Silent as the Grave

by Zoe Aarsen

  “Have a good day at school?” Rhonda asked.

  “It was fine,” I said. “I have a ton of calculus homework.”

  Behind the wheel, she shook her head. “Calculus. I didn’t even take precalculus until senior year. You’ve got a head for math. When I was your age, I just did not have the patience.”

  Rather than asking her what her interests at my age were, which I knew she was hoping I would, I let the conversation die off. I was preoccupied with thoughts of whether or not Violet’s spirits had the ability to take their aggressions out on me if they thought I was tampering with Mischa’s obligations to them. It had certainly seemed like they’d been able to manipulate elements in the real world in the past to try to prevent me from making progress toward breaking the curse on Violet. They’d managed to drop an enormous icicle on Henry’s windshield back in January, shattering it. I suspected they’d caused my mom and Mrs. Portnoy to get into a fender bender over the winter too. The spirits’ power in our world seemed to require an enormous amount of energy on their part, which meant that the actions they were able to manifest were spur-of-the-moment and delivered in quick bursts. Even if they were fastidious planners, they seemed incapable of hatching elaborate plots, which was a small comfort. But now that I was dwelling on it, I’d been in Florida for two and a half months without experiencing any moments of dread or terror, which seemed suspicious.

  Maybe they were waiting for me to get good and distracted before they made their move, so they’d catch me off guard. It was a lucky thing that Mrs. Robinson had stepped into my life to remind me that the danger was ever-present. Or was it? It had been weeks since I’d gone down a mental rabbit hole of paranoia like this, wondering if I was fearing the right things and if I had anything truly to fear at all.

  We were about halfway through eating dinner before I sensed the awkward tension between Rhonda and Dad. I had just swallowed a large gulp of water when I realized that they were both eating in silence, and Dad occasionally glanced over at me with a stern look. My stomach sank. I had been trying to follow orders, be helpful around the house, and not be a nuisance. Living with them was a privilege, and I was desperate to avoid being sent back to the Sheridan School for Girls.

  “Is everything okay?” I dared to ask.

  “Fine,” Rhonda said curtly, making it clear that she was lying. I liked Rhonda, but she could be passive-aggressive.

  “You guys are being really quiet,” I said, convinced that in one way or another, they were fighting, and the reason for their fight had something to do with me.

  After dinner, I loaded the dishwasher without being asked. Dad went straight to the living room to watch one of the crime shows he loved. Instead of walking over to the gym, Rhonda went upstairs to the bedroom she and Dad shared. I genuinely hoped that I hadn’t inadvertently offended her on our drive back from the assisted living facility. Later, while I was trying to do homework, my phone buzzed with incoming messages. When I finally took a break from what little progress I was making and took a look at my Instagram account, I saw that the messages were from Mischa. She was freaking out, claiming that weird things had started happening with increasing frequency, and she was pretty sure something very bad was imminent. Before I even read the fourth message in the string of short, urgent notes she’d sent, I tapped the contacts on my phone to call her. Hearing from her on the same day as having Mrs. Robinson tell me I was surrounded by angry loa was enough to completely shake me.

  “Why are you calling me?” she asked.

  “Because I don’t want to text about this stuff! You know my parents spy on my social media accounts!” I exclaimed. “What is going on? You haven’t touched any tarot cards, have you?”

  “No! God! I said I wouldn’t, and I haven’t,” she insisted. With an uncharacteristic trembling in her voice, Mischa continued, “But listen. They’re mad at me for not listening. I don’t know how much longer I can keep resisting this.” She kind of sounded like she was hiding in a closet from a home invader, terrified of being overheard.

  “What’s been happening?” I asked, trying to keep my voice low.

  “Well, two new moons have passed since January, when I went missing, right? And no one died in January, so technically they didn’t get what they wanted from Violet before that new moon either. So I’m three behind.”

  “No,” I argued. “You’re not behind. This was Violet’s problem, not yours.” Since January, whenever I’d touched base with Mischa, I had made a point of adamantly insisting that she not take responsibility for any part of the situation. Accepting responsibility was like taking ownership, and it seemed dangerous to me for Mischa to mentally acknowledge any of the burden of killing.

  Mischa groaned. “Whatever! I keep seeing threes. Everywhere I look! And I’m not being paranoid, okay? Last night, the alarm on my phone went off at three thirty-three a.m. And at lunchtime today? I bought an iced tea and carrot sticks in the cafeteria? Three dollars and thirty-three cents. And that’s just today. For the last few weeks? Every morning when we leave for school, Amanda has to start the car three times. Three. It always works on the third try.”

  I listened without interrupting, mostly because I didn’t know what to tell her to convince her to continue resisting. She was in a sickeningly awful predicament. It was one thing to fear for your safety. It was quite another to intentionally kill another person.

  “Look,” I said when it seemed like her rant was over. “I know you’re not being paranoid. If anyone on Earth is going to believe that these things aren’t just coincidences, it’s me.”

  “So what am I supposed to do? I don’t think I can keep ignoring this!”

  I had never told Mischa what Violet had relayed to me about her early experiences with the curse after she had inherited it from her grandmother. Telling Mischa that the spirits had electrocuted Violet’s mom and nearly killed her when Violet was refusing them seemed like a surefire way to make Mischa whip out a deck of tarot cards and give some unsuspecting kid a death prediction as soon as possible. It made me feel terrible keeping that from her since I had every reason to believe—even though I didn’t want to think about it—that eventually the spirits would pursue Mischa’s family if they didn’t get what they wanted.

  “I’m working on this thing every day. I’m so close to finding a way to get it off you. I swear,” I assured her. This was wholly untrue because I’d been focused on keeping a low profile in Florida and had been naïvely hoping that things in Wisconsin were under control. But I did feel slightly better about lying to her regarding the status of my progress, because meeting Mrs. Robinson was something.

  “Well, work faster! I’m honestly, like, scared. And this is super messed up because I qualified last weekend at the state championships to advance to the Region Four meet in three weeks—which is amazing considering that I missed two invitational meets and who knows how much practice in January. But instead of throwing myself one hundred percent into training, I’m freaking out about stupid evil spirits! I mean, do you understand how ridiculous this is? I have a real shot at qualifying for the Olympic team, and I’m worried about potentially having to kill people!”

  “Just…” I struggled to find convincing enough words to encourage her to keep resisting. I had no reason to believe that Mrs. Robinson’s knowledge of voodoo would be of any assistance at all in Mischa’s situation. We hadn’t even talked about Mischa. “Don’t predict any deaths, okay? We both know how that ends.”

  “How much longer?” Mischa demanded. “How am I supposed to believe that you’re getting anywhere? Every time you’ve said you’ve known what we have to do, you’ve made things worse!”

  My breath caught in my throat. She’d forgotten that I could have easily turned a blind eye after both Olivia and Candace died in the fall. After all, Jennie had protected me from the curse that Violet had issued to them, as well as to Mischa. It was only because I’d wanted so desperately to be part of their close-knit circle—even after Mischa was all tha
t remained of it—that I’d dedicated myself to trying to stop Violet. Maybe I’d been trying to save Mischa because I hadn’t been able to save Jennie from the fire that had burned down our house when we were eight. But the fact remained that since the fall, I’d wrecked my life—and Trey’s—in service to Mischa, and I’d not been under any obligation to do so.

  Before I could utter a word, I heard Mischa sob over the phone. “I’m sorry. I know this isn’t your fault, and you’re the only person I can count on. I’m just scared,” she said through her tears.

  “I know. And I am trying. I will figure this out,” I promised.

  I ended our call feeling like my heart was as heavy as a brick. It was so easy down here in Florida to simply not think too seriously about what was happening back in Willow. All I really wanted to think about was Trey being released from Northern. If I were to insert myself back into the workings of this curse, I’d be risking any kind of future with him. Or any kind of future at all in which my parents didn’t disown me.

  After finishing my homework, I changed into my pajamas, and when I stepped into the hallway to brush my teeth in the bathroom, I could hear Dad and Rhonda talking downstairs in hushed voices. Whatever they were discussing, it sounded serious, and my stomach clenched at the likelihood that it had something to do with me.

  * * *

  The next morning I kept my chat with Henry brief because I didn’t want to skimp on the candle protection spell.

  “Are you trying to get rid of me?” he teased.

  Perhaps it was his tone, or maybe just because I was still on high alert after my conversation with Mischa, but it occurred to me that because Henry was someone whom both Mischa and I cared about, I may have been putting him in danger by not informing him about Mischa’s predicament. He’d been so happy back in January when we believed we’d broken the curse that I feared he might get mad at me if I admitted we hadn’t been so successful, after all. And I couldn’t stand the thought of Henry being mad at me. Without intending to fill him in on all the details, I said in the calmest voice I could muster, “There are some things going on in Willow that make me and Mischa suspect we’re not completely out of the woods with this Violet thing.”

  “What? Are you kidding?”

  “Didn’t want to freak you out,” I told him. Trying to make it sound like not a big deal, I told him about the candles Kirsten had instructed me to burn every morning.

  I must have failed in making the entire situation seem like nothing but a precaution, because Henry’s response was an explosion of fury. “How long have you known that we didn’t break the curse? Why didn’t you tell me sooner? I’m going to fly home tomorrow and wring that little witch’s neck!”

  It took me a few minutes to calm him down, and I had to swear up and down that I was sure Violet didn’t have any power over the situation anymore. Perhaps it was a little bit of a lie to tell him that I was still figuring out what had happened, but I was honest enough to tell him that I thought there was the tiniest possibility that the curse had shifted to Mischa. I was still nervous he was going to hop on a flight to Wisconsin, but I had to get off the phone so that I could light my candles.

  I set up my candles, poured my salt, lit the wicks, and uttered my chant with total sincerity, sensing that it had never been more important to complete the spell with attention to detail. Once at school, I endured my classes in a distracted daze. I kept reminding myself that technically nothing had changed since the day before. Mischa and I were in the same situation we had been in since January, only perhaps with slightly higher stakes because three new moons had passed. There was no reason for me to feel like I was walking along the edge of a cliff. Everything was still under control. But by the time the bell rang to signal the end of chemistry, my last class of the day, I had already thrown my bag of books over my shoulder and rocketed out of my seat, eager to put all of my focus back into getting the curse off of Mischa. Even though it made me feel like a complete nut, I’d sprinkled paper packets of salt and pepper from the cafeteria into my Vans in the bathroom after lunch.

  Instead of walking directly home, I detoured to the natural foods store and bought a dozen eggs, all of the essential oils, and the fennel that Mrs. Robinson had specified. The haul was expensive, and I blew half of my first weekly paycheck from my job, but I didn’t mind. My conversation with Mischa had made me anxious enough to consider hopping on the bus to pay Mrs. Robinson a friendly visit even though I wasn’t on the work schedule. However, Tuesday nights were when I was scheduled to speak with Trey. If there was any part of my weekly routine that I would never jeopardize, it was that phone call.

  When I got home, I was surprised to find the house empty. It was rare that I arrived back at the condo earlier than Dad, and even though I never minded being home alone in Wisconsin, in Florida I felt kind of like a trespasser on someone else’s property. To busy myself and do something unexpectedly nice, I started dinner. I’d just set a tray of chicken in the oven to bake when I heard the growl of the automatic garage door opening.

  “Hey there,” Dad greeted me as he entered the kitchen. He was still wearing his USF baseball cap in the house, a habit that drove Rhonda nuts. “What’s all this?”

  “Just trying to be helpful,” I said. “I wanted to fix a salad, but the rest of the kale in the fridge was kind of gross.”

  Dad leaned against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest. “Listen, tiger. We need to have a little talk.” For a second, I thought he was going to tell me what was going on between him and Rhonda, and I prayed once again that whatever it was, it hadn’t been inspired by anything I’d done. But then I heard the garage door lifting again, which meant that Rhonda was home.

  “Sure, Dad.”

  Perhaps because Rhonda was about to enter the house from the garage at any second, he told me, “After dinner.”

  Now I had a real reason to be paranoid. Rhonda gave me a weak smile as I set the table, and our conversation throughout dinner was shallow. Dad bored us with a description of politics going on in the surgery department at the school where he worked. By the time Rhonda excused herself and cleared her plate, I was certain that the barely perceptible hostility between them definitely must have had something to do with me. Rhonda had avoided making eye contact with me the entire time we’d been seated at the table.

  Finally, while still picking at his Brussels sprouts, Dad told me, “You left a candle lit in your bedroom this morning when you left for school.”

  It felt as if blood had frozen in my veins. Was it possible that I’d left my candles out? I was always careful about setting them back in the top drawer of my nightstand after I blew them out. My thoughts raced back to the state of mind I’d been in earlier that morning. I’d been much more focused than I usually was. I’d ended my call with Henry to chant the spell without distractions. I could specifically remember blowing out the candles and setting them back in the top drawer of my nightstand. There was no way I’d left the house with a candle burning.

  “Are you sure? I didn’t have any candles lit last night,” I said, trying to act surprised.

  Dad shifted his posture uncomfortably as if he really did not want to be having this conversation. “Rhonda found it. She said there was a weird setup of candles in a pentagram on your nightstand with a circle of salt around it?”

  Iciness crept into my fingers and hands. This was a message, a warning. The spirits knew where I was. They wanted me to believe that they could hurt my father or his wife whenever they wanted.

  “Dad.” There was no point in pretending like I didn’t know anything about the candles or the salt. Insinuating that Rhonda was a liar was not going to work in my favor. “That’s really freaky. Sometimes I light candles, but I would never arrange them in a pentagram. I thought I blew them out this morning before school. I’ll be more careful in the future.”

  Dad folded his hands together and looked directly at me to make it clear that he meant business. “No more candles. I don’t
want any open flames in this house.”

  This was a reasonable request, I knew. Especially after he and I had lost so much because of fire. But those candles, that ritual—they were the only way I had of protecting Mischa. I was about to object when he silenced me with a wave of his hand. “I mean it. Rhonda was very upset this morning, and I thought all of this nonsense with witchcraft and devil games was over.”

  I was just going to have to agree and figure out a more discreet way of conducting the candle ritual moving forward. Arguing would be futile, and if Violet’s spirits were meddling with candles and lighters in my bedroom when I wasn’t home, then it was probably for the best that I kept those materials somewhere outside.

  “Okay. Sure, Dad,” I said. As much as I never wanted to return to the Sheridan School for Girls or any type of boarding school like it, the idea of being considered a burden on my dad’s marriage was even more upsetting to me. “Has Rhonda been acting kind of strangely lately because of me? Don’t tell me everything’s fine. I can tell there’s something going on with you guys, and if it’s not cool for me to be here, Mom’s attorney can talk to the judge in Shawano County and figure out another—”

  “Rhonda’s pregnant,” Dad said at a barely audible volume. He cleared his throat and took a sip of water as if even saying the words made him uncomfortable.

  “Oh.” I was as stunned as if I’d almost been hit by a car. It had never occurred to me that Dad and Rhonda would want to have kids together. The possibility of having a half brother or sister had never even crossed my mind. Rhonda was considerably younger than Dad, but I had always kind of figured that Dad was done with kids, in general. He wasn’t even the kind of guy who liked to joke around with coworkers’ little ones at picnics.