Paranormal After Dark

by Rebecca Hamilton

  I shake my head. “It’s time for me to get going.” At her blank face, I add, “For the barbeque.”

  To avoid looking at her, I grab a hair tie and squeeze my strands through it. It’s bad enough my best friend Brianna called earlier to say she was grounded for getting pulled over. She only got a warning, but she drives like a racecar driver. Inevitably, she’ll get a ticket. The cookout won’t be as much fun without her, but no way can I stay in this house.

  “Oh.” She blinks in surprise. “Do you want me to drive you?”

  “Nah, I’ll walk.”

  “Don’t be silly.”

  “Can’t trust me too much, huh?” I try to sound light, but from the expression on her face, I fail.

  Nothing convinces her to let me go by myself, so I’m forced to enter her old Taurus. Geez, she doesn’t know she can’t trust me and she already doesn’t.

  I yank the car door open, sit, buckle, and cross my arms. Just knowing the photo’s in my pocket unnerves me.

  Mom keeps glancing over, so I shift my focus to the window. Claymore is a quaint, boring town in Pennsylvania. Mr. Williams pulls out of the large brick apartment complex, and I slide down in my seat to avoid being seen. He’s by far my least favorite teacher. He waves to Mom, and she waves back, her face relaxing for a brief second before resuming its strained expression. She knows something’s up.

  The drive to the Fullers takes forever. Finally, she parks out front of the small Cape Cod. My heart pounding, wanting to put as much distance between us, I nod instead of kissing her cheek and jerk the door open.

  “Do you want me to pick you up when you’re done?” she asks.

  I shake my head, not bothering to turn around, afraid she’ll know that I know if she sees my face. “One of my friends can give me a lift.”

  “Oh, all right. If that’s what you want.”

  My exhale is one of relief.

  “Be home no later than nine,” she adds.

  And she’s gone. Delaying my confrontation won’t help any, but I can’t deal with the possibility of her spewing more lies. Nothing good can come from this.

  The scent of fire and smoke mixed with burgers and hot dogs fills the air, and my stomach rumbles. At least I still have my appetite.

  I so need this distraction.

  A car slows and parks. Lydia, the new girl at Claymore High and the latest addition to my crew, smiles at me. “Crystal, hey,” she says as joins me on the sidewalk. “I added some final touches to our report. Typed it up and everything. We’re good to go.”

  My laugh is a little incredulous. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a partner before who did more of the work than me. You’re making me feel bad.”

  “Don’t.” Her dark eyes bright, she waves away my concern. “I just meant to find a few books and then call you to meet me at the library, but I started reading and got sucked in. Did you know there’s supposedly magic in Mount Claymore? I wish we had more time so we could have investigated it.”

  “Seriously?” My eyes bulge, and I blink a few times. No way am I traipsing around some mountain to try and prove magic exists.

  She giggles. “You should see your face! I’m just teasing. They really do say that about the mountain, but I don’t think magic is real, even if there are some things science can’t explain.”

  Because of miracles, not magic, but I keep the thought to myself. My hand brushes against my jean pocket, and I remove the photo for a quick peek.

  “You look deep in thought.” She tugs on the ends of her short black hair. “Wanna talk about it?”

  “Not really.”

  “Okay.” She averts her gaze, shoulders slumped.

  Wonderful. The last thing I want is for her to think we aren’t friends.

  Before I can fix things, she adds, “What a nice picture of your parents!”

  I shake my head, brown hair flying everywhere.

  Her thin eyebrows arch upward. “You look just like her. And you have your dad’s long fingers.” She points to his hand.

  I do have piano fingers, like my grade school music teacher used to say. Something else that helps to prove what I already know to be true. Can’t quite accept it though. Probably won’t be able to until I hear it from Mom’s lips.

  That right there is why I ran away instead of confronting her. Because I want to stay in this time, before it descends into chaos. Whatever the truth is, it’s going to change everything, and the before was pretty great. The after? Doubt it’ll be so awesome.

  My tongue’s all tied up, and I can’t say anything. Crazy how the only friend of mine who sees the photo is the only one who hasn’t met my mom… my aunt yet. Or maybe not so crazy. I don’t believe in coincidences.

  Lydia gives me a smile, not realizing my world is falling apart, waves to Vince’s mom, and heads to the backyard.

  His mom’s tending to her garden. Sweet flower perfume washes over me as I tuck the picture away and walk over. “Hi, Mrs. Fuller.”

  She finishes digging a small hole for a bulb and leans back onto her knees. Wiping her forehead with her gloves leaves a trail of dirt across it. I gesture, and she laughs, smearing it in her attempt to wipe it away. “Everyone else is out back. Have fun.”

  “Thanks.” It’s not easy to act like everything is normal, but I nod and try to smile. Mrs. Fuller has always been nice to me.

  “Are you all right?”

  Should’ve realized she’d notice. “Just hungry.” The partial truth.

  “There’s plenty of food. Go enjoy.” She returns to her flowers.

  I wasn’t about to be a black cloud and spoil my friend’s fun, so I push away my confusion and unhappiness and try to soak in the warmth of the day. By the time I reach the backyard, I’m feeling better already.

  Brian sidles up to me. “No brownies?”

  I slap my forehead. It completely slipped my mind with the whole attic snooping and Mom-really-my-aunt thing. “I’m sorry. I meant to but…”

  He sighs. “You’re gonna starve me.”

  Lydia approaches in time to overhear, and we both laugh. Despite all the food he eats, and he eats a ton, Brian’s lanky.

  We follow him to a table covered with food: potato chips, pretzels, white cheese curls, potato salad, pasta salad, toppings for burgers, and more.

  Brian cuts himself a piece of chocolate cake.

  “You know you’re supposed to eat healthy food before dessert, right?” I shake my head.

  “Yeah, ‘cause hot dogs and hamburgers are so healthy.” He rolls his hazel eyes and brushes his dark blond hair back.

  Vince mans the grill next to the food table, and he waves tongs in the air. “Crystal. How was church, bible thumper?”

  “I’m going tomorrow.” I slap his shoulder playfully, but my scowl is genuine. “And stop calling me that.”

  He shakes his head, his longish brown hair falling into his eyes, his joking demeanor disappearing. “I don’t understand how you can trust in God and all that.”

  Vince’s worse than an agnostic; he thinks God’s apathetic. Even I’ll admit he has a legit reason for feeling that way. Almost two years ago, his little brother died from leukemia.

  “How can you pray to someone who doesn’t bother to…” He runs his fingers through his hair.

  “He helped me yesterday. I couldn’t find my homework for geometry class, but I prayed and found it in my folder. The same folder I’d just checked before praying.”

  His lips twist into a grimace. “How naïve can you be, Crystal? You missed it the first time. That was you, not God.”

  I smile, unfazed by his tone. No one understands my relationship with God. Everything I pray for happens. Well, within reason.

  “Wanna come to church with me?” I ask.

  “You already know that answer to that.”

  Unfortunately, yes.

  Vince tends to the food. Alan, Brian, and Sean are throwing a Frisbee to each other. The girls, including Lydia, have broken off into a smaller group. Everyon
e’s here but Bri. How can I be around so many friends and still feel so alone?

  I open the blue cooler, grab a can of coke, and open it as I lean against the wooden fence. Soda fizzes against my upper lip and burns on the way down my throat.

  A quiet voice says, “Earth to Crystal.”

  Her hushed tone makes me jump, but I manage to smile.

  Lydia has a basketball under her arm. “Are you okay? You look a little sad.”

  “I’m fine.” Ready to burst into tears, I hang my head. If only Bri was here. “Actually, I’m not. Can you keep a secret?”

  She mimes locking her lips and throwing away the key.

  “I haven’t even told Brianna this,” I warn. “You can’t tell anyone.”

  Her dark eyes widen, and she nods slowly, a serious and promising gesture.

  This is the first time I’m sharing a secret with someone other than Briana since kindergarten. For a second, I feel guilty. Then again, she isn’t exactly known for her secret keeping.

  I waver. No one is paying attention to us. It’s now or never. A deep breath settles my nerves a little, so I plunge ahead. “I think I might be adopted.”

  Adopted, adopted, adopted. The word echoes in my mind, sounding alien, foreign. My stomach tightens. I couldn’t bring myself to be completely honest with Lydia. It hurts telling her this much.

  She feigns opening her lips as if they really are locked shut.

  I smile a little at her antics, grateful she’s trying to lighten the mood but wishing I hadn’t said anything. Talking makes it all too real. “Go ahead.”

  “Why do you think you’re adopted?”

  I retrieve the photo.

  “You think they’re your real parents?” Lydia cocks her head to the side. Her hairband falls onto her forehead, and she removes it.

  I rub the back of my neck and shrug.

  Her thin lips curl downward. “You only live with your… Wow, I have a big mouth.”

  “Lydia, no. Actually, I’m glad you… It’s kinda nice to talk to someone about this.”

  “I take it you haven’t talked to your mom about this.”

  “Not yet.”

  “Wow.” She furrows her brow. “I’m sorry?”

  I laugh weakly. “Don’t be. This might be nothing.”

  A lie. It’s not nothing. It’s my life.

  Heather and Paula walk over and pull Lydia away. I close my eyes, sinking into my isolation, and a vision comes. Vince and Ned are working on the grill when a sudden large flame bursts up and singes them. The scent of burning hair and flesh fills the air, and I gag.

  I open my eyes. Vince and Ned are flipping hamburgers. No fire in sight.

  Yet.

  A fire burns in my stomach, just like the one from my vision.

  “Hey, guys, quick, come here,” I call.

  “We’re a little bit busy here,” Ned says.

  “Just for a second.” I try to keep the desperation out of my voice as I frantically wave them over. “Hurry up!”

  Ned hands his tongs to Vince, who puts the two sets down. They walk over, but neither looks happy about it.

  “What’s up?” Vince asks.

  With a whooshing sound, the grill catches on fire. Flames shoot up, sparks flying everywhere. A burnt smell that ruins my hunger replaces the delicious aroma of cooking meat.

  “Oh my God,” Heather exclaims.

  The boys run back over. Everyone else crowds around the grill, trying to put out the fire, but I’m rooted in place. Vince and Ned could have died. I cover my mouth with my shaking hands. The vision… the premonition. God must have sent it. He saved my friends—through me.

  A few dreams have come true, sometimes that day, sometimes a week later, but this is the first time it happened while I’m awake.

  Within minutes, everything is under control. The first batch of meats is charred beyond belief, but at least no one got hurt.

  In a much better mood now, I keep the guys company as they put more hot dogs and burgers on the grill. The second and third batches are perfect, and I load ketchup on my hot dog and cheeseburger. When I glance over the few remaining desserts, I wish Bri had come with some of her made-from-scratch cupcakes. Of course I miss her more than her cupcakes. Tomorrow, as soon as I wake up, I’ll call her and tell her everything.

  Shortly thereafter, the cookout winds down, and Lydia offers to drive me home. I’m tempted but decline.

  “Need some time to yourself?” she asks softly.

  “Yes. Thanks for the offer.”

  “I understand. If you need anything, I’m here for you.”

  I smile as she drives off. She’s quickly becoming a good friend. Almost as close as Bri, but not quite.

  For early spring, it’s cold, and I rub my arms. Should’ve grabbed my jean jacket. When I walk past the library, I double back and duck inside to warm up.

  The photo is burning a hole in my pocket. I pull it out and notice a tiny speck by Marian’s left ear. It’s not dust or dirt. Swallowing hard, I touch the front of my left ear, the location of my birthmark. A wave of nausea hits me.

  I close my eyes. Dear Lord, I need to learn more about these people… my parents.

  With a sigh, I open my eyes. For the first time, I notice that Marian and her husband are standing in front of a volcano. I hurry to the computer lab, where a quick photo search enables me to recognize Diamond Head, Hawaii. They look so happy. Did they go there on their honeymoon?

  My focus returns to Marian. She and I, and Dad, all have identical sloped nose. Only Dad isn’t really my dad. This man is.

  My dad… uncle… died of a heart attack when I was five. My fingers refuse to cooperate, and I have to type and delete several times before I can search for Richard Miller’s obituary. The second to last line makes me pause: He was preceded in death by his parents, Walter and Erica Miller, and his sister, Marian Wynter.

  Now my fingers are flying as I search for Marian Wynter and marriage. Bingo. Daniel Wynter.

  Marian and Daniel Wynter.

  I trace my finger over their faces. “Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad,” I whisper.

  “Nine-fifteen already,” a college-aged girl at the computer next to me mutters.

  Crud. Mom wanted me home by nine, but I hesitate, staring at the couple. I love my mom. Sure, we don’t get along all the time, but she’s always there for me. Even though it feels like I’m betraying Mom, I have to learn more about my parents. Is Daniel alive? Something inside tells me no.

  Which might mean I’ve discovered I’m adopted and who my real parents are only to also learn they’re both dead.

  Heart heavy, I close out of my windows. Mom’s gonna go ballistic especially since she wanted to pick me up in the first place. If I had a cell phone, I’d call her, but no, I have to be the only junior—probably the only teenager in Claymore—who doesn’t own one. And how fair is it that she has one?

  Part of me wants her to worry, and I hate myself for feeling that way.

  Still holding the picture, I push open the library door. The drooping sun streaks cherries and mangoes across the sky. My bag bounces on my hip as I walk the quiet streets. I nod to the few people I pass. Soon, I’m alone as night descends, and a few stars begin to twinkle in the sky.

  Before I can tuck the photo into my pocket, a gust of wind blows it away. Whenever I try to snatch it, the wind pushes it out of reach. Down an alley, into an empty street, beyond stores, away from the well-lit part of town and toward the rundown portion. Finally, the photo just stops, lying on the sidewalk, as if waiting for me to snatch it.

  Once I shove it into my pocket, I glance around. My heart skips a beat. Nothing looks familiar. Darkness colors the brick buildings, giving them a sinister appearance. Icy tendrils of fear glide along my skin, raising goose bumps on my flesh.

  I look at my watch. Chasing after the photo somehow ate up twenty minutes. Where am I?

  My head high, I turn around and march back the way I think I came. The town looks different at night. The
trees seem bigger, the pavement more uneven, the shadows larger. The growling of a dog makes me pick up my pace.

  A figure rounds the distant corner.

  A cloud shifts and blocks the moon. The void of light reignites my panic, and I reach for the first door I find, some kind of watch store. It’s locked, closed already, so I duck down an alley, wanting to put some distance between me and the scary man. It’s darker here, and the stench of rotting garbage sears my nose. Breathing through my mouth to avoid the stench, I start to run. If I can locate a recognizable landmark…

  At the next corner sits a dark building, no sign of anyone nearby. Still lost, I turn onto another street. Dilapidated buildings line the streets. I stumble over a crack in the sidewalk and step into a pile of I-don’t-know-what and slow down to shake it off. Glass crunches beneath my sneaker from a broken warehouse window. Graffiti covers the walls.

  Night steals over the land, increasing darkness and my dread. It’s quiet, eerily so. The only sounds are my heavy breathing, my sneakers slapping the pavement, and rushing water as I pass an open manhole.

  Running, I hurry down the next street and slam into someone.

  “Hey there, pretty thing.”

  It’s the stranger. He reeks of body odor and garbage.

  I back into a trashcan. The lid clatters to the ground, as loud as thunder.

  My hand flies to my mouth. My heartbeat pounds, deafening, drowning all other sounds. The man leers. He reaches out, his fingernails covered with dirt. I stifle a scream and creep around the trashcan, retreating until my back slams into a wall.

  Please, dear Lord, keep me safe!

  But God, who normally answers my prayers, is silent, and nothing happens.

  The man touches my face.

  “Help!” I scream, squeezing my eyes shut, willing God to hear my plea and save me.

  Chapter 3

  MY WOBBLY KNEES shake, and I slink to the ground. Another scream builds up in my throat but refuses to come out. Only then do I realize the man isn’t touching me anymore.