Evil Returns

by Caroline B. Cooney

  “I want to sleep downstairs in the guest room,” Devnee said, and the family stirred slightly, as if waking up.

  “Dev,” said her mother, “no. We have all kinds of guests coming. You know that. Nobody in our family has ever lived in this part of the country before, and they’re dying to visit. The little guest room is the boring room, nobody wants it full-time, and we agreed that’s where we’ll stuff the guests.”

  Luke said, “Wouldn’t it be weird if the guests really did die when they came to visit? And we really did stuff them?”

  Devnee could not breathe.

  “Luke, try to be human,” said their mother.

  I wonder which of us is human, thought Devnee. I wonder if I’m human. My shadow isn’t human. But then, shadows aren’t human, she realized.

  So why did my shadow make choices of its own? Exploring and wandering? It shouldn’t be doing anything I don’t do.

  Devnee said, “I don’t want to start school here yet.”

  “State laws,” said her mother cheerfully. “You have to start school today. I’ll drive you, since it’s your first day, and you run down and check in the office and see what the nearest bus route is for tomorrow.”

  Her mother made “checking in the office” sound as easy as ordering a hamburger, but it wouldn’t be. It would be strange halls and a thousand strange faces. Doors that were not marked clearly and people who spoke too loudly or not at all, while Devnee shuffled her feet like a broken-down ballerina.

  She almost wished that she and Luke were in the same school. Then she would have company on the horrible first day in a new school.

  On the other hand, who would want Luke’s company for anything? It was good that he was in eighth grade and still in junior high, while she was safely in tenth grade, and far superior to her dumb brother.

  They dropped off Luke first, because the junior high was closer, and Luke bounded in as if he had always gone there, and already had friends and already knew the way to the gym and where the cafeteria line began.

  What if I don’t have friends here ever? thought Devnee.

  What if it’s a horrible hateful mean place and I’m dressed wrong? And they laugh at me?

  When they arrived at the high school, Devnee’s mother came in with her after all. Devnee, who adored her mother, was ashamed: Mrs. Fountain was quite heavy and needed a new, larger winter coat. Instead of taking the time to curl her hair, her mother had just tugged it back into a loose, messy ponytail.

  As if taking Devnee to her first day in a new school in a new town didn’t matter.

  Devnee swallowed the thought and tried to stay loyal.

  She glanced behind her to see if her shadow had come along and it had. It seemed curiously large for Devnee, and too dark for the thin, shivering sun of January. It seemed like somebody else’s shadow.

  Immediately she knew that it was somebody else’s. It was the shadow of the fingernails, with talons like a hawk’s. She forced herself to stare straight ahead. She was not going to collapse because the tower had switched shadows on her during the night. She had a first day of school to get through.

  In the office, the secretary did not even look up at them. “New student?” she said in a tight, snappish voice. “What grade, please? What courses were you taking at your previous school, please? Do you have your health papers showing you are properly inoculated?” Now she looked up, scanning Devnee for disease-carrying properties. Devnee tried to look clean and healthy.

  Her mother said, “Wonderful!” though what she could be referring to, Devnee could not imagine. “I’ll see you after school,” trilled her mother. “I’ll pick you up in the front drive, darling. Have such fun!”

  The secretary was wearing little half glasses, which she tilted lower on her nose to study Mrs. Fountain’s exit, perfectly aware that having “such fun” was unlikely.

  The secretary finished up doing important things, while Devnee leaned on the counter, wanting to die, and then at last the secretary gave her directions to the guidance office, where they would set up her schedule and take her to her first class. The directions were so complex Devnee felt they probably led to China, not down the hall. She was close to tears, and the chilly damp of last night had come back and was penetrating her brain, making it hard to think or move.

  “Oh, all right,” said the secretary, “I’ll take you there.”

  But the guidance person, a man named Fuzz (which surely could not have been the case; it was Devnee’s hearing that had gotten fuzzy because she was so nervous) was quite sweet. “We have a buddy system for newcomers,” said Fuzz affectionately. “We don’t want anybody lost in the cracks at our school!”

  The expression took on a sick reality. It seemed to Devnee that the linoleum squares parted, and huge cracks opened up, black ones filled with other people’s shadows, sticky and gooey, waiting for her to step wrong.

  Fuzz had a long stride, and Devnee a short one, so she was forced to gallop alongside him. Out of breath and terrified, she arrived at her first class several paces behind, as if her leash had broken. “Devnee, Devnee,” he called, like a dog owner.

  Devnee tried to look at the class but it was impossible. There were too many students, all staring at her, with that settled, certain-sure look of kids who had been here forever and didn’t approve of newcomers.

  She felt unbearably plain and dull. She could feel their eyes raking over her, losing interest immediately, because she was not beautiful, and not worth attention.

  She was perilously close to tears.

  “Devnee has just moved here!” said Fuzz. His voice wafted in and out of her consciousness. “Now we want Devnee to feel at home here, don’t we, people?”

  Nobody responded.

  Fuzz read Devnee’s schedule out loud, demanding that anybody with matching classes should respond and volunteer to be Devnee’s buddy.

  Amazingly, there were three volunteers.

  Seats were shuffled so that Devnee was sitting among her “buddies.”

  Two girls and a boy.

  She immediately forgot their names and hated herself for being a stupid, worthless, pitiful excuse for a human being. Probably why my shadow left, thought Devnee. Needed a better body to attach itself to.

  Class ended in another quarter hour, and Devnee was not even sufficiently tuned in to figure out what subject it had been. “I’m your first buddy,” said one of the girls, touching Devnee’s arm and smiling at her. “I’ll take you on to biology lab, and then Trey will pick you up for English and lunch.”

  The girl—if you could use such a boring word for this breathtaking creature—was achingly lovely.

  All willowy and delicate adjectives applied to her: She was fragile, in a dark silken blouse with a long skirt swirling below. Her soft black hair was perfectly cut to fall swoopingly over her forehead and skid around her pretty ears; the back was very short, with a single wave. She seemed far older than Devnee would ever be, a sophisticated fragile creature. And yet she seemed far younger, caught in some wonderful warp of innocence and perfection, before the world touched her, before pain and loss.

  “My name is Aryssa,” said the girl softly, and her voice, too, was beautiful, as if she possessed a velvet throat.

  Now there really were tears in Devnee’s eyes. Tears of shame that she herself was so dull compared to this princess, and tears of joy that this princess had volunteered to be her buddy.

  What a wonderful word—buddy.

  There was hope in the world after all.

  And then the boy—Trey—smiled at Devnee, too, waving good-bye, promising to be at the biology lab door, and then he would stand in the cafeteria line with her. He was not at all handsome, not the way Aryssa was beautiful. But he was what Luke would have yearned to be: utterly male and muscular and tall and slightly ferocious. His smile was vaguely threatening, as if she’d better stand in the cafeteria line the way he told her to stand or else.

  The physical perfection of her two buddies overwhelmed h
er.

  The girl buddy—whose name Devnee had already forgotten—talked about many things, giving Devnee tips for locker use, gym showers, and so forth. Devnee’s brain had not gone into gear and she could not get a grip. She smiled brightly and desperately. She knew she looked like a fool.

  “Hey, Aryssa,” said several people, waving and beaming.

  Aryssa, Devnee repeated to herself. Aryssa, Aryssa. I have to remember that. I will remember that. I have a three-syllable brain.

  She and Aryssa went into biology lab together. Aryssa introduced Devnee all around. The teacher welcomed her and gave her a textbook and a lab notebook, and Devnee found herself on a stool in front of a dead frog.

  While the teacher discussed dissection methods, Devnee took the opportunity to study Aryssa.

  Aryssa was very preoccupied with her beauty. How could she not be? There was so much of it.

  Aryssa would run the tip of her tongue over her upper lip, as if savoring her own taste and shape. She would flip her gleaming hair back with her left hand, tuck it behind her ear, and sort of kiss the air when the black locks immediately fell back where they had been. Her face was constantly in motion, it never fell into repose.

  In her right hand, Aryssa held a designer pencil: tiny gold stars on silver, which she flipped between her fingers like a miniature baton.

  Her hands, too, were lovely: slender and aristocratic and with perfect nails and polish that probably never chipped.

  “You’ll do the frog, won’t you?” whispered Aryssa. Now she smiled, and the row of white teeth and the turn of red lips overwhelmed Devnee.

  “Of course,” said Devnee, and she did the entire lab, even doing all the notes and answers, because Aryssa clearly used her pencil only for effect, not for writing things down.

  “You’re a sweetie,” whispered Aryssa. She actually patted Devnee’s knee, and again Devnee felt like a dog on a leash. It was just that Fuzz had turned her over to a new mistress, and from now on Aryssa would lead her.

  Devnee blinked back the tears. She was jealous now, too, and it was a horrible feeling, rather like the formaldehyde in which the frog was pickled; it was liquid bathing her heart, this jealousy.

  Oh, to be beautiful like Aryssa!

  What a pair we must make, thought Devnee sadly. Beauty and the beast.

  The teacher talked for several minutes about the next step, and Devnee had time to look around. She felt safe with the high lab table in front of her, and her feet tucked around the stool, and the sharp steel scalpel in her hand. She studied the rest of the girls in the lab.

  Well, she was not a beast. No, Devnee was average in this particular class; half the girls were plainer than she. Stubbier, thicker, duller.

  But she remained average.

  Mediocre.

  Whoever set that as a goal?

  Devnee forgot the dead frog and stared at Aryssa, thinking, If only I could look just like that …

  I wish …

  She tried not to complete the wish. She tried to be satisfied with her lot in life.

  She failed.

  I wish I were beautiful!

  How satisfying it sounded. What a deep intense relief to have said the whole wish, let all her pain out, let the powers that be know what she yearned for, ached for.

  I wish I were beautiful!

  She felt much better for having wished; it was as cathartic as a good cry in the night. She brightened and went on with her work.

  The wish—complete—entire—slid out of the schoolroom to the dark path waiting outside, where it was swallowed up, and taken home, and caressed.

  Chapter 3

  ARYSSA SIGHED IN RELIEF when biology lab ended. Even her sigh was lovely, as if her soft pink lungs expired only the finest air. “This is my second time taking biology,” confided Aryssa. “I just can’t seem to pass a science class. I don’t like thinking about any of that science stuff anyway. It makes me nervous. I don’t think it’s fair to have to know what’s under the skin.”

  Devnee could identify with that.

  Aryssa stroked her own hand, admiring her skin, taking pleasure in a beauty so pure it was like ice: something to skate on, something only Aryssa would ever be. The world could witness, but not have, such beauty.

  But Devnee was thrilled to be addressed in that confiding voice. Even though it would cast Devnee in that always-to-be-pitied role of dull escort next to shining star, she wanted to be friends with Aryssa. “What do you like thinking about?” she said, to keep the conversation going.

  Aryssa considered this tough question while they gathered their books and walked to the door. Devnee’s second buddy was already there. Trey. Devnee gulped slightly. Two such perfect humans, and for a day, for a passing period, for lunch, they were there for her.

  I wish it would last, thought Devnee.

  She had a weird sense that her wishes were actually being addressed to Somebody; that Somebody was listening; that Something was happening.

  Aryssa literally took Devnee’s hand and stuck it in Trey’s.

  Trey laughed. His laughter was neither kind nor unkind, but removed, not worried about the things Devnee worried about: looks and popularity and strength and friends. “I don’t think Devnee needs that much help to find the next class, Aryssa.” He let go of Devnee’s hand. Her hand stayed warm and tingly where he had momentarily pressed it.

  Aryssa said seriously, “I didn’t want anybody to get confused. This buddy system, you know—people forget who goes with who.”

  “You and your room temperature IQ,” said Trey. “Normal people don’t forget.”

  Aryssa’s was the contented laugh of a beautiful girl who doesn’t care in the least about her lack of brains—because it doesn’t matter in the least.

  It’s not fair, thought Devnee. Aryssa doesn’t need to do anything but stand there and people adore her, while I have to struggle with everything from mascara to homework just to get noticed. She wished that Trey had not let go of her hand. She wished that she could be as beautiful as Aryssa and have people speak to her so indulgently, so affectionately.

  “See you tomorrow, Devnee,” Aryssa said. She ran her hand lightly over Devnee’s shoulders, not a hug, but sweet, passing affection.

  The knife of jealousy vanished, replaced by yearning for friendship. But there would be no friendships. She knew too well the realities of high school. Her buddies would not last. They would be shepherds for a day or two and then forget her.

  I am a forgettable girl, thought Devnee, and this time the jealousy sliced her heart into thin ragged strips of pain.

  Aryssa looked carefully around the hallway and drifted to the right, skirt wafting, hair shining. Trey caught her arm and turned her around. Aryssa, nodding gratefully, set off in the new direction.

  “She’s great to look at,” Trey said, eyes following Aryssa in admiration, “but as a navigational aid, you need to be careful, Devnee. Aryssa’s best ability is studying the mirror.”

  Devnee did not want to be disloyal. “If I looked like that, I’d study the mirror, too.” She dreamed that Trey answered with a shower of compliments: You do look like that, Dev! You’ll give Aryssa a run for her money! Till you moved here, Aryssa had no competition, but now! Whew!

  Of course he didn’t. He searched to find something about her that was interesting. “So where in town do you live, Devnee?”

  Devnee told him.

  He whistled without pitch. “The mansion at the bottom of the hill? Jeez. I knew the girl who used to live there. Creepy? Whew! I mean, that girl was creepy the way Aryssa is beautiful.” He made a terrible face like he’d gag if he ran into that girl again.

  Somebody behind them took part in the conversation. “Mega-creepy,” said the person.

  “Seriously creepy,” added another.

  “I was at that house for a party once,” said Trey. He shuddered his shoulders on purpose. “Yeccchhh!”

  “We’re fixing up the house,” said Devnee quickly. She did not want to be
linked with some creepy girl who had made everybody gag. “We’re going to paint it yellow to get rid of that dying mansion look.”

  “Take more than paint,” muttered the voice from behind.

  She thought of her shadow, of the cracks in the floor, and the shapes in the dark.

  Yes. It would take more than paint.

  “Here we are,” said Trey. His face turned dark and threatening again. “English,” he said regretfully. He studied Devnee for a minute. “I bet you’re a real brain, huh?”

  She flushed and shook her head. Trey figured someone as dumpy and dull as she was had to have something to offer. He was waiting to see it. He had a long wait.

  English was her scariest subject. She was no student. She didn’t mind reading homework, although it took her a long time, but she hated classroom reading. While the rest of the class flipped speedily along, page after page, she’d be slogging through the second paragraph. There were always pitying glances as the class tapped impatient fingers and waited for Devnee to catch up.

  And in English, there were writing assignments. Devnee had a hard enough time putting her thoughts together inside her own head. To write them down was like being tossed in a cement mixer—upside down, head whacking against rotating walls.

  If I talk out loud in English, thought Devnee, Trey will know I’m practically as dumb as Aryssa. But without the looks.

  I wish I could look like that. But I wish I could be smart, too. If I were both beautiful and smart, what a wonderful life I would have!

  This teacher was prepared to have a new student in the class; Fuzz had called ahead. Mrs. Cort had made a packet for Devnee of current readings and assignments. Mrs. Cort even said for Devnee not to worry about today or tomorrow, but just to concentrate on feeling at ease and finding her place.

  What a nice, comforting smile Mrs. Cort had. And what a nice assignment: feeling at ease.

  Devnee distracted herself thinking of smiles. Would she like a gorgeous, stunning smile like Aryssa? A tough, wrestling-partner smile like Trey? A kindly, neighborly smile like this teacher?