rachel chimed.

Brenda looked behind her back. Her brother and sister stared back at her. Their identical features separated by the distinct mark of gender. Solemn eyes bored into her. Silently.

“But why?”

“Because you don’t know how to hide. We always find you and then you’re ‘it’ anyway. So just be ‘it’ now.”

“Fine, I’m ‘it’.” Brenda walked to the corner of the kitchen, plastered her hands across her eyes, and began to count down from ten as she faced the corner.

“TEN.”

“NINE.”

Brenda sighed as she counted. I’m always ‘it’, she thought. Me, always me. They always find me, and I’m always ‘ it’. I cannot ever get away from being ‘it’.

“EIGHT.” The frantic scamper of children’s feet sounded down the hallway and across the living room. The panicked shuffle of rubber sneakers squeaked against the polished wooden floors and brushed against the steel wool-like surface of the living room carpet.

“SEVEN.”

“SIX.”

Gales of laughter erupted. From everywhere. Giggles spilling from the windows and the doors. She could hear them leaking under the doors and pooling around her.

“FIVE.” They always find me. I’m always going to be ‘it’ .

“FOUR.”

“THREE.” Doors slammed, and limbs banged against hollow walls. Muffled whispers grew quieter with each whisper.

“TWO.” Brenda’s voice grew slightly more urgent.

“ONE. Ready or not, here I come!” The drowning black recess of her vision faded as she turned around and opened her eyes.

Brenda stormed out of the kitchen and ran through the living room into the hall. Her bare feet slapped against the wooden floor. She charged down the hallway, throwing open each door she passed. Linen closet, bathroom, bedroom, guest bedroom, sewing machine room.

As she burst through the door at the end of the hall, she found her mother, needle in mouth, mauve strip of cloth in hands. “Get out of here Brenda, you’re supposed to be playing.” Her mother’s mouth hardened into small twin slabs of pink stone. Her thick black eyebrows slanted together, forming a dark “V” above her dull brown eyes.

“Why aren’t you downstairs sewing?”

Her mother sighed, barely audibly over the thrumming drone of the sewing machine. “I have to put this together,” she muttered.

Refusing to let her gaze stray from the hammering needle, her fingers darted in and out of the silver pin’s path. She looked at Brenda while the machine chewed holes and strung thread through the material.

“Why?”

“Because,” she emphasized, with growing frustration, “I need to attach these so that you don’t see the inside of the cloth.”

“Oh,” Brenda replied, somewhat confused at the idea.

“Go away.”

Slinking out of the sewing room with a scowl etched upon her face, Brenda thudded into the bathroom. She snatched the shower curtain and found Tommy curled in a ball, a toothy grin splashed across his face. “I may be ‘it’ now, but you know you’ll be it right again. You can’t run from room to room, swapping hiding spots.” Meaning escaped Brenda’s ears, resounding in soft, scratchy words like rustling leaves and static.

She stood still in the middle of the hall. Her mother’s towering figure emerged from the end and walked towards her. The burnt glare of her mother’s eyes singed her thoughts.

“Go play.” Her voice weighed on Brenda as if each syllable were an iron weight on her back.

“Where are you going?”

“You can’t hide from any of us. Not even your brother and sister,” Tommy smirked gleefully.

Brenda squeezed her eyes shut and he went away.

Tommy ran down the hall and into the kitchen. The countdown from ten began. Wavering pauses stretched between numbers as he struggled to recall which number came next in reverse order. Children’s bodies bounced. “Now go hide–they’re going to find you.” Brenda’s mother whisked down the hall, her tall, slim figure casting puppet-like shadows on the floor–stretched torso and limbs like thick, shadow-choked strings.

Tommy was on five now. Brenda walked down to the end of the hall and peered into the room her mother had just left. Slipping inside, she silently shut the door and sat down at the sewing table. The sterile white machine sat quietly before her. She toyed with the vertical needle sticking down from the front of the machine. She pulled it towards her and it moved. Back and forth, back and forth she pushed and pulled it.

“Ready or not, here I come!” echoed Tommy’s voice, walls and walls away.

A determined mask settled on Brenda’s face. Flicking the red switch on the side of the device, she pulled the stabbing needle towards her as the mechanical hum of the machine sputtered, started, and came to life. Placing her chin on the table, she closed her eyes. For the last time.

As the shrieks rose up from her stomach and out through her mouth, Brenda contented herself with a single thought. They will never find me again.

Blood welled up with each molten-iron jab of the needle, sealing one eye, and then the next with a clotting scarlet gauze. Brenda heard faint whimpers beyond the electric song of the sewing machine and the ear-piercing wails of her convulsing body. She realized she was no longer alone in the room.

And as the machine stitched and stitched and stitched before her bloody eyes, she almost smiled. They won’t find me again. Never, no not ever.