Banshee Box Set

by Sara Clancy

They had only known each other for a few hours, but already he seemed like a different person than the one she had met by the roadside ditch. Instead of stark and confrontational, he looked almost shy, scared. That promise of fear wafted out from him, calling her own nerves back to the forefront. He still hadn’t managed to work his seatbelt free.

  “Here, let me. It’s a bit tricky.”

  Benton snorted a laugh but moved his hands back. “That’s a mighty fine face saving tactic you have there.”

  Nicole smiled slightly. Normally, a snarky comment like that would have her playing through every second of her actions, trying to pinpoint where she had caused offence. But, with Benton, it just struck her as his natural state. The belt clicked open and he pulled it off him as if it were a snake. He took a deep breath and ran his hands through his hair.

  “Are you okay?”

  He barked a bitter laugh. “That’s all relative.”

  “Didn’t you like Aspen?”

  Benton froze before he snapped around to face her. “How did you know I was seeing him?”

  “There’s no such thing as a secret in Wayward. Give it three days and everyone will know your underwear size!”

  Shaking his head, he covered his face with both hands and leaned back against the seat. “Great. That’s just friggin’ great.”

  “There is no need to be embarrassed,” Nicole rushed to say. “Half the town has seen Aspen at one point or another. More than for a little check-up.”

  “Check-up.” He didn’t move his hands, but she could hear his smile.

  “Yes,” she said. “Mental health requires maintenance. Like dental care. Going to Aspen doesn’t mean you’re different.”

  “But, I am different.”

  He didn’t say it like it was a burden or even a badge of honor. Instead, Benton just sounded resigned.

  “We’re all different.” Before he could say anything else, she went on to ask, “Why are you so fascinated with the barn?”

  “I wouldn’t call it fascination.”

  “What would you call it then?” she asked with a smile.

  “Healthy paranoia.”

  “Of a barn?”

  Benton didn’t answer. Instead, he slipped out into the night. Most of the work had already been completed by his parents and the house now shone like a boat on a dark ocean. All the windows were ablaze, but the barn stood still just beyond the rim of light the house created.

  By the time Nicole was out of the car, Benton was already halfway to the barn. His movements were slow, hesitant, like he was being forced into every step. The sight chilled her. It was echoingly similar to how the arms had moved. She tried to force the thought away as soon as it formed. There was no way she was ready to face that yet. She needed a few more seconds of peace before she could head into the swirling pit of madness that encounter had provoked. Pulling her smile into place like a shield, she darted off across the yard, following after him. Weird company was better than no company.

  Falling into step beside him, she pulled out her mobile and turned on the flashlight app. It cut a small ring of light into the shadows and seemed to startle Benton out of his stupor. He quickly joined his own phone’s light to the path before them.

  “If you’re paranoid, why are you going towards it?”

  “Just seemed like the thing to do,” he mumbled.

  Tension simmered in the air around him, growing stronger the closer they got to the barn door. Since they had barely spent more than an hour together, it was hard to know which button to push to break the awkward silence.

  “How did you like the muffins?”

  Benton’s stride stumbled. She didn’t need much light to know that the expression he threw her scrunched up his face in almost every conceivable way. Like his face alone couldn’t quite get across the sheer bafflement he felt.

  “The muffins?”

  “Yes.”

  “They were good.”

  She smiled as a warm sense of pride flooded through her. “Thank you.”

  Apparently done with the conversation, he shrugged one shoulder and picked up his pace. “They were a little dry, but nice.”

  Nicole paused. “A little dry? What do you mean a little dry?”

  Her questions fell on deaf ears as Benton lifted his hand. His fingertips hovered just over the latch for the large barn door. It was like a re-enactment of the dilemma Nicole had experienced earlier. Only he didn’t linger in that state of indecision. His long, strangely elegant fingers wrapped around the latch and pulled it open with a sense of resigned conviction.

  Moonlight poured in from the high set windows, casting a silver glow over the room. The space was mercifully bare. No metal tools or towers of hay for the light to play tricks with. Together, they worked their thin trails of light over the space, seeking out each corner. She didn’t know what she was supposed to be looking for. But she followed his lead nonetheless as they crept deeper inside. He shone his light up into the rafters and craned his neck to search the area above, the motion making his hoodie drop from his head. The first thing Nicole noted was that Benton’s hair was almost as pale as the moonlight. The second was that he had a rather long neck.

  It didn’t take half a second for him to notice the attention. He turned to her with a furrowed brow, the question clear on his features even in the pale light. She smiled. The confusion shifted to something that was both unsettling and disapproving, and he turned away.

  “You knew the previous owners?”

  “The Ackerman’s,” she nodded. “They’re family friends.”

  Benton took to searching the walls as he spoke to her, “Why did they leave?”

  “I’m not sure. The property had been in their family for a few generations. They were using it like a summer home.”

  He kept his flashlight directed at the wall but turned to face her. “Who the hell would summer here?”

  “A lot of people find Fort Wayward to be the perfect holiday location.”

  “No,” he said simply. “They don’t.”

  She bristled at the insult to her home town but figured he was too new to know any better. Once he settled in, he would realize just how wrong he was.

  Bit by bit, his attention narrowed down until only the right wall held his interest.

  “Why did they put the place up for sale?”

  “I don’t know.”

  He glanced at her. The movement was brief and quickly lost out to a few feet worth of wall. “I thought they were your friends.”

  “They are.”

  “But you don’t know why they left town?” He shook his head. “You know, you have to do more than just nod at someone in the hallway for them to be considered a friend.”

  “Friends also respect each other’s privacy.”

  He snorted, but didn’t say anything as the wall grabbed his attention once more. The second his focus was fixed, the tension began to drain from him. His shoulders went lax, his features slack as he tilted his head forward. The only thing that retained any sign of life was his eyes. They focused and narrowed until he was glaring at the wall with singular determination. For a fleeting moment, Nicole wondered if he was having a seizure. Maybe a stroke.

  “Benton?”

  Just like in the car, he sucked in a deep breath, haggard and broken, like he had just pulled himself from the earth. She couldn’t quite decide if she liked the sound or not. It sounded grotesque, but also signified that he had come back from wherever corner of his mind he had disappeared into. He blinked rapidly.

  “Something bad happened here.”

  She licked her lips and ventured a step closer. “Are you like a psychic or something?”

  He chuckled and shook his head slightly. “Not exactly.”

  “Then what, exactly?”

  “Observant.” He offered the word as if he had lost all interest in speaking.

  Nicole jumped at his sudden burst of energy. He rushed at the wall and clawed his fingers into the slats. In his haste, his ph
one slipped from his grasp and scattered, forgotten, over the dirt floor.

  “Are you sure you want to do that?” she asked, only to be ignored.

  The wooden slats cracked and groaned as he yanked them from the wall. Her brow furrowed when she noticed what lay beneath. The planks were just a covering, thin and cheap, hastily put up to distract from the real wall below. She shone her light through the gap he had created. There was something painted on the wall.

  With quick glances, she searched the space for somewhere to rest her phone that would still give them light. Benton never stopped scratching. Piling up a mound of dirt, she angled the beam from her phone at just the right angle. He shuffled wordlessly to the side as she moved to help him. They worked together to rip apart the wall, exposing more and more of the paint until the lines joined together to make a pattern.

  The sound of their panted breaths filled the barn as they finished and stepped back. The symbol stretched from the floor to the high ceiling, the paint withered and worn, chipped away with age and the splintering boards. She crouched down and gathered her phone. Benton noticed the shift of light and looked over to her, watching her carefully until she had the light shining back on the space.

  “How did you know this was here?”

  “I have no idea,” Benton whispered numbly. “Have you seen something like this before?”

  She shook her head. “But I can look it up if you want.”

  “No,” Benton snapped.

  She was going to ask why but forgot about the question when something shifted behind the wall. It was a soft sound but enough to make them both freeze. Benton finally met her eyes. He was searching, striving to assure himself that she had heard it, too. She nodded.

  Something slammed against the wall. They both lurched back, too startled to scream. The light swung around the room as she lifted her hands to fend off an attack that never came.

  The silence that followed was stifling. It was hard to keep the beam of light steady as her hand began to shake. Benton took a step forward. The movement was slow but steady, the dirt crunching under his sneakers like cracking twigs. Seeing him move made it easier for Nicole to follow, and she began to trail along behind him, her phone high, and her heart in her throat.

  Thump.

  Scrap.

  Scratch.

  The sounds lured them closer to the wall. All the while, the faded symbol lured over them like a dead unseeing eye.

  Thump.

  Benton pressed his hand against the flat side of the wall, his fingers stretching for purchase.

  Scrap.

  Nicole stood on the other side of the gap. Their eyes met for the briefest moment before Benton found the courage to glimpse into the abyss.

  A sudden scream and a clacking of claws streaked past them. Benton staggered back, his arms covering his face as the bird swooped and climbed up towards the rafters.

  Relief and a deep sense of foolishness crushed through Nicole as she lifted the phone and searched the ceiling. It didn’t take long to spot the raven. It sat by one of the windows, wings fluttering. Every now and then, it released a cry that Benton seemed to take as a personal affront. He placed his hands on his narrow hips and glared at the animal, his chest heaving with every breath.

  “What the hell is with the birds in this place?”

  “There must be an opening that leads to the outside,” Nicole said as she tipped the light into the gap. “Maybe it was chasing a mouse.”

  She looked back at him to find that the anger on his face had morphed into something more personal. They lacked the necessary exposure to each other for her to grasp all of the emotions that played across his face, but there was a distinct hint of fear that played around the edges. His eyes never left the bird.

  “At least it was just a raven,” she offered.

  It was as if Benton had forgotten she was there. He jumped and spun towards her voice, his brow knitting.

  “Sorry?” he mumbled.

  “Oh, right, you’re of European decent, right?” She smiled. “You guys have problems with black animals.”

  His face scrunched up even more. “What?”

  “You know, black dogs, black cats, black birds. There is a theme there.” She walked closer to him, the gaping hole in the wall no longer daunting. “But around here, ravens are more like tricksters, in general.”

  “I’m not fond of its pranks,” Benton said with one final glare at the bird.

  It crowed back at him as if to state its victory. Or as if it were laughing. It took off in a start when Cheyanne’s voice cracked through the night. Benton closed his eyes, physically trying to block out the noise. His mother’s tone took on a shaper edge as she called for him again. He finally gave in, and called back.

  “Where’s Nicole?” Cheyanne screamed.

  Benton dragged a hand through his hair and let it rest on the back of his neck.

  Meeting Nicole’s eyes, Benton jerked his head towards the barn door. “You better answer her.”

  It felt odd to scream at a complete stranger; it went against all the manners that Nicole’s parents had hammered into her from a young age. She made sure to keep a happy tone as she assured Cheyanne she was in the barn with Benton. The response came almost instantly, coaxing them back to the main house. Cheyanne spoke with a slight twinge that left Nicole feeling uneasy. The woman sounded afraid. Benton heard it too, and his mouth twisted into a snarl. They moved to the barn doors. It was only when she caught sight of Benton’s mother standing on the porch that the pieces clicked together. She’s afraid of you being alone with Benton.

  “Well, come on in, you two,” Cheyanne said with a forced smile. “It’s getting late.”

  Nicole’s gut twisted as her mind churned. Why would she be worried? It occurred to her that she actually didn’t know anything about Benton. With the thought lodged in her head, his slight eccentricities suddenly seemed less harmless.

  Benton looked in her direction but didn’t meet her gaze. “We really should go.”

  “This whole thing will seem less creepy in the daylight. When we get a proper look at it, it’ll probably be a giant smiley face.”

  “Who would paint a giant smiley face on a barn?” he muttered.

  “Mr. Dodger.”

  He glanced towards her but decided at the last moment that the more appropriate response was to shake his head. She had just stepped through the barn doors when he called her name. A flashlight shone on them and he waved one hand to whichever parent was holding it. Nicole waved too and waited for Benton to continue. He seemed to stumble over how to start what he wanted to ask. With one hand still on his hip, he waved the other one behind him, back in the general direction of the barn.

  “Ravens,” he got out before falling silent again.

  “They’re very beautiful birds,” Nicole prompted.

  “But not omens of death?”

  “Not for my people. In some Siksika Nation legends, they’re actually helpful and wise, but not above messing with people. I can’t speak for every First Nations tribe, but, like I said, linking them with death is more of a European thing.” She smiled reassuringly.

  Benton’s lips twitched with the urge to return the expression, but he ducked his head before she could see if he did or not.

  “That’s good.”

  “It’s the owls you have to look out for.”

  Nicole started across the field, only catching the slightest glimpse of his head snapping up before he was lost to the shadows.

  Chapter 4

  Nicole didn’t have to time to look up as she heard the front door open. The newest batch was due out of the oven and she still needed to clean the mixer for the next recipe. She settled on just calling out a greeting as her mother passed by on her way to the stairs. Her mother returned the greeting and waved one hand around the corner in an exhausted display of affection. It wasn’t until she rushed over to the oven that Nicole noticed her mother lingering, leaning back to get a better look into the kit
chen.

  “Nicole?”

  She smiled widely and tried to inconspicuously brush the layers of flour off of her hands. “How was work?”

  “Not bad.”

  Nicole cringed. That was her interrogation voice. The low crime rate of Fort Wayward and Nicole’s inability to tell a believable lie without a few days of planning stood as a testament of just how effective Constable Dorothy Rider’s interrogation voice was. Nicole plastered a smile on her face and pulled the batch of muffins from the oven like it required the grand total of her focus. It wasn’t until she had the hot tray in her oven-gloved hands, that she noticed there wasn’t any counter space left. The results of dozens of previous attempts ensured that there wasn’t a single flat surface not devoted to tray after tray of cooling muffins.

  “When is the bake sale?”

  “Oh,” Nicole dismissed with a slight chuckle and a wave which, given her grip on the tray, admittedly looked awkward. It wasn’t completely abnormal for her to bake hundreds of muffins on a Sunday night. “All this? No, I was just thinking that it might be nice to have some fresh baked muffins.”

  “Nicole,” Dorothy sighed with a mix of annoyance and fatigue. Nicole hated that combination. It was worse than the interrogation tone. “We’re not going through this again.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Your obsessive search for the perfect recipe,” Dorothy searched for a gap in the counter big enough to lean against. Eventually, she gave up.

  “It’s not obsessive.”

  “How many recipes have you tried out, tonight?”

  “Only ten. That’s not obsessive. It’s due diligence.”

  “And how many did you go through the last time?”

  Nicole shuffled on her feet. “Thirty-three.”

  “So, forty-three recipes?” she snapped, her face twisting up in horror. “How are you even affording this? Where are you even finding that many recipes for the exact same thing?”

  “Internet.”

  “Pack it up. You’re done.”

  “But, I’m so close,” Nicole protested with a whine. “One more tweak and they will be perfect.”

  Dorothy’s brow furrowed. “Didn’t you do this years ago?”