Eighteen

Shadows in the Night

They finished working on their science fair project that night.

Fin left a note for her mom in the cottage, saying that she was going to spend the night in the big house so she and Eddie could do homework together. It probably wouldn’t matter. Mom had the late shift again. And Aunt Myrtle didn’t mind her staying over for schoolwork. She brought plates of mac and cheese—homemade, not the kind Fin made from the box—up to Eddie’s room around seven. She gazed down at the poster board, which now had bits of greenery pinned to its surface. Fin, who had the neater handwriting, was carefully labeling each one.

“I miss school sometimes,” Aunt Myrtle said with a kind of wistful sigh. “All that learning.”

Fin glanced doubtfully at the tank, where the lizards were eating a few bugs that Eddie had brought for them. So far all Fin had learned was that these lizards weren’t fond of the black beetles but did enjoy grasshoppers.

Eddie was looking up the Latin names for all the plants. (“River’s windmill won’t have a Latin name,” he’d muttered. “Maybe that’ll count for something.”)

They worked well into the night, only finishing when Eddie rocked back on his heels and looked satisfied. They had ten different native plants, both in the terrarium and on the poster, as well as the lizards.

Fin crawled into a sleeping bag on the floor, exhausted but oddly satisfied by the whole thing. The work had been distracting enough that she’d spent a good few hours without contemplating tea monsters or ravens or the sight of smoke billowing up from Ben’s shed. For one whole evening, everything had been normal again.

Sleep came quickly—but when she opened her eyes, it was still dark out.

Her fingers slid against the cool, slick material of the sleeping bag. She thought she’d heard something—a tap or a knock. She rolled over, glancing at Eddie. His arm was thrown over the side of his bed and his mouth hung open. Fin smiled a little, about to close her eyes, when a movement made her blink.

Eddie’s bed was beneath a window. Sometimes he’d crawl out of it and sit on the roof, much to Mom’s distress. Aunt Myrtle never seemed to mind Eddie on the roof, but Fin never went out there, partly because Mom forbade it and partly because she wasn’t big on heights. She wasn’t afraid of them—she just had a healthy respect for falling. She had never clambered up the water towers the way some kids did, either.

But now she saw movement out there. A flicker of something through the smudged glass, too faint for her to make out details.

Fin sat up, all thoughts of sleep gone in an instant.

It could be a raccoon. It could be an opossum.

But she knew it wasn’t.

Fin slipped out of the sleeping bag as quietly as she could. The room was dark; Eddie couldn’t sleep with any real light in the room, so the computer was turned off and there was no nightlight. Fin moved as best she could in the darkness, hands casting about for—yes, there it was. She found the lacrosse stick that Eddie had propped up against his computer desk.

Her fingers tightened around it.

She glanced back to the window, but she saw nothing beyond it.

Even so, Fin did not relax. She was pretty sure Aunt Myrtle didn’t lock her doors at night—half of Aldermere didn’t. The town was supposed to be safe. The only monsters were the kind that lurked in the mists or stayed in Bower’s Creek. If they walked the streets, they passed unseen and unfelt. But now a monster was in the town . . . and possibly inside the house.

She left the bedroom, tiptoeing down the stairs, lacrosse stick in hand. She listened as hard as she could—and she heard a drip drip drip that set her teeth on edge. Raising the stick, she edged into the kitchen, fearful of what she would see.

It was the faucet, dribbling water. Fin tightened one of the knobs and the water ceased.

Heart still throbbing, she glanced around the kitchen. Everything seemed normal and calm, but she couldn’t believe that. Not after everything that had happened.

She hurried to the front door; as she’d suspected, it wasn’t locked. She twisted the deadbolt into place, then headed for the back door. As she walked, she passed by a long window in the hallway.

Something moved outside.

Fin whirled. Something was out there. And it was heading around back.

Gripping the lacrosse stick so hard that her hands ached, she rushed through the dining room. The back door was closed—unlocked, but closed.

Fin pressed her hands to the wood, fumbling for the lock.

The doorknob twitched.

Fin gasped. Her fingers were damp with sweat and slid along the deadbolt lever, slipping.

There was the sound of nails against wood, raking downward.

Fin yanked and the lock slid into place. She stepped back, trembling, half expecting to see Teafin slide up through the crack between door and frame. It was a scant centimeter, but Fin wasn’t sure a door would be enough to keep the other girl out.

Nothing happened.

Fin stood there, so fixated on the door that she almost missed the tap at her shoulder.

“Something’s out there.”

Fin nearly jumped out of her skin. She sucked in a breath so sharply that it sliced at her throat, left her gasping for air. She whirled around and saw Eddie.

She could make out little of his face in the darkness, but she saw a frown and a pinch of his brows. “You scared me,” she whispered.

“Sorry.” He rubbed at the back of his head. “I woke up and you weren’t there. And I heard stuff . . . moving.”

“I think it’s Teafin.” Fin glanced at the door, then away.

Eddie nodded. “That’s why you’ve got the lacrosse stick.” His gaze roamed over the windows—some had mismatched curtains and others were left with the glass uncovered. “You want to go back upstairs? Or are you going to go hunt her?”

“Upstairs,” Fin said.

Fin followed Eddie to the bedroom, forcing herself not to look over her shoulder as they went. She breathed easier with Eddie awake and the bedroom door shut behind them. She settled back on her sleeping bag. “We should tell my mom,” said Eddie. He stood by his bed, peering at the window. Fin could see nothing but smudged glass and darkness.

“No,” said Fin at once.

“If Teafin is trying to get into the house, we should tell someone,” said Eddie. He sounded slightly exasperated, and Fin’s heart hammered. She didn’t want him to be mad at her, not ever. And especially not now, with so much on the line.

“If we tell your mom, she’ll tell my mom,” said Fin. “And then . . .” She squeezed her eyes shut.

“And then they’ll figure it out,” said Eddie impatiently. “That’s what adults do.”

“No, they’ll know I did something wrong. And Mom’ll move us again,” Fin blurted out.

Eddie went still with surprise. “What?”

Now that the words were out, now that she’d said one of her worst fears aloud, Fin had to look away. Tears pricked at the back of her throat and eyes, and she swallowed hard. She wouldn’t cry. No matter what, she wouldn’t cry.

“We moved here because of me,” said Fin. “I heard Mom talking about it the first week we were here. She didn’t know I was listening, and she was talking to your mom. The way she said it . . . it sounded like there’s something wrong with me, and I don’t even know what.” She rubbed at her forehead. “Maybe I forgot. Maybe I wanted to forget, that’s why Teafin won’t stop stalking me. She’s the worst parts of me, and she won’t go away.”

Eddie looked as though she’d hit him upside the head with that lacrosse stick. “That’s—that can’t be true.”

“I’m not lying,” snapped Fin.

“No,” said Eddie. “I know you’re not. But I mean—kids can’t do that. Force parents to move. And definitely not you. I don’t care what Teafin has done or what you did—I know you. You couldn’t have done anything that bad.”

“I don’t even know me,” said Fin. “Teafin’s made that perfectly clear.”

“You’re not bad,” said Eddie firmly.

But what if I am? She wanted to say it but didn’t. Because she was afraid of the answer.

She went to the bathroom instead, telling Eddie she needed to pee. It was down the hall and Fin closed the heavy door behind her, sliding the lock into place. Then she sat on the fuzzy toilet lid, her knees drawn up to her chin.

Eddie was sure she wasn’t bad, but Fin couldn’t be certain.

A tapping sound rang through the bathroom. Fin flinched, lowering herself to a crouch. There was only one window in the bathroom—high up, above the showerhead. It was tiny, just big enough to let sunlight into the room. It was also very dirty, being too far up for easy cleaning.

Someone had drawn words into the dust of the window.

Fin recognized the handwriting—the slightly crooked R and too-loopy D. It was hers.

No, it was Teafin’s handwriting. Fin steeled herself, rose to her feet, and read the message.

Stay indoors tonight.

Heart hammering, Fin retreated from the bathroom. With one last backward glance, she hurried to Eddie’s room. Setting the lacrosse stick beside her sleeping bag, she buried herself in it. The sleeping bag felt a little like safety.

She lay there, listening, waiting for the sound of something—anything—invading the house.

But nothing ever did.