As the Crow Flies

by Rysa Walker

  As the words leave her mouth, she’s hit with the absolute certainty that she will never splice these films back together. Her regular routine of school, work here at the Hart, and then going home to her dad and Dani is a thing of the past. Nothing will be the same after this day. It’s like a curtain has been ripped back, and everything she thought was real is an illusion.

  On the plus side, Tucker is no longer a silhouette against the window next door who occasionally speaks to her. He’s here, his hand warm against her own. Tucker is the only thing she’s certain of right now.

  And Chase. He’s real, too. But everything else…

  Her eyes go to the screen again, because something is wrong. This scene is one she knows. She watched it because it was listed in her Compendium of Horror Classics as the first of the psycho-biddy movies of the 1960s, with gothic plots and grand dames of classic cinema camping it up. Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? is silly in places, but there are some genuinely tense and scary scenes.

  The scene that’s currently showing, however, is kind of boring. She doesn’t remember including it. It’s just where the car crashes into a gate.

  Or at least that’s what is supposed to happen. Instead, the gate morphs into an embankment, with a partial view of a river beyond. The car doesn’t stop. It sails over the edge and into the river. The next shot is the rear of the car sticking up from the water as the vehicle is sucked down, with two small hands pressed against the rear window.

  “No,” Daisy says in a tiny voice. “That’s not…”

  Tucker asks if she’s okay, but she barely hears him. The scene shifts to an interior shot, the one that she did intend to include from the movie. Bette Davis stands in the doorway, looking back at her wheelchair-bound sister, played by Joan Crawford.

  “Hey, Blanche,” she says, “you know we got rats in the cellar?”

  Only it’s not Bette Davis. The body is the same, but the face…it’s Dani, or at least what Dani might look like when she’s seventy. And the woman in the wheelchair is a much-older version of Daisy.

  Tucker draws in a sharp breath, and Chase turns back to look at them, confused.

  “How did you do that?” he asks.

  “I didn’t,” she replies.

  Bette/Dani crosses over to her sister, grabs the handles of the wheelchair, and begins running toward the windows.

  Joan/Daisy screams, crossing her arms in front of her face.

  And then her sister laughs. Trust me, okay? I know what I’m doing.

  There’s a crashing noise as the wheelchair hits the glass, and then the film shifts to an outdoor scene that Daisy is positive she didn’t include, because it’s the one she was watching earlier today. A road winds along a rocky shore. Only the convertible is gone. It’s now a very familiar SUV making its way along that road.

  A voice in her head, a voice that is very clearly Julie Kennedy’s, says, That’s Bill Gray’s car.

  Tucker’s arms tighten around her, and Daisy knows that he’s also recognized the car. It rounds a curve to reveal a big tree on the edge of the road. An empty noose hangs from one of the larger branches. The SUV veers sharply, skidding off the pavement and into the tree.

  Daisy screams, the sound echoing in the tiny room.

  “It’s not real,” Tucker tells her. “None of that is real.”

  A man, who is very clearly her father, climbs out of the car. There’s a cut on his forehead, but otherwise, he’s fine. Daisy’s knees go weak with relief. But then a dark cloud rises up from the tree, hovering in the air above him. Daisy’s scream now blends with her father’s as the crows descend upon Bill Gray in a whirlwind of black feathers.

  Daisy breaks loose from Tucker’s arms and yanks the projector plugs from the socket. But the power keeps flowing, despite the two cords dangling from her hands. When she looks up, the image on the screen has now shifted to a desert where a man and woman are fleeing from a giant ant. This one is familiar. It’s the first part of the creature feature segment she prepared, although she’d have sworn that the clip was on one of the reels still stacked up next to the projectors.

  But the scene doesn’t cut away like it’s supposed to as the huge ant approaches. The movie is black and white. So was the ant, but it’s now an odd greenish-purple shade, with stark white eyes. Two more giant ants are visible behind it.

  “Those eyes,” Chase says, looking back at Tucker. “They’re like the crow in the—” His voice is drowned out by the screams from the audience below them. One giant hairy leg impales the female scientist in the foreground of the movie as the other slams through the theater screen and onto the small stage in front.

  Screams rise from the theater below as the crowd presses toward the exits. Daisy yanks the reel from the projector and begins tugging at the film to stop it. The sharp edges slice into her palms, but she finally manages to pull the film from the machine.

  Inside the theater, the monster is pulling the rest of its body through the screen. The female scientist from the movie, who is still in black and white, hangs from one of the creature’s legs as it clambers across the seats. Its bloodshot white eyes ignore the throng of shrieking theatergoers. Instead, they’re fixed on the projection booth.

  Chase is now next to Daisy. Tucker steps in front of them, aiming his pistol at the white eyes staring into the booth. He fires once, twice, and everything falls silent except for the sound of breaking glass.

  There’s no giant ant staring back at them.

  No crowd of screaming people shoving through the exit.

  Just Daisy, Tucker, and Chase in a tiny pitch-black room.

  They stand huddled together, frozen. Daisy presses her bleeding palms against her thighs. She’s scared to breathe, terrified that the movie will start again, and they’ll be face-to-face with the massive ant or some even worse abomination.

  Seconds pass, and she risks a shallow breath. The room smells of mold and rotting wood. She feels Tucker’s arm move toward his pocket and hears the rattle of keys. Then the area around them takes on a bluish-white glow.

  Tucker shines the keychain flashlight around the projection room. Cobwebs extend from the equipment to the walls, and a thick layer of dust covers everything. One of the projectors is upright, but the other is on its side, the casing shattered. An empty Smirnoff bottle lies on the floor near their feet.

  The popcorn container is gone, as are the two cups of soda. All of the film reels are missing as well, except for one, which lies on the table next to the projectors.

  “We should go,” Tucker says, motioning toward the door with his gun. He starts to hand Daisy the flashlight, but then sees the blood on her hands and curses softly. “How bad is it?”

  “They’re shallow cuts,” Daisy says. “There are just a lot of them.”

  “I can take the flashlight,” Chase tells him.

  And so they make their way down the stairs to the lobby, which is empty aside from scattered debris. The carpet that she clearly remembers seeing Trent remove still covers the floor, and the exit is boarded up, just as it had always been before Daisy wished the place open.

  Tucker examines the door and the tall windows on either side, and then says, “Chase, keep the light on that window, okay? I’m going to try and kick the boards loose. You guys might want to stay back, though. There’s still some glass in the frame.”

  He levels a strong side kick at the window. The tinkle of glass breaking is followed by a slight creak from the wood. Tucker kicks again, and the board begins to give.

  Daisy is seized by a sudden fear that when it finally breaks loose, there will be nothing on the other side.

  “What if it’s all gone? What if it’s just that black void you mentioned earlier?” Daisy feels guilty as soon as the words leave her lips. She’s an adult. Just barely, but still. She should be offering comfort, not seeking it from Chase.

  “It won’t be,” Chase says, but she’s not at all sure he believes his own words.

  The truly scary thing is that
a tiny part of her wants the world outside to be gone, because she’s increasingly certain now that it is a world in which her father is dead. Quite possibly Dani, too. Maybe it would be better for there to be nothing on the other side of that window except a black hole where she, too, can simply cease to exist.

  Tucker kicks once more, and this time the plywood falls away, crashing to the sidewalk below. It is dark out there. No streetlights. There doesn’t even seem to be a moon.

  But the flashlight Chase is holding reflects back from a car parked at the curb. The same police cruiser that Daisy has checked on each night for the past several years, making sure it’s in the driveway next door. Making sure it has delivered Tucker, safe and sound, before she turns in for the night.

  “Daisy?” Tucker frowns in concern and then leans forward slightly, so that his face is level with hers. “Come on, sweetie. Let’s get you home. Get those hands patched up.”

  Tucker smiles when she looks up at him. She sees relief in his blue eyes. And even more important, she sees a glimmer of hope.

  Hope is something she desperately needs right now.

  And so she follows.

  Four

  BEN

  “I feel like we’re driving up to Hill House,” Marybeth says.

  Ben glances at her from the corner of his eye. “Hill House?”

  “A book I read last year. The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson.”

  “Hey! I know her. Well, I don’t know her, know her, but I’ve read something by her. I was just thinking about it earlier today. A story called ‘The Lottery.’ I liked it. It seemed kind of fitting for this whole pumpkin tradition.”

  “I guess it’s a Shirley Jackson kind of evening.” MB smiles at him. It’s a genuinely happy smile, and it occurs to him that maybe he should read more often. At least try the stuff she enjoys. It would be something they could talk about that wasn’t school. In a few more months, they won’t even have school in common.

  But it’s not just the fact that he dropped a literary reference that has her smiling. MB is in better spirits tonight than she’s been in weeks. Her moods can spin on a dime, but she seems actually happy to be here, with him.

  “Does it all work out?” he asks. “The Hill House book, I mean?”

  Ben can’t quite decipher her expression. “Not really.”

  “That’s it? You’re not going to tell me?”

  “Nope. Guess you’ll actually have to read the book, Ben.”

  “Or I could just read the summary on Wikipedia. Or see if someone made a movie.” He grins as she punches his shoulder. “Or, yeah, I could read the book. Do you still have it?”

  “I think so. I’ll check when I get home.” She scooches over a bit on the bench seat and rests her hand on his thigh. They ride along in comfortable silence for a few minutes, and Ben feels more at peace than he has for a long time. His other problems, even his worry about Chase, fade to the back of his head.

  Unfortunately, the ride is not as comfortable as their silence. The road leading up to the Grimshaw house is muddy and washed out in several places. Thanks to the piss-poor shocks on his truck, they feel each and every bump. When the truck passes through a section choked by briars, Ben winces at the scraping noise.

  MB has a death grip on the edge of the seat, and Ben can’t really blame her. His own knuckles are white against the steering wheel.

  “You were right about not taking Daddy’s car.”

  Ben is a little stunned at this admission. MB rarely owns up to being wrong. It’s true that Scott’s car might have handled the bumps a little better, but Ben doubts it would have made it up the steep hill. Not to mention that Scott would have exploded if he got home and discovered his Beemer covered with mud and scratches.

  The incline is so steep that the road seems to disappear completely up ahead. Through the windshield, all Ben can see is the sky filled with stars and a full white moon. It kind of feels like they’re flying, except for all of the bumps.

  “Easy to see why they can’t sell this place,” he says. “It’s got nothing to do with ghosts. Can you imagine what a bitch it would be to try and get up or down this hill in the winter?”

  MB grins. “That’s true. And it’s going to make the truck a lot less useful in our escape.”

  “Escape?”

  “The deranged masked killer in the house will make better time on foot. He’ll climb in the bed of the truck, slide open that little window behind your head, and rrrnnk, rrrnnk, rrrnnk.” She mimics plunging a knife into his chest with each sound, and they both laugh.

  “You’ve seen too many slasher movies,” Ben says.

  “That’s the downside of being friends with Daisy Gray. I still can’t believe they’re opening that creepy theater back up. Daisy keeps gushing about her film treasures. You’d think she owned the place instead of working for minimum wage.”

  Ben doesn’t want to talk about Daisy, because it reminds him of Chase and responsibility, and he really wants to make the most of his time with MB. So he changes the subject back to her haunted house scenario.

  “Anyway,” he says, “if there’s a psycho killer up here, we both know the truck isn’t going to start. We’ll be stuck in the driveway.”

  “That doesn’t sound entirely awful. Maybe we could hang out up here for a while?” Marybeth runs her finger over his thigh. Her nail scratches faintly against the grain of the denim, sending his entire body into gooseflesh.

  He clears his throat and sits up a little straighter. “I thought you were in a hurry to get to the party?”

  Now her fingers are making lazy figure-eights along his inner thigh. God help me.

  “Just a few minutes up here won’t kill us. Well, unless the aforementioned psycho killer shows up. We haven’t really had much time alone lately. Just the two of us.”

  He can’t deny it, but he also can’t help it. There’s school, work, football. Only the last one is optional, and MB wouldn’t want him to quit football. Cheerleaders only date football players. He’s pretty sure it’s an actual law.

  “I’m sorry,” he says. “Things will be better once the season is over. We’ll have more—”

  “Shhh.” She laughs, placing her finger on his lips. “You worry too much.”

  The road levels out in front of them, and the Grimshaw house, in all its dilapidated glory, comes into view.

  “Holy fuck,” Marybeth says. “It really is creepy.”

  She’s right. Ben has never seen the house this close up before. Looking at it from town is entirely different from staring at the beast straight on.

  Ben parks the truck next to the broken fountain and stops the engine. With the headlights off, the front yard is bathed in an eerie midnight blue. Something leaps from the black water in the fountain, and Ben rolls up the window.

  “So…we have to take it all the way to the door?” Marybeth’s eyes are wide, and her laugh sounds a little shaky. “Do you think that wood will support us?”

  Ben drums his fingers on the steering wheel. The prospect of spending any more time than he has to at this place, even with Marybeth, is as appealing as a rotten apple.

  “Let’s get it over with,” he says, sliding his arm around to give her a quick hug. “We can find a spot for some alone time once we’re back down this hill. And if we don’t put in an appearance at the bonfire with the proof of this little expedition, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

  “Fine. But…just so you know, Daddy believes you’re a bad influence on me,” Marybeth says as she swings her long legs out of the truck.

  This is not a new statement. She tells him some variant of this at least once a week, often during or after they’ve done something that would have Scott Jenkins coming after him with a shotgun.

  “I’m stunned, I tell you. Stunned.”

  “And,” she adds, once he joins her at the front of the truck, “this is one of those occasions where I think he may very well be right.”

  “Hey. I tried to talk yo
u out of coming, remember?”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Marybeth places the pumpkin on the hood of the truck and pulls her phone out of her pocket. “How did the chosen Haddonwood Howler prove he braved the Grimshaw House on Halloween before the era of the cell phone?”

  “I don’t know. Polaroids, maybe?”

  Ben studies the jack-o’-lantern. The mouth is a little lopsided, but he thinks MB did a decent job. He doesn’t like the way the thing seems to be staring at him, though. Sneering, almost. The expression kind of reminds him of MB’s dad. Which is probably fitting, since the man helped carve it.

  “I’ll be glad to get rid of this thing,” he says.

  “Ha. You weren’t the one that had to ride with it between your feet all the way up that damn hill. My ankles are going to be covered in bruises.”

  “You can just tell your dad we had kinky sex with shackles.”

  MB snorts. “Do you want to keep your balls?”

  “Oof. Point taken.”

  Ben draws in a deep breath of autumn air and then wrinkles his nose. It doesn’t smell as fresh up here as it did coming up the hill, when the breeze was blowing through the window vents of his truck. It’s probably the stagnant water in the fountain.

  He looks down the hill toward Haddonwood off to the right, and the bonfire off to the left. A stab of guilt slices into his heart. Even if, by some miracle, MB is still in the mood after this, it will have to be quick. He needs to get back to town. The film festival will be over soon, and yes, Daisy offered, but he can’t expect her to keep an eye on the kid all night. Chase is his responsibility.

  Guilt gives way to resentment and then back to guilt again. He loves his brother more than anything. But shouldn’t he be allowed a few hours away without feeling that he’s letting him down? In a fair and just world, he’d be able to trust his parents—or hell, at least one of his parents—to take care of their own damn son. To pick him up from the theater. Make sure he gets home safely.