age twenty-four
Portsmouth, New Hampshire
Year of 1864
I missed the forest, trees, mountains, and tribal culture that had dominated eighteen years of my life. A pungent smell of fish suffocated me when I only desired pine and fresh mountain air.
Before the break of dawn, the three of us would board a ship called the Sorceress of the Sea. This ship would take me back to a town where Mother had said my curse could be broken. I no longer cared what would happen to me, but Mother had only become more relentless over the years.
She would walk about the small basement where we lived, rambling about things in a foreign language all hours of the night. Odd behavior possessed her. Strange dreams, too. At one point, she was certain sinister things were being whispered into her ears.
The dark magic Celia had taught her brought a sort of insanity. As though it were a thing with a soul of its own that had come between us. Or had this insanity arisen because I’d brought her back from the dead?
Six years ago, after Mother died, I confessed to her that I had brought her back to life. She hadn’t left me much of a choice since she remembered watching us from above on that awful night.
Shortly after her resurrection, we’d left behind our last tribe and, for a while, drifted on our own. It was hard during winter when it was only us, but we had suffered far worse.
A year later, Mother crossed paths with the woman who called herself Celia. She was a stubby old woman with thinning gray hair, deceivingly soft brown eyes, and a wrinkled face.
I didn’t trust her.
I could never identify my reasons for not trusting her, but Mother felt utterly at ease with this woman who practiced magic. She had a charm about her that Mother latched on to. I had reminded Mother repeatedly, as she reminded me, that we did not need anyone but each other and were better off on our own.
Mother assumed my reason for not trusting Celia was because I was envious she had someone when I didn’t. Her hypocrisy had only stunned me to silence. Furthermore, she could have been right, so I never spoke of my insecurities regarding Celia again.
After learning about our situation, and my curse, Celia promised Mother she could guide us to the town of Weeping Hollow. Not long after, the three of us had traveled east until we reached the coast’s fishing ports.
The witch had her own reason for needing to escape New Hampshire and find the ghostly town, but it was a reason I knew nothing about.
“It doesn’t matter,” Mother once said. “As long as we can get to Weeping Hollow, everything will be all right.”
Because of Celia, a flame of hope ignited in Mother’s eyes. She was confident all the pieces were falling into place, believing I would soon be free of my curse to live a normal life. Though, at what expense? This thought never left my mind, no matter how many miles we had traveled to get to the coast. This was the first time I had seen Mother with such hope in her eyes. Who was I to strip it away after all she had been through?
Standing miles away from where the tribes lived, I unloaded crates of fish and tossed them into marked bins along with other workers while orders were shouted in our ears.
Workers never spoke to me. Though they were different from the English settlers we worked for, I was different from everyone. The abomination in a burlap sack.
The small port was wedged between two shipbuilding centers. Oncoming ships blew their horns, and squeals and whistles from trains whipped by in ten-minute increments as they chugged across the railroad behind us.
Trout, salmon, and sea bass were emptied onto my table. With gloves covering my hands, I sifted through them quickly, dividing, tossing, and weighing. My life had become a tedious routine, but I kept moving as the ocean breeze blew past me from every angle. The captain’s cost wasn’t cheap, and Mother needed the last fare before departure.
During the entire walk home, I clutched the cigar tin in my pocket, and inside the cigar tin was the rolled envelope. I’d always kept it on me, having just finished my ninety-ninth book.
Fourteen years had passed since Ambrose gifted me this mysterious envelope. At this point I’d become more attached to the idea of the mystery than to wanting to peek inside.
When I returned to where we were staying, the small basement was dark, except for the oil lamp. It lit a weak glow across the floor, landing on mattresses shoved into the corner.
Mother and Celia were sitting at a small wooden table, a candle melting between them. In the few years I had known Celia, she had gone out of her way to avoid speaking to me directly.
I emptied my coverall, fanning coins across the wooden table for them to see. “The last of it is all here,” I assured her.
Celia twitched her nose, flipping her top lip up in a way that looked as though she was smelling it, a tic she often did. She then took half the money. The coins clanked together when she dropped them into a drawstring pouch. She stuffed the pouch inside her white dress pocket, a few pats against her hip for good measure.
“We will leave an hour after midnight. The ship departs at four in the morning.” She slid the remaining coins to Mother. “For our departure.”
“And Stone?” Mother asked.
My gaze slid between them.
Celia twitched her nose once more, refusing to look at me. Much like everyone else. “Everything will go as planned, Miss Clarice. Don’t you worry.”
Her words should have been reassuring, but an uneasiness stirred in Mother’s tired eyes. She knew the only way to break the curse was to journey to a town she had only spoken of in her nightmares. She had hardly said the town’s name when awake, almost as if each time Weeping Hollow was uttered, it had cost her.
I had worked tirelessly for her and Celia. After tomorrow, Mother could live out the remainder of her years without spending one more day worrying about mine. She could put down roots and start a family. She was a beautiful woman with many years left to live. But if Mother wanted to end this plan, I would not show resentment. Upon her request, I could free her of me, walk away, and never return.
Celia set a plate and drink in front of me.
I disregarded it, reaching out to take Mother’s hand into mine.
“We don’t have to leave. You have the choice to stay here.”
For the first time, Mother could not look at me. Her gentle hand slipped from my gloves and fell into her lap. “Eat dinner and get some rest. We have a long day tomorrow.”
I dropped my sack-covered head and leaned back in my chair, turning my attention to the corner of the room where a spider spun its web in the dark cranny.
After working for almost eighteen hours, it was a battle to keep my eyes open. I peeled off my gloves and picked up the cup, entranced by the web and the shapes it was hiding.
I gulped down the drink through a soggy rye straw that was slipped under my mask.
The drink left a grass-like residue on my lips ... and something else.
The taste was bitter on my tongue, and once it settled inside me, there was an unimaginable stabbing pain in my chest. The cup slipped from my fingers, no flashes, fades, or memories attached to it, and I clutched my heart and lungs, unable to breathe in.
All the air was sucked from my lungs. My voice was gone.
My insides felt as though they were being pulled apart and lit on fire.
Confused, I widened my eyes, my gaze springing to Mother’s for help.
But her sorrowful eyes turned away.
I did not understand, and the room spun and spun.
I inched my hand closer, trying to reach out to Mother, but she backed away in her chair.
My arm slipped from the table, and I was falling. Every muscle inside me contracted as though my spine was being squeezed by an iron fist.
Then I collapsed to the floor with a loud thump.
My back arched and thrashed at unnatural angles while ice climbed inside me, attacking my legs and arms. It was so cold it felt like fire.
I tried to call out for relief as my body stiffened from spasms, but no noise came from me. No tears sprang from my eyes. My screams echoed in my head and bounced off my skull.
I had experienced hypothermia before, but it came to me in stages, taking me slowly. There was no warning, no name for what was happening to me.
Celia pulled Mother into her arms as she wept.
One moment, I was drinking from the cup, and the next, I was sure I was dying. And Mother was turning away from me as everyone else had always done.
All I could do was gaze up at the web and surrender to the soul-slicing freeze. But before my eyes closed, I realized it was a perfect circle inside the mesmerizing web.
A sign that I had reached the edge of death.