THIRTY-FOUR

RAY ANNE STOPPED OFF at my apartment so I could get my motorcycle and we could cover more ground at once. I followed her to Masonville High. When we arrived at the side street by the school, the parking lot was full, and the street was lined with cars as far as I could see. It was dark out, and Spring Scream was in full swing. There were way more people here than just Masonville High students.

Music blared from a live band under the tent, decorated with strands of orange lights to look spooky. People flocked there in every kind of costume, some glittery, others gruesome.

Police officers stood at the entrance inspecting girls’ purses and people’s props, but Creepers got right past them.

I pulled my bike up next to Ray Anne’s car. She was leaning out her driver’s side window, straining to gaze up at the night sky. Molek’s throne was lower to the ground and hovered above the school now, the fight waging on. I still didn’t see him, though.

I was careful not to walk too fast for Ray to keep up as she and I made another long trip to the clearing. She winced like her injuries were hurting but didn’t complain. The clearing was empty, but it was only a few minutes after ten. This night was far from over.

I had hoped we would spot that police squad Benny had promised to send out here, but there was no sign of them.

On our walk back to the main road, we passed a dead dog. Another one? The old man and I had already buried one out here. Was that proof the occult was still active on my land? The sad remains of their secret rituals?

Ray and I drove in opposite directions around the perimeter of my property. I passed a striped wooden barricade and yellow police tape lining the back side of my acreage, still quarantined for investigation. This was my land. It seemed like I had a right to know what they’d found.

We both finished our drive all the way around my acreage, and everything was still and undisturbed.

Minutes passed like a ticking time bomb, and the later it got, the more Ray and I felt the pressure. She pulled off the road and sat behind the wheel, fanning her face and exhaling long and loud as I sat restlessly on my bike.

We both flinched when, like a sprinting pack of wolves, towering Creepers passed us, charging alongside the tree line in the direction of the school. Ray and I took off that way, parking as close as we could to the party and hurrying side by side under the crowded tent. Sure enough, twice as many Creepers now crept among the sea of students.

Dark forces had led us to this scene, and I felt obligated to check it out, but I couldn’t imagine that Veronica would show up here.

There were so many people crammed in and around that tent, we could hardly walk, but what was much worse was the death dust scattered all over and blanketing the air. The guy on stage was singing —more like yelling —about a girl who’d ripped his heart out, and Creeper dust was spewing from his mouth like gray smog from an exhaust pipe.

We finally made it through the crowd, and Officer McFarland was posted outside the tent. Ray Anne ran to him, pleading above the noise for him to tell us if any leads had come through about Veronica or Jackson. “Or Riley?” I added.

He shook his head.

That’s when the party scene turned into a shove fest. From what I could tell, some guy dressed like a zombie, tethered to a Creeper, started punching a scrawny kid, and there was instant shouting and screaming and chaos. Officer McFarland rushed in, shoving his way toward the fight.

Ray Anne and I got swept up in the swarm of people now fleeing the tent, but somehow a movement caught my eye, off in the distance. Every cop on hand was working to calm the frenzy —except one. Detective Benny was hurrying away, practically sprinting toward a vehicle parked against the curb. Not a squad car, mind you, but a plain sedan.

A black limousine had stopped in the middle of the street —the first one I’d ever seen in Masonville. Benny started his car, then pulled out in front of the limo. I dodged the commotion long enough to watch the luxurious vehicle follow Benny away from the school, toward my acreage.

I wouldn’t have been as suspicious had a white vintage pickup truck not turned onto the street, trailing a short distance behind the limo and Benny. It looked just like the mysterious old man’s truck.

I turned to tell Ray Anne, but I couldn’t find her. Hundreds of people moved in all directions like bees swarming a busted hive.

I had to go. I ran to my motorcycle and took off down the street, trying to catch the truck. Down the road, a pair of taillights turned right. I passed the entrance to the clearing, speeding to the desolate country road that ran along the back perimeter of my property, and turned. But there were no taillights ahead now.

I slowed down, eyeing the wooded property on my right. Nothing, and more nothing. I nearly missed it, but thankfully, I spotted the white truck parked against the tree line with its lights off. I pulled into the grass behind it, parked my bike, and went to investigate on foot. The truck’s engine was off, the driver gone.

In the half-moon’s light, I inspected the area. Except for buzzing insects and the distant sound of the band, it was so quiet I could hear myself swallow. Another vehicle turned onto the street, and the headlights went off. I ducked low as the car passed, driving slowly in the dark.

About a football field away, a small light blinked three times in the middle of the road. A flashlight?

Red brake lights shined in the night, and the car made a right turn where the light had flashed, driving onto my property through an entrance I never knew existed. Right where the crime tape was.

Another vehicle turned onto the back road where I was spying, this one having come from the opposite direction. Headlights off again.

Then came another. Over and over, I watched vehicles pass me with their lights off.

During breaks between cars, I sprinted down the street toward the spot where they were turning. When I started getting close, I slipped into the woods for cover and kept working my way in that direction.

Finally, I was there. I peeked out from the woods, my gut sinking when I saw the car Benny had just driven parked in the street, next to the striped barricade that had been moved away from the tree line. He stood in the road with a flashlight, directing people to . . .

Where? What was this?

I traveled deeper into the woods, making my way alongside a winding, makeshift dirt road someone must have worked hard to clear. Vehicles passed on my left. A Mercedes. A Corvette. A Tesla that looked just like Jess’s dad’s.

Was it?

I picked up the pace and jogged for some twenty minutes before catching up to the cars, all parked side by side at an angle. There was a Ferrari in the mix —red, it looked like. Same color as Dr. Bradford’s.

I stopped to read a text from Ray Anne: Where are you? I’m going with Officer McFarland to check the clearing again.

Good.

I texted back: People on back side of land. I’ll let you know what I find.

I kept going, deeper into the woods. I’d never been out here before and wasn’t expecting to come upon a dilapidated cluster of headstones, encircled by a broken-down, rusted iron fence.

This had to be the old Caldwell family cemetery. Still here.

I cringed and went around it. A short distance later, I finally made it to where the drivers of all those cars had gathered. I’ve got to say, outside the spirit world, I’d never seen anything so freakish.

There were numerous black poles spread around, anchored into the ground and towering above people’s heads, each supporting a bowl blazing with a mini-bonfire.

The men all wore black tuxedos, and the women wore colorful full-length gowns, but it was the big, absurd headpieces and elaborate themed masks that creeped me out. One woman had a huge, green, scaly hat that blended with a jewel-covered mask, crafted to look like a dragon was biting her face. The man next to her wore a tall top hat with white feathered angel wings on each side, paired with a black mask with rubber worms dangling off it.

The people socialized in hushed whispers, making the gathering eerily quiet. And there were children in the mix, dressed as outlandishly as their parents. At least I assumed those were their parents.

Every adult was shackled, and most wore half masks that exposed the bottom of their faces, their mouths and chins painted with stripes or weird shapes and patterns. A thin lady wearing an antique-looking lampshade as a hat and a cheetah-fur mask walked around with a cocktail tray, handing out skinny champagne glasses. Several large, bulky men in tuxes and white Phantom of the Opera–looking masks stood with their backs to the gathering, staring intently into the woods. Security guards?

I darted behind a thicker tree trunk.

People huddled in groups, frequently glancing at the candle-adorned cement steps and platform that served as the focal point of the bizarre occasion. I realized I’d seen the structure before —with Ray, the evening of her birthday, the first time we’d encountered hooded Creepers.

At the back and center of the concrete platform, a large cube was draped in shimmery brown fabric that occasionally moved, like something was alive underneath. And there they were again —a throng of hooded Creepers stood tall on top, looking out over the social affair while unhooded Creepers moved like party guests among the lavish crowd.

Was this an elite society gala? The upper-class version of the Spring Scream?

I’d thought I might close in on an occult ritual in these woods tonight, but this? Mesmerizing as it was, I still felt worlds away from finding and rescuing Jackson. I chomped on my bottom lip, so anxious I made it bleed.

A woman adorned in a Mardi Gras–looking mask and peacock headpiece escorted a little girl by the hand up the cement steps to the center of the stage. The child, still too young to have earned a shackle, wore a floor-length gown with a gold, grinning mask that covered her whole face. She held a violin and bow.

There was a quiet, collective sigh as the audience faced the stage, as still as stone pillars as the child gave a short, flawless instrumental performance. The fabric concealing the cube behind her kept fluttering, drawing my interest more. When she finished, the audience members tapped two fingers together in barely audible applause.

The girl exited the stage, and a slender man in a colorful oriental mask stood next to the Mardi Gras lady. “So glad you could join us.” Then he nodded at the woman by his side, and she stepped up to the draped cube and grabbed the fabric. After a lingering gaze at the captivated audience, a smile on her ruby-red lips, she unveiled the mystery.

I could hardly stand to look.