hannahbeast

by McMahon, Jennifer

  “We’ll meet you at the end.”

  “But how will I know what to do?”

  “Just follow the clues,” Katie said. “You can do it!”

  “Yeah, you can do anything!” shouted Mel. “You’re Hannah-beast!”

  2016

  Amanda wrapped up her hand in gauze and surgical tape. The bleeding had finally stopped.

  “Fucking idiot,” she mumbled to herself.

  She went back out to the kitchen, poured the last swallows of wine into her glass. She lit the votive and dropped it inside the pumpkin, stepped back to admire her handiwork.

  The smiling face leered back at her—round eyes hopeful, expectant, a slack-jawed grin giving the thing a bewildered look.

  Her stomach twisted, the wine turning to acid.

  Hannah. It was Hannah’s face.

  Hello, Manda Panda.

  Long time no see.

  The air seemed to go out of her. The cut on the base of her thumb throbbed in time with her heartbeat.

  At that moment, the power went out, plunging the house into darkness and silence.

  The wineglass slipped out of her hand, crashing onto the tile floor.

  1982

  I ring but I’m not a phone.

  Hannah worked the clue around in her brain as she entered Mr. Jarvis’s garage through the open door. She squinted in the darkness as she walked around the old Plymouth parked there. There were tools hanging on the wall: rakes and hoes and shovels. And a workbench at the end. She walked over to it.

  I ring.

  Ring around the Rosie.

  She looked at the tools on the bench and the wall: hammer, saws, screwdrivers, wrenches.

  “None of you ring,” she said.

  She bit her lip. She could do this. She had to do this. Show them that she wasn’t a dummy. Not like everyone thought she was.

  “I’m Hannah-beast,” she whispered. “I can do anything.”

  Then, like a miracle (the power of Hannah-beast brought miracles!), she saw it! There on the shelf above was what she’d come for: an old brass cowbell. It was sitting on top of a crowbar. She picked up the bell, saw it had a note tied to it. She moved closer to the window and read the note by the light coming in from Mr. Jarvis’s front porch.

  Ring me for one FULL minute. NO CHEATING. Then take the crowbar underneath and go to the Blakelys’. Use the crowbar to pry open the door to the shed. Inside, look for something red. Bring this note with you.

  Hannah stuck the note in her pocket, held on to the bell, and started ringing it and counting, “One, two, three . . .”

  She was at fifty-five when the front door to the Jarvis house banged open, and Mr. Jarvis came walking stiffly toward the garage, calling, “Who’s there? What the hell is going on?”

  She started counting faster: “Fifty-five-fifty-six-fifty-seven-fifty-eight-fifty-nine-sixty!” She dropped the bell, grabbed the crowbar, and tore out of the garage, nearly running into Mr. Jarvis in the driveway.

  “Hey, come back here!” he yelled. But she did not slow. Did not turn. She zigzagged her way through backyards, across the Caldwells’ field, and over to the Blakelys’. The old wooden shed was in their backyard along a split-rail fence. She tugged on the door handle, but it was locked, as the note had said, so she slid the chiseled end of the crowbar between the door and frame, pushing it in as far as it would go; then she pulled her full weight behind it. The old wood on the doorframe cracked and splintered and the door flew open.

  She laughed. She was Hannah-beast. No locks could stop her.

  The red thing was waiting for her right in the middle of the shed: an old gas can with a note tied around the handle.

  Use the crowbar to smash out the window of the shed, then leave it behind. Take the gas can to the Caldwells’ old barn. Look for something small and brass. Keep all the notes with you.

  Without pausing to think, she smashed out the old single-pane windows with the crowbar, then threw it to the ground. As she sprinted across the yard, lights came on in the house. A man shouted, “Stop right there!” but she didn’t even turn around, just ran faster, harder, the wig bobbing around on the top of her head, the cape flying out behind her.

  “BOO!” she screamed as loud as she could.

  2016

  “What the fuck?” Amanda said, blinking in the darkness. All the background noises of life were gone: the humming refrigerator, the ice maker, the furnace clicking on, and fans starting.

  She tried to remember where the breaker box was in the basement. What you were even supposed to do to try to get the power back on—flip a switch, change a fuse? This had always been Jim’s department.

  She stumbled forward, stepping over the broken glass and spilled wine, toward the window, saw it wasn’t just her house that was out. It was the whole street. The whole town, maybe. She didn’t see a hint of light anywhere.

  Amanda held still, watching, listening.

  A siren whined far off. A girl screamed. Someone laughed.

  Amanda thought she smelled smoke.

  Her throat grew tight.

  The grinning jack-o’-lantern, with the candle sputtering inside, was now the only light in the room, filling the kitchen with a fiery-orange glow. The flickering eyes were watching, following her, saying, I know who you are. I know what you’ve done.

  “I’m sorry,” she said out loud, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. “I didn’t know what would happen. I should have stopped it, but I had no idea. None of us did. I was young and scared and stupid.”

  Tears filled her eyes; her throat grew tight as she tried to keep down the sob she felt coming.

  “I’m sorry,” she said again. “Sorry for being such a fucking coward.”

  The pumpkin only stared, the hideous grin seeming to grow wider, more taunting.

  She was not going to be forgiven.

  Not this easily.

  1982

  Running, running, wind in her blue face, blowing the cape back, and the hair, oh the hair, the great rainbow happy clown wig. She’s a wild thing. Hannah-beast unleashed. The gas can bumped against her thigh, the gas in it sloshing around like water in an empty belly. Her brain buzzed from sugar, from the high being around those girls had given her, and now, now she was on a hunt, a scavenger hunt, and she was going to get a prize, a SURPRISE, something good, something wonderful, something that would make the girls love her even more.

  Love her more, more, more. Her heart pounded as she ran, felt like it was going to explode right out of her chest. The barn was in sight, a big old leaning thing—miracle it was still standing. The Caldwells were sleeping, tucked safe in their beds, the lights in the white farmhouse all turned off, too late for trick-or-treaters. Mr. and Mrs. Caldwell had two kids, little kids, still in elementary school, fourth and fifth grade, lucky little buggers. Elementary school wasn’t like middle school, where the halls were long and dark, and people jumped out at you, shoved you, kicked you; people left horrible stuff in your locker—dog shit in paper bags, notes that said “Why don’t you just curl up and die, Hannah?”

  She entered the barn, ducked into the shadows, pausing to catch her breath, trying to slow her racing heart. The barn was open at one end and had a hayloft with a wooden ladder leading up to it, and it was still full of old hay bales from back when there used to be cows and horses. There was a long row of windows, most with the glass busted out. The floor was dirt. There was a broken tractor. An old motorcycle. Engine parts. Kids’ bicycles. The barn smelled like old wood, grease, and gasoline.

  Something brass.

  How was she going to find something brass in here? Needle in a haystack.

  But they’d made it easy for her.

  So easy.

  Too easy?

  Did they think she was that dumb? Or were they just being nice?

  Nice, nice. Nice as spice. Manda Panda maybe, but not the others. Maybe Manda had left this for her, right where she could find it. Manda was on her side. Manda wanted
her to win, to get the big surprise of a prize.

  At the other end of the barn, there was a dim glow. A flashlight turned on, left on the floor. And there, in the beam of the flashlight, was an old brass lighter with a note tucked underneath.

  She picked up the lighter, opened it up, and flicked it to see if it worked. The wheel struck the flint, and a flame came to life. Hannah knew how to work lighters. She sometimes lit Daddy’s cigarettes for him while he was driving. “Light me up, Hannah Banana,” he’d say. She’d pull a Camel out of his pack and get it going for him, take a few puffs herself first just ’cause it made Daddy smile.

  She picked up the note:

  You’re almost done! Take the three notes and burn them with the lighter. Leave the ashes in the barn. Take the lighter and gas can and bring them to the tallest oak tree at the edge of the yard. We’ll meet you there and give you your prize.

  Hannah scrabbled the notes out of her pocket, held them with this final one, and flicked the lighter, watched the flame swallow them up. She held them until her fingers were hot and she couldn’t stand it any longer; then she dropped them, watched what was left of the pages sink and flutter to the dirt floor like burning moths. Once they were down there and had burned out, she stomped on them to make sure—didn’t want to leave anything smoldering, not in this old barn.

  The wind blew hard outside, rattling the glass left in the windows. She thought she heard something up above her, coming from the hayloft. A board creaking like a sigh.

  She pocketed the lighter, picked up the gas can, and headed out, scanning the tree line, looking for the tallest oak. She didn’t know her trees, didn’t know an oak from a maple from an ash, especially now that most of them had their leaves off. She headed for the tallest tree she could see, walking across the big yard, through grass that needed to be cut, so long it was like a hayfield.

  She got to the tree and looked around for the girls. Nothing.

  “Manda?” she called, keeping her voice low, not wanting to wake up the Caldwells. “Mel? Katie?”

  She was there before them. She’d been faster than they’d thought she’d be. Wouldn’t they be impressed? Hannah-beast was fast. Hannah-beast was clever.

  She stood next to the tree, fidgeting with the lighter. It made her fingers smell tangy and metallic, like raw metal. She flicked it, watched the flame. They’d see her now as they came. See her and know she had the lighter.

  She was like the Statue of Liberty with her torch. She held it up high, her eye on the flame.

  I got it.

  I found it.

  I win.

  The acrid lighter-fluid smell filled her nostrils.

  But there was something else. Another smell behind it. A campfire smell.

  Smoke.

  She smelled smoke.

  She looked over at the barn and saw flames curling out through the windows, reaching up like long fingers, all the way to the roof.

  Her heart jackhammered in her chest.

  Had she done this? Had the paper not been out?

  No. It had been. She’d made sure.

  She looked over at the barn and saw flames curling out through the windows, reaching up like long fingers, all the way to the roof.

  She stood, frozen. She thought of running, but then the girls would never find her. So she stood and watched from her safe place tucked behind the thick old tree. The lights from the house came on, and Mrs. Caldwell came out, screaming. She tried to run into the burning barn, but Mr. Caldwell was running now too, grabbed her from behind, stopped her.

  There was another sound too. Screaming. High pitched and hysterical, from inside the barn.

  Animals, Hannah thought at first. There must have been animals in there after all—a horse or cow, a couple of pigs maybe tucked away in a dark corner.

  “Ben! Brian!” Mrs. Caldwell called. She fought against Mr. Caldwell, kicking, digging her nails into his arms. “Let me go!”

  “For God’s sake, Margaret,” he said. “You can’t go in there.”

  “Brian! Ben!” she howled.

  The Langs came over from across the street. The barn was completely engulfed in flames now—it seemed to have taken only a minute. Mrs. Caldwell was screaming, sobbing, hysterical, and Mr. Caldwell kept his arms wrapped tight around her. More people came, people from down the street. Sirens started in the distance. Too late now. The VFD boys with their pumper trucks and miles of hose could never save that old barn.

  Hannah watched from behind the tree, feeling like she was watching some show on TV, not something from her very own life. The barn roof caved in with a terrible cracking, roaring sound, and Mrs. Caldwell sank to her knees, howling like she was the one on fire.

  Then Hannah saw the girls, her girls, coming down the street, twittering and bobbing like a flock of birds. They slowed, all three staring at the burning barn. Manda grabbed Mel’s shoulder, leaned in, said something Hannah couldn’t hear. Then they all ran to the sidewalk in front of the barn, to the group of neighbors gathered there.

  Hannah stepped out from behind the tree, waving, trying to get the girls’ attention, not sure if she should run to them or wait right where she was. That was what the note said, to wait. So that’s probably what she was supposed to do?

  Mr. Jarvis was there in the circle of men the girls were talking to. The fire was so loud she could make out only snippets.

  “I saw her,” she heard Mr. Jarvis say.

  Mr. Blakely was there. She heard “Gasoline.”

  A lady in a fluffy turquoise bathrobe—it might have been Mrs. Novak?—spoke to the girls grimly. Hannah heard every word this time.

  “Benjamin and Brian were sleeping in the hayloft. They do it every Halloween.”

  Hannah looked back at the fire, showers of sparks going up and up and away.

  It was like hell. Like what she’d imagined hell might be like. That hot. That smoky. That loud.

  Then Mel turned toward Hannah’s hiding place by the tree, pointed. Her eyes blazed with the reflection of the fire—devil eyes. “There she is!” she shouted. “She did this!”

  Everyone looked her way. Saw the gas can by her feet. The lighter in her hand.

  Katie stared, stunned, slack-jawed, but slowly, she reached up her hand and pointed too.

  Some of the men, they took a step in Hannah’s direction.

  Hannah looked right at Manda, her eyes pleading: Please. Say something. Don’t let them do this to me.

  Manda was crying now, crying hard. “But she—” she began, and Mel clamped a hand down on Manda’s shoulder, held tight with a clawlike grip that would surely leave a bruise. Manda looked down at the ground, then back to Hannah. “Yes, that’s her,” she said through her tears. “That’s Hannah-beast.”

  And Hannah, she turned and ran.

  2016

  It had been Mel who’d set the fire. Amanda should have stopped her. She should have done something—actually fucking stood up to her for once. Now, as an adult, she couldn’t believe how much power Mel had had over her. What had she been so afraid of? Being shunned from the lunch table? Having nasty notes left in her locker? It all seemed so trivial compared to what had happened to those Caldwell boys, what had happened to Hannah.

  Over the years, Amanda had told herself that she didn’t think Mel would really do it, that she’d been sure it was just another of Mel’s grand schemes that would come to nothing. Like the way she said one day they’d go to the mall and hide in the bathroom with their feet up during closing time; then they’d sneak back out and have the whole mall to themselves, and they’d get skateboards from the sporting goods store and go up and down the mall, eating all the candy they wanted from the Sweet Spot, then play Ms. Pac-Man all night at the arcade. Mel would go on and on about everything they’d do that night at the mall, but Amanda knew it would never happen. Amanda had told herself the barn fire would be like that.

  So when Mel came sprinting out of the barn, grinning wildly, saying she’d done it, Amanda was sure sh
e was just fooling around. Until she saw the smoke.

  She could have run in then, tried to put it out. Or gone and pounded on the Caldwells’ door and told them to call the fire department quick. She could have done something.

  Instead, she saw the smoke, the orange glow of fire from deep inside the barn, and she ran like the coward she was, the coward she would always be.

  She took off right behind Mel and Katie. They were laughing, giddy, and hadn’t Amanda laughed too? Sure she had. It was terrible, but it was also exciting and crazy, like nothing she’d ever done. Thrilling.

  They’d had no idea the Caldwell boys were sleeping up in the hayloft. The plan was to make people think Hannah had burned down the barn. Get her in a little trouble. Not have the whole town think she was a murderer. Not to be murderers themselves.

  The pumpkin watched, smiling stupidly at her, looking more like Hannah than ever.

  I love you, Manda Panda.

  Amanda remembered feeling Hannah’s warm breath on her neck the night she’d slept over, snuggled up against Amanda in her twin bed.

  Go to sleep, Amanda had said that night, irritated that Hannah was there, that she was so pathetic and desperate, but also a little thrilled by the power she had over this girl, this girl who loved her so completely. Who called her Manda Panda, which was incredibly stupid but kind of sweet.

  Amanda had hated it and loved it all at the same time. Which was the way she’d felt about Hannah, wasn’t it?

  Amanda wondered for a moment if Katie or Mel ever thought about that night, about Hannah, about those boys in the barn—she hadn’t spoken to either in years, couldn’t even bear to keep up with them on social media. No, she thought. Neither of them ever understood the enormity of what they had done. Neither of them could.

  The candle flickered, making the pumpkin seem to open its eyes wider, looking frightened, desperate.

  Please, Manda. Don’t let them do this to me.

  “Enough already,” Amanda said, picking up the carving knife, digging it into the pumpkin’s left eye, determined to change its shape, to make it look less Hannah-like.