by Karen Strong
Janie walked over the old chain and started down the narrow path. After a few moments I followed. Grass spilled out over the dusty edges and covered whole patches like carpet. The houses that remained had caved in with fallen tree branches and overgrown bushes. We walked in a forgotten place.
“Why is it so quiet?” Janie scratched her neck.
“Nobody lives here anymore,” I said.
“Why?” she asked.
“I don’t know. People left and moved to Alton. They went to bigger cities.”
“I don’t blame them,” Janie said.
We finally reached the dead end; six stone steps were half-hidden behind tall weeds and wildflowers. They led up to a square stone slab slightly bigger than Mrs. Greene’s parlor, shrouded in shade. It was all that remained of Creek Church. In the far corner, an old chimney barely stood, leaning toward collapse. Trash, burned bricks, and decaying wood lay scattered at its base. Behind the church ruins, the woods were thick and dark.
“This is it?” Janie frowned.
“I told you this would be a waste of time,” I said. “You shouldn’t believe everything Ellis says.”
Janie held her arms tight by her sides and moved through the thick weeds. She crept up the stone steps and pushed her sandals into the cracks.
“Come back!” I yelled.
Janie ignored me and continued up the steps. She walked across the stone slab to the chimney, then kneeled and picked something up.
“Get back here right now.” I jumped at the sound of my loud voice. This place was too quiet.
She came back holding something in her hand. “Found a piano key.”
“Put it back, Janie.”
“It’s broken anyway.” She threw the ivory piece, and it clinked down the steps.
“Okay, you’ve seen Creek Church,” I said from my spot in the road. “I brought you here. Now let’s go.”
She looked back at the woods. “I bet you there’s a graveyard back there.”
“Janie,” I warned. “We need to get back to the house.”
“Fine, don’t come. Go hide in one of your books.” Janie walked past the chimney and jumped down from the stone slab to venture farther into the woods.
I didn’t want to follow her. But what if she fell into an old grave? There was another reason I didn’t want to go into those woods. Maybe one I didn’t want to admit. Something was off about this place. I hated that my brother’s stupid haint story had gotten inside my head. I didn’t believe in stuff like this. I believed in atoms and molecules. Not ghosts and curses.
I leaped through the dry weeds and walked up the steps. The slab was covered in old soot and dirt. A sudden wave of sadness rushed over me—being here and seeing the devastation caused. The Klan had burned down this church—racist men who hurt so many people for no reason other than the color of their skin. Daddy called them cowards who hid their faces behind white sheets and drove black cars in the dead of night. They were a part of Warrenville’s dark history.
“Sarah!” Janie yelled.
I jumped from the stone slab to the ground and followed Janie’s voice, heading deeper into the woods. My flip-flops seeped into the damp, mushy ground. The sound of Missionary Creek gurgled faintly in the distance.
I found Janie in front of a giant oak tree. All the other trees had green leaves, but the oak tree was bare and black. I stared at the gnarled branches reaching out like claws. A chill shimmied up my neck.
“Stay away from that tree.” I pulled Janie away.
I continued to follow her as she wandered deeper into the woods, but I kept looking back at the black tree. The silence of the woods stuffed my ears like cotton.
Janie squealed. “See! I told you there would be a graveyard back here!”
“Stay out,” I said.
Janie ignored me. I counted to three to keep from yelling at her and then kept going.
Tombstones covered with moss dotted the flat land, most of them broken or shattered to pieces. No one had taken care of them.
Janie paused and frowned at each tombstone. “I can’t read any of these.”
I stood close behind her. Six feet of dirt separated us from coffins and bones. I curled my toes in my flip-flops. Dead people made me jittery.
Janie walked to a far corner of the graveyard. After inspecting a spot behind the tombstone, she dug her hands beneath the top layer of dirt. I rushed over.
“Stop that! Are you crazy?”
“Check it out.”
I looked into her dirty hand and saw a tiny locket. Only Janie would find jewelry in a graveyard. She rubbed the locket and blew off the remaining dust to reveal a face the color of bone: a woman in profile. She was bare shouldered and had her hair piled high on top of her head with curls cascading down her neck.
“It’s a cameo,” I said.
Janie slipped the locket into the front zipper of her backpack.
I widened my eyes in disbelief. “You can’t take that.”
“Who cares? Everybody here is dead.”
“You shouldn’t take things from here.”
“What? You think that curse is real? You just told me that I shouldn’t believe Ellis.”
“You don’t have the right to take things that don’t belong to you,” I said.
“I found it.” Janie stood up and brushed the dried leaves off her knees.
“You never find anything.” I pointed at her. “You take things.”
A brisk breeze rippled through the leaves on the trees. It sounded almost like a whisper. “Did you hear that?” I asked.
Janie sighed and slung her backpack over her shoulder. “No, I didn’t hear anything.”
We walked out of the graveyard. I took care not to step on any of the old graves. The black oak was in our path. I held my breath as we neared the creepy tree.
As we passed it, the giant oak swayed and creaked. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a shadow move in the tree. I shifted backward, afraid to turn away. My flip-flops hit my heels with sweaty slaps. When I reached the foundation of the church, Janie was already in the road, waiting for me.
“We don’t have all day,” she said.
I jumped up on the stone slab and turned to look at the black oak tree stark against the greenness surrounding it. Two shadows hovered above the branches. Stretching tall and thin, they floated to the ground. I turned and ran, rushing past the chimney and stumbling down the steps.
“What’s wrong with you?”
“I think I saw something.” I squinted my eyes to focus on the woods around us, but now I didn’t see anything.
“Are you trying to scare me?” Janie asked. “You think that’s funny?”
From out of nowhere, a boy jumped up on the stone slab. He was younger than us, maybe seven or eight years old. We both stared at him. He wore a torn cotton shirt and raggedy pants rolled up at the ankles. Red clay caked his bare brown feet.
“Is that who you saw in the woods?” Janie asked.
The boy walked toward us and stood at the top of the steps. He stared. The sunlight curved around him. A queasy feeling filled my stomach.
“Who are you?” Janie’s voice was too high and too loud.
The boy didn’t answer.
Ash marks covered his small brown arms, and his wooly hair was full of lint and dirt. Beads of sweat sprinkled across his forehead. In fact, he was drenched in sweat. My heart sped up. Something wasn’t right.
Janie pressed her fingers into my arm. “Do you know him?”
“I’ve never seen him before.”
Just as quickly as he appeared, the boy turned from us and walked away. When he passed the chimney, he turned back and smiled. Goose bumps blossomed up my arms. His smile held a secret. The boy jumped down from the slab and disappeared into the woods.
“We need to leave,” I urged.
Janie must have been just as creeped out by the boy, because she didn’t argue and followed me a little too closely as we traveled as fast as we could back down Linna
rd Run.
I had never seen that little boy before. Maybe he lived in the Beaverdam Trailer Park and was exploring the woods. But then I thought about the shadows in the dead oak tree and I shivered. I tried to ignore the goose bumps lingering across my skin, but the standing hairs on my arms were a sure sign.
Creek Church was definitely more than just a burned-down place.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Stitches and Switches
Janie and I returned to the house and found Ellis on our porch painting his model car. When he saw us, he bolted up and started with the excuses.
“Mrs. Taylor told me I didn’t have to stay at her house. The paint was too strong, and it was giving her a headache.”
I didn’t care that Ellis hadn’t listened to me. My mind was still on the creepy shadows. I knew there had to be some kind of explanation. Maybe it was the sunlight coming through the leaves. I had read about illusions and how the brain could make you see things that weren’t actually there.
Then that strange boy showed up. I hadn’t come up with a scientific explanation for him yet. He wasn’t a shadow. He didn’t look like a ghost. Maybe he was just a boy wandering the woods. Maybe he was lost. Those were the simplest explanations, even if deep in my heart I didn’t believe them.
I wanted to forget everything I had seen at Creek Church and lose myself in my books. I didn’t want to worry about things that I couldn’t explain.
“I can see why Mrs. Taylor didn’t want you on her porch.” Janie fell into the porch swing and pushed off with her feet. “That paint stinks.”
“Smells better than that perfume you sprayed all over the bathroom this morning.”
“It’s called Eternity Mist. All the movie stars wear it.”
“You need to get a refund.” Ellis rubbed his hands on his shorts, leaving blue paint streaks. “Y’all been in Town Square all day?”
I looked down at my watch and was shocked at the time. It was late afternoon. I didn’t think we had been gone that long. Ellis could have burned the house down while I was away. I would have to be more careful. I rubbed my stomach. Although I only had breakfast and ice cream, I wasn’t hungry. Creek Church had spooked my appetite.
“What did you eat for lunch?” I asked him. “You didn’t cook anything, did you?”
Ellis sneered at me. “Lucky for you, Mrs. Taylor made me a fried bologna sandwich. Otherwise I would have starved waiting on y’all.”
“Next time we go somewhere, you’re coming with us,” I said.
“Did you go to the Train Depot to see the root witch?” Ellis asked, using Mrs. Greene’s words.
“She’s not a witch,” I replied.
“I don’t know about that. She had some weird stuff in her store.” Janie shrugged off her backpack and pulled out the cameo.
Ellis leaned in for a closer look. “What’s that?”
“Duh, it’s jewelry,” Janie said.
I should have known Janie would want to flaunt that cameo. Now she would get Ellis all riled up.
“Why is it so dirty?” Ellis asked. “Where did you get it?”
“I found it in the graveyard at Creek Church.”
“Are you crazy? Did you listen to anything I told you last night?!”
“I don’t believe in your country curse,” Janie replied.
“When I tell Mama, y’all gonna be in a heap of trouble,” he said. “You ain’t even supposed to go to that place. It’s off-limits.”
“You’re not going to tell Mama anything about this, Ellis,” I said.
“Watch me,” Ellis taunted.
“So you’re a snitch now?” Janie jeered.
“I ain’t no snitch!” Ellis yelled.
“You wouldn’t last ten seconds in my neighborhood,” Janie said. “Where I live, snitches get stitches.”
“You gonna learn the hard way,” Ellis said. “Things work different down here. Y’all got stitches, but we got switches.”
“I’m gonna blame everything on you,” Janie said. “You’re the one who told me about that place.”
“I was trying to warn you!”
They both stopped arguing when Mrs. Greene pulled up in our driveway. My heart lurched. The last thing we needed was our grandma finding out that we had been to Creek Church.
“This day just got worse,” Ellis grumbled under his breath.
Even though we weren’t staying at our grandma’s house this summer, it didn’t stop her from dropping by and checking up on us. She claimed it was for our well-being, but it seemed like she was secretly spying on us, trying to catch us doing dirty deeds.
“Don’t you dare breathe a word,” I warned Ellis.
Mrs. Greene closed the door to her sedan, smoothed out her white linen pants, and adjusted her matching long tunic. She stared at us as if searching for any sins we needed to confess. I broke eye contact with her and stared at my flip-flops, too scared she would see everything we had done today reflected in my retinas.
“Y’all look guilty about something,” she said. “Sarah, come here.”
I gave my cousin and brother a warning look and lumbered down the stairs to meet her. She crushed me into a strong hug, and I was enveloped in the flowery scent of her perfume. Mrs. Greene called it her signature fragrance. Mama called it mixing two cheap perfumes together. Maybe she needed a refund too.
“Why don’t you be a good girl and hold my purse?”
Mrs. Greene shoved her white leather purse into my arms. I tried putting it on my shoulder, but it was too heavy.
“Your granddaddy used to hold my purse. Bless his soul,” Mrs. Greene said. “It’s good to see y’all outside in the fresh air. No need to be cooped up in the house.”
She traveled up the steps and leered over at Mrs. Taylor’s porch. The bickering reality-show housewives she loved so much blared through our neighbor’s screen door.
Mrs. Greene shook her head. “Not one drop of blood shared, yet your mama thinks Stella Taylor is qualified to take care of y’all. She treating you right?”
While our grandma insisted that we only call her by her proper name, she never quite gave other grown folks the same courtesy.
“Yes, ma’am,” I said.
I guided Mrs. Greene straight into our living room. It wasn’t as grand as our grandma’s parlor, but it was the best room in the house.
She sat down in one of the plush chairs and sniffed the air while I stood with my hands together in a nervous grip. Ellis tried to sit down too, but I quickly stopped him. Mama would kill me if he got blue stains on her cream sofa.
“Doesn’t smell clean in this house,” Mrs. Greene said.
“It’s paint.” I faltered when she gave me a withering look. “Ellis is working on a project. Would you like some sweet tea?”
“Never needed it more,” she said.
I rushed to the kitchen and poured sweet tea in a glass full of ice. When I came back into the living room, I caught Janie and Ellis in the middle of Mrs. Greene’s inspections.
“You don’t have any shorts with a respectable hem?” She tugged at the frays of Janie’s cutoff jeans.
“When is the last time you got a haircut?” She narrowed her eyes at Ellis. “Looking like some kind of hoodlum. Doesn’t make any sense.”
When I gave Mrs. Greene her refreshment, she didn’t stop drinking until it was all gone and then gave a small burp. “Who taught your mama how to make sweet tea? Not enough sugar. Tastes like leaf water. Are you sure her people are from Alabama?”
Mrs. Greene took a handkerchief from her purse and pressed it against her neck. The clocks in the living room filled the area with ticking noises.
Mama’s family owned a clock business in Birmingham. Whenever Granddaddy Duncan sent her a new one, Mama would tear open the box with excitement.
“All this ticking is making me nervous.” Mrs. Greene crossed her legs.
I sighed in relief when I heard the garage door open. Mama was finally home from work. I met her in the kitchen.
“Mrs. Greene is here,” I said.
Mama let out a heavy sigh. “Yes, I’m aware. I saw her car parked out front.”
We went back to the living room together, and Mama put on her courtroom smile. “Lena, how nice to see you. Are you here visiting with the children?”
“Someone has to make sure they’re fine.” Mrs. Greene stood up. “What do you plan to cook for supper?”
“I’m not cooking,” Mama said. “I stopped by Tessie’s, and she gave me a nice roast chicken with some sides and a tossed salad.”
Mrs. Greene’s face scrunched up. Our grandma didn’t care much for Mrs. Bledsoe, who ran a soul food restaurant in Alton. She said that the menu was common and catered to white folks who didn’t know any better.
“So no home-cooked meal? At all? Not even hot cornbread?” She frowned.
Mama paused, and I knew she was counting to three in her head. “You’re welcome to join us.”
CHAPTER NINE
Spoiled Supper
Janie, Ellis, and I washed our hands in the hall bathroom before setting the silverware in the dining room. Usually we ate our meals in the kitchen, but there wasn’t enough room with Mrs. Greene joining us for supper. Most times, we only came in the dining room to swipe off dust mites and wipe down the glass armoire full of fancy dishes we never used.
Mrs. Greene sat at one end of the table, and Daddy sat at the opposite end. Mama, Ellis, Janie, and I sat in the middle, facing one another.
After we settled in our chairs, Daddy smiled at me. “Sarah, do you want to say the grace?” he asked.
“Can I do the grace tonight?” Ellis asked.
“No,” Mama and Daddy replied in unison.
“Let the boy do it,” Mrs. Greene said. “It’s encouraging to see Jesus in his heart.”
Mama gave Daddy a worried glance. “Go ahead, Ellis.”
My brother cleared his throat, closed his eyes tight, and clasped his fingers. “Lord, thank you for this supper. Let this food bless our bodies and our sinning souls. Lord, drench us in the blood of your son Jesus to keep us safe from harm. Let him keep us from getting stitches—”