I tell everyone about the time my mother punished my brothers for putting two praying mantises into a box of my favorite cereal:
“Joe found them in my mother’s garden and they were doing it. He brought them in and showed them to Clement.”
“Ew!” Jen yells.
“It was Clem’s idea to put them in the cereal box. I poured the poor things out into a bowl and my mom started screaming about endangered species.”
Wyatt smiles. “Hey, praying mantises are very beneficial to the environment. They eat harmful insects. I can just picture your mom.”
“Her hair got really wild ’cuz she was shaking her head and her glasses slipped down to the end of her nose. Joe and Clem got screamed at for ten minutes straight. Clem put those poor bugs back outside in her garden and we snuck out and watched them for a while, to see if the female really bites the male’s head off when they’re done. It never happened. We kept going out back to check, but they just hung around on the same plant all day, doing what they were doing. The next day they were both gone.”
Finally, Wyatt starts in with the ghost stories. He tells a disturbing tale about a young girl who committed suicide.
“She became this shrieking ghost who could shatter windows with her loud, high-pitched voice. Once the window was broken, she’d float into your bedroom and smother you unless someone heard your cries for help and came in to turn on the lights. Then she’d disappear, blow herself out through the broken window in a howling wind, and go looking for her next victim.”
Right as Wyatt finishes telling the story a cold wind blows out of the dark forest at our backs and sends sparks and flames flying out of the fire pit. All three of us girls scream, but Ryan screams louder than anyone and jumps out of his chair. We laugh like idiots for about five minutes straight.
“Okay, now no one can say that Ryan screams like a girl, because none of us girls screamed that loud,” Meg announces.
Jumping into her lap, he complains that he’s scared and needs a hug. She groans because he’s too heavy, so he switches places with her.
Our laughter dies down and Connor starts to say something, but I warn, “Shh.”
Then I look around the semicircle, with my finger placed against my lips to signal the others. Wyatt makes eye contact with me. His eyebrows scrunch together in a silent question.
Keeping my voice low, I warn, “I heard something.”
“What?” He mouths the word.
“A branch snapped, like someone walked on it.”
No one here but Wyatt knows the whole truth about what’s been going on in my life. They might’ve heard rumors about my dad shooting at coyotes in the middle of the night or prank phone calls to my cell phone. Maybe they’ve noticed that Wyatt’s sticking closer to me than he normally does, but they don’t know about Mike Donahue. Meg closed the door on the whole Wild Wood incident right after we presented our movie in class last year. We haven’t mentioned what happened in room 209 to each other since then.
So only Wyatt goes on high alert because I heard a noise. Everyone else thinks the ghost story has affected my nerves.
Jen teases me. “Maybe you should crawl up in Wyatt’s lap if you’re that scared, Annabelle.”
Wyatt doesn’t laugh; he just turns to face the deep, untamed forest and peers into the darkness. I hold my breath and listen as hard as I can. Silence there and nothing more. Then an owl hoots soft and mournful. The New England woods are never completely quiet for long.
The weather’s been pretty cold, so we can’t hear any insects chirping or frogs croaking. But other nocturnal creatures are creeping around, uttering sporadic howls and screeches.
After the first frost, the evenings grow quieter, sometimes perfectly silent for short verses of time. Only random noises here and there puncture the stillness, usually announcing an encounter between a predator and its prey.
Tonight, it’s cool and quiet, but not silent. The owl’s call drifts on the night breeze again and then fades. A car cruises by out front. The fire crackles. The wood on the top shifts and falls lower. Connor gets up and puts another hefty log on top. I feel grateful for the warmth. Then I hear leaves shuffle behind me. I meet Wyatt’s eyes to see if he heard it too. He did. He stands and looks at Ryan.
“Did you bring a flashlight, Ry?”
“Nope, why?”
“I heard some leaves rustling. I want to go back there, into the woods, and have a look around.”
“It was probably a rodent scurrying away from that owl we keep hearing.”
“Yeah, but I want to be sure.”
Then he throws me under the bus.
“Annabelle’s getting spooked. I want to go back there; make sure there are no coyotes or anything.”
Jen speaks up. “I have two flashlights right here.” She reaches down between her chair and Connor’s. Wyatt takes the flashlight out of her outstretched hand, turns it on and heads into the deep dark woods.
“C’mon, Ryan, we can’t let Silver play the hero alone. Let’s go.” Connor grabs the other flashlight off the ground and he and Ryan head into the woods together, a few steps behind Wyatt.
Jen and Meg get up and we three move our chairs around to the other side of the fire, so we can face the woods. We settle in close together, with me in the middle. As we stare quietly into the fire and listen to the rustle of the boys in the woods, Jen grips my right hand and Meg clutches my left. The owl hoots again, louder this time.
Meg whimpers and tightens her grip on my hand. Someone screams. We jump out of our chairs. Mine falls over; onto the ground behind me. Standing stock still, we huddle together, with our arms around each other, and look toward the woods. Connor barges out of the dark; a shaft of light bobs in front of him as he sprints toward the fire still holding the flashlight. Ryan’s close behind.
“Where’s Wyatt?” I’m almost crying.
Suddenly, he comes crashing out of the woods.
“Annabelle! Are you all right?” he shouts and rushes toward me.
“I’m fine. Someone screamed, though. What happened?”
“I thought it was you.” Wyatt pulls me into his arms.
Connor owns up. “I was looking around, pointing the flashlight into the woods when two green eyes glowed at me, in the pitch dark, from only about two feet away.”
“Yeah, I saw it too. So we both ran, but only Connor yelled. I knew it was probably just a raccoon or something.” Ryan has no right to brag about not screaming. He came barreling out of the woods, looking just as panicked as Connor.
I can tell that Wyatt’s fuming, so I warn him with my eyes to chill out. No one needs to know why he’s so concerned for my safety.
* * * *
Finally the last of the logs glows orange before it fades into ashes and crumbles. The lingering scent of wood smoke does nothing to calm my fears. It’s almost eleven o’clock and I’m shivering with cold and nervousness. I can’t shake off the feeling there’s a human pair of eyes out there in the woods and the owner of those eyes intends to harm me. I grab Wyatt’s hand and pull. We stand up from our lawn chairs.
Wyatt drapes his arm across my shoulders and thanks Jen for having us over.
Jen wishes us a goodnight and then says to the others, “Let’s all go inside and play video games for a while.”
I’ve had enough and can’t wait to get home. The four of them will be up until at least one in the morning, probably, and I could never last that long. I’m exhausted. Plus, I’ll feel safer at home. The woods behind Jen’s house are seriously creeping me out.
Wyatt and I head over to the Land Rover and the other two couples walk toward Jen’s house. Ryan has his arm around Meg as they hurry to get out of the cold and Jen looks like she’s getting pretty cozy with Connor for someone who has big plans to stay single. She’s clutching his right arm and Connor looks happy to have it clutched.
Wyatt opens the door of the car for me, and after I climb up and in, I kiss him. He leans in and fastens my seat belt for
me, kissing me back as he clicks the buckle into its slot. Then he dashes around to the driver’s side, jumps in and backs out of Jen’s driveway. We’re at my house within a minute.
Neither one of us wants to say goodnight, but I do have an early practice and I can tell by looking at the house that my parents have already gone to bed. Only the kitchen windows glow yellow. All of the other windows, upstairs and down, are black. Outside, the lamp over the door closest to our driveway illuminates the short walkway. I hop out of the Land Rover and stand still, in the driveway, breathing in the cold air and looking up at the night sky. Wyatt gets out and wraps me up in a big, warm hug.
It’s a clear night and the dark sky looks infinitely deep. Zillions of stars upstage the curved slice of new moon with their brilliance. Awed into silence, Wyatt and I stand locked together. He nuzzles me and murmurs into my neck, “Do you think anyone was in the woods tonight? Do you think it was him?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I was spooked by your story. Maybe I did hear something, but it could’ve been a raccoon, the same one that scared Connor and Ryan.”
“Yeah, I suppose so, but I want Mike Donahue caught. I want him gone, locked up. I’m sick of worrying that he’s going to hurt you.”
“He won’t get a chance. You guys have got me covered every step I take. No one can come near me.”
Wyatt insists on coming inside and double-checking all the locks on the doors that lead into my house. Finally, he goes down to the cellar to make sure the door to the bulkhead’s locked, while I stay in the kitchen and gulp a glass of ice water. The salty hot dogs and super sweet s’mores made me thirsty. He emerges from the basement and announces that everything’s locked up tight.
I remind him, “I told you my dad would never leave anything unlocked. He’s as paranoid as you are about my safety.”
Wyatt gives me one more kiss goodnight at the door and then leaves. Standing outside for a second, he makes sure I lock the door behind him. I turn off the light in the kitchen and leave the outside light burning so Wyatt can turn his car around without hitting the Prizm. Our driveway’s long and hard to back out of, especially in the dark. After he’s gone, I click off the light, tiptoe upstairs, brush my teeth, set my alarm and lay my tired head down on the pillow. Soon I fall into a deep sleep.
Chapter 32
What Do You See When You Look in the Mirror?
Out of a dead sleep, the cold wakes me up. When I went to bed the heat was on, but the house isn’t toasty anymore. Blinking my sleepy eyes, I sit up.
“Anthony, leave me alone. I have to get up early.”
The cold drifts away and I glance around before lying back down again. Suddenly, I bolt wide awake. Through the gloom, a pair of human eyes is staring straight at me.
Straining the seams of a butterfly chair, Wyatt’s sitting a few feet away from my bed. The fashionable chair was designed to hold thirteen-year-old girls during slumber parties, not one hundred and eighty-pound guys, built of solid muscle.
“Hey, sleepyhead,” he whispers.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“Shh! Watching you sleep.”
“How did you get in?’
“I knew I couldn’t leave you tonight. I was too afraid that something might happen and I wouldn’t be here to protect you. When I went down to the cellar I unlocked the door. Then after we said goodnight, I didn’t go home. I drove back up your driveway, snuck around the back and came in through the basement. I waited long enough for you to fall asleep, then tiptoed up here to keep watch.”
“That’s insane; and obsessive.”
“Thank you.”
As he stands up and walks toward my bed, I can barely make out his features in the dark. But then he gets close enough so I can see his eyes more clearly. He looks surprised. The whites of his eyes form a startling ring around his pupils and his mouth is hanging open. Suddenly, I realize what’s happening. Anthony’s taking over. And Wyatt didn’t invite him. When he reaches down to grab my hand, his palm and fingers feel cold.
“Come with me,” he says.
“Where are we going?”
“Just into the bathroom.”
I get up out of bed and walk with Anthony, wondering what he’s up to.
“I want to look in the mirror with you.” He pulls me toward the bathroom where there’s a huge mirror over the double sinks. It stretches all the way across the whole wall and up from the counter top to the ceiling.
“Don’t turn the lights on; just light that candle over there.” Anthony points to a large white pillar candle on the bathroom countertop.
I open a drawer and grab a box of wooden matches. After lifting the glass cylinder off of the candle, I light it and replace the glass, with a delicate clink. Anthony grabs my hand again and we look into the mirror, side by side, palm to palm. The silent glow from the flame lights our features from beneath.
“Oh my god! It’s you!” I’m not looking at Wyatt’s reflection. I’m looking at Anthony’s.
I drop his hand and stare at the boy in the mirror. “Pull your hair back so I can see your face better.”
He puts both hands on the sides of his head and pushes back his long, tangled, black curls. His beautiful dark eyes connect with mine in the mirror. He smiles a real smile, the kind that starts in your soul before it reaches your face and shines out through your eyes.
“You’re so beautiful! I can’t believe it.” I’m looking at the real Anthony; the way he looked when he was alive. Except now he’s beautiful and peaceful and happy.
He beams back at me. His Adam’s apple moves in his strong throat when he speaks. “Thank you.” Tears shine in his eyes, but don’t fall.
He’s thinner than Wyatt, wirier, but still muscular and just as tall.
The irises of his eyes are almost black.
“How did you know about the mirror?” I ask.
“Haven’t you ever heard the old ghost story about Bloody Mary?”
“The one where you turn the lights out, look in the mirror and chant her name; then her ghost appears?”
“Yes. That one. There’s often an element of truth in every legend.” In the mirror he stares into my eyes and reaches down to hold my hand again.
“We used to try it late at night, during slumber parties. Nothing ever appeared, but we scared ourselves silly, anyway.”
“You’re lucky nothing ever appeared. People who don’t know what they’re doing shouldn’t fool around like that. You can invite a lot of trouble into your life when you experiment with the supernatural.”
“Tell me about it. Look what happened to me.” As soon as I speak these words I regret them, because his smile disappears and his dark brows come down low over his remarkable eyes.
“Annabelle, you know I’d rather die than harm you in any way.”
“Except you’re already dead.”
Then he does something he’s never done before. He laughs really loud. At first it’s a husky, experimental sound. Then it grows into a full-on, fling your head back laugh. Anthony’s laughter echoes through the bathroom and through the decades, back to the miserable boy who grew into a young man behind locked doors and barred windows. He lets go of my hand and puts his arm around my waist, hugging me close to his chilly side. As I hug him back, I can feel how solid he is. I move my hand up and touch his ribs through what feels like the thin fabric of an old pair of pajamas. Wyatt was wearing a thick, hooded sweatshirt tonight.
I stare into the mirror and he looks three-dimensional, real and alive, not transparent and ghostly. And he doesn’t look at all like Wyatt. He looks like Anthony. In the mirror, he is Anthony.
“I want to face you and look into your eyes, Annabelle, with my own eyes, but I can’t. You’ll see Wyatt again if I do. The connection will break.” Then he grins. “I didn’t know about the legend until Nathaniel told me. He tried looking in the mirror once, when he’d formed a strong link with a spirit he was channeling, and he didn’t see himself in the mirror. He saw t
he dead boy as if he were alive again, but only for a couple of seconds, not like this.”
“When did Nathaniel tell you about the mirror?”
“He warned me that day in the parking lot, before I went into the school with you. He didn’t want me going into the boys’ bathroom or the locker room at school and surprising someone by looking into the mirror. They would’ve seen the real me, not Wyatt.”
“Ah, Nathaniel, I don’t know whether to thank him or pull out a hunk of his lovely hair.”
“Do you know what else?”
“No. Because you haven’t told me what else and I’m kind of afraid to hear it.”
He smiles, baring his white teeth. “It works without the candle. You can turn on the light. I just thought we would achieve a more dramatic effect this way.”
Then I get to hear his laugh again and I don’t care if I’m the butt of his silly joke. He’s been waiting for over twenty years to unleash his sense of humor. Who am I to ruin his fun? I smile at his reflection and he glows back at me from our shiny glass doorway into another world. When my gaze meets his, I want to turn toward him, to share this moment face to face, but we can’t.
“I know,” he says, as if reading my thoughts. “Turn this way. Turn your body toward me, but keep your face turned toward the mirror.”
I do it and so does he. His arms go around me, pulling me against him, as we stare into the mirror. I reach up with both arms and circle his neck. He has to stoop down to let me and then he lowers his face so his right cheek rests against my left. His face is cool and a little rough from the prickles of his beard. I watch myself blush in the mirror, with one hand on the back of his neck and the other on his collar bone. We stay there in that weird position, like a pair of tango dancers, caught up in the spell of the moment.
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