by Dan Poblocki
“But, Gramma—”
“Hush Falls is like no other place I’ve ever glimpsed. It is not safe for people like us, Lucas, to go anywhere near it.”
“What about for people like me?” Claire asked. “Did my mother visit Lucas because she thinks that there’s something that I could do? Am I the one who’s supposed to find my father?”
Irene sat very still. Lucas could tell she was holding back some secret thought, but he’d never call her out in front of Claire. It must be secret for a reason. “Honey, I think it would be best for the authorities to handle whatever needs to be handled here. There are plenty of capable adults who are experts at—”
“But my mother didn’t visit anyone else. She came to see Lucas.”
“And the man, Gramma,” Lucas interjected. “The bad man from your vision, who you said is keeping all the spirits in Hush Falls prisoner. Capable adults won’t be able to do anything about him. What if he’s the one who—”
“I said no.” Irene stood. She snatched the pendulum from where it had landed on the coffee table. Then she lifted the platter so roughly, some of the liquid sloshed out onto the floor. “Shoot. Now I’ve got to clean that before it stains.”
“You’re a capable adult, Gramma!”
Irene said nothing but turned and brought the platter into the kitchen. Lucas could not just let it go. “You’re the one who told me about my gift. What’s the point of having it if I can’t do anything with it?” Claire was looking at him funny, as if he were suddenly speaking a language she did not understand.
Irene returned with a roll of paper towels and a spray bottle filled with an amber liquid. She crouched, sprayed, and then scrubbed at the spot where the milk and ink had spilled.
“Gramma! Answer me!”
Irene slammed the bottle onto the floor. With a blank expression, she stood and went to the phone. Flipping through a small notebook, she held her finger in place, then dialed the number she’d located. After a moment, she spoke. “Yes, hello, Lizzie?”
“Oh no,” Claire whispered.
Lucas’s grandmother went on. “Irene Kent calling. I don’t mean to alarm you, but I thought you should know that your niece rode her bike up to my house … No, no problem at all, but it’s time for her to head home, and I don’t want her on the dark roads this late … Yes, of course. We’ll all be waiting.” Irene laid the receiver back on the cradle. “I’m sorry, Claire. But I don’t allow Lucas to have friends over while he’s disrespecting me. Your aunt Lizzie said she’d be here in a few minutes.”
Claire stood. “But what about what you saw, Mrs. Kent? Can’t you at least call the police for me? Maybe point them in the right direction?”
Irene softened again. “I will call. Tomorrow. But … honey, I’m not sure how much help I’ll be.”
Claire went over to her. She wrapped her arms around the small woman. Irene stiffened at first, but then she hugged the girl back. “It’s going to be okay. Your father’s a smart man. I’m sure he knows exactly what he’s doing.”
Lucas caught his grandmother’s gaze. The worry he saw in her eyes told him that she was anything but sure. In fact, he knew she was lying.
LATER, LUCAS FOUND himself holding his breath. He was underwater, deep down, pressure pushing at his eardrums. Darkness surrounded him, thick and fathomless. Even though he was certain this was a dream, the water stung his eyes. He kept them open, sensing his body turning in the gloom while looking for an object he could focus on to quell his dizziness. His lungs ached, and when he gasped, he felt his chest fill with a thick type of oxygen.
Not far below, Lucas made out a building. A church maybe. The structure had a steeple. Or a tower.
Lucas’s mind rushed to his parents working in the drowned cities, and fear gurgled in the back of his throat. Was this a vision of the future? Another terrible perk of the gift he’d inherited from Gramma? Should he be worried that more waves might come and catch the workers and volunteers on the coast with no warning?
He glanced upward, looking for the surface of the water, wondering if he were to break through into open air, would he wake himself up? But before Lucas could kick away from the building that lurked beneath him, there came a knocking sound. It resounded through the darkness like sonar, pulsing through his flesh and vibrating his bones. Pinpricks poked into his skin. He felt himself being dragged down, down, down. The pressure in his ears grew worse as the knocking became louder.
He wanted to call out, but who would hear him?
A soft sensation coated his feet. He was standing in muck at the bottom of the lake. The building rose up over him now, and he could see it clearly. Not a church, but a house. A mansion, like something from an old black-and-white horror movie. The double doors at the front porch were closed tightly.
Lucas realized then that the sound—the knocking—was not coming from inside the structure. It echoed from somewhere behind him. He allowed himself to turn. To take in the landscape.
The pinpricks dug deeper into his skin, and he almost shrieked at the pain. Spread out before him, lit dimly as if by some mysterious and distant light, was a graveyard. Headstones jutted up from the ground, many of them tilting this way and that. He tried to jump away, to kick and swim, but some strange gravity was holding him down.
He knew somehow that the knocking would end only when he’d located its source. And only then, he figured, would this nightmare be over. Stepping through the mud, Lucas felt weeds brushing at his legs. Something darted past his face. A fish? Or could it have been something else? Something he did not wish to imagine?
Soon, he was standing among gravestones. It was too dark to make out any of the names engraved on them. But the names weren’t important. It was the sound that drew Lucas onward. He walked, slowly pushing against the water’s weight, until he came to a hole in the ground. An open grave, its edges crumbling and drooped like a rotting wound. Looking down, Lucas could see an ancient wooden casket at the bottom.
Tap … Tap … Tap …
The noise was coming from below, from inside the box. Lucas drew his hand to his mouth to stop a scream.
Then the casket’s lid rose upward and released a cascade of bubbles.
As well as a low groan.
Lucas sat up in bed, flailing with the blankets, gasping for breath.
Sweat was beaded on his forehead. He wiped it away with shaky fingers.
Blinking, he watched his bedroom form around him. When Lucas swallowed, his throat felt like a desert. He needed a glass of water. But as he swung out his legs to stand, he noticed that his bedroom door was already open. The echo of the knocking from his dream sounded slightly in his memory. Tap … Tap … Tap …
Had his grandmother come to look in on him? Had she forgotten to close the door?
There was a shuffling sound out in the hallway. He thought of the wavering weeds in the graveyard in his dream.
“Hello?” Lucas whispered.
There was no answer.
Steeling his nerves, he carefully got out of bed. “Mrs. Holiday? Is that you?” Moving quietly across the floor, he hoped that it was Claire’s mother out in the hall. He didn’t think he could handle a different visitor with a new message for a stranger. Creeping toward the doorway, Lucas felt the room tilt, and like in the dream, he had to remind himself to breathe.
A figure stepped from the darkness. A woman. Her hair flowed behind her. Her arms were raised toward him, fingers splayed and trembling hopelessly. Lucas froze. Then, rushing forward like a flood, her terror resounded in his mind. She swung around to clutch his shoulders. Lucas ducked away, crouching and covering his head with his hands.
“Go now!” shrieked the woman. Claire’s mother. “Go! Help him! Please! Before it is too late!”
Claire couldn’t remember falling asleep, but it must have happened, because when sunlight crept across her pillow, she jolted upright. She checked the clock on the table beside her bed. There were at least fifteen minutes left until her alarm would go o
ff. If she were to lie down again, it would only feel more painful later to drag herself from under the covers. So Claire got up, went to the bathroom, and turned the shower knob.
The night before, when her aunt Lizzie had come to pick Claire up at Lucas’s house, she’d watched silently as Claire loaded her bike into the car’s hatchback. And on the ride home, all that her aunt had said was, “Well, that was embarrassing.”
Claire had been too shaken by what had happened in the Kent house to answer, worried that any word would set loose a torrent of tears and trembling cries. Once home, however, Claire had calmed down enough to ask her aunt, “Don’t you want to know why I went over there?”
“If you feel like telling me, I’ll listen.” Aunt Lizzie opened the refrigerator and dug around aimlessly, as if looking for a snack that wasn’t there. “But I truly hope this is the last time you sneak out without telling me. I nearly died when Irene called.”
Claire flinched at the word died. “Lucas Kent spoke with my mom.” Aunt Lizzie turned to face her, but her expression revealed nothing. Claire scrambled to continue. “Lucas is the one who told me that Dad’s in trouble. And I knew that if I’d asked you to take me to Lucas’s house, you would have said no.”
“Why do you always assume I’m going to say no, Claire?”
“Would you have taken me?”
Aunt Lizzie sniffed. “Well … no.” Claire struggled to not roll her eyes. “Your father has had enough trouble with that family.”
“Lucas wants to help me.”
“You don’t know Irene Kent like I do. Like your father does. The woman is—”
Claire had heard it all before. She spoke up. “Can’t we try and find Dad ourselves?”
Mouth agape, Aunt Lizzie looked like Claire had stepped forward and stomped on her foot. “Are you kidding me? You want me to drive us to some creepy backwater so you can tromp around in the woods and—”
“Dad needs me. Mom said so.”
“Oh, sweetheart …” Aunt Lizzie took Claire’s hand. “Let’s not jump to conclusions. Your father knows what he’s doing. Okay?” Then, as Claire expected, her aunt went on about how the hour was late and that tomorrow would be another long day and wouldn’t they both feel better after some chamomile tea and some shut-eye?
Claire had agreed, but only because she didn’t wish to argue.
Besides, Aunt Lizzie was right. Tomorrow would be another long day. And Claire was not looking forward to it.
If she couldn’t get her aunt on board with the idea of going to Hush Falls Holler to look for her father, Claire might have to do something drastic. Something that terrified her more than the thought that Irene Kent could see into the world of the dead—more even than the idea that her father was capable of hunting down the spirit of her mother and sending her away forever.
After her shower, Claire met her aunt in the kitchen.
“Are we feeling better?” Aunt Lizzie asked, handing her a piece of buttered toast globbed with strawberry jam.
“We are,” Claire answered with a half smile. She took a quick bite. “I’m sure you’re right. We’ll hear from Dad before long.”
“And then we’ll give him a good talking-to!” Aunt Lizzie agreed, offering up her palm for a high five. Claire hated when her aunt did this, but she swallowed a grimace as she swung her hand to smack it. “Do you want a ride to school today or are you okay walking?”
“I can walk.”
Aunt Lizzie opened the fridge and pulled out a few plastic containers filled with her lunch. She shoved them into a tote bag, then slung the bag over her shoulder. “Good. I’ve got an early meeting. You’ll be all right alone for a bit?”
“I’m not a baby, Aunt Lizzie.”
Her aunt’s voice melted slightly. “But you’ll always be our baby, Clary.” Claire stiffened. Aunt Lizzie was too busy rushing around to notice. “Okay, then. I’ll be sure to call the school if Layne reaches out to my office. Till then, fingers crossed!” Claire wanted to scream out that one does not cross fingers in situations like this, but she also wanted her aunt to just leave her alone. “Kisses!” Aunt Lizzie said, and then headed into the garage.
Moments later, silence settled onto the Holiday house, and dread slithered through Claire’s veins. She was imagining what drastic thing she might do to help her father, when the doorbell rang.
Peeking out the front window, Claire saw Lucas on the porch, an overstuffed purple backpack strapped to his shoulders. Frazzled, she yanked open the door. “What are you doing here?”
Lucas jumped back in surprise. “I had to come see you before school started. Away from everyone else.” He peered past her into the oak-paneled foyer. “Is your aunt home?”
Claire shook her head. “Aunt Lizzie left for work a minute ago.”
“Good,” he muttered.
“What’s wrong?” she asked. “Did you learn anything else?”
Lucas nodded. “She showed up again last night.” He glanced over his shoulder, looking past the front lawn to the street. Turning back, he whispered, “Do you see her?”
“Who? My mom?” Claire struggled to see what he was seeing. All that was there was the asphalt and the sidewalk and the Mortons’ house across the road.
“Your mother followed me here. She … she’s in my head. She won’t leave. I came to ask if you’d mind … telling her to leave?”
Yesterday morning, Claire would have turned him away with a scowl. But after the previous afternoon, after what she’d seen at his house with the milk and the ink, after what Lucas’s grandmother had said … “She’s been with you the whole time?” He nodded. “Since last night?” He nodded again. Claire noticed his eyes were glazed over. He must not have slept much. “But what does she want? Did she tell you anything else? Anything about my dad?”
“More of the same. That he’s in trouble. And that he needs your help. But this time it was louder.”
Claire stifled a nervous giggle. This sounded exactly the way her mother worked. She’d never take no for an answer. Claire tried to imagine her mom standing out in the road. She squinted, trying again to see her. Still, there was nothing. “I asked my aunt to drive me to that town. Hush Falls Holler? She practically laughed in my face.”
“And Gramma said it was dangerous.” Lucas looked to the street again. “But … your mother doesn’t care. I can, like, feel what she’s feeling. If she doesn’t leave me alone, I don’t know what’ll happen. I worry I might … explode or something.”
Claire waved him forward. “Come in.” She closed the door behind him, then thought for a moment and opened it again. “Is she … ?”
Lucas nodded wearily. “She’s here.” He motioned to the empty space beside himself. They stood in the hall of the Victorian, surrounded by the antique furniture that Penelope had picked out for her family, the emerald wallpaper, the dark-stained wood, the chandelier made of mercury glass. Even if Lucas hadn’t told her that her mother had followed him here, it was impossible to ignore the presence of Penelope Holiday. She would always be here, just as Miles would always be here, hiding inside the scents of pine and leather and his immense collection of old books.
“Mom?” Claire held her hands out toward the empty space beside Lucas. She wasn’t sure what sensation she’d expected to find there. The cool skin of her mother’s fingertips brushing against her own? The chime of a spoon hitting against the inside of her mother’s favorite tea mug? The feeling of warmth and comfort when her mother would embrace her every morning, the same feeling Claire had realized existed only once those hugs were no longer a part of her life?
What Claire hadn’t expected was to feel nothing in that empty space. Anger surged through her, and she stepped furiously backward, almost tripping over her own feet. She stared hard at Lucas, knowing that whatever came out of her mouth next would be unfair. You’re lying! She’s not here! How come you can see her, but I can’t? Pursing her lips, Claire turned from him. “I don’t know what you expect me to do, Lucas,” she answ
ered finally. “She isn’t haunting me. She’s haunting you.”
“Just … talk to her. Tell her that she’s hurting me.”
Claire looked back to the empty space, answering flatly, “Mom. Leave Lucas alone. He doesn’t want to help us.”
Lucas flinched. “That’s not true. I do want to help. But … I don’t know how.” He cringed suddenly, as if someone had boxed his ears. He held his hands against the sides of his head. “Stop, Mrs. Holiday. Please stop.”
For a brief moment, Claire thought she saw a glimmer in the air. Like ripples of heat rising off asphalt in the summertime. She remembered the previous evening, up in her bedroom, when the stars had blinked at her, when she’d felt her mother’s presence. The anger slipped away. And she reached for Lucas, touching his arm. “Mom. Cut it out,” she blurted to the empty space. “You’re hurting him!”
Lucas’s spine snapped straight up. “She says we have to go to Hush Falls.”
Claire shook her head, frightened. “I told you. Aunt Lizzie said she wouldn’t take me. And your grandmother—”
“It doesn’t matter,” Lucas answered. His voice had gone strangely low. “She says she won’t leave me alone until we find him. You want to go? I know a way.”
“PACK A BAG,” said Lucas. He nodded to his own bulging backpack. “I brought some stuff just in case.”
“Just in case what?”
“In case it came to this.”
“I thought you came here to tell me to ask my mother to leave you alone.”
“I mean, yeah, that was part of it.”
“And the other part is?”
Lucas shrugged. “Do you want to save your father or not?” he asked, not unkindly.
Claire glanced up the stairs to her bedroom. There was a canvas duffel in her closet. All she’d need was a few shirts and jeans and she’d be ready to go. “Yes,” she answered. “Of course I do. But how? We don’t have a car. And you certainly don’t have a driver’s license.”
“There are other ways to get around,” he answered. “You’ve got to hurry. We don’t have much time.”