Into the Pit

by Scott Cawthon

  She would certainly read the book, but it wasn’t the book itself that was making her feel all smiley. It was that Dylan had thought of her. While he was at home, not in her presence, he had thought of her, found the book, put it in his jacket pocket, and remembered to give it to her. In her experience, boys weren’t usually this thoughtful.

  * * *

  After dinner, in her room, Millie started reading the H. P. Lovecraft book. Dylan was right. It was weird. Weirder than Poe’s stuff, even, and scary in a way that made it feel like spiders were crawling beneath her skin. But she loved it.

  It was the perfect gift for Dylan to give her. Millie wasn’t a flowers-and-candy kind of girl.

  After she read a couple of stories, she opened her laptop. Instead of googling “poems about death,” she searched for “poems about love.” She found the famous one by Elizabeth Barrett Browning that began, “How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.” She had read the poem before and thought of it just as pretty words, but now she could appreciate the feelings behind the words, strong feelings for the rare person who truly understood you and whom you understood in return.

  She took out her black leather journal, chewed on her pen, and thought. Finally, she wrote,

  You clipped away the black thorny vines

  That twisted around my wounded heart

  So it could beat and feel relief from pain.

  You are the gardener who wakes the plants

  From the gray, chilly death of winter

  So that they can blossom again like my heart,

  A slow-blooming bloodred rose.

  She read the poem back to herself and sighed with satisfaction. Her mood only darkened slightly when she set her journal aside to start on her homework.

  * * *

  “No? Pity. I always think impaling has a certain dramatic flair. Perhaps something with a little more zing? Electrocution is always an effective option. Did you know that the idea of the electric chair was developed in the 1800s by a dentist named Alfred P. Southwick? He came up with the idea of an electric chair based on his dental chair. That’s not exactly comforting to people with dental phobias, now, is it? I don’t have a chair to strap you into, but I do have the power to shoot a series of strong electrical currents through my body cavity. If the current zaps your heart or brain, you’ll die quickly. If it doesn’t, you’ll have some nasty burns, and your heart will go into fibrillation, which will generally kill you if you don’t have help. And I think we’ve already established that you don’t have anyone here to help you.”

  Help was a word Millie wanted desperately to scream, but she knew it was a waste of energy—energy she needed to conserve if she had any hope of survival.

  “So what do you think, cupcake? Electrocution? You’d be shocked at how effective it is. An electrifyingly good time!” Another chuckle.

  Millie had once experienced a shock unplugging a hair dryer from a wall socket in a badly wired hotel room. She had felt the electricity tear painfully up her arm and for a few moments was as out of breath as if someone had punched her in the stomach. She didn’t want to think about how an electric current strong enough to kill her would feel. “A good time for you but not for me,” she said.

  * * *

  On Saturday afternoon, when most other kids were at the mall or the movies or hanging out at one another’s houses, Millie walked downtown to the public library. It was about a twenty-minute walk, so the walk there and back with an hour or two of browsing and reading sandwiched in between was a pleasant way to spend a Saturday afternoon in solitude.

  Today, she roamed the library stacks looking for suitably dark reading material. She had finished The Call of Cthulhu and was disappointed that there weren’t any more books by Lovecraft on the shelves.

  “Hey,” a voice called behind her.

  She gasped and jumped, but then saw it was Dylan.

  “I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said. “Hey, did you read that Lovecraft book?”

  Millie couldn’t believe that the stars had aligned such that she had run into Dylan outside of school. “Yes, I loved it. I was kind of hoping they’d have more stuff by him here.”

  “Hmm …,” Dylan said. “I bet I can pick something else you’d like. Give me a sec.” With a thoughtful expression, he scanned the shelves, then pulled out a thin book with a black cover and handed it to her.

  “The Lottery and Other Stories by Shirley Jackson,” she read.

  “Yup, you’ll love her. It’s the perfect book to continue your classic horror pursuits. Hey,” he said. “I was reading at that table over there until I saw you. If you want to sit there and read, too, you can.”

  “Okay.” Millie worked hard not to show how happy this invitation made her.

  “I’ve got to admit I’ve got an ulterior motive inviting you,” Dylan said. “I want to see the look on your face once you finish reading the first short story in that book.”

  They sat at a table across from each other and read in companionable silence. Millie loved talking with Dylan, but being quiet with him was nice, too. She read “The Lottery” with a growing feeling of suspense, and when she got to the ending, Dylan laughed.

  “You’re reading with your mouth hanging open,” he said. “It’s the ultimate surprise ending, isn’t it?”

  “It really is.”

  “Say,” Dylan said. “I was thinking that after I check out my books, I might have a cup of tea at the café next door. Would you like to do that, too? I mean, you don’t have to drink tea just because I do. You can have coffee or hot chocolate.”

  “Tea sounds nice,” Millie said. This afternoon was turning out to be nice. Surprisingly so.

  Millie had passed You and Me Coffee and Tea hundreds of times but had never gone inside. It was a pleasant place with exposed brick walls displaying paintings by local artists. Sitting with Dylan over their steaming cups, Millie said, “I think I might like to be a librarian someday.” She had never told anyone this before. She’d always been afraid of getting laughed at.

  “That would be cool,” Dylan said. “You love books.”

  “I love books, and I love quiet,” Millie said, sipping her Earl Grey tea.

  “You should totally dress in a Goth librarian style, too,” Dylan said. “You could put your hair up and wear your jet jewelry and a black Victorian dress and those old-fashioned glasses that just clip onto your nose—what are they called?”

  “Pince-nez?”

  Dylan grinned. “Yeah, those. And when you dress like that and shush people in the library, it’ll scare the living daylights out of them!”

  Millie laughed, and she had to admit, it felt good.

  * * *

  School days were better when she knew she’d have lunch with Dylan. She could spend the morning looking forward to seeing him and the afternoon thinking about what they’d said to each other. Sometimes she felt a little silly for spending so much time thinking about a boy.

  But Dylan wasn’t just any ordinary boy.

  Today, when she got home from school, her grandpa met her in the cluttered living room. “I thought we might go to the school holiday bazaar tonight,” he said. Instead of his usual cardigan, he was wearing an ugly green pullover sweater decorated with creepy smiling Christmas trees.

  “The holiday bazaar is stupid.” Millie rolled her eyes. “Just a bunch of people selling ugly Christmas tree ornaments made out of Popsicle sticks.”

  “Oh, I always thought the bazaar was kind of fun when I was a teacher. This year there’s a chili supper and you can choose between meat and vegetarian chili. And there’s an all-you-can-eat cookie buffet. Think about those words for a minute, Millie.” He paused dramatically. “All you can eat. Cookie. Buffet.”

  “You’ve really done your homework on this, haven’t you?” Millie said. She would never say it out loud, but it was kind of cute how excited Grandpa was.

  “I have. I take cookies very seriously.”

  “I can see that.” Millie sighed.
Maybe just this time she could let the old man have something he wanted. The two of them didn’t get out much, and it might be good for him to be among other people. “Okay, I guess I’ll go even if it’s not my thing.”

  “Great!” Grandpa said. “We’ll leave in about an hour.” He looked her up and down. “Maybe you could wear something besides black? Something, you know, a little more festive?”

  “Don’t push it, Grandpa,” Millie said. She couldn’t believe she’d agreed to attend such a lame event. But maybe Dylan would be there—under duress, like her—and they could make fun of it together.

  The school halls were sparkly with Christmas lights, and Millie had been correct in predicting the ugliness of the ornaments for sale. But the vegetarian chili was tasty, and there was an impressive variety of cookies on the cookie buffet, including gingerbread, which was her favorite. After she and Grandpa ate their fill, she wandered the hallways, giving the impression of looking at the craft displays but really looking for Dylan.

  She found him in the second-floor hallway. But not in the way she wanted to.

  Dylan was standing in front of a booth selling reindeer Christmas ornaments made out of candy canes. But he wasn’t alone. He was with Brooke Harrison, a blandly pretty blonde girl who was in Millie’s U.S. government class. Dylan and Brooke were holding hands and laughing about some private joke in a very couple-ish way.

  Millie bit her lip to keep from gasping, turned around, and ran through the hall and down the stairs. She had to find Grandpa. She had to get out of there.

  “Where’s the fire, Dracula’s Daughter?” some random kid asked her. She didn’t even bother to process who it was. They were all the same anyway.

  She ran into the cafeteria, scanning the crowd for Grandpa’s ugly Christmas sweater. Unfortunately, a lot of people were wearing ugly Christmas sweaters.

  She finally found Grandpa next to the drinks table, sipping coffee and chatting with a couple of other old men who were also retired teachers. These guys apparently shopped at the same ugly Christmas sweater store as Grandpa.

  “We have to go,” Millie hissed at him.

  Grandpa knitted his brow in concern. “Are you sick or something?”

  “No, I just have to go.” Why wouldn’t he move faster?

  “Okay, honey.” He gave the other old guys a look that seemed to say, They’re so emotional at this age, and then said, “See you later, fellas. Merry Christmas.”

  In the car, Grandpa said, “What’s the matter, honey? Did somebody at the school say something that hurt your feelings?”

  Millie couldn’t believe her grandpa could be so stupid. “Nobody at school said anything to me because nobody at school ever says anything to me. Nobody at this school cares whether I live or die!” She stifled a sob and wiped under her eyes to try to stop the flow of tears.

  “I can remember feeling that way when I was your age. I wouldn’t go back to being fourteen for anything, not even with all the years I’d get back.”

  The tears weren’t stopping. Millie looked out the window and tried to ignore Grandpa. He couldn’t possibly understand. Nobody could understand, especially people who got excited about Christmas sweaters and cookies and all that fake happy stuff they filled their minds with to ward off their fear of death.

  Millie wasn’t afraid of death. Right now, death felt like her only friend.

  * * *

  “My, we certainly are picky, aren’t we?” the voice said. “For somebody who wants the end result, we’re awfully fussy about how to achieve it. But there are lots more options. I feel like a waiter talking my way through the menu at a fancy restaurant. The difference, of course, is that one menu gets you fed. The other menu gets you dead.” Low, rumbling laughter. “Oh, I crack myself up. Hmm … since I was talking about food, how about boiling? Did you know that Henry VIII made boiling alive the official form of punishment during his reign? Funny that they call it boiling alive because goodness knows you don’t stay alive for very long. But I could easily flood my insides with water, then use my energy stores to bring the temperature up, up, up. First it would feel like a nice, warm bath, but then it would just keep getting hotter and hotter and hotter. I wonder if you’d turn red like a lobster?”

  * * *

  Millie sat miserably at her table in the cafeteria, knowing she was doomed to eat alone. She opened an anthology of horror stories she had checked out from the school library. Books, at least, would always keep her company.

  But then Dylan sat down across from her acting like absolutely nothing was wrong. “Hey,” he said.

  “How can you just sit across from me like that?” Millie said. He was so casual, opening up his ketchup packets and creating a little red puddle on his plate, just like always.

  “Like what?” Dylan said, looking lost. “I sit here every day.”

  “I would think you’d want to sit with Brooke,” Millie said.

  “Brooke has a different lunch period than me.” He obliviously dipped a nugget into his ketchup puddle and popped it into his mouth.

  Millie felt anger rising up all the way from her toes. “So I’m what? Your backup? Her understudy?”

  Dylan rubbed his face like he was tired. “I’m sorry, Millie. I’m trying to keep up; I really am. But you’re not making any sense.”

  Millie couldn’t understand how he could be so stupid. “Dylan, I saw you. With her. At the bazaar last night.”

  “Yeah? So?”

  She had never felt so exasperated. “You were holding hands. You were clearly together.”

  “Yeah? So?” he repeated. But then a look of realization dawned on his face. “Wait, Millie, did you think you and I were … dating?”

  Millie swallowed hard and told herself not to cry. “You noticed me. Brought me a book. Took me out for tea. Of course I thought we might. In the future. Date, I mean.”

  “Wow,” Dylan said. “I’m sorry if I misled you. I mean, you’re really great and really pretty and everything, but I never meant to make you think we were anything other than friends. Haven’t you ever had a friend who’s a boy but who’s not, you know, a boyfriend?”

  Hannah had been Millie’s only friend but had abandoned her. There was no way Millie was sharing this fact with Dylan. “Of course I have. But Dylan, you told me I was the only cool person you’d met at this school.”

  “I did. But that was my first day. I’ve met other cool people since then.”

  “Like Brooke?” Millie’s voice dripped with sarcasm.

  “What, you don’t approve of Brooke?” Dylan said.

  “She’s blonde and basic,” Millie said. No need to mince words. The truth was the truth.

  “Have you ever had a conversation with her?” Dylan asked. “Do you even know what she’s like?”

  Had Millie ever heard Brooke say anything? She was quiet in U.S. government class, Millie assumed, because she had nothing interesting or important to say. “I’ve never talked to her,” Millie said. “I don’t talk to just anyone.”

  Dylan shook his head. “Well, Brooke isn’t just anyone. She’s smart and well-read and nice. She wants to be a veterinarian. Why does it matter what color her hair is?” Dylan looked at her so hard it was like he was looking through her. “Millie, I’m disappointed in you. You, of all people, with your black wardrobe and black eyeliner and black nail polish. It seems like you’d know better than to judge a person based on her appearance. You don’t like when people do it to you, and yet you’re guilty of the very same crime. I’m pretty sure that’s called hypocrisy.” He stood up. “I think this conversation is over.”

  * * *

  As the winter holidays approached, Millie’s mood became grimmer and grimmer. The cold temperatures and the gray skies and the stripped-bare trees all matched her emotional state perfectly. Cheerful holiday lights and plastic Santas on people’s houses filled her with anger, and the sound of Christmas carols in stores and other public places enraged her. She felt that she couldn’t be held responsible for
her actions if she had to hear “Winter Wonderland” one more time.

  Holiday cheer, peace on earth, and goodwill were just lies people told themselves. Winter was the season of death.

  At dinner—vegetable stir-fry for Millie, chicken and vegetable stir-fry for Grandpa—Grandpa said, “So are you excited that tomorrow’s the last day before winter break?”

  “Not really,” Millie said. “Listen, I’ve been meaning to tell you, I’m not celebrating Christmas this year.”

  Grandpa’s face fell. “Not celebrating Christmas? But whyever not?”

  Millie poked at a piece of broccoli with her fork. “I refuse to pretend to be happy on some particular day just because society tells me I’m supposed to be.”

  “It’s not about society. It’s about family,” Grandpa said. “It’s about getting together and enjoying each other’s company. On Christmas Eve your aunt and uncle and cousins are coming over, and your mom and dad are going to Skype in so they can be a part of things. We’ll have a big dinner and exchange gifts, and then we’ll have hot chocolate and cookies and play board games.”

  Millie felt nauseous at the thought of all that false cheer. “I’ll be here because I don’t have anyplace else to go, but I refuse to participate in the festivities.”

  “Is that a fact?” Grandpa said. He pushed his plate away. “Listen, Millie, you’ve never been a particularly cheerful child. Heaven knows you were the fussiest baby I’ve ever seen, and when you were a toddler, your temper tantrums were legendary. But I feel like you’re especially unhappy here with me now, and I’m genuinely sorry for that. I’m an old man and I’m no expert in what young girls like, but I’ve tried to make things as nice for you as I can. Maybe it would’ve been better if you had chosen to move abroad with your mom and dad. I know it must be hard to be so far away from them.”

  “I don’t miss my parents!” Millie shouted. But even as she said it, she wasn’t sure it was true. Sure, they made her crazy sometimes when they were together, but it was weird having them so far away, and Skyping with them on Sunday nights wasn’t nearly enough to make up for their absence from her everyday life. It didn’t help that she tended to be in a bad mood during their Skype sessions—mad at them for being gone—and so the conversations weren’t always pleasant.