by Chris Cooper
The figure tilted her head to one side, just as Pan did when he was trying to understand Izzy’s commands. As Oliver came within a foot or two of her, she hobbled backward.
“It’s okay. I’m trying to help you,” he said. “What happened to you?”
The woman slowly raised an arm, and her fingers hung limply from her hand. Her fingernails were long, chipped, and dirty, as if she had been clawing at the earth. At first, she stood, arm raised in his direction, but then she pulsed her fingers at Oliver as if flicking water droplets from her fingertips. His flashlight flickered and died, and he quickly realized the woman wasn’t the one in need of help after all. He frantically smacked the flashlight until it sputtered back to life, but the woman had vanished, leaving an unobscured path back to Izzy’s house.
The woods slowly receded into the distance as he looked over his shoulder to ensure he wasn’t being followed. He pedaled as quickly as he could up the steep hill to Izzy’s place. He could see the light from her studio in the distance and longed for the safety of the canary-yellow structure sitting just up the hill.
Izzy must have heard the door slam from her studio and came downstairs to see what all the commotion was about.
“Everything all right?” she asked, descending the staircase, with Pan tumbling down behind her.
Oliver fought to regain his breath. “Yeah,” he lied. “Just came back from a little ride.”
“You’ve been gone for hours.”
“Just stopped by Anna’s and went to the tavern for a bit.” He left out the part about the forest—those details could wait.
He wasn’t sure what he had just stumbled into but didn’t want to give Izzy another reason to be afraid. The townspeople were in a panic, and adding a ghost girl to the mix would do little to help. But who was she?
Later that night, Nekko lay nestled in the crook of Oliver’s arm while he struggled to fall asleep.
No one lives in the woods. He thought back to what he had been told several times before. Oliver was certain he had taken Anna to the same spot—he knew it—but they weren’t able to see any of the things that had been so apparent tonight. Why could I walk through the briars without a scratch tonight but not earlier? What was different?
Day and night.
Oliver had been able to see the lights and building at the edge of Briarwood only at night, and the briars scratched him only during the day. But this didn’t explain why the police had such a difficult time removing the body, nor why Anna couldn’t see the lights from the rooftop of the tavern. Only Oliver had been able to see them.
He felt the outline of the coin through his jean fabric and slid it from his pocket. The coin hadn’t been with him the other day when he brought Anna to the edge of the woods. He ran his thumb over the etching of the crow. It had been with him tonight and the other night when he found the body. Perhaps the coin had somehow given him access to all that lay on the other side of the briar patch and protected him from the thorns. The guard was unable to chase him through the briars. No one crosses the briars. The guard had said it himself, but the coin must have somehow allowed him to do so. The idea was a crazy one, but he was beginning to think the coin was a key to Briarwood.
After several deep-breathing sessions and a few hours of tossing and turning, Oliver finally fell into a paranoid dream. The briars held him close to the ground, confining his limbs and preventing movement. He struggled to free himself, but their grip was too tight, and he was too weak to rip the curled branches from the earth. Eventually, they melted away, and he was lying in his own bed yet still unable to move. A figure stood over him. With his eyes half open, he could make out the stringy black hair of the girl from the field. But the hair had fallen away from her face as she leaned over him, revealing a jagged, yellowed smile that glistened in the moonlight. She reached toward him, but Oliver jolted awake just as her fingernail grazed his cheek.
He sat up and looked around the room, which was empty, aside from his large perturbed tabby.
Chapter Seventeen
The metal bell jingled against the door, an unusual sound for the late-morning lull, when most of the display cases had been picked clean. Oliver peered out into the empty bakery as a man crossed the storefront and sat in one of the booths. He was oddly dressed, with a blue suit and matching top hat that reminded Oliver of a circus ringmaster’s uniform. His clothes were certainly vintage, but Oliver had a hard time telling from which century they came. The man’s curled mustache had been meticulously waxed to perfect symmetry.
“Think you have a friend who needs a coffee,” Izzy said, sitting at the large metal table and looking up from a stack of papers.
Oliver stepped into the front of the shop and brought a coffee pot over to the man.
“Coffee?” he asked.
“I’d love a cup,” the man replied.
Oliver filled the empty cup at the table. He set the pot on the warmer behind the counter and returned to take the man’s order. “Anything else for you today?” he asked.
“Actually, just you, if you don’t mind,” he replied.
Oliver thought he had misheard. “I’m sorry—what was that?”
“Just a moment of your time. It looks like you may have a few minutes to spare,” the man said, looking around the empty storefront. “Sit with me. I’ll be brief.”
The request was unusual, but Oliver obliged. He sat across from the man and folded his hands on the table. “What’s on your mind?” he asked.
“I believe you may have something that belongs to me,” he said, taking a sip of his coffee.
“Not sure what you mean,” Oliver replied.
“I hear that you stumbled upon a coin.” He looked up at Oliver. “You see, I had a coin stolen from me a few weeks ago, one with a little crow on it. It was a cherished family heirloom, something that’s been passed down for centuries, and I’d like to have it back.”
Oliver scrambled to think of a response. He couldn’t just hand over the coin, especially given last night’s peculiar adventure. Who is this guy anyway?
“I wish I could help, but I handed it over to the police,” he lied. “I’m sure they’d be happy to talk to you about it, though.”
Oliver noticed a flicker of contempt in the man’s eyes.
“Son, hasn’t anyone told you it’s not polite to lie?”
“I’m sorry, sir, but I’m not lying,” Oliver said, bristling. “You know, the coin was found at the scene of a murder, so whoever left it there may have had something to do with it. You really should speak to the police. They may have some questions for you too. If it was stolen, perhaps you could identify the person who stole it.”
The man raised his voice. “I really don’t have time for this nonsense. Now, if you just hand over the coin, I’ll be on my way.”
Oliver squirmed in his seat. “I wish I could help, but I don’t have it. You should talk to the police, though. Don’t you want to help catch a murderer?”
The man stood up.
“Well, I can see you’re a busy man, so I’ll let you return to your work.” He gestured toward the empty booths.
“I didn’t catch your name,” Oliver said.
“You’ll know it soon enough,” the man replied as he walked toward the bakery door. He carried an elaborate cane although he didn’t seem to need it. When he reached the door, he used the cane’s metal tip to push it open.
Oliver, who had been holding his breath, let out a deep exhalation. He wasn’t sure what to do. If he called Eric, the police might take the coin from him. He wouldn’t be able to get to the bottom of what was happening if he couldn’t get back to Briarwood.
When Oliver walked into the kitchen, he noticed Izzy standing against the door frame, clutching a baseball bat.
“What’s that for?” he asked.
“It looked like he was hassling you,” she replied. “Can never be too careful. Just wanted to be ready in case things went south.”
“Since when do you keep a bat back
here?”
“Since Francis was murdered in the alley next to my store.” She pointed with the bat.
“Fair enough.” Oliver found it difficult to imagine Izzy fighting off an intruder or belligerent customer, but he had no problem believing she would try.
He poured a cup of coffee for himself and sat at the kitchen table for a few minutes, trying to get his heart rate under control. As he calmed himself, an obvious realization washed over him. The man knew about the coin, knew about its history, and somehow knew Oliver possessed it. If it was truly a family heirloom, then the man must have known about Briarwood as well. Could he be the glorious leader?
Chapter Eighteen
Jack-o’-lanterns lined the path to Anna’s cottage, which had been decked out in cobwebs and a mishmash of Halloween flare.
Izzy had impressed the importance of Halloween in Christchurch to Oliver several times that week leading up to the holiday, and he found it surprising that a woman who often railed against town tradition was so eager to participate in this one. Unfortunately, Izzy’s place was too far off the beaten path for trick-or-treaters, so she and Oliver packed decorations into the station wagon and made a few trips back and forth to Anna’s cottage. Izzy had spent the better part of a week carving pumpkins, and Oliver had even created a few wooden caricatures for the yard.
The animals weren’t safe from the festivities either. Inside, Izzy had somehow managed to strap a small witch’s hat to Nekko’s head with an attached cape, and Nekko was now hiding under Anna’s living room sofa. Pan had gotten off easy with a Frankenstein-bolt collar.
Izzy finished putting on her costume in Anna’s restroom and emerged wearing a brightly colored dress with a layer of white embroidered cotton underneath. The grease-painted unibrow was a giveaway
“Frida Kahlo?” Oliver asked.
“Yeah, and what the hell are you?” she replied.
Oliver straightened his black wig, which came to a swirl-like tip, as if he were wearing a headful of black soft serve. He held up his bladed hands, which he’d fashioned out of cut cardboard, old woolen gloves, and a copious amount of hot glue.
Izzy shrugged her shoulders.
“Edward Scissorhands. You know, from the movie,” he said. A sketch of the character adorned Oliver’s apartment wall.
“What movie?”
“Um, Edward Scissorhands.”
“I don’t go to the movies much anymore.”
“It came out thirty years ago.”
“I’ve been busy.”
Oliver rolled his eyes and started to speak, but Anna caught his attention, emerging from the closet with a large brown paper bag.
“Whatcha got there?” he asked.
Anna walked to one of the empty glass bowls by the door and poured in the contents of the bag. Full-size candy bars tumbled into the bowl until they reached the brim. Between Anna’s bag of candy and the stash Izzy had picked up at the store, they had enough to feed several towns’ worth of kids.
“You really go through all of this candy?” he asked.
“Every year,” Anna replied.
“What about your costume? What are you dressed as?”
“An angry baker who has to get up at four tomorrow morning.” She smirked.
Miniature cowboys, zombies, and princesses came out in droves, and not just the children from Christchurch but many from neighboring towns as well. After an hour and a half, the cottage’s candy stash had dwindled to half a bowl’s worth. As the steady stream of trick-or-treaters slowed to a trickle, Izzy took charge of candy-distribution duties.
“Why don’t you two take a walk to the square?” she asked.
Anna looked at her watch. “I could go for some fresh air.”
“What’s in the square?” Oliver asked.
“Some of the old geezers set up a few card tables and let everyone sample the cider they’ve been brewing throughout the year. A few cups of that stuff, and you’ll be three sheets to the wind.” She laughed.
Several police cruisers still lingered on the borders of town, but the past week or two had been quiet, and the community seemed to have taken a collective sigh of relief. Perhaps whoever had been terrorizing Christchurch had simply moved on, and the hum of little voices, decorations, and autumn sounds seemed to overpower any lingering nervousness. As for the man in the blue suit who’d wandered into the bakery, Oliver hadn’t seen him since. He debated whether or not to tell Eric about the encounter but decided against it. Cryptic threats weren’t against the law, and telling Eric would likely involve surrendering the coin, which he kept safely tucked away behind a loose wooden baseboard in his room.
The people in the houses on the street had gradually started to dim the lights, a message to the remaining trick-or-treaters that they were closed for business. Oliver could hear the buzz coming from the square as he and Anna rounded the street leading into it.
The sound of shattering glass and a bloodcurdling scream filled the night air, momentarily drowning out the town merriment and shuffling autumn trees. Anna and Oliver turned around, searching for the source of the sound. As they ran toward the commotion, heads peered out from behind curtains, and a few townsfolk appeared on their doorsteps. By the time the two had arrived at Madeline’s front lawn, just a few streets away, a small crowd had gathered in the grass.
“Ma’am. Ma’am, can you hear me?” An officer stood over Madeline, who lay sprawled on the ground. He leaned down next to her and checked her pulse.
Madeline came to and let out a soft groan. She lifted her head, and a look of fear washed over her when she saw the crowd forming around her. “Oh God! I’m only in a bathrobe,” she slurred. As she began to lift her right arm to tug her gown closed, she winced and clutched her elbow.
“Hey, hey,” the officer said, “just lie still. Help is on the way, and you’re going to be fine.” He pulled the robe tight around her waist then covered her with his jacket.
The old leaded window on Madeline’s second floor had been blown apart, with glass scattered everywhere on the ground below.
“She must have fallen out of the window onto the transom and rolled into the bushes,” Oliver said.
Although the window had been destroyed—frame completely ripped from the house—he saw no other signs of an explosion or fire, and the rest of the building appeared to be perfectly fine from the outside.
The officer was quickly joined by another, who came running across the lawn.
Madeline looked up at them and began to cry. “I was attacked,” she said. “There’s something in the house.”
The hairs on the back of Oliver’s neck bristled.
“Did she say attacked?” Anna asked.
One of the officers spoke into the radio then ran to the back of the house while the other comforted the dazed woman. The crowd had grown as word spread through the neighborhood. Eventually, additional officers arrived and surrounded the house.
The crowd stood helpless as two officers kicked in the front door. The sound of breaking glass came from the back side of the house as the police must have broken the window to unlock the door.
The ambulance arrived several nerve-racking minutes later, but by the time the paramedics loaded Madeline onto the gurney, the police had swept the entire house and emerged empty-handed. Whoever had attacked Madeline had somehow slipped away, leaving both doors locked from the inside.
Chapter Nineteen
Two cracked ribs, a punctured lung, and a broken arm were small prices to pay for survival. Madeline spent several days in the hospital in the neighboring town. When the police swept the house, the bedroom looked as if it had been tilted on its side. The bed had been slammed against the wall, leaving large cracks in the plaster, and the entire contents of the room had been pushed to one side. It appeared that everything had nearly been sucked out of the window with Madeline. Although the police found no footprints, fingerprints, nor signs that an intruder had been inside, they did find the same small scratches on the door as th
ose found at the other houses—several red scratches forming an obscure S shape.
Izzy tapped a knuckle on the hospital-room door.
“Come in,” a voice said from around the corner.
Not only had Izzy insisted they visit Madeline in the hospital, but she’d nearly had a breakdown when Anna and Oliver brought back the news Madeline had been attacked. For someone who so adamantly voiced her dislike for Madeline, Izzy was oddly upset by the attack on the woman.
Madeline, usually primped and polished, lay exhausted in bed. Her hair was devoid of the extensions that gave it that extra bounce, and her face was ashen and wrinkled. When she saw Izzy, her gaze momentarily softened.
“We brought you some goodies,” Izzy said, putting the wicker basket on the table. Madeline said nothing but seemed legitimately shocked to see the two of them.
“How are you feeling?” Oliver asked, trying to break the awkward silence.
Madeline looked at both of them, mouth open slightly.
“It’s good to see you, Isabelle,” she said, ignoring Oliver’s question.
“Any news from the police?” Izzy asked, tears welling in her eyes.
“Not much. They didn’t find anything in the house. If it wasn’t for the catastrophe in the bedroom and those scratches on the door, they would probably think I was just a clumsy old biddy who took a tumble out the window,” she replied.
“Did you see anything?” Izzy asked.
“Things are still a bit of a blur, but I heard a tapping noise. Over and over again. I was in the bedroom, ironing, and that’s where it came for me. Tap. Tap. Tap. But the sound was everywhere, like it was inside my head. When it finally stopped, I turned to grab the phone and call Martin, and something hit me like a ton of bricks. I swear I saw a woman standing on the other side of the room. Couldn’t see her face—it was covered by long black hair—but she was wearing a tattered nightdress. The police couldn’t find her, though, and I’m beginning to think I imagined it. How could a woman have done so much damage?”