“Breaking news! A fire was reported from the Wicker Man early this morning at Crescent Point. We haven’t seen the Wicker Man’s flames in over twelve years, and my sources say it could be an All Hallows Eve prank. But conspiracy theories are already flying around that a secret sacrifice has been executed. Whatever it is, the truth will come to light. Nothing in Weeping Hollow is buried forever,” Freddy gathered a solemn breath, “Regardless, the Pruitt Ball is still on for tonight. Tomorrow is the start of Samhain. This is Freddy in the Mournin’, and these are your Friday morning Hollow Headlines. I’ll see you at midnight, witches, and remember, no one is safe after three a.m.”
The headlines streamed through my blank dream, waking me. I popped from the kitchen chair, ran across the living room, and pushed my way through the back door. My stride didn’t stop until the tip of my toes touched the edge of the cliff, and I leaned back for leverage.
I threw my hand over my squinted eyes to see a shade of smoke billowed in the distance, clouding the morning sky at the far end of town where The Wicker Man stood. My heart shuddered, but I could not bring myself to believe something happened to Julian.
No, he said he would find me. Tonight. Maybe it was a prank like Freddy said. A prank…or Carrie Driscoll.
Carrie Driscoll’s dead, my brain reminded me. Yes, it was a possibility the Heathens helped Julian burn Carrie in The Wicker Man. For Balance. Julian found a way for balance. Because of what she made him do.
My heart calmed, and I released a nervous exhale, but it still didn’t erase memories from last night.
Julian had broken her neck. For some strange reason, his face didn’t kill her, and he still had broken her neck, never giving her the chance to explain anything.
I couldn’t blame Julian for being so angry after what she’d done to him for so long, compelling him to kill all those people, but there was a reason she wanted me here, wanted me dead, and a part of me felt like now I would never know.
Carrie was dead, and my head buzzed with the flashes of memories. She’d chased me in the woods. She’d wanted to kill me. Why? My head was reeling with all the unknown possibilities, trying to connect dots and forcing dots to connect, making straight-edged shapes that didn’t have names, like constellations in my empty skull. Carrie was with Sacred Sea, and Sacred Sea had been pushing me to join them since I’d arrived.
Maybe it was them all along. And now I would never know for sure.
I wanted to be angry with Julian for never giving me the chance to find answers, I should have been mad at him, but I wasn’t. I’d never seen him so … distraught, so hopeless. It was the first time I’d seen an ounce of fear in him.
He was something fragile yet still something so dark. Disarming. An oxymoron of ink and ivory. A ferocious thing with a fistful of desperation, holding triumph in his throat. And, as he’d looked up at me on all fours, stuck in his war, it was the first time I’d seen it. His silver eyes had saturated with love just after holding death in his arms. And maybe that was what love did to him, a heavy thing that left him on his knees, wrapped around his spine, filled his lungs with the sea until he couldn’t breathe. Maybe love to a manmade monster was weighed down by magic and mourning.
But the town did this to him.
Everyone made him into a monster but feared it when it couldn’t be contained.
The sun dipped into the ocean, bled its colors across the waters. The cold wind thrashed, and I took a step back from the edge, turned to return indoors. My eyes were heavy but there was no possible way I would be able to get any more sleep.
“After the ball, I’ll find you,” Julian had said.
The Annual Pruitt Ball? Did that mean he was going? Did he expect me to go too? Carrie had come to my house days before insisting that I go. It had to be connected somehow, something Julian was not telling me that had to do with Carrie Driscoll.
I took a quick shower, changed into a sweatshirt and jeans, a pair of black leather loafers. I had to busy my mind. I couldn’t think about things that were beyond my control at the moment. Things like Carrie Driscoll, what had happened last night, and Julian’s determination to get me out of the woods.
Instead, I focused on what I could control like the Morgan property. I was the last living Grimaldi and Morgan in Weeping Hollow, and it was up to me to find out what I should do with the house and all the history that lived here.
I walked to the end of the property and retrieved the mail from the mailbox, shoved the envelopes into my backpack when I paused.
Then I looked to my left, where the pebbled driveway was. Julian’s black Integra I’d driven in to get here last night was gone. How was it gone when I had the keys inside the house?
I hadn’t driven the Mini Coop since I’d taken Gramps to see Dr. Morley. It felt wrong driving it around Weeping Hollow. It didn’t feel like me anymore. And since there was something still wrong with the scooter’s engine, I made the two-mile walk into town where the color of oak and fire covered the sidewalks and streets.
Cobwebs decorated the corners of the storefronts, and children skipped from door to door in witch costumes and pointed hats, cloth bags filled with candy swinging from their arms.
Halloween had already begun for the flatlanders, and the residents greeted one another as if it were the best month of the year, standing under the sun’s smile to feel its warmth. For the first time, Weeping Hollow felt alive, no one knowing of what happened in the woods the night before.
It was October, after all. And October was poetry all in its own, where dying leaves were the flowers, and the chill nibbled your flesh like a lover’s bite.
The bell chimed as I walked into Mina Mae’s Diner. I spotted her in the far corner, taking orders from the three old ladies who had all the latest news and gossip in Weeping Hollow. They’d always sat on the bench in front of the gazebo with their vintage hats and Easter-egg colored dresses, pointing and laughing and reminiscing.
I overheard them giving Mina a hard time about fraternizing with the enemy. Something about switching the brand of syrup.
“I’ve been usin’ the same syrup for ovah forty years now, Gertie,” she laughed, “You’re off yah kadoova.”
I took a seat, feeling my chest warm at the sound of something Gramps used to say as I buried my nose into the menu.
Mina made her way to me. “Oh, Fallon, dear. You’re here.” Mina blew a wayward gray strand from her eyes. “Did yah see the lineup out theyah for the pumpkin cahvin’ contest?”
“Yeah, I saw it. It’s incredible,” I looked out the window, seeing if I recognized Kioni’s fat pumpkin, “Who are you voting for?”
“Ah, nice try, but I can’t tell yah that. The people around here take this seriously, so I wouldn’t go out and put yah two cents in eithah. Theya’s already gossip floatin’ around that the whole thing is rigged, and we can’t lose a tradition ovah soah losahs…But don’t forget to drop in yah vote,” she quickly added at the end, tossing me a wink. “Whataya havin’, dear?”
“I actually didn’t come to eat. I wanted to ask you about Benny’s house. Do you know who I need to talk to about it?”
“What do yah mean?”
“I don’t know what to do with it or any of the belongings.”
“Do with it? It’s yoahs, dear. All of it. If yah need peace of mind, you could ask Jonah. He handles most of the records in town. I thought yah knew that. He’s got the wills. Yah know, the wishes. Yah fathah’s, yah mothah’s, and Benny’s.”
My chest clenched. “Really? My mother’s will?” I shook my head, “I didn’t know she had one.”
“Everyone’s gotta have one,” she said with a tilt of the head, and I leaned back in the booth as my hands slid over the table. “If yah want, I can help you soaht through the house one day.”
I nodded, my gaze out in front of me, wondering if seeing my mother’s will was something I wanted to see. It seemed like an invasion of privacy. I didn’t know her as the town did. I’d always wondered if she ever loved me. Until I’d seen that picture of her holding me in her arms when I was born. Her face said yes, but then I took her life. Was that why she’d never visited me?
“Yeah, Mina, I could really use your help,” I cleared my throat, turned my gaze back to her, “I don’t know what’s important to keep, what’s not important. Maybe have like a yard sale or something.”
“Ayuh, a yahd sale sounds great. We’ll get it taken care of, no need to worry,” she patted my hand, “But I gotta ask, Fallon, yah plan on leavin’? Don’t tell me yah leavin’ us…”
A smile graced my cheeks, and I shook my head. “What’s that saying? You can take the girl out of Weeping Hollow, but you can’t take Weeping Hollow out of the girl.” I laughed. “All these years, this town was always where I belonged. I can confidently say I’m home, and I’m not going anywhere.”
Mina smiled, her eyes glistened. “Good, because we wouldn’t let yah go even if yah wanted to.”
On my way out of Town Square, I cast my vote. There were no names as to who carved the pumpkins, but all the pumpkins lined the gazebo with their unique taglines. I’d known right away which one was Kioni’s since I’d helped her. The detail she’d added was impeccable. The pumpkin showed two faces, one half beautiful, the other distorted and ugly. Under it, a sign which read, “The paradox of a man/beast.”
I dropped the house key into the dish by the front door after walking through the entryway, and I stacked a pile of mail beside it when a crisp ivory envelope caught my eye. My fingers slid it out from the stack, and I looked over the front. It had come from the Pruitt’s. The handwriting was delicate and of a different time.
I broke the Sacred Sea seal and retrieved the invitation to the annual Pruitt Ball. The scroll detail around the edges was an oily navy that shimmered a brighter hue in the light. This year, the theme was a masquerade ball, to begin at midnight. Cocktail attire required.
Julian would be there. I had to go.
I dropped the invitation atop the long table against the wall, hung my purse, and walked to the living room where I curled myself into Gramps’ recliner and opened The Tommy Knockers to read when the comfort took me into a fast sleep.
The house was dark when I awoke. The grandfather clock chimed, and someone was rapping at the door. I pulled Gramps’ blanket around me, rubbing my eyes on my way to the entryway. The haunting song rang in my ears when I opened the door.
“Please tell me you’re going,” Monday rushed out with a gathered breath.
My gaze followed her silhouette. “Hello to you too.”
She ignored me, pushed past, arms lined with bags and curlers in her hair. “I’m freaking out. This is my first time ever going to a Pruitt Ball as a Sacred Sea half-member, and I am not going without you.” She spun, looked me up and down. “Don’t tell me you’re making me do this on my own. Fable is going with her sisters, and I have no one. Oh, my gosh, I’m going to have to talk to Augustine Pruitt. No, Fallon, you have to go.”
“I don’t understand why you’re so nervous, but I’ll go with you,” I said, helping her with some of the bags.
I was going to go anyway and partly relieved she was here so I didn’t have to go alone. I was never one to hold a grudge. Monday had been sincere, never expecting for things to go the way they did. The only thing Monday was guilty of was being persistent. I couldn’t blame her for what had happened to Gramps when she wasn’t even there. Since I was staying, maybe it would be good for us to start over and rebuild from the ground up. This time, on honest intentions.
“Come on, we can get ready upstairs in my room. I’ll do your makeup too because that eyeshadow is terrible.”
Monday threw her head back and released a groaning sound mixed with relief. “Thank you,” she added, then followed me up the stairs to my bedroom.
It was an hour before midnight, and I stood in the bathroom, applying makeup while Monday talked to me from my bedroom. The heat from the hair appliances turned the bathroom into a furnace, causing my loosely curled hair to stick to the back of my neck and skin as it hung around my hips. I leaned forward and painted over my lashes before capping the mascara and blotting the black smudge in the corner.
“You still have tags on half your clothes—three hundred dollars!” She exclaimed from my bedroom. “Fallon, why on earth would you buy a sweater for three hundred dollars?”
“Get out of my closet,” I yelled back. She wouldn’t understand.
For years, I’d thought dressing the part, looking the part would all get me friends. If I didn’t look like a dead body, maybe the people back in Texas wouldn’t see me as the freak. If I’d learned makeup and wore the right things, I could make friends outside the spirits who visited me.
It had never worked, and my passion for fashion only grew. Nothing could translate the way it felt when I slipped a sweater around my shoulders and how it made me feel protected when open and vulnerable.
“You know, Adora makes all the clothes for the boutique,” Monday continued, “She’s really talented, and could easily make this, or anything you want, really. And for way less—oh, Fallon. Look.”
When I peeked outside the bathroom doorway, Monday was standing in the middle of my bedroom, holding up a dress in front of her. “You should wear this.”
I stood motionless, releasing a breath trapped in my chest.
The dress was beautiful. A mixture of white material. Lace, chiffon, and silk. The neckline was a deep V shape, hitting almost above the belly button.
I gasped. “Is that yours?”
Monday shook her head. “Can you believe I found it all the way in the back of the closet?” She turned the dress to face her, and the back was just as beautiful. “You think it was your mom’s?” And the comment hit me in the chest, knocking the air from my lungs.
My mother’s. And suddenly it burned behind my eyes. I’d been forcing away the idea that my mom could have stayed in this room, slept in that bed. She could have worn the dress Monday was holding.
“If you don’t wear it, I will,” Monday went on, filling my silence.
“No,” I stepped forward, gripping the sides, and fanning it out in front of me, “I want to wear it. I just, I don’t know. It’s so beautiful, and I never had anything that belonged to her.”
“I was hoping you’d say that … because there is no way my boobs would fit in that dress.”
At midnight, Monday and I stood outside my front door. The fat white moon hung directly above, and darkness floated everywhere. My mother’s dress fit seamlessly on my body like a second skin, and Monday’s dress dripped of gold down to her feet. Something a Greek goddess would wear, with a matching band around her forehead.
“Okay,” she said, shaking out her hands. “This is it.”
“This is it,” I agreed.
Silence.
An owl hooted.
“Do we just walk there? I mean … we can’t exactly ride scooters in these dresses.” Monday turned to me.
“I didn’t think about that.” Silence again. “My scooter is broken. We’d have to both fit on yours.”
Monday laughed. “Yeah, okay … because that would work.” As soon as she’d said that, an idea came to mind. I took off my heels, held them in my hand as I flew down the porch steps and toward the garage. “Where are you going?”
“We could take my Mini Coop, but there’s one thing I want to check first.”
In the garage, there was a car under a cover. I hadn’t found the time before to see if it worked, but it was worth checking. I latched my fingers around the handle on the bottom and pulled the garage door up. It rolled open and slammed against the top with an echoed bang!
“That isn’t what I think it is, is it?” I heard Monday ask as I uncovered the vehicle. “No way. No. I can’t believe it.” Under the white cover sat a black vintage car. I pulled the dusty cover into a heap in the corner, swiped my hands together. “The Mystery-mobile.”
My gaze swung to hers. “The what?”
Monday laid her hand over her chest as she approached the car, walked around it. “Every Winter Solstice, this car would be in the parade passing out sparklers to the kids before the bonfire. No one has seen it in years. Geez, it’s been like five years, maybe?” she shook her head as if in amazement, “It was Benny all along … I can’t believe it. Cranky Benny was the man in the Mystery-mobile.”
I eyed the vintage Phantom. We couldn’t be talking about the same man. “My grandfather?”
“See if it still works. Do you realize how amazing this is? Showing up to the Pruitt Ball in the Mystery-mobile? Iconic.”
“Don’t get your hopes up,” I warned her, opening the car door. I sat in the driver’s seat, searched around for a key. I flipped down the visor and a key fell onto my lap.
Monday got in beside me. I tossed her one last look before inserting the key into the ignition. Turned it.
The car rumbled at our feet, and Monday squealed. “Oh, this is all very Cinderella.”