October Darlings

by Wendolyn Baird

  Nick glances down at his cousin, a warning flashing across his face. “You mean the drive-in that technically doesn’t exist?”

  “More secrets?” I raise my eyebrows. “Please tell me this is a normal one?”

  Sabrina glances around, twisting one of the earrings lodged in her cartilage. “Your ghost relatives wouldn’t like, go snitching on us to your aunt, right? Is anyone in the room with us now?”

  “How would I know?”

  They both turn to me, expressions aghast. Great, they don’t think I'm crazy, but now I’m a walking ghost detector.

  “No,” I huff. “I don’t think anyone’s in the room with us. It doesn’t feel like anyone is staring at me, at least. Besides y’all.”

  “Okay, so there’s like this big clearing a bit down the road, way off in the trees, and there’s this big cliff that makes the perfect movie screen. Nick’s friend —”

  “Just one of my friends, doesn’t matter who,” he pipes up.

  “Whatever, she doesn’t care." Sabrina rolls her eyes. “Anyway, his friend borrows his dad’s mower once or twice a month and clears enough of the grass out for a bunch to go out and park.”

  “So, y’all are trespassing?” The idea of it doesn’t bother me, but this is Texas; you could get shot for trespassing, and I’m not about that consequence.

  “Only kind of,” Sabrina shrugs. “It’s unused land and the owner doesn’t really care what we do out there as long as it doesn’t get her in any legal trouble or ruin her land.”

  “Okay, so then why is it all hush hush?”

  “Because parents exist, and the film we use for the movies isn’t always... legally procured?” Nick shrugs.

  “His buddy lifts them from his work when the theater is ready to throw them out. It’s not really stealing if it’s trash, is it?”

  “I don’t actually know where the moral standpoint of this is, but uh, count me in. Sounds like fun.” Like the perfect place to get some candid portraits actually.

  “What do you think she’s doing up there?” Sabrina stares up at the ceiling as Delia’s muffled footsteps scurry around.

  I wrinkle my nose and pull the blanket tighter around my shoulders. The fuzz of the plush fabric half obscures my view of the TV and if I pull it up any further, I may be able to muffle everything else away from my ears. No more rain, or questions, just the quiet pulsing of my heartbeat through my temples.

  They can dissect Delia's riddles themselves and play at figuring out the secrets of the house, because when all is said and done, they get to go home. They get to sleep soundly knowing nothing is creeping under their mattresses or waiting for a chance to edge closer to their defenseless forms. I am so tired.

  My eyelids droop as my vision unfocuses again, and the quiet murmuring of the pair beside me lulls me into a drowsy state. Huddled against the couch as I am, with Sabrina at my feet and Nick at my side, I can barely feel any of my injuries or the nagging panic from before. There’s nothing but the pleasant drifting of empty thoughts and the knowledge of not being fully conscious. Some teas are meant to calm, others are meant for sleep. I don’t know if Delia meant to switch the two up, but I’m fading.

  “ADDIE? ADDIE, WAKE up!”

  I’m curled up on the couch. The TV is off, and Sabrina and Nick are gone. Cold air stings the bits of my skin that have made their way outside the blanket. My face, an ankle, the curl of my hand hanging off the cushions.

  “What is it now?”

  Delia’s leaning over me, far too close and insistent for comfort.

  “What do you want?” I groan, pressing on my aching head.

  She doesn’t answer, and a weight drops in my stomach the longer the silence goes on. Covered in cobwebs and bits of toast, she still hasn’t changed out of her clothes from earlier, though hours must have passed.

  “Aunt Del?” I squint at her, struggling to push myself into a sitting position.

  The flickering lightbulb in the hall makes it difficult to make out her face, as close as it is, and there’s a stillness between us that doesn’t feel right. As I move, the room spins around me, and only the constant is her face, staring me down. Sleep leaves me in the hurried slip of ice sinking into my frame, dread settling on me like a shroud.

  Delia remains perched in front of me, her eyes wide and hungry. No pupil, no iris, just an unblinking fog of cruel, crystalline blue expanding from one lid to the other.

  My heart beats out my panic as she grins, and her teeth are dripping in black tar and pointed at the ends, crowding her mouth with bits of broken bone and a rot that envelopes the air around me.

  The shadows converge around her in a threatening mass, lengthening and solidifying as a long-limbed creature steps forward.

  And like an idiot in any horror movie, I’m trapped.

  Chapter Seven

  A SHARP STING LANDS on my wrist, ripping a gasp from me as I sit straight up in bed. My new bedroom is smaller than the previous one, but nestled on the second floor, closer to Delia’s. The top branches of the crepe myrtle skim the glass of my window, and the moonlight pouring into the room is the only thing that steadies my breath.

  The nightmares are coming back, just like I thought they would, but this one is a new one, no doubt brought on by the onslaught of events of last week.

  Nick and Sabrina left as soon as the rain cleared, leaving their numbers in my phone and their fears at the door. What is fast becoming my living nightmare is nothing more than an odd adventure to them, and I had to all but beg them not to tell anyone about the experience.

  Folding my arms around my rib cage, I pull at the seam on my tank top as I tiptoe over to the glass. The constellations overhead are stunning in a way I haven’t seen in years. That’s the downside of living in a city, although I wouldn’t admit it out loud if anyone asked.

  The blinking red numbers on the alarm clock at my nightstand say it’s a little after three in the morning; both far too late and too early to be awake. Shivers dance down my skin leaving goosebumps in their wake. A layer of sweat keeps my shirt clinging to my back and the tops of my shorts plastered to my thighs. I’m a mess, inside and out.

  I’d call my dad if I thought he’d answer. If I thought I could talk to him without freaking him out. Instead, I pull out my tablet and scroll through the last few pictures I’d edited before packing my bags.

  Three weeks without photographing anything is a record for me, but not really a good one. If I had my camera on me, I’d open the window and get a few shots of the sky... but of course I left it downstairs in a fit of good intentions. It’s probably still lying next to my backpack; another nod to my complete lack of motivation.

  Sighing, I shove the glass panel up anyway, leaning out to inhale the scent of the blossoms off the tree. The lazy air is alive with the click of crickets and fireflies, and somewhere in the trees an owl is calling out. It may as well be calling to me. With everything changing as rapidly as it is, I’m not sure what to make of myself anymore. Does this change who I am? Should I let it?

  Delia sat me down after the others left, forcing information on me I both longed to know and hated to hear.

  “Nobody knows really where the gift came from, but we do know when it was noticed. The twins, Anna Mae and Eleanor Jane, you know the ones hanging up in the hall?”

  I nodded, more words slipping out before I thought about their consequences. “Yeah, with the angels, far left corner in the cemetery.”

  Delia nearly clapped at my slip up and went on. “It was shortly after their great aunt passed that they found her wandering in the halls. Then again when a cousin drowned, poor thing he was only a child.” She shook her head, genuinely dismayed. “At first everyone thought it was a talent particular to them, you know there were funny ideas about twins in those days.”

  I wanted to roll my eyes and tell her to get to the point, but looking up, my gaze landed on a rather stern looking portrait and I thought better of it. No telling which relatives would come chastising m
e later.

  “Eventually a common thread was found, because not everyone could see the dead. Like your dad for instance, he’s as stubborn as a mule, saying we’ve all made it up! As if several generations would put that much effort into a fairy tale!”

  “So why can some of us see and others can’t?”

  Folding her hands around the cup of tea in front of her, she shook her head. “That’s for you to find out. Part of the tradition is that you discover it on your own.”

  “So, what? I just wander around seeing dead people and eventually a clue will come to me as to why I’m like this? Is there any off switch, or a choice to maybe not see them?”

  “No, darling.” There was a soft comfort in her gaze that she wouldn’t allow herself to speak. “Like I said, it’s either a blessing or a curse. How you see it is up to you.”

  “And that’s it? You won’t give me any other information? Nothing about the wall or whoever attacked me? I’m just on my own with this?”

  “What happened was a once in a lifetime problem, not the norm. Announce yourself when you enter a room, be thankful when chores get done, and don’t dawdle in that hall alone. Oh, and whatever you do— stay out of the garage, and for heaven’s sake, stay away from the shadows. Some things belong to the dead far more than they do to this world. Our family can only block out so much.”

  And that’s it. That’s all I got out of her. Now I’m being plagued by bad dreams and insomnia.

  Resting on my elbows, I watch as a pair of Delia’s feral cats wind their way around the mesquite by the curb. Their gleaming eyes catch in the moonlight and beyond them, something shifts between the houses. Tall and thin, it could just be my imagination, but the fear left over from my nightmare fueled rest whispers otherwise.

  The slinking, deadly energy emanating off the space in the dark is far too familiar, and the way the moonlight appears to get sucked into its profile is reminiscent of a black hole. My shadow figure still exists. Why is Delia so certain it won’t strike again?

  Moving as silently as I can, I latch the window shut again. Paranoia and intuition are so easy to mix up, but pretending something isn’t there, doesn’t make it go away. I just hope it can’t see me from behind the curtain.

  The clock clicks as it passes over to four in the morning, and then five. But still, I sit, watching the shadows, and praying the shadows aren’t watching me.

  “YOU READY?” DELIA RUMMAGES through her purse for her keys, one hip holding the screen door open, and a pair of miniature macarons dangling from her ears.

  “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

  There are four good things about going to work for Aunt Delia at her bakery. One, food and coffee. Mainly coffee. Ugh, I need coffee. Two, a place to take pictures of things that don’t remind me of death. Three, a real, honest to god, paycheck. Fourth and finally, (and most importantly) somewhere else to spend my time besides Nix House or Sabrina’s.

  There’s also one huge, glaring, hard to forget bad thing as well: the necessary task of socializing with people. It’s not that I have a terrible customer service voice, or that I hate being around people. It’s the fact that ever since I started acknowledging the ghosts at Nix House, the more I’m starting to get glimpses of the ghosts people carry with them.

  They’re not actual dead people, but from what I can figure out, the shadows are the little snippets of heartbreak that weigh on them. The things they regret. The unfinished novel floating above someone’s head like a burnt book, or the ripped-up photograph clinging to the back of a person’s hand when they hand me change is super disorienting. Half of the time, the only way I can tell whether something is physically present is by looking for a lack of violet. Everything extraordinary is lined with the lightest layer of lavender, and the more things glow, the worse my headaches get.

  Delia claims the migraines will fade by my birthday. It’s the coming into the ‘gift’ that’s the painful part. After that, she says it’s just another sense, as natural as touch or sound. As if any of this were natural.

  “See you later, Frank.” The iron scorpion is still as ever where he hangs on the broad, green door, and I pet his head absentmindedly. Maybe Sabrina was right, he does feel like a good luck charm.

  Delia has me in a uniform of jeans and a black tee shirt, but the morning is so hot already that my ponytail sticks to the back of my neck as we drive into town. Thank goodness for the extra outfit waiting in my bag because otherwise I’m pretty sure I’ll die of heat stroke. The sun is low, and the last few bats left in the sky flap haphazardly to their homes.

  “It’s only a few hours at a time, I’m afraid. I don't need much help around the place.” She frets as she slides in and out of traffic, her driving more apt for a large city than the slow-paced roads. “You said Sabrina’s mother is picking you up after your shift?”

  “Yeah, we’re supposed to meet up with some of her friends for lunch.” And hopefully to the store so I can grab a couple of essentials, like more lip balm and a flashlight in case what happened before happens again.

  “Good! You can get to know some of the kids before school starts.”

  “Speaking of which, where am I going? Sabrina said there are two schools?”

  “Oh shoot!” Delia frowns around the large crack in her windshield and doesn’t appear to have heard me. A CLOSED sign is still hanging from the door of the shop, and a distraught looking teenager has his forehead pressed to the glass as he leans against the window. “Ellis must have forgotten his keys again. Alright, hurry up, we’re already behind for the day.”

  Ellis has a mop of sandy brown hair and a collection of leather bracelets on his wrists that slide against each other as he rubs at his temples in consternation. Even dismayed, he looks like he ought to be the lead actor in a rom-com, and my heart jolts in my chest. Holding my hand out dumbly, I want to erase the worry on his face, and my tongue feels like it’s knotting up behind my teeth.

  “I tried to call you, Ms. Nix,” he apologizes.

  God, even his voice is amazing! And here I thought Nick was cute.

  “I really am sorry,” Ellis continues, “I don't know where they could have gone!”

  “Never you mind, it’s not like we haven’t opened late before. Just try to find them, okay?” She kindly brushes him off even as her knuckles tighten around her own set of keys. Maybe she’s not as awkward as I’d assumed. “Ellis this is my niece, Addie, the one I told you about.”

  I flush as he turns his attention to me, his indifferent glance stinging as I take in his perfect mouth and honey colored eyes. A scar at his eyebrow hints at an old piercing, and he nods politely while I try in vain to look nonchalant. I only gape at him for a nanosecond, I swear, but he looks away before I can even manage a wave. Perfect.

  The bell above the door rings in our entrance, and the clean blue countertops are awash with the sunlight that streams through thankfully tinted windows. The display cases are covered in gentle green etchings of vines and Delia’s love for plants is clear even here. Within the hour the air is filled with chocolate and savory breads, and by eight o’ clock, we’re ready for our first customers.

  “Usually we’re supposed to have more in the display cases by now,” Ellis murmurs as he boxes up a dozen marranitos. The soft ginger cookies are one of the few nods to the Mexican recipes my mother gave Delia when I was young. “But it’s a small town, and a small shop so your aunt can afford to be forgiving.” His cheeks redden as he speaks, but by the time he rings the customer out, his back is straight and he’s cool and confident again.

  Delia’s been at work since the moment we arrived, but pacing around in my yellow apron, I’ve only accomplished getting specks of food on my boots and the occasional awkward glance from curious customers. I even excuse myself to the bathroom to check if my eyeliner was smudged or if I had sugar across my face at one point, but nothing. It’s only my presence that sticks out like a sore thumb.

  “Ring them up, will you? I’ve got to get these cupc
akes packaged for a birthday party.”

  “No worries.” I finish wiping down the back counter and head to the register with a large dollop of hand sanitizer in my palm, but before I can clear out the order, a harsh stinging on my wrist stops me in my tracks. Hissing, I cradle my arm and bite my lip. The man waiting for his order frowns and stares between Ellis and I, his hand raised in concern.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah, I just...” glancing down at my hand reveals a small welt on the back of my wrist. “I think I must have gotten stung by something last night.”

  Ellis sets down his box of cupcakes and wipes his palms on his apron. “There’s an office off of the kitchen, head on back and I’ll be right there.” To the customer, he gives a reassuring smile and nods in greeting. “Sorry about the wait, sir.”

  I sidle into the kitchen, using my heel to swing the heavy red door open and scurry past Delia with my heart skipping in my throat. There’s something strange about the welt on my wrist, and as I examine under the harsh fluorescent lights, a faint lavender dances around the wound, like I’m manifesting the paranormal on my very skin.

  “What the hell?” Rubbing at it, the only sting left is from the alcohol in the sanitizer, and the wound itself seems to be devoid of venom.

  “Alright, let me take a look.” Ellis strides into the wood paneled room, his sneakers caked with remnants of a month’s worth of flour and icing, and a smear of bright frosting on his left elbow. Reaching past my head, he pulls out a jar of band aids and a small tube of antibiotic cream.

  “Oh, it’s really not a big deal,” I cringe away, loath to show him my arm in case the purple is visible to anyone else. Besides, the office is so small, we’re barely standing a foot apart from each other, so close that I can smell his shampoo wafting off his hair as he leans closer to me.

  “Nonsense. You nearly jumped a mile just washing your hands. If there’s one thing your aunt is strict on, it’s food safety, so unless you want to be hurting through the end of your shift, we need to get you bandaged up.”