by Nick Scorza
What did it mean? I’d thought a lot about ghosts since coming here, but even after all I’d seen tonight, I couldn’t bring myself to believe in something like that. Just thinking about it made me feel like the ground was about to open up and swallow me whole.
The others had fallen silent around me—their conversations gradually petering out in the face of returning memories. We could only distract our minds for so long before we started seeing the darkness between the trees again.
“Oh, right,” said Hector, “we have to go back, don’t we?”
“My father is probably going to ship me back to the city in a crate,” I said, “but after what I saw tonight, I can’t go. Not if you all are still here.”
And, I added silently, not if in whatever impossible way my sister is here, as well.
Ash squeezed my shoulder.
“You’re the craziest person I’ve ever met,” she said. “Thank you.”
I clasped her hand in mine.
“Anytime,” I said.
“No, I mean it,” she said, whispering now, “you saved my life. How did you know I was in trouble?”
I wanted to tell her everything then and there—the notes from my sister, the thoughts and questions that were driving me completely crazy—but I couldn’t find the words to even begin.
“I just had a feeling,” was all I said instead.
Reluctantly, Keith drove us back into town.
“It’s not too late to make for Cali,” said Hector. “Come on, coast to coast?”
We all sighed. I was hoping my father slept through the whole thing, even though I knew there was no way my escape had gone unnoticed.
We came to Ash’s house first.
“Is your mother still asleep?” Keith asked.
“Yeah,” said Ash. “Like I said, the medicine knocks her out. She missed the whole thing. Thanks, everyone, I don’t even want to think about what would have happened if you hadn’t come for me. I’m not good at this sort of thing, but . . . it’s good to have friends like you.”
“You, too,” I said. “Are you going to be okay?”
“Not sure what okay means anymore, but I’ll be safe for now. The sun’s coming up.”
“And when it goes down again?”
None of us wanted to think about that, I could tell, but that wouldn’t stop it from coming.
“I don’t know, I’ll barricade myself inside, or just stay up all night with a baseball bat.”
I gave her a hug before she went inside.
“You could always stay with me, I mean it.”
“Thanks, I might take you up on that,” she said, though I doubted she would.
We came to Hector’s house next. As Keith pulled to a stop, the sound of furious barking erupted from inside the house..
“Oh crap,” he said. “If you don’t see me tomorrow, it’s because I haven’t thought of a creative way to get out of being grounded.”
“I hope—” I said.
“Oh, I will, don’t worry.” He tapped his temple, flashing me a cocky smile. “Get her home safe,” he said to Keith—a surprising edge to his voice.
“Who’s gonna get me home safe?” Keith said as we drove away. He started to drive back to my father’s house. I pictured Dad waiting up for me, furious and yet unable to properly express his anger, or even tell me what was going on in his head. It made the whole thing so much worse.
“Hey, I don’t think I’m ready to go home yet.” I said. “I’m sorry, I don’t want to keep you up, but could you just drop me in town?”
“I know how you feel,” he said. “I’m in no hurry to get home either.”
Keith parked near the town square. There was a gray strip of light in the eastern sky. Soon the sun would rise behind the veil of morning mist. Without thinking, Keith started walking down to the little lakefront promenade.
“Wait, you’re going back down by the water?”
“You can’t avoid the lake,” Keith said, “but it’s almost sunrise.”
He spoke as if all of that should mean something to me.
“Does that mean it’s safe?”
“Nowhere is safe, but it’s safer here in town than in the forest.”
“How do you know?”
The lake was swathed in gray mist, blurring water and sky into one eerie in-between. The only thing that stood out in the gloom was a faint line of pre-dawn light on the other side of the water, where Keith’s house was.
“It’s not good to talk about . . . no one ever sits you down and says ‘hey, these are the rules of the town.’ No one even talks about it if they can help it. You pick things up, that’s all. Your mom won’t let you leave the house without something made of iron, you know not to drink the lake water, you don’t go into the woods at night, unless you stay on a path . . .”
“I was never good with rules,” I said.
“I can see that.”
For a moment, we just sat in silence, watching the pale disc of the sun creep up above the horizon through the shroud of mist.
“I loved Danny,” Keith said suddenly.
I looked at him, his mouth twisted into an anguished grimace. I put a hand on his arm, trying in vain to reassure him.
“We used to be on the football team together,” he said. “He was actually good, good for our little town, anyway. I-I thought he would hate me because of who I was, but he always tried to encourage me, help me play better. Then, well, we spent more time together, and one day, out at my family’s vineyard, I kissed him. I just reached out and did it, because it felt right, and he kissed me back. It was the best few moments of my life.”
He wiped away a tear from one eye.
“We didn’t have long, a few weeks maybe. Then my dad found out. He sat me down, and he said, ‘Son, I want you to know I’m not doing this because of any small-minded bigotry, or anything so pointless, but you’re a Redmarch, and that comes with certain obligations. You are, we all are, bound to our blood. Do you understand? You aren’t to see that boy again.’”
He spat those words out, a guttural parody of his father’s baritone.
“Danny had to quit the team, even though he was good. Even though I was the one who wanted to quit. . . . He fell in with the stoners. I’d catch him looking at me sometimes, not angry. He was never angry, and it killed me. If what happened to him is somehow my fault . . .”
“It’s not,” I said. “I don’t know why they died, but . . . I think they broke one of those unspoken rules you mentioned—a big one. Neil had a new girlfriend, or there was a rumor about it, anyway, and Danny was the only one who knew anything about her . . . and then Ash was connected to Neil, as well. I don’t understand it, but it’s not your fault.”
Saying it out loud like that made it clear just how little I knew. Keith wasn’t convinced.
“No, the thing we saw last night—”
“The king—” I started to say, but he put a finger to his lips, a terrified look in his eye.
“Don’t say it. Not here. You don’t understand, it’s tied to my family somehow. My father won’t tell me any more than this. ‘Not until you’re ready,’ he says. Whatever is going on here, my family is somehow responsible for it. We’re . . . I don’t know how to say this, it sounds ridiculous, but I think we’re cursed. We go bad. It goes way back.”
I shivered as I thought about what Keith said, and I remembered everything I knew about his family.
“You’re not bad,” I said, giving him a pat on the shoulder.
“Thanks.”
“Hey, I think you should have this,” I said. “I found it at . . . where we found Danny. I read some stuff in it I’m not sure I understand, but I don’t think Danny ever stopped caring about you.”
I handed Danny’s diary to Keith.
“Thanks,” he whispered. “I can’t look at it. Not yet . . .”
We sat still for a moment, while Keith shook with silent sobs. I put my arm around him and tried my best to comfort him—I wished I was better
at that sort of thing. Everything I thought of saying sounded so flat, a platitude. I had no idea what would make this or anything else okay. Nothing had worked for me when I lost Zoe, not at first, at least. Loss was loss, and sometimes the best thing was just to acknowledge it.
“It’s hard, I know,” I said. “It’s hard for a long time, but it gets easier.”
A little while later, the sun rose above the mist, and the first rays of light hit us with a wave of warmth. Keith gave me a sad little smile.
“I guess it’s a new day now,” he said.
“I’d better get home before my father organizes a search party,” I said.
“Mine can take his bloodline straight to hell,” Keith said, but he didn’t look like he believed it.
As he drove me home, a placid mask came over his features. I didn’t realize it until now, but the Keith I met that first night at the party, or even most of the afternoon we spent at his house, was not the real Keith. He was getting ready to see his father again, putting the facade back in place. It was hard to watch.
“I’m so sorry,” I said.
“Don’t be. Just-just let’s get to the bottom of this.”
He dropped me off in front of my father’s house. The blinds were up in the front window. Dad had to have seen me by now.
I walked in, knowing trouble was waiting for me.
XV.
My father was on the phone when I walked in, his voice on the verge of hysteria.
“No, wait, call it off, Bill. She just walked in. She’s okay.”
His voice on the phone was equal parts relief and pure fury. After he hung up, he ran over to me, both emotions fighting for dominance in his face. He hugged me tight.
“You’re okay. Please tell me you’re okay.”
“Dad, I’m sorry, I’m really sorry. Yes, I’m okay—”
“Good, because now I’m going to kill you. Seriously, what the hell, Clara! What the hell! This can’t go on anymore. Go to your room and pack your bags. I’m going to march you to the bus stop and make sure as hell you are on the first bus back to New York, and your mother will be there to pick you up at the station. Believe me, I have loved having you here, but I can’t—I just can’t—you’re going to give me a heart attack . . .”
“So you’re pawning me off on Mom? Just like you moved back here to get away from us after the divorce?”
Since I arrived, I’d been trying to find the words to ask him this, but I hadn’t wanted it to come out now—not this way. I wished I could take it back, but then I remembered how he’d refused to believe me about Zoe’s notes, and I was furious all over again. My father gave me a pained look, but it wasn’t enough to make him forget his anger.
“You know it’s not like that. It’s not just me; the sheriff’s office gave you a warning, for chrissakes. You are going back to the city, and that’s all there is to it.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
My father’s face turned pink, then red. He just sputtered for a second, unable to even speak. I’d never seen him like this.
“Y-you’re going. I mean it. Get packing now.”
I stared right back at him, my own anger wiping away my guilt. I couldn’t leave, not now.
“What is the King of the Wood?”
My father’s face went from red to white so fast I was afraid he’d pass out.
“Don’t! Don’t you say that out loud. Where the hell did you even hear it?”
“What is the King of the Wood?”
“It’s nothing, all right? Just a stupid story to scare kids.”
His eyes darted nervously to the left and right.
“What is the King—”
“All right, all right, stop!” he shouted, nearly frantic. “We are not going to do this here. Get in the car.”
He hurried me out the door, looking around nervously the whole time.
“You’re not driving me back to the city.”
“I’m not, not right now anyway. But if you want me to tell you anything, it can’t be here.”
He opened the car door for me. As I sank into the seat, I was conscious for the first time of how tired I was, but I fought to stay awake. The last thing I wanted was to wake up on the road back to the city. My father got in the drivers’ seat, still on the verge of panic. He backed out of the driveway and sped off, and for the second time in twenty-four hours, I found myself on the way out of Redmarch Lake. As we left the town behind, I called Lady Daphne, leaving a message letting her know I was really sick and couldn’t make it in to open the café. I hoped she would understand.
As we drove out of town, the rhythm of the car and the same unconscious feeling of release I’d felt last night combined to put me to sleep. I fought to keep my head up, but I could only manage to delay the inevitable a little longer.
I started awake when the car came to a stop in a gravel parking lot. In front of us was a big red barn, with racks of fresh produce on display in front. My father shut off the engine and we walked through the rows of strawberries and raspberries. It was still too early for apples, the other thing they grew most out here besides wine grapes and corn. My father didn’t speak, and I decided to let him work up to whatever he was going to say. I was still half asleep anyway.
The farm was like a child’s drawing come to life: blue sky, green fields, and a bright yellow sun. I almost expected a friendly tractor to come rolling by with a big happy smile, then we could all sing a song about ducks. Inside the barn was a little country store with cheese, butter, and baked goods, along with a bunch of hokey handcrafts that were probably made in China. At least the food looked good.
We bought some bread and cheese to go with a big carton of fresh raspberries, and a bottle of sparkling cider to wash it down. For a second, it felt like a weekend trip when I was much younger, all of us packed in my parents’ old hatchback for a day of hiking or apple picking. Only my mother was still back in the city, and Zoe was gone. I pictured her in the lake again, mouthing words to me, a silent cry for help. It felt so far away right now, but it was etched into my mind. I would never forget or stop looking until I knew why she came to me there.
The sky was a pale blue, almost too bright to look at, and the sun was starting to singe my pale arms, but I still shivered.
“I’m sorry,” my father said. “Maybe a lot of things could have been avoided if I did this sooner.”
“It’s okay, Dad. I’m involved in this, no matter what, and I’m glad I am.” I couldn’t tell him why, of course, not really, after the way he’d dismissed Zoe’s note. I hoped he’d just assume it was because of my friends—that was just as true. I couldn’t leave Hector, Ash, or Keith behind any more than I could leave Zoe.
“Damn, this is still hard to talk about,” my father said. “It’s like reaching out to pick up a red hot coal. Your body keeps telling you not to. I don’t even know where to start.”
“Start at the beginning,” I said. “Wherever you start in your book.”
He frowned for a moment longer, then he spoke.
“I would wager that before the lake even had a name, it was a haunted place. Even the animals seem to know it. We don’t really have words to describe what it is, but the best I can say is it’s sort of a hole or a membrane between this world and . . . somewhere else.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know, and I don’t want to. Sometimes things come through the hole, though. Their notions of life, and of right and wrong, are very different from ours. To us, most of them seem horribly cruel. They live by different rules. Some you only see at night, or dawn or dusk—even midday. Most you never see at all, but you know they’re there. Some can never break a promise, but others can never speak the truth. They hate the touch of iron, just like in fairy tales—in most old stories, it’s tied to the earth and to blood, or maybe they just don’t have it where they’re from. No one tells us any of this, but as children in Redmarch Lake, we all learn it or we disappear.”
“What are they?” I
said. “Fairies? Demons?”
“Those are just words. The French and British had names for them—so do the Mohawk, Cayuga, Oneida, Onondaga, Seneca, and Tuscarora. Spirits, Fey, Otkon, Manitou. Names don’t really get at what they are, but even so, they don’t like to be talked about.”
I couldn’t be sure, but I thought I saw something move at the edge of the field, where the forest began. I told myself it was probably just a bird.
“At some point, long ago, a tribe of indigenous people came and settled by the lake. Whatever name they called themselves is long lost, but the name the Iroquois gave them loosely translates to ‘Two Shadows’ or ‘Double Shadow.’ You can still see their artifacts some places in town, and on the island in the lake. I’m sure they were a normal tribe once—in fact, the fragments of song and poetry that remain before they came to this area paint them as gentle farmers—but that soon changed, thanks to the place they’d chosen to settle. The stories after that point aren’t pretty. People making up nasty stories about their neighbors is nothing new: the Iroquois call themselves Haudenosaunee, or the Long House People. Their old enemies, the Huron, called them Iroquo, which means rattlesnakes.
“The stories about the Double Shadow are different, though. They’re too strange and too specific to be rumor or libel. It’s gruesome stuff, I . . . I couldn’t bring myself to put much of it in the book. One story says they liked to drive their captives mad before they killed them. They may have believed madness was imprinted on the soul, and it would mean that person would never have final rest. When their minds were finally broken, they would drown them in the lake, where their soul would be trapped, and their ongoing torment would nourish the spirits. The other stories are worse. It was said that at some point in their lives, every member of the tribe, as soon as they came of age, was possessed by a malevolent spirit. The strongest one, the one you insisted on naming this morning, always possessed their chief.”
I shivered despite myself. All of this would seem like just another story, if not for what I’d seen last night.