Devil in Ohio

by Daria Polatin

  AFTER DANI’S BIRTHDAY DINNER, PETER SAT AT HIS desk, searching on his computer in the lamplight.

  He was researching security systems. He didn’t want to worry Suzanne and the girls, but he hadn’t liked finding that lock broken. Glancing at a photo of his family on his desk reminded him of who he needed to keep safe.

  KNOCK, KNOCK.

  “Hey, honey, I’ll be done soon,” he said without looking up, assuming it was Suzanne.

  “Hey…” he heard a soft voice respond.

  Peter looked to the door of his office to see: Mae.

  “Hello there,” he greeted her, surprised. He looked at her for a moment, not sure why she was there. “Anything you need?” he wondered, aligning the edges of some papers on his desk.

  “No,” Mae started, reclining against the doorframe. “Just the opposite.”

  Peter turned toward her, a perplexed look on his face.

  “Not sure what you mean,” he returned, his forehead creasing.

  “Well,” Mae purred. “You’ve been so kind to me. To let me stay with you, and paying for things for me. Food, clothes, dinner tonight…”

  He waved her off. “Aw, don’t worry about it. It’s our pleasure. You’re part of the family while you’re here,” he said, turning back to his screen.

  But the girl didn’t leave.

  “I was wondering,” she said, pausing to lower her voice, “if there was anything I could do for you.”

  Peter turned back to her.

  “Do for me?”

  “Yes,” she confirmed, sliding her arm up the doorframe. “To—make it up to you?” The offer lingered in the air.

  “I just told you, you don’t owe us anything—”

  “But maybe there’s something that would—make you happy…”

  Peter’s face heated, not knowing how to respond.

  She went on. “There were men in my town—elders—who liked to be made … happy.”

  Peter suddenly felt extremely uncomfortable being alone with this girl.

  “I have some work to do,” he blurted, standing abruptly. The move knocked a stack of papers into the framed photo of the Mathis family, tipping it over.

  Peter reached for the frame and set it upright.

  Mae looked at the desk quizzically. “Isn’t that your work?”

  “I have—other work,” he backpedaled. “In the garage.”

  He stepped toward the door.

  “Excuse me,” he said as he squeezed past her in the doorframe, escaping the room as fast as he could.

  Now alone, Mae remained standing in the doorway, her eyes glued to the picture of the Mathis family on Peter’s desk.

  CHAPTER 28

  LATER THAT NIGHT, POST–BIRTHDAY DINNER, WE HAD all peeled off on our own. While I was catching up on homework and tasks in the living room, Mae had been in the kitchen, talking with Mom, Dad was working in his office, and Dani was I’m sure video chatting upstairs, telling her friends all about the branch drama and soaking up the last few moments of birthday attention.

  I messaged Isaac about our Social Studies presentation, still trying to pay my penance for standing him up at the library. I knew he wasn’t super happy with me these days, so I was trying to be extra thoughtful, and even brought him an orange soda the other day, which he loved. Then I worked on the portfolio I was continuing to compile for my photography application, which I was really starting to get excited about. (It’s) Still Life was coming together. And now I had all the “People You Don’t Know” portraits I could include too as additional material.

  Sebastian had approved my column questions for next week’s “People You Don’t Know,” so I went over them one more time before I sent them to Norman Bellinsky, a junior who played chess competitively. I’d already taken his picture outside at a picnic table where he played with a few other, well, nerds.

  I shut my laptop, realizing it was after eleven. I guess we hadn’t gotten back from dinner till kind of late. I yawned, heading for the stairs.

  As I approached, I heard quiet voices.

  “—make it up—?”

  I looked down the hallway toward my dad’s office. Mae was standing in the doorway, illuminated by the desk lamplight coming from within. I heard my dad say something back to her.

  Why was Mae talking to my father? And what did the two of them have to talk about privately?

  After more quiet talking that I couldn’t make out, Dad hurried into the hallway, pushing past Mae. He looked upset.

  He saw me standing by the stairs.

  “Hey, Jules,” he said, avoiding eye contact. “I’m gonna grab some air,” he excused himself as he stepped outside, sweatered but jacketless.

  Mae started toward me from my dad’s office.

  “Everything okay?” I asked her.

  “Oh yeah,” she answered casually as she passed. “Everything’s great, Jules.” Her voice was calm and placid, almost unnervingly so.

  “Have a good night,” she called over her shoulder, gliding up the stairs like a smug ghost.

  What the hell was that about?

  * * *

  I couldn’t sleep. The events of the night swirled around in my mind, like a song playing too fast.

  Had Mae’s former family really come after her and tried to break the lock on our house? And why had Mae been talking to my dad?

  I flung the bedsheets off. My skin had started to perspire, even though it was a chilly night.

  Dani was snoring away on the trundle as I climbed out of bed and dragged myself down the hallway.

  Sometimes when I had trouble sleeping I made myself go to the bathroom. For some reason, if I did that, when I went back to bed it was easier to fall asleep.

  As I passed Mae’s room, I shivered. A cold gust of air slipped through the cracked door. Why was it so chilly in there? It was a windy night, but it shouldn’t be breezy inside. Had Mae left a window open?

  Knowing full well that it was super creepy to peek into Mae’s room while she was sleeping, I did it anyway.

  As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I saw that everything looked normal—except the bed.

  It was empty.

  I nudged the door open all the way. There was no one in the room. Maybe Mae had gone downstairs for a snack or something. Should I go check? That was a super-stalky thing to do.

  A freezing gust ruffled the purple curtains on the open window. The leaves rustled on the tree outside, making a shimmering crinkling sound. I stepped across the carpet and looked out at the edge of the first-floor rooftop, which extended under the bedroom window.

  I saw a sock.

  I was pretty sure it was Mae’s. It was a pink-and-purple argyle one that she’d borrowed from me and not given back. She said all the clothes she used to wear were brown or gray, so she loved wearing colors—even on her feet.

  Had Mae climbed out the window and down the side of the roof? Why in the world would she do that? Or had the sock always been there, and no one—i.e., me—had noticed? I couldn’t remember the last time I had looked out over that part of the rooftop.

  I turned back inside and peered around. A few of Mae’s schoolbooks rested on the desk, a bath towel hung on the back of the door, a few crumpled sheets of paper lined the wastebasket. I stepped over to pick one out, curious to see what she had written.

  “Ow!” I yelped before I knew what had happened.

  I glanced down at the floor and saw something under my foot. It looked like a thin stick or something. A pencil? But it had pierced my foot.

  I reached down to retrieve:

  A long-stemmed white rose, with thorns all down the stalk. It was lying on the floor near the bed. The white petals glowed in the faint light from outside.

  I wiped a spot of blood off my foot and put my finger in my mouth. The metallic taste of blood covered my tongue. I should probably go get a Band-Aid so I wouldn’t bleed all over the carpet.

  As I headed for the bathroom I glanced down at the flower. I realized that I never
really saw white roses. Usually they were red or pink—a romantic display of some kind. What was a white one doing on the floor of Mae’s bedroom?

  And then it dawned on me:

  The front door lock. Maybe the house really had been broken into earlier. Had the cult come in and left Mae a white rose? Had she escaped out the open bedroom window?

  I had to find her.

  Quickly heading downstairs, I searched the kitchen and living room to make sure I wasn’t missing her in the house. Then I hurried out the back door, grabbing a pair of boots along the way.

  A light rain met me as I stepped outside. I sped across the grass toward the front of the house as the wind picked up, rolling dead leaves Dad hadn’t raked up yet across the lawn.

  Arriving at the road, I looked down the tree-lined asphalt. I had to shield my eyes from the rain, which was quickly coming down harder.

  In the distance, I saw a small figure in white.

  I raced down the road, as fast as my pricked foot would let me. I had stupidly forgotten my jacket, and now the rain was soaking through, weighing down my flannel pajamas, making it harder to move.

  “Mae?” I called as I tried to get closer.

  But she kept walking away from me down the road, her nightgown flapping in the wet wind. Where was she going? This road was desolate for another half mile till you reached the main road, and even then the nearest stores were a ten-minute drive away.

  “Mae,” I cried again, jogging now to close the gap between us. One-socked, she kept marching forward at a steady pace, almost robotic. Was she sleepwalking?

  Finally catching up to her, I shouted, “Mae!” as I lunged forward, laying my hand on her shoulder.

  “Ahhhhhhh!” Mae shrieked, whipping around, her eyes wide with fear.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. Are you okay?”

  Mae stared back blankly, her face awash with rain and confusion.

  “Were you sleepwalking?” I ventured, trying to figure out what in the world was going on.

  Mae looked down at her now nearly see-through nightgown. She gazed around at the wet pavement and billowing trees, bewildered.

  “Are we outside?” she asked.

  Duh, I thought, but didn’t say that.

  “Yes,” I answered. She must have been in a trance, like the one she’d had in the cemetery.

  “I was worried about you,” I continued, explaining why I’d followed her out. “I saw the rose in your room and—”

  “Rose?” Mae glared at me, as if remembering it herself. “The rose,” she repeated, her voice dropping.

  Her body started to shake. Oh no, I thought. This is not good. I doubted I could carry her back in the rain if she had another seizure.

  “Come on, let’s go back inside. You’re soaked.” I pulled at her, trying to physically move her back toward the house.

  But she grabbed my pajama top in her bony fingers.

  “It’s from them!” she yelled, shaking me. “The rose—they put it there!” Fury filled her thin frame; water streaked down her face.

  “They did it to remind me!” Mae cried. “To make me go back!”

  I stared at her. My lungs filled with air, but I wasn’t able to respond. I had no idea what to say.

  “They’re coming for me!” She desperately clung to the fabric of my clothing even tighter, her hair wild in the rain. Then her voice lowered to a whisper, her green eyes staring straight into mine.

  “They’re coming for me.…”

  Suddenly, I was the one shaking.

  CHAPTER 29

  SUZANNE KILLED THE ENGINE AND CLICKED UP THE parking brake, an unnecessary move in the flat land they lived in but something that she had always done out of habit.

  She peered out the windshield through the crisp morning air. Across the parking lot stood a few gas pumps and a small convenience store. A lone Honda Civic refueled.

  Over on the passenger seat sat Suzanne’s files. She picked one up and opened it.

  “What the Devil Happened?” read the title of the old newspaper article she had printed out. It chronicled a mysterious young boy from the small town called Tisdale, who had arrived at Remingham Regional Hospital, then disappeared. It didn’t mention the carving on his back, since that was private information, but Suzanne had cross-referenced the dates with the confidential files she had covertly swiped from Connie’s computer.

  Victor Peterson didn’t have a Facebook page, or any social media presence for that matter. Not the Victor Peterson she was looking for, anyway.

  Suzanne leafed through the records she had pulled as she waited in her car, including Victor’s confidential medical charts. Most of the information the papers contained was irrelevant at this point, since he had been a young boy when he had come to the hospital, and there were no current photos of him anywhere.

  But Suzanne had found one very helpful clue in his file: the boy had red hair, which would make him much easier for her to spot. Mae had confirmed that Victor’s hair remained red.

  Using his last name, Suzanne had traced his family name to a local dairy. She’d checked business registries in the town of Tisdale and discovered the name of the dairy and a business address. She’d called the number associated with the company, but all she got was a full voice-mail box. She’d even driven out to Tisdale a few days ago after work, telling Peter she had an emergency department meeting she had to attend, but the strange thing was—she couldn’t actually find the town of Tisdale. Where the GPS told her the exit to the town should be was nonexistent. It was just a row of trees leading back into thick woods.

  So Suzanne tried a different method. She’d driven to the gas station closest to the town “exit” on the map, in hopes of finding another lead.

  The CHUG-CHUG-CHUG of a delivery truck pulled Suzanne’s attention across the asphalt: Peterson Dairy.

  Suzanne observed as the truck came to a stop in front of the convenience store. A tall young man stepped out of the gray vehicle, followed by a younger man, probably late teens, who hopped down from the passenger seat. They both wore brown jumpsuits.

  And they both had red hair.

  Suzanne dropped the files, unclicked her seat belt, and opened the car door. Zipping up her coat as the chilly air hit her neck, she hurried across the parking lot.

  She approached the back of the truck, where the double doors were now open. The younger of the men reached into the truck and heaved out a crate of milk bottles. He carried them to the entrance of the store.

  The older redhead grabbed another crate and slid it toward himself, tossing a clipboard on top. He lifted the crate onto his knee and swatted one of the doors shut.

  “Victor?” Suzanne called in the friendliest manner she could muster.

  “If He be pleased,” Victor replied habitually, turning in her direction. His auburn brow furrowed when he realized he did not recognize Suzanne.

  “Hello!” she said, speaking quickly. “I know you don’t know me, but I wanted to talk to you about—”

  “Not interested,” he declared, slamming the other back door shut. He headed for the minimart entrance, where the other man—whom Suzanne assumed was his brother—was on his way out, holding the door.

  “I just have a few questions if you wouldn’t mind answering—”

  Victor ignored her, continuing inside. She followed him into the store past the younger brother.

  “It won’t take long,” she reasoned as Victor continued to the refrigerator case. He began to unload his crate contents onto the chilled shelves.

  She pressed on. “I just want to—”

  The door jingled behind Suzanne, startling her. She turned to see the younger redhead standing in back of her, arms folded.

  “Help you with something?” the woman over behind the counter demanded more than offered.

  Suzanne looked at the woman. Her gray hair was pulled into a tight bun. She was also wearing brown—a long, plain dress. Suzanne then noticed a young girl at a coffee station brewing a
nother pot. Another customer was in the process of selecting a shaving razor.

  Everyone in the store was dressed in dowdy, dark, old-fashioned clothing.

  And they were all staring at Suzanne.

  Used to people in Ohio being pretty friendly, she felt it was odd to get the cold shoulder these people were giving her. And what was with all the dark clothing? Were they all from Tisdale? Were they all in the cult?

  “’Less you have some business I can help you with,” the counter woman warned, “best make yourself scarce.”

  The woman’s face revealed she was stone-cold serious.

  Suzanne glanced at Victor, who gave absolutely no indication that he was willing to talk to her. She knew making anyone around here angry would not help her cause. She was not on friendly territory.

  “Okay,” Suzanne conceded. “Have a good day.”

  Stepping back toward the door, Suzanne moved past the younger redhead brother and pushed herself out of the store.

  She strode back to her car, balling her fists in frustration. Victor had probably been too afraid to say something in front of anyone. If she wanted to get answers from him, she’d have to try to talk to him alone.

  Back at the car, Suzanne checked the clock, then rummaged through her purse for her cell and dialed work. As the person on the other end of the line answered Suzanne sighed.

  “Hey, Tammy, sorry to be so last minute like this, but I’m running a little late. Can you go ahead and reschedule my first appointment?”

  CHAPTER 30

  THE RED DEVIL HORNS GLINTED IN THE LIGHT. “We worship you, O Lord of Darkness!” chanted a girl’s voice.

  “Ohmygod. Love it!”

  Larissa adjusted the devil horn headband on Jessie’s dark brown curls.

  “You’re slutty Satan!” Larissa declared. “You should totally get that.”

  Jessie pulled at the strap of the turquoise halter top she was wearing even though it was October. “You think?”

  The headband horns were the defining piece of a Satan costume, which also included a red leotard and tights. What devil wore red tights, I wasn’t sure, but neither me, Mae, Larissa, Jessie, or Christine questioned the costume supply contained in the small shop.