Fingers in the Mist

by O'Dell Hutchison

  Her eyes turn from black to blue to white and black again. She lifts a cold, white finger and beckons to me, a horrid smirk plastered across her face.

  “Don’t fight it, Cait. Come with me. It will be much easier on you and your family if you come willingly.”

  Monique is not floating outside my bedroom window. Though she speaks to me from behind the double panes of glass, her voice is loud and clear as if she stands right next to me.

  “If you come with me, I promise not to hurt Trevor.” I don’t believe what she says.

  He wasn’t marked. She can’t hurt him. Can she?

  “I can still get to him. I’m very persuasive.”

  What the hell? Is she reading my mind? Mitch cries from downstairs as the same knocking from the night before starts up. Walls quiver around me, and my father calls my name.

  “Come on, Cait,” Monique says as she darts around my window like a goldfish. “Don’t make me come in there.”

  “If you want me, come and get me, bitch.” I place my hands against the glass and stare at her in defiance. “I’m not giving myself to you.”

  The window shudders as Monique crashes into it, mere inches from my face. She places both her hands on the glass, smiling her wicked smile.

  “You’ll be sorry you didn’t come out. Very sorry.”

  The shaking stops and the mist retreats. Monique’s form dissipates, leaving two bloody handprints on the glass where her fingers used to be.

  “Cait?” Pounding footsteps bang against the stairs, and my door swings open. My father stands in the doorway; the candle he holds flings warm amber light across the door frame.

  “Why didn’t you answer when I called for you?” he asks, relief flooding his face.

  “There was something outside my window.”

  “Is she here? Is she okay?” Mitch pushes past my father and jumps onto my bed.

  “I’m here, buddy.” I sit beside him and stroke his hair, trying to calm his small, shaking body. The poor kid will be scarred for life.

  “I’m okay,” I whisper. “I’m fine.”

  “Will you come sleep in my room?” The thick fabric of my sweatshirt muffles his voice.

  “I’m not really tired; I’ve been sleeping all day. I was going to read for a while, but I can come do it downstairs. That way I’ll just be down the hall if you need me, okay?”

  He hops off the bed and I follow him to the door, but before I can walk out of the room my father pulls me in for a hug.

  “I’m glad you’re safe,” he says in my ear.

  Safe.

  If anything, I need to feel safe.

  Chapter Thirteen

  It feels as though I’ve been sitting in this chair, pretending to read, for days. My eyes scan the words on the page, but nothing sticks. I can’t get the image of the floating Redeemers out of my mind, and Monique’s taunts ring in my head like an annoying car alarm that won’t stop blaring.

  “What time is it?” I ask my dad.

  “A little after midnight.” He folds the magazine he’s read the last two nights and places it on the end table.

  They came early tonight. Will they be back? Surely not.

  “I’m going to bed,” he says. “You should probably do the same.”

  “I will in a bit. I’m still not tired.”

  “Don’t stay up all night.”

  “I won’t. I’m just going to finish this chapter.” And then I’m going to check out that door in the basement.

  I count his footsteps as they retreat down the hallway. A few seconds later, I hear the bed creak as he lies down. He didn’t close their door. Damn. I’ll have to be careful when I sneak away.

  It feels like hours before I finally hear the rhythmic snores coming from down the hall. Now’s my chance. I creep down the hallway and poke my head into Mitch’s room. He is sound asleep. I hope he doesn’t wake up and come looking for me. I go back to the living room and grab my shoes, pausing in the kitchen to grab a fresh candle and a lighter before heading to the basement. The door gives a slight creak when I open it and I pause, listening to make sure I didn’t wake anyone. Dad’s snores still drift down the hallway. I’m safe.

  I squeeze through the door, pulling it only part of the way closed before sitting on the top step to lace up my shoes. I feel my way along the wall as I make my way down the stairs, pausing to light the candle when I reach the bottom. I stare at the back wall, half-expecting to see someone standing there again. The space is empty and cold; a chilly draft swirls toward me, and I follow it. The wall appears solid, no evidence of a door. I run my hand over the stones, searching for something that will tell me where the door is. It’s not here. There’s no doorknob, nothing.

  A sliver of cold air pushes past my hand. I hold my candle in front of the rock on the wall. The flame flickers, and I realize I wasn’t imagining the draft. A small crack runs between the stones. I put my hand against the wall and give a slight push. The wall shifts a bit and I push harder. Stone scrapes against the cement as the door opens wider. I take a deep breath before stepping through and onto the dirt path, my heart tickling my throat.

  I close my eyes, picturing the map in my head. I should have brought it with me. If I remember correctly, the path will curve around to my left and then eventually to the right, leading me under the road from our house into town. The sixth path to my right should lead me to the library.

  I pick up the pace once my eyes adjust to the low light emitted by the candle. Mildew and dust cling to the air, and I stifle a sneeze. I try not to think of all the creepy, crawly things that could be down here, reminding myself that nothing I find could be as bad as facing a Redeemer. The cold, dank air envelopes me, sinking into my skin the farther I go. I take small, even steps, brushing the occasional cobweb out of my way as I push toward my goal.

  I pass the first path that leads off to the right. I’m guessing it leads to my grandmother’s house. A few feet ahead another path snakes off to the left, leading to the Chapmans’. I go forward, the light of my candle flickering off the dirty walls. I expected it would be difficult to breathe down here, but surprisingly there seems to be plenty of oxygen. That’s a good thing. I feel less like I’ve been buried alive.

  I pause when I reach the fourth path to the left. If I’m not mistaken, this path leads to Trevor’s house. I wonder what he’s doing now. Is he awake? Is he thinking of me? I’d like nothing more than to follow this path, sneak up to his room, and watch him sleep. I can only imagine what would happen if his mom or Mason woke to find me creeping through their house, searching for his room. With my luck, I’d get myself shot.

  I make my way down the path, reminding myself that I don’t have much time. I need to get back home before someone wakes up and realizes I’m gone.

  I mentally mark the paths as I go, counting my footsteps to keep myself calm. I stop in my tracks when I see a light bouncing off the walls of one of the pathways ahead of me. I freeze, unsure of what to do. The light grows brighter and murmuring voices bounce off the walls. At any moment, whoever it is will turn the corner and see me standing here.

  I quickly blow out my candle. Darkness engulfs me, wrapping me in its safety. I press against the wall, listening. The voices grow louder, but I can’t hear what they’re saying. I move backward, slowly, one step at a time, keeping my eye on the light.

  I can’t stay here. I need to run.

  I turn and dart forward as silently as I can, feet light as air. I’ve only made it a few feet before my toe catches something on the ground and I fall, dropping my unlit candle as I reach out to brace myself.

  “Did you hear that?” I hear one of them say.

  I keep my head down, wincing at the pain in my wrist. I’m afraid to look back. Afraid they’ll see me.

  “Probably just a rat,” a woman’s voice says.

  I find the courage to look over my shoulder and notice the light growing brighter. If they come much closer, they will
see me lying here. I have to move, but fear glues me to the ground.

  “Reverend Carter says we have to try harder,” the first voice says. “We’ve only had one blood offering—the Edwards man. We need more. The sacrificial souls alone will not be enough to feed Malahas this time around. She needs blood to increase her strength so she may manifest and bind to her human host. We have to increase our ranks to reinforce her power.”

  Blood offering? Who is this Malahas that keeps popping up? Note to self—find an encyclopedia.

  “That will change at the end of the week,” the woman says.

  “If the plan works, you mean.” The man’s voice is skeptical. “There’s a chance something could go wrong. We could all die. She’s much more powerful than I expected. You saw the crows. You were there.”

  “You can’t think that way. Once we’ve gathered more outliers and increased our ranks, our powers will grow stronger and Malahas will be able to keep her human form this time. Have faith. We’ll have no problem eliminating the threat.” The woman speaks with authority, and the man grunts in response as if he doesn’t believe her.

  I peer over my shoulders and see the two figures moving toward me. One of them holds a torch and they both wear black robes. The edge of the light from the torch hits the ground mere inches from my outstretched foot. If they take even one more step in my direction they’ll see me. I slowly pull my foot forward, prepped to run if I need to.

  The pair of them promptly turn and head down a path to the left, casting me back into total darkness. I wait for the sound of their retreating footsteps to completely fade before pushing myself up to my knees. I feel around the ground for my candle for what feels like days. Just as I’m ready to give up, I finally find it a few feet in front of me. With a few clicks of the lighter, I manage to get it lit again and move back toward my house. I can’t risk being found. I thought I would be safe down here. Evidently, I was wrong.

  ***

  In the morning, I drag myself out of bed and throw on some clothes. The morning routine has become numbing. Wake up. Get dressed. Go to the town square. Come home. Wait.

  None of us speak as we make our way into town. Even Mitch, who is always chattering about something, is quiet and subdued. Everyone in town appears to be just as sick of this routine as us. Only Reverend Carter stands with a smile on his face. Bastard.

  I spot Trevor walking up the road with his family and wave to him. He immediately runs up to me, relief flooding his face as he wraps me in his arms.

  “Last night I dreamed they took you. I was so afraid all morning. I’m so happy to see you.” His arms wrap so tightly around me I can barely breathe, but it feels good. I feel safe.

  “Well, we now know you’re not psychic.”

  He kisses me on the cheek, teasing a smile out of me.

  “I found something last night,” I say. “I stole the book from 1981 with my mother’s information in it. I read it last night and found a ton of stuff. In the back of the book was a map. It’s of the tunnels. Apparently, they run under the entire town. I went down there last night. They’re not blocked, or dangerous. In fact, they’re in use.”

  “How do you know they’re being used?” he asks, skeptically.

  “Because I saw someone down there.”

  “Did they see you?” he asks. “Who was it?”

  “No, they didn’t see me,” I say, leaving out the part when they almost caught me. “It was two people. Hooded figures. I’m not sure who they were, but their voices sounded familiar.”

  “What were they doing?” he asks.

  “I’m not sure. It’s what I heard them say that concerns me.”

  “What did they say?” he asks.

  “They mentioned someone—or something—named Malahas. Does that sound familiar to you?”

  “Malahas? Like the child-eating goddess from Native American legends?”

  “So, she’s real?” I ask.

  “No. I mean, there’s an old folk legend, but—”

  “Guys.” Jeb’s scratchy voice catches our attention, and when I turn to look at him my heart drops. He looks like he didn’t sleep at all last night. His ashy brown hair sticks up around his head, his eyes bloodshot.

  “Did they come for your family last night?” Trevor places a hand on his shoulder and I take his hand.

  “No.” He swallows hard, choking back a sob. “Chas. They took Chas.”

  All the air leaves my lungs. This is not happening. “No!” My scream startles those standing next to me. My legs grow weak and Trevor catches me under the arms before I can hit the ground.

  “Cait? What’s wrong?” My dad rushes toward me, and when I don’t answer him, he follows my gaze to the stage. Standing next to the Reverend with tears in her eyes is Chastity’s Aunt Bunny, holding a fussy Parker.

  Blind, burning rage replaces my grief and I push past Trevor, marching toward the church, tears stinging my eyes.

  “You bastard. What did you do? Why did you take her?”

  I feel my father reach out and grab my hand, but I pull free, pushing past several people before rushing up the steps.

  “Miss Foster, please go back to your family.” Reverend Carter’s voice is smooth and gentle, but I notice the cold in it.

  “She has a child,” I scream in his face. “She’s only fifteen.”

  “Precisely. That is exactly why she was taken. Now please, leave this stage.” His tone is more forceful, but I don’t budge.

  “You’re sick.”

  “I don’t make the rules. God chooses, and the Redeemers fulfill his wish.” He says this with mock sympathy, like he’s speaking to a child. This enrages me. I hate when people talk down to me.

  “That’s bullshit. You have everything to do with this. I know you’re involved. I saw you.” My eyes burn into him; my glare so hot I’m surprised I haven’t melted his eyebrows off his face.

  “Caitlyn, it’s okay,” Bunny says, placing a shaky hand on my arm. “Nothing could be done about this.”

  “That’s a lie. All of you just sit here and take this from him. The Redeemers don’t have to come. Did you all know that?” I address the sea of blank faces spread out across the park. Some appear shocked, others embarrassed. “There are people among us who deliberately call them here. It’s not for you. It’s for them. They take these people—our family and friends—to feed on.”

  A few of the people standing below me snicker, and I realize how ridiculous it sounds.

  “I’m sorry, everyone,” Reverend Carter says to the crowd of people staring at us. “It appears that maybe Miss Foster has started using drugs again.”

  “I am not high.” I turn and glare at him before addressing the crowd again. “This isn’t for the good of the town. Please, you have to believe me. We have to stop them. If we all band together … ” My voice weakens and I break into hysterical sobs when I realize the futility of my outburst. I picture Chastity’s smiling face, and I imagine her holding Parker in her arms, singing him lullabies and watching him grow up. All things she’ll never get to do because of this asshole standing next to me.

  “Mr. Foster,” Reverend Carter says, calling my father to the steps. “I’m going to have to ask you to please take your daughter home.”

  My father walks up the steps and takes me by the arm. As he tries to lead me away I turn back to Reverend Carter, looking him in the face.

  “I will stop you. I know what you are. I hope you’re ready for a good ass-kicking.” At first, I think my threat might have fallen on deaf ears, but then a smile creeps across his face and his eyes turn milky-white and then tar-black.

  “I’ll see you in hell,” he whispers as my father pulls me down the stairs and through the crowd.

  People step aside, treating me as though I may be infected with some contagious disease. Tears stream down my face, frustration coursing through my veins as my father drags me, half-stumbling toward the house.

  “What on earth
was that about?” My grandmother asks, stopping us in our tracks.

  I stare at the ground, unable to answer her.

  “Go back to Judy and Mitch.” Nana places a hand on Dad’s shoulder and pushes him away. “I’ll take Caitlyn home.”

  My father stares at us for a moment before soundlessly walking back to join the crowd as Reverend Carter delivers his canned speech.

  “You didn’t answer my question,” Nana says as we walk toward my house.

  “I know things,” I mumble.

  “And what exactly is it you think you know?”

  “I know that Reverend Carter likes to play dress-up in red robes and peek in people’s windows. I also know that there are a few others in this town that seem to be responsible for the Redeemers’ appearance. I know they’re the ones who choose the seven families. I know they do it to feed their own souls. It’s not for God. Somehow it benefits something named Malahas, who shouldn’t even be real.”

  “And how do you know all this?” She stops walking and crosses her arms over her chest.

  “I saw them,” I say.

  “Saw them where?”

  “I saw Reverend Carter standing on our porch looking through Mitch’s window, and I read one of the books from the library. I know how and why it’s done.”

  My eyes meet hers and I notice the fear in her eyes. “I hope you realize that your outburst has placed you and everyone else in this town in grave danger.”

  “So you know?”

  “Yes. I know,” she says, continuing up the road.

  “Why do you let this happen?” I ask, catching up with her. “How can you do this? You’re the mayor. You’re supposed to have your citizens’ best interests in mind. Our well-being is your responsibility.”

  “I am very well aware of my responsibilities to this town. My advice to you is to keep your mouth shut. You have no idea what you’ve done.” She picks up the pace, walking faster than I would have thought possible.