Wolfhowl Mountain

by Dian Cronan

  Mother reaches out and squeezes my handjust before a loud jeer echoes out from the silence of the crowded pews.

  “You! What do you think you’re doin’ heeah?” A woman at the front of the church stands and makes her way toward us at alarming speed. “Just what do you think you’re doin’ heeah!”

  I recognize Eileen’s features immediately – Mrs. Patton. Eileen follows her mother down the aisle.

  Oh no. I start backing up, tugging on Mother’s coat sleeve. I feel like a deer frozen in the headlights of a Mac truck, about to become meat in the road.

  “I told you this was a bad idea,” I whisper, trying to pull Mother toward the doors. “We should never have come.”

  “We’ve done nothing wrong, Rose,” Mother says angrily. “Nothing!”

  There’s no mistaking it now; we’re not welcome, here or anywhere else. Others are on their feet now, glaring at us, an angry mob. They flood the aisles, following Eileen and her mother. The nave echoes with their angry shouts. Ronan’s at the front of the pack, sporting two black eyes and a bandaged nose. He’s next to Mary, who’s smiling cruelly. Shane and Patty are there too, watching the ugly scene unfolding before them with horror.

  Mrs. Patton reaches us first, her teeth bared, practically snarling at us. Grief has turned her into a feral animal. She raises a claw and smacks Mother with all of her strength.

  Mother stumbles backward, her mouth open in shock. “We only meant to express our sympathy,” Mother says, her voice shaing and a hand on her reddening cheek.

  Mrs. Patton raises her hand to smack Mother again, but Derry, materializing out of the shadows with Beckan right beside him, catches her wrist. She writhes in his strong grip, but he doesn’t let go.

  “You don’t get tah be heeah!” she shouts, gesturing wildly with her free hand as the tears flow. “You don’t get tah tell me how sorry you are when your children live! This is all your fault, witch! You and your dammed family! You took my Kelly from me! You! It should be your child who’s dead, not mine!”

  “Calm down, Marnie,” Derry says soothingly. It’s the most I’ve ever heard him say. Mrs. Patton turns on him, finally wrenching herself free.

  “Don’t you go comfortin’ me, Derry O’Dwyre! If she’s the witch, then you’re the devil! All of you!” She falls back into another man, Mr. Patton, dissolving into wracking sobs.

  “I’m so sorry,” I say, pulling Mother away from the mob. “We’re so sorry, Eileen.”

  Eileen keeps her wide eyes on her mother, her mouth sewn shut, and my heart sinks to my feet.

  “Get out!” Eileen’s father shouts. “The whole lot of you!” He points to Derry and Beckan, who look ready for a fight, fists and teeth clenched. “None of you belong heeah!”

  “C’mon,” Beckan says, pushing past Derry and taking my hand. “Let’s go.”

  Derry follows, guiding Mother by her shoulders. Tears stream down her cheeks and she manages to choke out a very small sounding, “I’m sorry for your loss,” before Derry finally turns her around and leads her out of the church.

  As we descend the front steps, the doors swinging slowly closed, we hear the anguished cries of Mrs. Patton echoing after us. “It’s you who should be dead! You!”

  ***

  An hour later, I’m seated in one of the O’Dwyre’s rocking chairs, staring at the fire. Derry took Mother home to rest. She was so distraught when we left the church that Derry had to drive our car, afraid she’d run it off the road. I’m delaying my return to Her as long as possible, so I ride with Beckan, joining him in the cabin while we wait for Derry. I sway in the rocking chair with a cup of cooling tea in my hands and Lady’s warm head resting on my feet. Beckan stands at the window, gazing out in the direction of Wolfhowl Manor.

  “They’ve been gone a long time,” I say. When Beckan doesn’t reply I ask, “Do you think everything’s okay?”

  Beckan turns away from the window with a forced smile. “Everythin’s fine. He’s probably makin’ her a cup of tea.”

  “I didn’t know Derry was so domestic,” I say, trying to sound normal, as if Beckan and I had never stopped speaking.

  Beckan sits across from me. “Oh, he’s got a soft undahbelly when he chooses tah show it.” His eyes find their way back to the window. He tries to hide it, but he’s worried.

  “Is this the first time Derry’s been inside since…” I don’t know how to finish the question and it dies in my throat.

  “Not the first time,” Beckan sighs, sitting back in his chair. “Just the first time in a long time.” He closes his eyes.

  I stare at him as he rocks slowly. He looks good in black slacks and the same shirt he’d worn to the dance. He’s clean-shaven, which I don’t like as much as his usual five o’clock shadow. I smile when I notice he’s wearing his mud-caked boots instead of dress shoes.

  He looks dead tired. The worry lines run through his handsome face like tiny dried up riverbeds. I could be staring at a map of the draught-ridden Australian outback instead of his face. The stress of the last few months has aged him and I suddenly realize how much he looks like his father. I wonder if this is what happened to ol’ Derry. Would he still have quarter deep wrinkles and beady, suspicious eyes if his wife were alive? Somehow, I assumed he’d been born that way, all frowny and wary.

  Lady hears Derry’s footfalls first, lifting her head and looking at the door expectantly. Derry enters, moving like his feet are made of lead. Lady whines and approaches him, her head and tail hung low. He reaches out to scratch her behind the ears and then shrugs off his wet jacket, hanging it on the coat rack by the door.

  I set my untouched tea on the hearth. “Is she okay?”

  Derry nods. “Just needin’ some rest. Made her some tea and put her tah bed.”

  “Thank you,” I say, feeling small in front of his penetrating gaze.

  Derry grunts and disappears into the bowels of the cabin, Lady’s paws clicking on the wood behind him.

  Beckan stands and stretches, trying to rid himself of a tiredness that never seems to leave him anymore. “I’ll walk you home. Rest would do you some good too.”

  I grab my coat from the rack without replying and Beckan is suddenly behind me, holding my coat for me as I shrug it on. He grabs an umbrella and then we’re out in the cold rain, trudging up the muddy hill in silence.

  The looming shadow of Wolfhowl Manor rises on the hill. The sharp turrets emerge like knives piercing the storm clouds. Ivy leaves flip over and over in the wind, waving us away. The crooked attic windows glare down disapprovingly. I feel heavier and heavier with each step.

  Beckan walks close to me, holding the umbrella over the both of us with one hand and propelling me forward with his other arm around my shoulders. The wind brings the rain in horizontally and we’re both soaked from the waist down. It’s not until we reach the porch that we’re finally sheltered from the rain.

  I turn to Beckan and mumble, “Thanks.” A gust of wind rushes up the hillside, throwing strands of hair into my face.

  Beckan reaches up and gently tucks my hair behind an ear. “For what?”

  I shrug. “I dunno. Just…thanks.”

  He smiles weakly. “Take care of yourself, Rose,” he says seriously. “I’ll be ‘round in the mornin’ tah check on you.” He pauses, as if debating something in his head, and then bends down and brushes my cheek with a kiss. Then he turns away and disappears into the driving rain.

  I stare after him, a small spark of warmth, the most I’ve felt in months, blossoming inside me. Then the rain and wind drive it away.

  The house is dark and quiet, as usual. Liam is nowhere to be seen, probably playing in his room. I hang my dripping coat and go upstairs. I’m ready to change into sweatpants and spend the rest of the day zoning out in bed, but decide to check on Mother first. I open her door, expecting to see her thinning form under the comforter, but her bed is empty.

  “Mom?” I take a few steps into the room and look around. The bathroom door is open and t
he light is off. A small trashcan overflows with used tissues. A cup of tea sits on the bedside table. Perplexed, I search out Liam.

  He’s in the playroom, sitting in the corner by the back turret. His back is to me as he quietly hums a familiar tune and plays with the dollhouse replica of Wolfhowl Manor. He doesn’t turn around.

  Standing behind him, I examine the dollhouse in more detail. I’m staring at the house as it would appear if someone had cut off the front wall. I can see into every room, down every hall, and I’m shocked to see how identical it is to the house as I know it. My room has the same princess bed with the repaired canopy and, as I lean closer, I realize the nightstand holds a tiny replica of Pride and Prejudice. Mother’s room is in disarray, the bed unmade and the trashcan full of tiny tissues. A small television in the living room has a picture of Spongebob Squarepants taped to the screen. It sits in front of our own miniature couch. The upstairs library has the fancy chandelier and the shelves are filled with hundreds of tiny books, many of them lying in a heap on the floor as I remember finding them. Unpacked boxes are stacked in the drawing room. Liam’s room has all of his tiny furniture and there, in the playroom, is a tiny little Liam sitting in front of a tiny little dollhouse.

  “What the…” I whisper, leaning forward.

  Liam holds up a hand, cradling a small doll with my long dark hair. He sets it carefully behind his own doll in the dollhouse’s playroom. My pulse speeds up. Searching the dollhouse with my eyes, I look into the fire room, with the same fire-eaten wood beams and soot covered walls. There, lying on the floor of dollhouse’s fire room, is a third miniature figure.

  I turn and stare in the direction of the fire room, as if I can see through the walls. My heart leaps into my throat as I feel the fire room calling to me, pulsing behind the wall.

  ***

  Beckan pauses halfway down the hill and stares back up at the house, the rain pelting him in the dim light of a stormy winter afternoon. He can’t shake the worried thoughts from his head. For the first time in his life, he’s truly afraid of what wil happen, not just to Rose and her family, but to his town. The cycle has come back around and all he can think about is Kelly in her tiny coffin; innocent, peaceful, lifeless.

  Something terrible is coming.

  The faces he’d observed at the church were distraught. People who’d never even met Kelly flooded the church with their grim frowns, holding their own children tightly. Everyone’s angry, but also afraid. They’re all wondering, just as he is, how many children are going to die. And they’re all hoping the Delaneys will die first, as if their deaths will satisfy the dark magic of the mountain, will save their own children from sharing Kelly’s fate. He can see it in their eyes. A little desperate himself, Beckan wonders, as his family’s ancestors had, What can I do to end the curse? How can they be saved? Can they be saved?

  Suddenly he’s alert, listening intently, focusing past the pelt of rain on his umbrella. He’d heard something over the howl of the wind. What was it?

  There it is again. An animalistic sound, strange yet familiar. At first, his eyes dart around the yard, expecting to see one of the roaming wolves leering at him from the trees, but it isn’t the typical bay of a wolf. It’s a heartrending, totally inhuman sound. As it dies on the wind, Beckan realizes what it is.

  A scream.

  Beckan drops his umbrella and runs back up the hill as fast as his adrenaline can carry him. His boots slip and slide in the mud. He throws himself onto the porch and bursts through the red doors. They fly open and slam against the front wall. Rose stands at the top of the staircase, staring through the open door of the fire room from her knees. Her mouth is open so wide he thinks a demon might come pouring out. He races up to her as the awful shriek vomits from her lungs a third time. He falls to his own knees and grabs her by the shoulders. Her eyes are empty, unseeing.

  “Rose!” He shakes her. “Rose! What’s wrong?” He shakes her again, violently this time, but the scream dies in her throat and she faints. Beckan cradles her and then looks into the fire room, wondering what could possibly be so disturbing.

  And that’s when he sees Mrs. Delaney, swinging from one of the beams, a noose around her neck.

  PART THREE

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Orphan

  My eyes sear with pain from the bright light. I turn my head to the side, trying to avoid the luminous, stark white.

  Everything white except for the water.

  I blink rapidly, shielding my eyes with a hand. My vision adjusts and I find myself staring up at taupe, even straight squares of bland taupe with thousands of tiny divots. Ceiling tiles. My ears register the soft murmuring of voices nearby as the sound of rushing blood in my ears fades. Rubber-soled shoes patter quickly along linoleum halls. Faint beeping, phones ringing beyond. These, all the sights and sounds of a busy hospital.

  I sigh, my lungs heavy, like they’re full of water.

  I’m so lonely, Rose.

  I jolt upright. I’m alone in a narrow, windowless room. Two empty beds lay to my left. I’m dressed in a hospital gown, white with pale green dots. A small port has been inserted into the top of my left hand, an IV snaking out of it, and it throbs painfully. I contemplate pulling it out, but the sound of approaching voices stops me.

  Letta, Beckan, and a stern looking man in police blues enter the room. Where’s Mother?

  “Rose!” Letta runs to me and hugs me tightly. I lift my arms, robotically folding them around her, still trying to understand what happened, why I’m here, and where exactly, here is.

  I turn to Beckan as Letta releases me. “Where am I?”

  “Bar Harbor Hospital,” Letta says with a wince, as if afraid of what I’ll say or do in reply.

  “When is it?” I ask. What happened? Why can’t I remember?

  Beckan smiles weakly. “Wednesday morning.”

  “Wednesday!” My brain whirrs. What’s the last thing I remember? Was it Sunday? Monday? And then it all comes flooding back. The funeral for Kelly Patton. Mrs. Patton’s hard slap against Mother’s cheek. Our ejection from the angry church. And, oh no…

  “Mother?” I lift my face, stealing a look at the policeman, who has yet to speak. He stands stiffly, a pad of paper and a pen in hand, a silent observing sentinel.

  Beckan lowers himself onto the edge of my bed and gently takes my hand. “She’s alive.”

  My body sags with relief. I close my eyes. Mother’s limp form appears on the underside of my eyelids, jerking and gagging like a dying animal, and my eyes pop back open. “Why am I here?”

  “You fainted,” Beckan replies. “You woke up when the ambulance arrived, but you were hysterical. They sedated you.”

  “For two days?”

  “You were pretty upset,” Letta says. “They were afraid…”

  “Afraid of what?” I fix Letta with a hard stare.

  “Well, uh,” she stutters, “they thought you might, um, hurt yourself.”

  Of course they thought that. Of course.

  “Where is she?” I ask the policeman. “Where’s my mother? Can I see her?”

  The policeman finally steps forward and Letta and Beckan instinctively pull away. “She’s here,” he says in a deep voice, a frequency that puts me at ease, softens my nerves. His eyes are dark and piercing, questioning me without speaking. He perches lightly at the end of the bed. “I’m Officer Reagan with the Hancock County Police Department. Do you feel up to answering some questions?”

  I don’t know how I feel, but I nod anyway. Maybe I’ll get some answers out of it.

  “Good. First, can you tell me your name?”

  “Rose,” I say weakly, momentarily put off by such a simple question. “Rose Delaney.”

  “And where do you live?”

  “In Port Braseham. On Wolfhowl Mountain. I—” Saying it out loud makes me realize, absurdly, I have no idea what my house number is. “I’m sorry. I don’t know the address.”

  “That’s okay,” he says, his
head bent over the pad of paper. “You’re relatively new to town, I understand.”

  “Yeah,” I reply. “We moved here from Texas in August.”

  “That’s an awfully long way,” he says kindly. “Mind if I ask why?”

  “Because my mother is cra—” I catch myself, but the damage is done. Officer Reagan’s eyebrows arch. I take a deep breath. “My dad died. It was tough on us, on her. Mom thought new scenery would help. And what’s more different from Texas than here?”

  Officer Reagan nods again. “So your mother was having a tough time.”

  “We all were.”

  “All?” His eyebrows arch again. “Does someone else live with you and your mother?” He sounds confused. I glance at Letta and Beckan before replying. The stiff shake of Beckan’s head is almost imperceptible.

  “Um, no,” I say. “Not anymore.” I think about Liam, trying to hide my rising panic. Why isn’t he here? Is he okay? Why doesn’t Beckan want Officer Reagan to know about him?

  “Let’s talk about the other day,” Officer Reagan says, clearing his throat. “Can you tell me what happened?”

  My heart’s beating too fast. My palms are clammy and my neck is hot. “Don’t you know what happened?” I want to close my eyes, but remember Mother’s puffy face and bulging eyes, and I force them to stay open.

  “I have the basics,” Reagan says, “but I still need you to tell me. I need to hear what happened from a witness.”

  The warmth creeps down my spine, my muscles tensing. I nod.

  “Start with the funeral, if you please.”