Speaking in Tongues

the spiders with it. Megan flushed the messy shroud and curled up in a ball on the cold floor. Cried for five minutes.
    What’s that? Crazy Megan asks her alter ego.
    This stopped the tears.
    Squick, squick.
    That sound again. In the ceiling and the walls.
    Squirrels, she decided. Then stood and walked to the wall, which was made of cinder block. How could there be animals in the walls if they were made out of cement?
    Then she glanced into the bathroom and squinted. Those walls were just plasterboard. And there was a rectangular plate about twelve by eighteen inches mounted on the wall beside the toilet. Where did it lead?
    She walked inside, crouched down and ran her finger across the edge of the metal, which was covered with many layers of paint. In the corners she felt one screw head but three holes, from which the screws were missing. If she could break through the thickpaint she might be able to pull the plate up and bend the metal till it snapped.
    But the enamel was thick, like glue, and with her short nails she couldn’t get a grip. She thought of her friend Brittany, with the killer fingernails, a regular at a local Vietnamese manicure parlor. That was what she needed—slut claws . . .
    She searched the bedroom once more but couldn’t find anything to use as a tool. Sighing, she returned to the bathroom, lay on the floor and slugged the metal plate. It resounded hollowly, tantalizing with the promise of an empty passageway on the other side. But it didn’t move a millimeter. Keep going, Crazy Megan says.
    Megan slammed her fist into it again and again, until her knuckles began to bruise and swell. She turned around and kicked with her heel. As the center pushed in slightly, a hairline crack formed around the edge and she kicked harder. Her foot felt as if it were going to shatter.
    Go! C.M. encourages. Go for it!
    Megan spun round and tried again to grab the side of the plate. But her nails just weren’t long enough to get a purchase in the crack and she howled in frustration then lunged forward, bared her teeth and shoved her face against the wall, trying to dig her incisors into the crack.
    Her gum tore open on the rough paint and plaster. Her jaw exploded with cramping pain and she tasted blood. Then suddenly, with a snap, her front teeth slipped into the crack and pulled the plate away from the wall a fraction of an inch. Megan pressed her hands to her face to ease the pain. Then she spit blood,grabbed the plate and yanked so furiously it gave way at once, ripping the remaining screw from the wall. She fell backward.
    Jesus, Crazy Megan says respectfully. Good job.
    With a gasp of joy she sat up, seeing faint light through the hole. She shoved her head into the opening, looking into another room. The plate had apparently covered an old heating vent. There was a thin grille on the other side about a foot away. On her back, she guided her leg into the wall and kicked. The grille fell clattering to the floor. She froze. Quiet! she reminded herself. He could be nearby.
    Then she started crawling through the opening, headfirst. Her shoulders were broad but she managed to ease them through. She had to reach down, cramping her arm, and cradle her breasts to keep her nipples from scraping on the sharp bottom edge of the vent. One inch at a time she forced her way through the vent. As she eased through she examined the other room. There were bars on these windows too. But the door was open. She could see a dim corridor beyond the doorway.
    Another ten or twelve inches. Then twelve more.
    Until her hips. They stopped her cold.
    Those fucking hips, Crazy Megan mutters. Hate ’em, hate ’em, hate ’em. You just couldn’t lose those ten pounds, could you?
    I don’t need any of your crap now, okay? Megan thinks to her alter ego.
    The vent on the other side of the wall was, it seemed, slightly smaller than the one in her room. Megan tried wriggling, tightening her muscles, licking her fingers and swabbing her sides with spit but shestill remained stuck—halfway between each room, her butt dead center in the wall.
    No way, she thought to herself. I’m not getting trapped here! A terrible burst of claustrophobia shook through her. She fought it down, wriggled slightly and moved forward an inch or two before she froze again.
    Then she heard the noise. Squick, squick.
    The scuttling of claws in the wall above. Accompanied by a high-pitched twitter.
    Oh, my God, no. The squirrels.
    Her heart began to