At the end of the service, people begin to disperse, but I stay where I am, unable to remove my eyes from Reverend Carter. He stares at me; a sickening grin spreads across his face. The stone around my neck gives a tug, and a crippling pain fills my head. I place my hands over my ears, squinting my eyes. It’s the same sensation I felt while on the mountain. There’s no doubt in my mind that he was the one I saw up there. Just as quickly as it started, the pain subsides and a soothing calmness washes over me. When I look back to the steps of the church, Reverend Carter is gone.
“You okay?” Chastity asks.
“Yeah. I just have a massive headache. I need sleep.”
“I hear that,” she says. “Look, I need to get going. I’d ask you over, but … ”
“Yeah, I know. Stay safe.” I give her a hug. How many more times will I have to say goodbye, wondering if I’ll ever see her again?
“Hey,” Trevor says, draping his arm over my shoulders. “I need to get home. Mom wants to get back before the bells ring again.”
“Did you see Monique?” I ask before he can go. “She’s alive.”
“That’s not possible,” he says. “We saw her … ”
“I know, but she’s alive, or something. She’s here. She talked to Chastity and me this morning.” He looks at me like I’ve totally lost it.
“Hey, Trev.”
The sound of Monique’s, sickening, sultry voice drains all the color from his face. He grabs my hand and I squeeze it.
“Thanks for last night,” she says with a wink. “I’ll never forget how you saved me.”
“There you are, honey,” Reverend Carter says as he walks up to us. “It’s time to go.”
“Okay, Daddy.” Such an obedient little she-beast.
“What is happening?” Trevor asks, staring after them in disbelief.
“I don’t know, but I think Reverend Carter knows we were out last night.”
“How could he?” He glances at them again just as Monique turns to look at us. She smiles and waves flirtatiously.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “He was staring at me like he knew something. Be careful.” I give him a hug, and his lips brush my cheek before he pulls away.
“I’ll be thinking of you. Please stay inside your house. Be safe.”
“Cait?” my father calls, “Let’s go.”
I suddenly remember the book I’d thrown behind the bushes of the library. I glance in that general direction. There’s no way I can make it all the way over there and back without being seen.
“Cait,” my father calls again.
I reluctantly move toward him. I have to leave the book for now. I’ll get it tomorrow. Somehow. Provided I make it through the night.
Mitch grasps my hand the entire way home. My father walks on the other side of me, his arm slung over my shoulders. He gives me an occasional squeeze, letting me know that he’s happy I’m safe. Judy walks slightly in front of us, like she doesn’t want to be seen with us.
“Mike? Caitlyn?” My grandmother’s voice floats from behind us and my father turns at the sound of his name.
“How are you doing?” she asks.
“We’re okay,” my father says. “I stopped by your house this morning on our way in, but you didn’t answer your door.”
“I must have just left,” she says.
“How are you holding up? It can’t be easy for you, being home alone while all this is happening.”
“It doesn’t bother me,” she says, tossing it aside. “I’ve lived through many of these weeks over the course of my life. I practically sleep through the night.”
“I can stay with you if you want,” I offer. Maybe I can get on her good side and get her to give me some information about my mother.
“That’s not an option,” she says almost immediately.
Well, that hurt. “I just thought maybe you’d like some company.”
“I’d love some company,” she says, her tone shifting. “It’s just that we are required to stay in our own homes.”
After leaving my grandmother, the three of us tramp up our driveway to the house. The bloody handprint still adorns the front door. In some grotesque way, it appears to be waving at us through the light mist hanging in the air.
“I would kill for a shower right now,” I say as we walk up the steps and through the front door.
“Better hurry,” my dad says. “The water shuts off when the bells ring.”
“So is the power back on, too?” I ask.
“No, that won’t be back on for a week. For some reason, the water works for a couple hours a day.”
I rush up the stairs and strip out of my bloodstained yoga pants and dirty sweatshirt.
I pull the bandages from my leg. Trevor put a ton of gauze on the wound and the bottom few layers are caked with blood. The bandage sticks to my skin, and it stings when I pull it off. I’m surprised to find that the wound has almost completely healed. Nothing more than faint white marks remain. How is that even possible? The marks were deep and bloody less than twelve hours ago.
I step into the shower, shrinking away from the cold water that sprays onto me. Of course, it would be cold. I quickly scrub my body and wash my hair, feeling as though I’m bathing in an ice storm. I barely get my hair rinsed when the water shuts off.
I hear the faint tolling of the bells as I walk across the hall to my room, the warm softness of my bed calling to me. I desperately need sleep.
I throw on a pair of sweats and a clean T-shirt as the faint, gloomy light from my window fades. I pull back my curtains and peer into the backyard, but I can’t see anything. A thick, gray smog has replaced the fine, airy mist. I can barely see the branch of the tree that sits right outside my window. A deep chill passes through me. They’re back; our three hours of safety and calm over.
I pull my curtains closed and sit on my bed right as there is a knock on my door.
“Come in.”
“I thought you might need these.” Dad enters the room, handing me a box of candles, a book of matches, and a candle holder.
“Thanks.” I take them from him and place them on my desk. I promptly light one of the candles, eager to be rid of the dank, depressing darkness.
“Where did you go to last night?” he asks, sitting on my bed.
“I went for a run.”
“Where did you go that you couldn’t get back?”
I so don’t need a lecture right now. What I need is sleep.
“I ran into Chas, Jeb and Trevor. We lost track of time.” It’s not a total lie, and I think he buys it.
“We were worried sick about you. Where did you stay last night?”
“The library.”
“How did you get in there?”
“I was with Trevor. He was walking me home when the fog started to roll in. It happened fast and there was nowhere else to go. He had a key, so we just stayed there.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re okay,” he says after a moment of awkward silence. “Take your nap. We’ll be eating soon. I’ll send Mitch up for you.”
I collapse onto my bed, watching the flickering shadows painted on my ceiling by the flame of the candle. The effect is both creepy and hypnotic. In no time, I’m fast asleep.
***
Sirens scream, piercing the still air, jolting me out of bed. For a moment, I think maybe someone has come to save us. Maybe one of the townsfolk, Mr. Simpson probably, called the state police, alerting them about the crazy shit that is happening.
The moment I’m out of bed, I realize something isn’t right. The room I stand in is much larger than my bedroom in Highland Falls. Horns honk and voices carry from below my window up to my room.
I reach over and flip on the lamp. Light floods the space, and I realize I’m in my old bedroom in the townhouse I shared with my mother.
I open my bedroom door. Canned laughter from a sitcom hangs in the air, and the soft light of the television flickers on the living room ceiling.
I quietly walk down the stairs, sinking my feet into the familiar plush carpet. The living room is empty. My mother’s favorite crocheted blanket lies near the coffee table as if she’d stood up quickly, leaving it piled on the floor.
I place my back against the wall, breathing heavily. This is exactly the way it happened the night I found her dead body lying at the front door. I can’t do this again. I won’t.
I turn to go back to my room. I just want to crawl back into bed. A slight scraping noise and the rustling of papers drift toward me from the dining room, stopping me in my tracks. Curiosity gets the better of me and I turn in the direction of the sound.
An empty pizza box stands open on the kitchen counter. The scratching grows louder, and I realize it’s the sound of someone writing furiously. I poke my head around the corner. Sitting at the table in her favorite purple robe is my mother.
“Mom?” My voice is low and scratchy. I clear my throat and call to her again.
She keeps scribbling as I take a step toward her. As I get closer, I see a small box covered in fabric sitting on the table. It’s my keepsake box—something she started for me years ago. I keep everything in there: a lock of hair from my first haircut, the first tooth I lost, pictures of my mother and me, special cards, love notes—everything. What is she doing with it?
“Mom?” I say, louder.
“Just a minute, honey.”
I watch as she folds the paper and stuffs it into an envelope. She licks it, seals it and stuffs it at the bottom of the memory box.
“It’s all here. Everything you need.” She looks at the box as she holds it in her hands, nodding in agreement. “It’s all here.”
She stands and faces me, and I shrink back against the wall. Blood seeps from between her eyes and runs down her face.
“Stop them.” She reaches for me. “They’re coming for you. You have to stop them.”
I bolt upright, my heart racing. I close my eyes and run my hands over my face as I try to push away the vision of the gaping bullet wound in my mother’s head.
I crawl out of bed, unsure of how long I’ve been asleep. I don’t wear a watch and the clocks are all digital. I go to my closet to search for my memory box. I typically don’t believe in people talking to you from the grave, but after everything that’s gone down the last few days, I’m not going to ignore the feeling that the box may hold a clue. I have no idea where Judy may have put it when she unpacked everything, but the closet seems a likely candidate.
After fumbling around in the dark, I realize it’s a lost cause. There’s nothing in here but clothes, shoes, and some old books. It has to be packed up in a box in the attic.
I light a fresh candle and walk out to the hallway. I reach up to pull the string that will lower the attic stairs when I hear small, careful steps coming down the hall.
“What are you doing?” Mitch asks.
“Hey, buddy. I was just going to go look for something in the attic.”
“Dad said to come get you so you can eat something.”
I really don’t feel much like eating, but I know I need to. The last thing I ate was junk food. The attic will have to wait.
I follow Mitch down the stairs, unsure of what to expect. The last family meal didn’t go over so well.
The deep, orange glow of the fireplace fills the living room, and shadows chase each other across the walls. My father and Judy sit at the table, both chewing slowly on the chips and sandwiches before them.
I take my seat, picking up a roast beef sandwich. The meat is cold and dry and tough to chew. I would kill for some mayo. I wonder how people survived without electricity so many years ago. It’s been less than twenty-four hours and already I’m going crazy.
No one speaks, lost in their own thoughts. I can’t ignore the tension between my father and Judy, undoubtedly because of me. They’re usually so chipper and chatty it’s nauseating, but today they sit and stare, bitter tension hanging between them.
I finish my sandwich, washing it down with a glass of water, and take my plate to the sink. I turn on the faucet to rinse it before placing it in the dishwasher, and then remember there’s no water.
“Just leave it in the sink,” my father says, walking up behind me. “We’ll wash them in the morning.”
He picks up a book and walks to the living room, sitting next to the fire. I need to talk to him. I have so many questions about my mother, but more importantly, I want to talk to him about Reverend Carter. This will need to wait until Mitch is in bed, and possibly even Judy. I don’t want to talk about my mother in front of her former best friend.
I grab a candle and head toward the stairs, ready to explore the attic.
“Wait, Cait. I’m going to help you,” Mitch says, his chair scraping across the floor.
“Where are you going?” Judy eyes me like I’m planning to corrupt her son.
“I’m going to help Cait,” he says.
“Help her with what?”
Mitch turns to look at me, unsure of what exactly he’d said he would help me with.
“I need something out of storage. I was going to go dig through my boxes in the attic.”
“What is it?” she asks.
“Just something you forgot to unpack.” I don’t know why I should have to explain this to her. It’s my stuff.
“If you tell me what it is, maybe I can tell you whether I remember seeing it.”
“It’s the memory box my mother gave me.”
“And what’s in there?” Judy crosses her arms, eyeing me suspiciously.
“Not what you think is in there.” That’s somewhere else.
“Mmhmm, I’m sure it’s not. Whatever it is can wait. I don’t want you digging around in the dark.”
“Why not? It’s my stuff.”
My father looks up from his book, running a hand over his face. “Your stuff is in the basement. I distinctly remember putting all your boxes down there. The only thing in the attic is Christmas decorations.”
“Well, I definitely don’t want them in the basement. There could be rats down there, or snakes.”
Why is she so annoying?
“It’s not a big deal. Let them go. They’ll be fine. Cait’s responsible enough. Nothing is going to happen.” He’s obviously just as annoyed with her as I am.
“Responsible enough to run off last night and worry us half to death.”
“Stop. We’re not doing this today,” he says before she can continue. She huffs away to their bedroom and slams the door. Now who’s the bratty teenager?
I make my way through the kitchen to the mudroom and pull open the basement door. I haven’t been down here in years. The light from my candle guides us down the stairs. The air is dank and musty and I immediately begin to sneeze. I stop when my eye catches a glint of something off in the distance. I could swear I just saw someone step behind the beam at the back of the room.
“Why did you stop?” Mitch asks from behind me.
“Just trying to figure out where to look first.” I hold the candle higher, the dim light reflecting off the open beams. It feels like a dungeon down here. The stone walls give it a very gothic feel.
“All the boxes are over here.” Mitch pushes past me and walks in the opposite direction of the wall where the alleged person dematerialized. I must have been seeing things.
Mitch’s old toys and clothing fill the first two boxes I come across. A lot of this stuff could be donated. I finally find a couple of boxes with my name on them and begin digging through them.
Mitch sifts through some of his old toys, taking out an oversize police car that moves by itself when pulled backward. It drives itself along the cement floor, lights flashing.
“Hey, it still works,” he says.
After digging through two of my boxes, I finally find the memory box resting beneath a pile of old sweaters and school uniforms. I try to open it, but it’s locked. I dig through the box, searching for the key, but it’s not there.
“Whoa, what the heck? Cait, did you see that?”
“See what?” I ask, folding the box top back into place and returning it to where I found it.
“My car disappeared into that wall.”
“It what?” I pick up the memory box and the candle, then step over to join him.
“It disappeared,” he says, pointing at the far wall.
“Maybe it just ran out of juice,” I say, walking in that general direction.
The closer I get to the back wall, the colder it gets. A brisk breeze seems to blow toward me, but how is that possible? Then, I see it. A door made out of rock at the far end of the basement. Mitch’s car sits wedged between the edge of the makeshift doorway and the wall.
“Did you find it?” he asks from where I’d left him.
“Yeah, it just hit the wall.” I stoop down and pick up the car, peering behind the door. I lift my candle enough to see what’s behind it. I expect a small closet, or maybe another room. What I don’t expect to see is a large tunnel snaking away from me. It looks like I may need to do some exploring tonight after everyone else is asleep.