by Nick Scorza
I nodded, the picture of responsibility. I felt bad—I actually liked Elaine a lot, and I wanted to make her proud, but I knew I couldn’t. Not after what I saw in the lake.
Hector and Ash had both given their statements, and their parents had arrived to pick them up, as well. Hector’s mother ran to him and hugged him, which he clearly found horribly embarrassing. After the love, though, came the anger—I could tell from her face that he was going to get an earful on the way home, and I felt sorry for him. His dad looked like he’d rather stay far away from the whole mess. Ash’s mother was a big, tired-looking woman who just shook her head when she saw her.
“What’d you do this time?”
Ash gave her a dark look, then waved to us as they walked away.
“I’ll talk to you later,” Hector said as he walked off with his folks. That left just Dad and me. He still wasn’t talking, which definitely was not a good sign. As soon as we were in the car, he felt ready to speak to me again.
“Clara, what’s wrong? You’re starting to scare me with this behavior. This is serious, people are dead, and I don’t want my daughter mixed up in it.”
He was coldly furious. I had never seen him like this, and it freaked me out.
“I know, Dad, I know but—”
“But what?”
“Everybody was just going to turn their back on this and pretend it was just some drunk accident. And who knows when anyone would have even found Danny? I couldn’t let that happen.”
I could feel the thickness of a sob in my throat. This conversation was dredging up things I had learned to keep well-buried—things that could land me back in the hole I’d lived in after losing Zoe. The hole that had almost swallowed me up.
“Why not? Neil was a nice kid, and so was Danny. I’m sorry they’re dead, but you barely knew them, Clara. I’m sorry, but this is not your fight.”
“I couldn’t let it happen because that’s what happened to Zoe.” There were tears in my eyes now. “Or am I still not allowed to talk about her?”
At the mention of Zoe’s name, my father went pale. He put a hand on my shoulder as he drove home. If anything, he looked even more worried after I brought her up.
“I’m sorry, honey. Really, I am. We-we can talk about Zoe anytime you want. But please don’t put yourself in danger any more.”
“Except with the Redmarches. You just told me not to talk about Zoe there.”
“You should be very careful of anything you tell that man. You shouldn’t talk to him at all, or his son.”
“You know more about this than you’re telling me. How do you even know I’m in danger?”
We pulled into the driveway.
“I only mean that people are dead and we don’t know who did it, and I don’t want you anywhere near a crime scene. It’s probably drugs. Meth or heroin or something. The country is worse than the city with that these days.”
“Neil drank, and maybe smoked a little pot, but that was it,” I said. “No way he was a dealer or anything, either.”
We walked into the house. My father locked and bolted the door behind us.
“Those are the kinds of questions it’s not our job to answer,” he said.
“And what if no one answers them?”
“It’s sad, I know, but questions like that go unanswered all the time. There are thousands of unsolved crimes in this world, millions,” he said. “And some things are better off staying that way.”
I was surprised at the vehemence in his voice. Something about this was touching a nerve for him, too, but I had no idea what, and at this point I was too angry to care.
“What the hell does that mean?” I said.
“Don’t speak to me that way. You didn’t grow up in this town. You don’t know what it’s like! People go missing all the time. Strange things happen, but no one talks about it. No one dares to say a word, because if you do, you’ll be next. That’s how it works.”
My father was shouting. I’d never seen him like this. He saw the shock in my eyes, and suddenly realized what he was doing. He clapped a hand over his mouth, as if wishing he could cram everything he’d just said back inside.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry . . . forget I said that. It’s not true. This place, it just makes people paranoid.”
I took a deep breath. My father’s apologies had been more for the air around us than for me. For just one second, he had broken the town’s code of silence, and that scared me, but it also filled me with hope. If anyone could help me find Zoe’s connection to all of this, he could.
“There’s something I have to show you,” I said.
Back in my room, I pulled out the letter from Zoe from the dresser drawer where I’d hidden it. I was afraid this was a mistake, but I had to take the chance. I took the letter back out and showed it to my father.
He gave me a blank, hopeless look after reading the words on the page. He’d heard Zoe and me use our language before, when we were small, but he’d never seen it written down. It had never been written down until now. Who knew if he even remembered?
“I found that note in the stump in your back yard, after I heard a noise near it. It’s written in the language Zoe and I made up.”
My father looked back at me, utter disbelief on his face.
“No, look here, let me translate it.” I wrote out the English words below the original Deep in the wood, far from the town, they spilled his blood, they made him drown.
“Sweetheart, I’m sorry. That can’t be true . . .” my father said.
In an instant, my hope burned off into rage and despair. I knew this would happen. That’s why I hid the letter away in the first place. Why was I crazy enough to think I could trust anyone with it? Would I have believed it if anyone had shown it to me? Still, I was trembling with fury. My own father couldn’t just believe his daughter, or even make an attempt? Right now, he was probably thinking of putting me back on all the meds I’d been on after Zoe’s death.
“I’m not calling you a liar, sweetheart. Sometimes our minds play tricks on us. Sometimes we do things without knowing . . .”
“So I’m crazy?”
“Dear god, no, that’s not what I mean. I just . . . I don’t know, Clara. I’m just trying to keep you safe.”
I snatched the letter out of his hand and stormed back to my room. I couldn’t listen to him for another minute. He seemed so pathetic, just throwing up his hands and refusing to do anything. I knew I’d regret it later, but I hated him just then. If he’d been stronger after everything that happened, maybe things would be different. Maybe my parents would still be together. While I was at it, why not just wish for Zoe back again? That’s what I really wanted. I had almost come to terms with my parents’ divorce, but I would never come to terms with being half of twins, like spending the rest of my life as a one-arm scissor.
I stared at the letter again. Could I have been fooling myself about it? I didn’t see how. I’d seen more strange things in my short time here than I had in my entire life before, and it couldn’t all be in my head.
I thought about calling my mother, but my parents always backed each other up, even after the divorce. It was probably written into the settlement. She’d just tell me I’d be happier back in the city. Maybe I would be, Woodchuck or no, but I couldn’t leave yet. I had to know what was behind the note.
Instead I texted Rayna, My dad is the worst.
A little while later she wrote back, You can’t win with either parent, am I right? Tell me what’s up. She was the best. I was tempted to spill everything to her, just launch into the crazy stuff that had happened here, but I limited myself to The country is messed up, I’ll tell you everything soon, I swear. Long story short, my dad is paranoid and won’t treat his depression.
That stuff’s no joke, Rayna wrote. Speaking of the crazy country, if you see the townsfolk building a big wicker man, just run, all right?
Girl, you don’t even know, I wrote back.
Tell me later I hope. I gotta go. Korusawa Festiva
l tonight at Film Forum.
I sighed. I really did miss Rayna, and the city. At any other time in my life, I’d have said I love New York because it was big and crazy and there was always something happening, but now I missed it because it felt sane and understandable.
I tried the rest of the gang, but I guess they weren’t around. If I was honest with myself, they were really more Rayna’s friends than mine. She was the one who’d taken a chance and talked to the weird new kid years ago, the girl from the suburbs who’d lost half of herself just a year before. The other girls just let me tag along.
With no one to talk to, I threw on the loudest music I had on my phone and lay there, unable to sleep. My father knocked on my door a while later, saying dinner was ready, but I ignored him, and after trying again, he went away. I wasn’t hungry and wouldn’t have come out even if I was.
When I was little, I used to put myself in timeout when I knew I’d done something bad. I figured my parents couldn’t get mad if I was already punishing myself. Zoe never did this, even though she had a hand in almost everything I got in trouble for. She’d come to me while I sat in the corner, solemn in my self-imposed exile.
“Come on, Clara, I thought of a new game.”
“I can’t, I’m in timeout.”
“So put yourself out of it. You feel really bad. You’ve learned your lesson. Now let’s go play.”
She would have been a good lawyer, always ready with a sly smile and a loophole, but I knew it was really because she hated seeing me sad. I wished she were here right now more than anything. I tried to think of what she would say to me now, like I always did when I missed her, but I couldn’t think of anything. All I could do was picture her staring back at me from the lake, silently begging for help.
It was then that I remembered Danny’s diary, still in my pocket. I’d forgotten to mention it to Elaine, or even look at it myself, and I felt a flush of shame—I’d been withholding evidence the whole time. I wondered if it was too late to suddenly “remember” the diary and turn it in.
Of course I opened it. I felt bad about that, too, but I couldn’t resist. And I’m sure Danny would have approved if it helped find his killer.
His handwriting was a mess, but after a little while, I got the hang of it. Most of the diary was records of his workout routine—how much weight and how many reps, and that sort of thing. There were a lot of song lyrics copied out, and scribbled ink doodles. Then I noticed a cryptic little note:
Saw K in the hall today. I had to look away. He never even noticed.
There were more notes like that scattered through the diary, but I wasn’t seeing anything that could relate to the murder. I was just about to stop looking when I saw something that made me catch my breath.
I can’t believe Neil talked me into this, it goes against everything they say. We’re supposed to keep them at bay, not go looking for one, but Neil says this is the only way to change things. He says we’re not looking for the bad ones, only the ones they hold captive. I don’t even know what that means. Who the hell knows where he found the stupid ‘instructions,’ either? Probably some musty old book or crackpot website. I should stay home, tell him to forget the whole thing. We’ll deal, just like our parents did.
I flipped through frantically, looking for more on whatever Danny was talking about. There was nothing but workout logs for the next few days, then this:
Nothing happened. Of course nothing happened. Half this town runs on hearsay and superstition. I actually feel better that we tried it now. It makes this whole place a little less scary. Neil is still convinced it worked, somehow. I’m worried about him. He says he keeps catching glimpses of someone, a girl, sometimes when he’s alone, at sunrise and at dusk. Now whenever I see him, I ask about his girlfriend, and he tells me to go to hell.
After that it was all workout logs again, punctuated by another sighting of the mysterious K. Then, a few pages before the last entry, there was this:
Neil is gone. I can’t believe it. He was like a brother to me, and the only one who helped me get by after . . . [Danny had started to write something here, then scratched it out]
How could we have been so stupid? The power in this place is real, and I wish I could take back every second I doubted it. I’ve started seeing shadows out of the corner of my eye, following me. There are things that move in the woods—all I can see are their eyes. What have we done? I need to get away. I need to clear my head.
Just then I heard something, a faint tapping or knocking sound. I stuffed the diary back in my pocket and popped the earbuds out of my ears. Dead silence greeted me. I stayed frozen still for a moment, scanning every corner, not sure if I’d been hearing things.
Then it came again, three loud taps on the glass of my window: tap, tap tap.
I jumped, unable to move for a moment. The yard outside was just a square of darkness with the light on in my room. I reached up and flicked the switch off. Without the light to contrast, I could make out the blue-black mass of the forest. The green lawn looked gray in the darkness, but the yard was empty. There was nothing else I could see.
I slowly edged the window open, my heart hammering in my chest. Wedged between the window and the sill was a folded piece of paper. Trembling, I reached out and grabbed it before it blew away.
It was the same paper as the other letter, freshly torn from a notebook. The handwriting was identical, forming the words of our private language.
“If you’re not Zoe, who the hell are you, and what do you want with me?” I said. There was no answer from the darkness outside. I read the note, afraid to see what I’d find:
Iyr spat flenn
Dreg bar a hir snek
Noo sen harn vlanna
Flek faash a lenn rash
I caught my breath. This was bad, and there wasn’t much time. In English, the note read:
The eye has fallen on your friends
The hounds will bay and feel the lash
Tonight they ride to bloody ends
To spark the fire and clear the ash
Clear the ash. I had to leave now. I had to get Hector. I hoped he knew where Ash lived. I hoped we could get there in time. I scrambled out the window and into the night.
XIII.
The houses I passed were all dark. Here and there, a crack of light peered out from under curtains. There were no street lamps on my father’s street, and the night was darker than I thought possible in a place where people lived—dark like the bottom of the sea. I used my phone as a flashlight as I walked. The crickets sang out from every side, and I prayed they’d keep singing.
In the distance, I heard what sounded like a howl—someone’s dog, I hoped. It was answered by another, further away. I quickened my pace, searching out Hector’s address in my email, trying to map it out. I shook my head at how crazy this was. People were dead, and if I didn’t hurry, another of my friends would join them.
I froze as I suddenly found myself bathed in the beam of a headlight. From behind, I heard a car slowing down.
“Clara?”
It was Keith, leaning out of his Jeep.
“Oh my god,” I said. “You scared the hell out of me.”
“Jesus, so did you. I was just coming to try to talk to you.”
I slipped into the passenger side.
“We have to hurry,” I said. “Please, I’ll explain later, we have to get Hector, and then go find Ash.”
Keith swallowed whatever questions he was going to ask when he saw my face. I probably looked as terrified as I felt. I told him how to get to Hector’s.
“I came as soon as I heard. You-you guys really saw Danny?”
“Yeah,” I said.
Keith shuddered. I realized then that I didn’t know anything about Danny until I read the diary—just that he was Neil’s friend. I clearly didn’t know his history with Keith.
“He and I, well, we were good friends a while ago. We didn’t really hang out anymore, but—”
He shuddered ag
ain.
We pulled up to Hector’s house. I texted him, Get out here now, we have trouble.
What, where are you? he texted back.
Outside, come here. Explain later.
We sat for a tense, silent moment in the car, hoping his parents wouldn’t see us waiting and blow the whole thing. Then I heard the creak of a screen door from the back yard, followed by a muttered curse, then Hector emerged from the back of his house. His eyes widened when he saw Keith at the wheel.
“What’s the crown prince doing here?”
Hector flashed Keith a resentful glare, and to my surprise Keith looked down, ashamed.
“I heard about Danny—”
Keith’s voice was thick with emotion, and that seemed to be enough for Hector to let his guard down at least a little. He hopped in the back.
“Ash is in danger,” I said. “I think she’s going to be next, unless we can stop it.”
“Next, as in what happened to—” Hector looked grim as he realized what I meant. “How do you know that?”
I was a second away from full on panic, and I had no idea how to explain.
“I need you to trust me, please. I hope I’m wrong. Do you know her address?”
“No, but I can find it. Take us down the street in case my parents look out.”
Keith took us slowly down the road as Hector whipped out his phone, working the touchscreen with frenzied fingers.
“Let’s see, PTA records. They always put too much online. . . . Here, got it: 1820 Cedar Street.”
Keith nodded, and we were on our way, speeding through the darkened streets. The address was on the other side of town. I gripped the arm rest until my knuckles turned pale, thinking please let us not be too late. None of us spoke on the way over, terrified of what we might find. Keith’s Jeep raced through the black streets of the town, headlights bathing the trees ahead in a ghostly glow.
When we finally pulled up in front, I was afraid we’d found the wrong house. The yard was overgrown, and even on the pitch-dark street, the house’s peeling paint and cardboard-patched window were obvious. There were no lights on.
“Are you sure this is right?’ I said.