As soon as Emily got home from school, she’d run straight to Grandpa’s room. Sometimes they’d stay there for hours. I could hear them laughing from the hallway, but as soon as I opened the door, the room was eerily silent.
The most disturbing thing was what they did with their hands.
I first noticed it one ordinary afternoon. I walked in without knocking and saw my father holding both of Emily’s hands.
They sat by the bed, their fingers bent in strange positions. As soon as my father saw me, he quickly lifted the blanket and covered Emily’s hands.
