Creep

by Eireann Corrigan

  Lucy sighed dramatically. She sliced open Ben’s envelope with her immaculately manicured fingernail. “We have Latin together. But that’s good news, because you’re better in Latin.”

  “What is this?” Janie had been sorting out the rest of the mail, and now she held up a white, square envelope, addressed in careful block lettering and without a stamp or postmark marring its pristine blankness. She flipped it to me. Before passing it back, I noticed it felt heavy and formal, like a wedding invitation.

  Only one line of black ink marched across the letter.

  The Residents of 16 Olcott Place.

  Janie was the one who opened it.

  She slid out a thick card, and as she read it, her expression transformed from curiosity to confusion and then to distress. This time when Janie asked, “What is this?” there was a different edge to her voice: fear. She dropped the card onto the table, facedown.

  “What on earth?” Mrs. Donahue asked, reaching for the card.

  “No—don’t,” Janie said.

  Lucy moved faster than her mom and snatched it up. She read it quickly and bit her lip. She zeroed in on Ben immediately. “You’re really sick, you know that?” She practically pelted him with the envelope.

  Ben looked baffled. “Okay, crazy lady.”

  “No, you have legitimate problems.”

  “Ben didn’t write that,” Janie whispered. “Come on. You can’t think—”

  “She can’t think what?” Ben asked. “What are you two even going on about?” He examined the envelope intently.

  “Exactly,” Mrs. Donahue said. “Girls, what’s happening here?”

  Lucy slid the white card into the center of the table. Candlelight illuminated it so that the paper glowed behind the stark black writing. The contrast made it easy to read:

  I scanned the paper quickly, believing I must have misread something. But the words stayed the same, even as the family around the table began dissolving into accusations and bewilderment.

  “He has to ruin everything!” Lucy said.

  “You’re a lunatic. I’m sitting here, just enjoying a cheeseburger.”

  Janie sprang into the role of peacemaker between her two siblings. “Maybe you meant it as a joke. But, Ben, it’s not funny.”

  Mr. Donahue had picked up the card. He held it close to his face and seemed to be inspecting it.

  “Gavin, what are you doing?” Mrs. Donahue cried out. “They might need to dust it for prints.”

  “Dust what for prints? Who? Come off it, Lindsay. Ben, straight talk now, did you do this?”

  “Straight talk, Dad—no.” Ben rolled his eyes at me. I felt my cheeks flush; he counted me as his ally. But I caught myself and remembered that I was Janie’s ally.

  Mr. Donahue tossed the card back into the center of the table. “He says he didn’t do it.”

  “Well then.” Lucy’s voice dripped with sarcasm.

  “And really, it’s a harmless prank.”

  “I’d hardly call it harmless, Gavin.”

  “Probably just some locals having some fun at our expense.”

  I shifted uncomfortably in my seat.

  Janie patted my hand. “Dad doesn’t mean you, Liv.”

  “I can’t imagine anyone who would do that—” I started to say.

  “But somebody did.” Lucy’s clipped tone made it clear that she hadn’t entirely ruled me out as the guilty party.

  Mrs. Donahue cleared her throat. She’d been clutching her napkin in one hand. When she set it down, it looked like a flower that had been picked and then crushed. “Kids, why don’t you clear the table, please? Your father and I need a few minutes.” She looked down at me. “Please excuse us, Olivia.”

  I just about leapt out of my seat, trying to pile up as many plates as possible. Janie worked next to me while Ben and Lucy both stayed at the table, staring each other down until their father said, “Lucy and Ben—does your mother need to issue you a formal invitation?” Then their chairs scraped on the deck and they each picked up a salad bowl, grudgingly.

  As I scurried to the door, I heard Mrs. Donahue scold Janie’s dad. “Not everyone speaks your particular language of sarcasm, Gavin. They’ve had quite the shock.”

  “Somehow I think they’ll survive. Unless their mother keeps treating them like they’re three years old.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me.”

  The only thing more uncomfortable than hearing my parents fight was hearing someone else’s parents fight. And yet I drifted toward the kitchen window, straining to hear their voices over the clatter of Janie and Lucy doing dishes.

  “I beg your pardon for taking this matter seriously. Are you going to call the police or shall I?”

  “Do you even hear yourself?”

  “I will call the nonemergency line.”

  “Wonderful. Because I think even in Michigan, they experience very few postal emergencies.”

  “Did you not read the same letter I did? This is a very threatening letter.”

  “A prank letter. You’re the adult, Lindsay. It’s your job to dial it down, not rile the situation up.”

  “I consider protecting my children the first component of my job, thank you—”

  A hand clamped down on my upper arm and I gasped out loud. Ben leaned in and asked me in a stage whisper, “Are you entertained?” He was disappointed in me, I could tell.

  “I’m sorry. I just—”

  “You couldn’t look away from the train wreck.”

  “I’ve survived similar train wrecks.”

  “I doubt it. Why don’t you go help dry?”

  “Of course.” I couldn’t get the words out fast enough. As I moved toward the sink though, the unmistakable sound of glass breaking silenced all of us. The Donahue kids paused, then Lucy spoke. “It’s just not a party until …”

  “We should have made more of an effort to carry the plates inside,” Ben added. For a split second a look of understanding passed between Ben and Lucy. “Lucy, I didn’t write that. I wouldn’t— Okay, possibly I would have, during my younger, more reckless phase. But I didn’t. I swear to you. Janiebear?” He reached to put an arm around Janie. “I swear.”

  “Makes sense,” Lucy said, sighing. “You wouldn’t have put the effort into disguising your handwriting.” The three of them stood in a line at the sink. Lucy rested her head on Ben’s shoulder and Ben squeezed Janie in his arm. Standing behind the three Donahue siblings, I keenly felt my only-child status. Only the sensation of being an unwelcome guest overshadowed that.

  The voices outside rose in volume, and Janie, Lucy, and Ben busied themselves again. They didn’t seem particularly shocked or concerned, but they stayed focused on the task at hand, as if all it took to return to a normal evening was a filled dishwasher. Not even Janie turned around to speak to me. I backed into the living room and texted my mom quickly: I think you should come and get me.

  I saw the familiar ellipses blink on the phone’s screen: my mother thinking. And then: Everything ok?

  As soon as I involved my mom, it would be a Thing. I knew that. She didn’t like drama, of any sort. And already my mom had questioned if Janie and I were spending too much time together. “You’re practically joined at the hip,” she’d told me just that morning. “Sweetheart, you’re lucky to have so many friends. Don’t get carried away with the shiny new thing.”

  In minutes, my mother would arrive at the Donahues’ doorstop and see the tarnish on our shiny new neighbors. I didn’t want to give her any more reason to side-eye Janie. So trying to downplay how weird the whole situation was, I ended up writing and rewriting my reply. Mom must have freaked out because she wrote another message: Janie? What’s up? Those dots blinked, expectantly.

  We could use your perspective. I realized that indicated absolutely nothing, but figured Janie and I could explain it more easily in person. If I wrote The new family just got a death threat, my mom would definitely consider it unwelcome drama.

&n
bsp; In the kitchen, Janie and Lucy sat at the table and Ben sat on the steps leading up to the floors above. Earlier, when she’d toured me through some of the house, Mrs. Donahue had told me that the kitchen staircase had been used by servants back in the day. That’s why it had been built so narrow.

  “Because the servants were small?” I’d asked stupidly.

  “No.” She’d laughed. “Because it didn’t matter if they were comfortable.” I had thought living in a house with back passages and secret ladders was so cool. Waiting for my mom, I reassessed the charm of all those dark corners and secret nooks. I’d felt so self-conscious and intrusive—it hadn’t occurred to me to be afraid. But as I remembered the letter’s deliberate words, my heart pounded. I fought the urge to sprint out of the dimly lit house and run home.

  From his perch on the steps, Ben looked up at all of us and said, “Guys, what if it’s true?”

  “I’d say the house smells like Pine-Sol rather than corpses,” Lucy said dryly.

  “Come on—you know what I mean. What if someone feels like we’re invading his space? What if the people who used to live here are crazy?”

  “You mean the people who MOVED AWAY?” Lucy asked, but Ben didn’t get it. “They moved away, Ben. That letter wasn’t even stamped.” Janie and I glanced at each other. “What?” I shook my head—I don’t know why—out of some sense of loyalty to the Langsoms, I suppose. But Lucy demanded, “Right now, one of you, spit it out.”

  “There’s no way—” I started to say.

  “They didn’t move away,” Janie told her sister. “It sounds like maybe they were going to lose the house. That’s probably why we could afford it.”

  “So where are they?” Lucy looked incredulous.

  I shrugged. “An apartment maybe? In town.”

  “Well, then all this makes sense. I mean, not really—that note is still insane, but at least it’s understandably insane.” Lucy rubbed her temples. “Someone should tell Mom and Dad.”

  “Yeah,” Ben said. “And someone should maybe apologize for randomly accusing her own brother—”

  “Not randomly.” Lucy shook her head. “I think I have some credit banked. No apologies for years.”

  Ben just shook his head.

  “I don’t think one of the Langsoms would do this.” I forced myself to speak up. “I know they wouldn’t.” I looked to Janie, hoping she’d back me up, but what could she say? She didn’t know Thatcher Langsom. I mean, I didn’t know Thatcher Langsom. But I said, “It’s just not their way.” My voice shrank. “It seems like you’re making assumptions. You can’t be certain.”

  Janie said, “We can’t be certain of anything.”

  I wondered if she meant me.

  The doorbell rang then. All the Donahue kids looked so terrified that I felt awful for not telling them my mom was headed over. Janie opened the door and relief washed over her face.

  “Mrs. Danvers, hi.” She turned to face Ben and Lucy. “Guys, this is Olivia’s mom.”

  “Are we going to insist that Mrs. Danvers provide a handwriting sample?” Ben suggested. But then he stood up to shake my mom’s hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Now what exactly is going on? Olivia, you want to fill me in?” My mom looked so expectant and so clueless. Why had I involved her in this? I prayed that whoever had written the letter wasn’t watching the house right at that moment, fancy black pen in hand, adding my mother to some kind of list of doom.

  “Well, there’s a situation.” I looked around the room, wishing one of the Donahue kids would interrupt me to explain.

  “I gathered.” Mom clasped her hands together. “Are your parents home?” On cue, Mr. and Mrs. Donahue came in from the back deck, speaking softly into each other’s ears. They looked like an anniversary card, not Divorce Court guest stars.

  “Hi there,” Mom said before I could introduce her. “I’m Melinda Danvers, from up the street.”

  “Olivia’s mom, hello! I’m sorry—we weren’t expecting you. We were just all clearing the table and washing up.”

  “Thank you for dinner, Mrs. Donahue,” I said automatically.

  “You’re very welcome, Olivia. I’m sorry that our family discussion got a bit heated.”

  I could tell my mom’s antennae were up. I stepped in.

  “I texted my mom and asked her to come over. I thought it might help to talk to her.” Everyone stared at me. “About the letter.”

  “Oh, you’re a dear.” Janie’s mom turned to her dad. “She’s a dear.” Then she said to my mom, “We’re so grateful that the girls have connected. Truly. You’ve raised such a wonderful young lady. Right, Gavin?” Mr. Donahue nodded.

  Mrs. Donahue gazed down at the white card in her hand, as if she had just noticed it there. She shoved it hastily back into its envelope. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”

  “What’s nothing? Has Olivia done something?”

  “No.” My denial came swift and certain. “Mom, no, I didn’t do anything.” I wanted to bolt all over again, feeling the heat of Lucy’s suspicion in particular. It reddened my face.

  “Absolutely not. We seem to be the recipients of a sick joke. But no one believes that Olivia, or any of the children, are responsible.” Mrs. Donahue’s steely gaze traveled across the room, stopping at each of us, silently reiterating her point.

  “Oh dear.” That’s what my mother said, but she shot me a look that indicated that what she regretted most was that I had roped her into this exchange. “Oh dear,” she said again. I thought that she might just keep repeating it, until someone said something else, something that made sense.

  “Actually, do you have a minute, Melinda? May I just show you?” Mrs. Donahue took my mother by the arm and steered her into the dining room. They closed the French doors behind them so I could only hear bits and pieces: the lack of stamp, the debate about calling the police.

  “All right.” Janie’s dad gave two quick claps. “Family meeting. On the sofa.” I froze, not sure if he meant me as well, but Mr. Donahue signaled for me to take a spot on the couch. He said, “Just while Mom talks things over with Mrs. Danvers.”

  Janie scooted over to make room for me. Her dad sort of nodded to himself and then launched into a pep talk. “So we can all agree that tonight got a little weird. And we’re all tired and maybe emotions ran higher than usual. Moving is stressful; it’s the second-most stressful time in a person’s life.”

  “What’s the first?” Lucy asked immediately.

  “Getting married, actually.” He half laughed and then, realizing none of his children were laughing along, abruptly cut it short. “But my point is, let’s rein in our imaginations a bit. Right? It’s like a crank call on paper. Some weirdo. Some creep. Nothing for you all to worry about. Your mom and I will figure out the next steps and we’ll keep you posted.” Mr. Donahue grinned broadly. “Does that sound like a plan?”

  He nodded and then we all nodded because it was apparent he wouldn’t stop nodding unless we started. “Great.” One more nod, this last one in the direction of the dining room. “I have a couple of questions for your mom myself, Olivia.”

  As soon as he shut the doors behind him, Lucy exhaled loudly and Janie said, “That does not sound like much of a plan.”

  “Well, I have a plan.” Ben stood up and cracked his back. The sound made me think of footsteps creaking across a floor or a door, splintering. “Right?” He directed that question straight to Lucy.

  “That’s right.” She nodded again, but this was a nod of actual agreement. “We have a plan.”

  “Which is?” Janie prompted.

  Lucy and Ben stared at each other. She said, “If it’s just that some weirdo decided to write a letter, then we find him.”

  “Exactly,” Ben said. “We find the creep.”

  We had crossed only one lawn before my mother started in on me.

  “I don’t want you spending so much time at the Langsom house,” she said, speaking a lot more slowly than she walked. Every word p
iled up like another brick between Janie and me.

  “You mean the Donahue house?”

  “You know what I mean. Janie is welcome to visit us, and I have no problem with you bringing her to the pool, but let’s give her family a chance to settle in. I’m sure it doesn’t help to have another teenager lying around when you’re busy getting a house like that up and running.”

  “Mom—you’re being ridiculous.”

  “Am I? When was the last time you needed me to come get you at a friend’s house?”

  “Never. But I was scared. And I sure as heck won’t do it again, since you’re effectively punishing me because I reached out to you for help.” I had her then. I knew it. She knew it. Now it was just a matter of seeing how long we would pretend otherwise.

  “Liv, I don’t expect you to fully understand—”

  “Good! Because I don’t. It’s not Janie’s fault some crazy person put a note in her family’s mailbox.”

  “That is the least of the problems in that household, Olivia.” My mom lowered her voice to a whisper, even though we’d reached our own yard and there was no way the Donahues could hear us. “You just don’t know. You can’t always see the rot beneath the surface.”

  She held the screen door open for me so I had to follow her inside, even though most of me wanted to stay out on the back steps and keep a close watch on 16 Olcott. I compromised, collapsing on the overstuffed couch on the screened-in porch and looking toward the looming peaks of the house’s roof.

  Rot seemed like a strong word. When their dad had included me in the Donahue family meeting, I’d liked being counted as one of them. Already, I relished the busyness of their house, the pounding feet running up and down the stairs. I even enjoyed the sniping at the supper table. It was too quiet in my house. We rarely discussed anything that mattered at our kitchen table. Mostly we talked numbers: my latest times, the amount of miles on one of Dad’s cars, how much Mom had spent on the cut of meat that sat steaming in front of us. It had weirded me out to witness Mr. and Mrs. Donahue fighting—but at least they spoke to each other. I couldn’t remember the last time my parents had mattered enough to each other to argue.