I always wondered about the fascination around horror. Not just horror, but thrillers too. The suspense and gory bits … The very books that make me cringe, jump, hide, scream, and sleep with the lights on. The books that make my muscles tense and heart race and bats flap in the pit of my stomach. The same books that make my entire body react, fight-or-flight mode.
The same books that lined the shelves in Gramps’ study.
I’ve wondered about the fascination behind the love of horror, and now I understand.
Maybe it’s a way to distract or fill our heartbreak, our grief, our loneliness, that there’s something more than this. To remind ourselves that we aren’t really alone in all the times we are. Though most can’t see the things that walk beside us or hide before us daily, maybe the unseeable love exists all the same. Maybe if love had a face, it would look like an evil and addicting thing—an emotional monster with an unfathomable hunger.
Yes, maybe that’s why I love horror, because it makes my muscles tense and my heart race and butterflies, er bats, flap in the pit of my stomach. It makes my entire body react, flight-or-fight mode—like the way he does. For a fleeting moment, horror satisfies whatever it is inside me that starves to be filled, faced, or forgotten.
There was something about Freddy at five in the morning at the funeral home. The whispers of the electric strums spilled into the preparation room, playing my hollowed heart like an air guitar.
Darkness hugged all around me, aside from the single lamp over Beth Clayton’s stiff body that was lying on the cold metal table, but she wasn’t here. It was only me and an empty vessel.
I clutched the tweezers between my fingers, pulling thread from her stubborn lips. I’d been eager to do this too, hoping she’d come back to me and spill the secrets trapped inside her soul. Maybe that was why her killer had sewn her lips shut … so that she couldn’t speak to me.
But since her killer had done that, it meant they knew I could talk to the dead. They, whoever it was, knew Beth Clayton would end up on my table, and her spirit would end up before my eyes.
No one could have known that.
My thoughts instantly went to Jury Smith and the people who had been there when I’d kicked everyone out of the room to talk to him. Monday, Officer Stoker, Earl Parish, Beck Parish, Jonah St. Christopher, Milo Andrews, Julian…Julian Blackwell.
Julian, Julian, Julian. “Could they hear me talking to the dead?” I shuddered at the thought.
I filled in her brows, painted light shadow over her lids, and rubbed the pads of my fingers over her cheekbones, applying thick layers to give her color. Beth Clayton was beautiful, sweet, sweet, beautiful, with her whole life in front of her. “What happened to you?”
Being a mortician wasn’t easy.
Seeing kids’ bodies pass over my tables was hard.
Young girls like Beth Clayton were harder, I thought.
I pressed my thumb to my lips, then to her forehead as I always did to each body I’d come across. “You’re free, sweet girl, nothing can hold you down now.”
A single sweet tear warmed the corner of my eye. Just one, like every other time, and I swiped it dry.
“That was nice,” a voice said. I turned, and Jonah was leaning in the doorway, his hair disheveled, but his wardrobe impeccable as always, with two coffees in his hands. He pushed off the wall and headed toward me. “You always do that?” he asked, handing me a cup.
“Yeah.”
His brow lifted as he held the mug at his lips. “A prayer for them?”
“Just a wish from the living to the dead, I suppose. Nothing special.”
“Sounded and looked pretty special to me.”
Smiling, I tapped the end of the table beside Beth’s body. “She’s ready to go for the funeral tomorrow.”
“You out of here already?” He jerked his wrist, and his watch shifted. “It’s six in the morning.”
“Five forty-five,” I corrected, standing and walking to the sink to flip the water on. “I’ve been here for about an hour now. I want to get back to Gramps and be there when he wakes.” I shook out my hands and grabbed paper towels from the dispenser. “I’ll be back later to clean the display and prep room. The Clayton’s should be here around ten.”
Jonah nodded, his gaze following me as I pulled a sheet over Beth’s body.
By six, I was at Mina’s diner as soon as it opened, grabbing my well-deserved hotcakes and two issues of the Daily Hollow. And by six-thirty, I was back at Gramps’, standing over the cliffs with a fresh cup of coffee in hand, watching the sunrise, waiting for him to wake.
This was my daily routine now, and I didn’t mind it. For the first time, in a long time, I wasn’t alone anymore. Gramps and I were getting along. Together, we found a rhythm. Though he never sent the letter to get me here, I couldn’t be more grateful to have this time with him. And the pang in my heart only grew larger each day knowing his were numbered.
My eyes fell to the spot where I’d first met Julian.
I’d wanted to give in to him in the alleyway. It took me everything not to. Everyone tells you how to live your life, but no one tells you how to walk away from the life you love when it starts to hurt. Yes, with Julian, I loved life because he made me feel undead. The girl who looked like a ghost, talked to ghosts, raised by ghosts, he made this girl feel like something worth looking at, someone who was wanted. But he could easily take that away from me too. If I gave into him, he’d think treating me like this was okay, and it was not okay.
When Gramps woke, we spent the next few hours eating the hotcakes and working on our crossword puzzles in his bed, listening to Freddy in the Mournin’. He was much quieter this morning, and each time my pencil hit the newspaper, his eyes flickered over to catch my progress.
That evening, I walked into The Bean after hearing it was the only place in Weeping Hollow to have a hope for an internet connection. Gramps had hardly eaten anything during dinner. I needed to research his symptoms, see if I could find answers to this virus.
The coffee house was on the corner of Town Square, with windows in a diamond-paned pattern. Inside, a faded brick wall took up half the store behind the long black counter, where charcoal black pendant lights hung in a row. Along the adjacent wall, rectangular chalkboards displayed the curated menu.
The little place was packed yet quiet, the young adults working behind laptop screens or indulged inside a book. I noticed Milo sitting on the opposite end next to a window with Monday and Kane.
I hadn’t spoken to Kane since what happened at The Rocky Horror Picture Show movie night.
Kane called me over as soon as he noticed me too, waving his hand casually as if the other night had never happened. I took a quick look around, scanning for an empty table, but there wasn’t one. After a short debate with myself, I walked over with my black and white striped Kate Spade laptop satchel hanging off my shoulder.
“Small world,” I said, bouncing my gaze back and forth between them.
Monday wore a black velvet bow in her half-updo and a frown. “You left us last night and missed the real show,” she said. “One of the Hollow Heathens went crazy, could’ve eaten me alive.”
“Better off. Fallon could finally make you look pretty back at the morgue,” Kane joked through a laugh.
“Asshole,” Monday scoffed, kicking him under the table. Kane yelped. “Mark my words,” Monday held up a finger, “The only option for this smoking hot body is cremation. No one’s touching me.”
I chuckled, noticing Kane made no moves to make direct eye contact. He pulled his hat further down over his face, and I dipped down and saw the bruise over his eye.
“What happened to you?” I asked him. “Is that a bruise?”
“That’s what I was trying to tell ya,” Monday exclaimed. “Out of nowhere, that Heathen, Blackwell, went ballistic, punched him for no reason. I’ve never seen a Heathen lose control like that in public.”
“It was a sucker punch too,” Kane gritted out, dropping his fist over the table. “Didn’t stay around long enough for me to get right, either.”
“Because you were out for a good minute,” Milo pointed out, then hid his smile behind his tight lips.
“He punched you?” A little uncomfortable, I shifted the strap over my shoulder. “Why would he punch you?” I couldn’t say he didn’t deserve it because he did.
Kane narrowed his eyes and dropped his chin. “Why do you think?”
“Because we’re boys,” Milo threw his back against the booth, “We fight, lie, and steal.”
Monday’s face twisted. “Why?”
“Because. That’s how we get what we want.” Milo slid down the bench to make room for me. “In better news, Mabon’s tomorrow. Are you finally coming with us to Crescent Beach?”
I took a seat next to him and pulled my laptop bag in front of me, thinking about my answer. I didn’t want a repeat of last night, and with Gramps, I already had enough on my plate than to worry about Kane’s erratic behavior. “I don’t know.”
“Oh, you have to,” Monday said into her coffee, took a small sip, then set it down. “There’ll be a bonfire at the beach, some music, dancing …” she bounced in place, remembering something, “Oh, and at midnight, whoever is brave enough to jump into the ocean is said to have a year of good fortune.”
My brows snapped up. “Like off the cliff?”
“Maverick is the only one crazy enough to do it,” Kane spoke up, leaning back into the booth and dropping one arm over the table to cup his mug. He lifted a brow with a small smile. I didn’t know what it meant. A let’s-talk? I’m-sorry? Whatever it was, it wasn’t going to work this time.
And the conversation rolled on. I knew they were laughing and talking back and forth, but their voices fell into the background as I fixed my gaze outside the shop window into Town Square. Half of me was fully aware, looking for Julian, the other half was lost inside this body, stuck inside this coffee shop, trapped with these people. It was an odd and unique feeling. A feeling of time slipping and the world moving on without needing me—that the world would be okay, regardless if I was here or not. Being around Julian didn’t make me feel like that, the reason I caught myself looking for him—either out there or in the corners of my mind.
“Yoo-hoo, Fallon.” Monday snapped her fingers in the air, and I darted my gaze to her. “We were about to head out. Going to Eleanor’s across the street. She does a little bit of this, a little bit of that.”
“She’s a psychic,” Milo answered. “Just say she’s a psychic.”
I immediately thought of Kioni, the girl I’d met from the palm reading tent on Defy night. Maybe she would be there and introduce me to her grandmother. It was possible I would have better luck with a reading from a psychic than results from Google regarding Gramps’ health.
“Ya right out straight or what?” Kane asked.
“Okay, yeah. I’ll go.”
Monday and Milo walked before Kane and me, padding over the paved streets behind the gazebo. The fading sun lowered over the forest, painting the sky in brushstrokes of marigold and carnation pink and lavender.
Kane elbowed me in the arm. I looked up at him when he lowered his head. “Hey, I really am sorry about last night. I honestly meant no harm. I don’t know what came over me.”
All I could do was nod. I wished I could have said it was okay and pretend that it never happened, but it wasn’t okay. I wished I could forget about it, but forgetting would be stupid on my part. Instead, I had folded the situation up and filed it in a cabinet stored in the back of my mind, marked “never again.”
“I don’t know what’s going on between you and Blackwell,” Kane continued, “But if he knows what’s good for him, he’ll back off.”
“What’s good for him?” I asked, offended as if it were me Kane was threatening.
“Let’s just say you’re under Sacred Sea protection. Blackwell can’t so much as be within twenty feet of you without our permission. If he goes near you, the Order will punish him, throw him in the tunnels. So, if you care about him, you should stay away too.” He shoved his hands into his pockets, walking at my side. “It’s what’s best for everyone.”
“Wait,” I stopped walking, staring up at Kane, “Why? Why can’t he be around me?” Was this why Julian was acting strange? Was it the reason he was hiding us? This answered everything, but why didn’t Julian just tell me?
“Do you have any idea what Blackwell is capable of? One slip up, and you’re dead. Is that what you want?” His brows pressed together, and he leaned in. “You think Benny wants to bury his granddaughter? Because I don’t.”
“That’s low, Kane. Using Benny like that,” I shook my head, “And for the record, I don’t think protection means groping me, either. When I say stop, I mean it. When I say just friends, I mean it. There’s no hidden line or underlying meaning. If you ever touch me like that again—”
“I said I was sorry. That was just me being a drunk and horny dick, Fallon. I got it, okay?” He stood with his brows in the air, arms at his sides. “Moment passed. Trust me, it won’t happen again.” He’d said it with such disgust, almost as if the mere thought of looking at me put a sour taste in his mouth.
Silent seconds passed between us, and the strap from my laptop bag dug into my shoulder, keeping me unbearably present in every single one. My eyes slid back and forth between his as I thought about what he had said, that I was under Sacred Sea protection.
“Why is Sacred Sea protecting me? There’s a whole town here, why me?”
Kane’s eyes grew, and he shook his head. “Probably those Hollow Heathens,” he breathed out, and I rolled my eyes, shifting in place when he pulled back on my shoulder. “Look, all I know is your dad asked for his coven to protect you if you returned. You came back, Fallon. This is the situation you got yourself into. My advice is to stay away from Blackwell. I’ve no doubt he’s killed people before, and he will kill you. No one is immune. Do you have any idea who his father was?” I shook my head, and Kane sucked in a breath. “Javino Blackwell. Murdered half a dozen people before he was burned on the cliffs. It’s in the Blackwell blood, and you can’t fix something that’s in your blood.”
The rest of the way was quiet, and I no longer wanted to be here.
I wanted to find Julian. I wanted to tell him the same words he’d told me.
I wanted to tell him that they’re all liars, but we’re not. I wanted to tell him that I didn’t believe any of them, that they didn’t know him as I knew him.
But I kept my emotions bottled as the four of us stood in front of a tiny storefront wedged between a tattoo shop and a parlor. A neon-blue flashing sign ran up the side, reading, Psychic.
“I warned you about them, didn’t I?” Monday whispered, talking about the Hollow Heathens as she opened the door before we all filed inside.
“I just don’t think they’re as bad as everyone makes them out to be,” I whispered back, feeling the need to defend Julian.
Kane groaned.
Monday chuckled. “Says the girl who took off and almost left Weeping Hollow because of them.”
Milo, who’d already stepped off to the side, kept quiet and wandered over to the wall where books crammed the shelves, stacking from floor to ceiling.
Spines were worn and cracked and peeling away, evidence of being read time and time again. The font lettering had faded, and I ran my finger over the bumpy ridges, collecting dust, then blew the fuzz from the tip of my finger.
Monday slammed her palm over the countertop bell repeatedly. “Hello? Ms. Eleanor!”
“Chill out. She’s coming,” Milo hissed.
Monday narrowed her eyes at him just when the curtain of beads parted down the middle and a tall woman with a shaved head and golden hoops piercing the rims of her ears appeared. She wore a black paneled blouse over black slacks with the seams in gold detail and sequins. Eyes as black as night found mine across the room when a familiar and knowing tight grin stretched across her wide lips.
A breath left me, and my chest tightened. “You look just like—”
“Marietta,” she finished my sentence and dropped her head in a single nod. “She was my twin sister.” Her Kenyan accent was just as smooth and strong and stubborn as Marietta’s, untarnished by the Mainers. It was like seeing Marietta all over again, and emotions pooled from my chest, up my throat, and pricked behind my eyes. I wanted to rush over and wrap my arms around her, to breathe in the distinct scent of rosemary and sage. “And you must be our Moonshine.”
“I’m sorry,” I shook my head, trying to drag in a steady breath. “This is hard for me. You look just like her.”
“Me, I miss her too, child. Come, let us talk.”
Eleanor led me through the curtain of beads toward the back. Velvet violet and green canvases hung from the walls, and incense burned in corners of the narrow hallway stacked with boxes and inventory. She opened the door to a small room, and we both entered.
A silk purple table cloth draped over a round table positioned in the center of the room with two tufted chairs facing each other. A deck of tarot cards fanned out across the center of the table. Candles of all different heights lined the walls over vintage sideboards, casting dancing shadows over the dark wallpaper.
For some reason, I felt like I should apologize for what happened to Marietta, as if it were my fault. As if I’d taken Marietta away from Eleanor myself and forced her to raise me. I wanted to apologize for all the years stolen and for her not being there for Marietta when she got sick. But I couldn’t say anything as the grief held my tongue in a firm grip.
“It is alright, child,” Eleanor said, reading my mind. “We knew this day would reach.”
Eleanor pulled out the large chair and offered me to sit. And I did, slowly shaking my head. “I don’t understand.”
Eleanor took a seat across from me. “You will.”
She offered a small smile, and her gold bracelets jingled as she folded the cards into a clean stack and placed them off to the side between two other decks. “Have you ever had a reading done before?”
“No,” my voice was shallow as I said it. “I was never really introduced to this sort of stuff until now. I mean, I’ve heard of magic and witches and the supernatural, I’ve never doubted it. But since I returned to Weeping Hollow, it’s as if I was thrown into an alternate universe where normal doesn’t exist. Half the time, I don’t even know what’s real.”
“Me, I see,” Eleanor said in a disapproving tone, then she nodded as something seemed to click in her skull. “It seems as if Marietta was the right choice, after all.” She laughed lightly. “Tarot cards are a mirror to your soul. The biggest misconception is that they hold the key to your future, but what they truly unlock is one’s inner intuition and wisdom as a guide to navigate life.” Her eyes veered over to the three decks resting beside us. “Go on. Choose a deck.”
I examined the three decks, all bent and out of shape and frayed at the edges, no longer sitting cleanly on top of one another. The first deck golden, the second black, and the third silver, but all three journeyed through many readings. The silver deck had a picture of a bird’s claws swooping down, and it captured my attention. “The silver.”
Eleanor’s expression remained stoic, and she asked me to shuffle.
I did, and the cards were frail against my skilled fingers as I slid them and wove them back into place before handing them over to her outstretched palm. Eleanor placed the shuffled deck between us on the table. “Sawa, make three piles, dear.”
I separated the deck, as she requested. Shortly after, Eleanor flipped the top card of one pile and laid it in front of the pile. Then she slipped the last card from the bottom of the same stack and laid it face up over the pile. She repeated these steps for all three piles.
“Your past, present, and future,” she explained. Six cards, face-up, stared back at me. I shifted forward, sitting over the edge of the seat with perked ears, anxious to hear more. “Feeling tense?” she chuckled, and my eyes snapped to hers. “Little psychic joke.”
Eleanor’s long nail scraped along the rim of the pile that marked the past. “The hermit card, this tells me you have mainly kept to yourself in younger years and … it is paired with the Devil reversed. Entrapment. It signifies a past of no escape, and a road leading to one. You are held captive, or a situation that happened to you. Perhaps something more literal—trapped.” Her eyes bounced up to mine, and I quickly looked away. “Are you getting me, Moonshine?”
A lump formed in my throat. “I … I don’t know,” I lied, flashes of the horrifying night in the well replayed inside my head—the walls closing in, the whispers in the cold, wet night, my throat so raw from screaming …
Her hand darted out for mine, but stopped halfway, changing her mind.
“Your present,” her hand slid to the next deck, “Ah! the trickster.” Eleanor tapped over the card with the faded picture of a man or woman—it was too far gone to tell at this point—carrying a sword over a flowing river. “The card is reversed. In this case, it represents the illusion of the world around you. Do not believe everything or everyone you see or hear,” she advised. Her finger moved to the paired card that read DEATH. I felt my jaw slipping open at the immediate thought of Gramps, and Eleanor clicked her tongue. “A severance is coming, and it will be painful. I know what you are thinking, but it could be in any aspect of your life. It will almost certainly be significant and absolute.”
My eyes lifted from the Death card to her black ones as my heart shook in my chest. “Almost? So, this could change?”
“It is doubtful. Death is a natural process in life. When it comes, use your inner strength to embrace it. Though, your future is most peculiar.” The disappointment in her tone didn’t go unnoticed. The expression crossing over her features revealed nothing short of pity and sorrow, not what she presumably had expected from the cards. “Here, you have the wheel of fortune, but it is reversed. You have lost control of the inevitable fate you were destined for. There is misfortune to come.” My eyes steered toward the card pairing with the wheel of fortune, and I saw a man and woman under two birds.
“Mhmm … It is paired with the Lovers card.” Her voice changed as she spoke, shock and anger rising. “This can’t be,” her eyes snapped to mine, struggling to finish, “You will have to make a choice…or a sacrifice. But do not make this choice lightly, as the ramifications will be lasting!”
“I don’t understand any of this. What does it even mean?” Questions oozed out of me, the cards hardly revealing anything with much substance, and my heart was on standby with tears in my eyes. Misfortune? Death? Loss of control?
Eleanor pulled the future pile of cards toward her and quickly folded them back semi-neatly, her face stern. “Be gone! You are going down the wrong path. I’m too close. I can’t help you.” Her entire demeanor had changed, and if I wasn’t mistaken, she seemed mad. She jumped from her chair and skated to the door. “It is time for you people to leave!”
“But you have to help me. You can’t tell me all this and force me out! Please,” I shoved my hand into my bag and withdrew a wad of cash. A few bills slipped through my fingers and fell to the floor. I was desperate, needing to hear something hopeful. Worried for Gramps’ sake, I needed to know my bad fortune wouldn’t rest upon his soul. “Give me something here,” I begged, needing more.
Eleanor snatched my arm in a firm grasp and set her beady eyes on mine. “Do not fall into the trickery that surrounds you. Only you have the power to determine your fate, my moonchild,” Eleanor quickly said, then shooed me out of the room before slamming the door behind me.
A strong wind carried my hair, and the dropping temperatures gripped the back of my neck in a tense chill. I stood outside Eleanor’s shop, dazed and confused, lost in her words, as Milo, Monday, and Kane surrounded me. Their chatter was distant against Eleanor’s last words. “Only you have the power to determine your fate.” The mantra repeated over and over and over inside my head, bounced around the corners of my skull.
Gramps was the only tie I had left to the mother I’d never known. Yet, it seemed as if his fate had been flipped over and printed upon a card—our future told within a matter of fifteen minutes, and the unnerving quiver shuddering up my bones beneath my flesh made me believe it was real.
It was happening. Gramps was going to die.
“If it helps, she once told me I’d dig my own grave. You have to take what she says with a grain of salt,” Monday insisted.
“Yeah, and I would get lost in time,” Milo added.
“No, mine’s better,” Kane pumped his chest, “Under a midnight sun, I’ll lose my power in the fall of a roamer, whatever the hell that’s supposed to mean.”
“See,” Monday laughed, “It’s all just for fun.”