Doors. He hated doors. Giant, unbreakable doors that trapped him inside his bedroom with the monsters that came out at night.

And sometimes during the day.

Christopher Higginbotham, dubbed Hicks by his best friend, DeShawn, dropped to his hands and knees on his bedroom floor, toeing the moldy, leftover macaroni and cheese farther away. A roach crawled across his fingers, but he didn't pay any attention to it. He’d come to think of them as pets. Besides, his focus wasn't on the filthy floor, but on jimmying the lock on his bedroom door. He’d been practicing every day.

DeShawn’s dad taught Hicks how to pick locks, and now he had one of his mama’s hair pins from her bathroom stuck in the lock, praying it would work.

Eyes squeezed tight he twisted the pin until the lock made a little click. Hope soared like a giant paper airplane in his chest. He opened his eyes to see the lock fall to the floor and crash onto the plastic tiles. The entire room seemed to shake. His heart dropped into his knees. Please don’t let mama hear. Please don’t let mama hear.

Hicks scrambled underneath his bed and tucked his head into his arms, fear taking hold. If mama thought he’d tried to get away, she’d beat him worse than last time.

After what seemed like forever, his heart stopped swooshing in his ears, and he heard the man in his mama’s bedroom making those gross noises.

Hicks struggled to breathe, crawled back to the door, and turned the knob. The hinges creaked, and he winced, sure they’d hear the massive screech.

Deep grunts and groans echoed down the short hallway. There was still time to make himself scarce before the man came back out.

He ducked his head and tried not to think about the last time the man with the tattoo was here. About how he'd been laying in his bed, rereading one of the books the sweet old lady, Mrs. Edwards, down the hall had given him, when the tattooed man had opened his door.

He’d screamed for help, but none came.

His mama had been real nice to him the next day, crowing about what a good boy he'd been. He’d cried and begged her not to let the man come back, but she’d knocked him to the ground and screamed at him for being ungrateful.

He'd been ashamed to disappoint her. He tried to be good. She was the only person who loved him, and he wanted to make her happy, but he couldn't do what that man wanted. Not ever again.

The next time his mom went to the liquor store he filled a plastic sack with as many belongings as he could and tied it in a knot. Was gonna be hard leaving mom but then she hadn’t been herself these days. He stared at his book laying on his mattress. The Adventures of Tom Sawyer. Some of the words didn’t make sense, but there'd been pictures, and he really liked pictures. Liked to imagine going on great adventures too. Tonight, it was his turn to be Tom Sawyer, to go down to the river and build himself a raft. DeShawn was gonna come with him.

Hicks tied the bag to his belt loop and balanced it on his back. His mother’s moans had him cringing as he eased through the door, his legs quivering beneath his weight.

It was as if they weren’t strong enough to hold him up, but he kept going. He took his first step in the kitchen when the man shouted.

Hicks’ hammering pulse accelerated and he took off running.

There was the tiny table next to the kitchen door. The one he’d have to climb to slide the chain lock open.

He climbed onto the table top when his mama’s bedroom went silent. He focused on the lock in front of him, barely managing to get it open and grab the knob.

"Christopher," came his mother's singsong voice, the same one she'd used on him that next day.

His fingers slipped. He couldn't breathe. He had to get out now.

"Christopher!" The sweetness was gone, and by the sound of her voice, he pictured her standing there naked in the hallway, headed toward his bedroom.

Using all his strength, he wrenched on the rusty handle, but it wouldn't budge. Please, please, open.

He yanked the doorknob and it turned a little bit more.

"Christopher! Jed, he's getting away!"

The tattooed man stumbled into the hallway, his gaze landing on Hicks.

Hicks moaned and yanked with all his strength.

"Help! Please, help me!"

Maybe DeShawn's daddy would hear him if he kept screaming. Heavy footsteps rattled the floor.

"Help!"

Seconds passed.

Hicks squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for the inevitable when pain exploded in his head and he went flying across the kitchen. His ears rang so loud he couldn’t hear over them. And then his mama was there, yanking him back toward his bedroom. "No!"

"Sherita, get that needle ready. I want to relax when I'm done. I brought you the good stuff this time."

Hicks fought, but his mama dug her nails in deep. "Now you be good like I told you. I'll get you something nice tomorrow."

She threw him in his room. And then the man was there, locking the door.

And he was thrust back into his worst nightmare.