by Zoe Aarsen
As usual, Mrs. Hartford looked like the ultimate Midwestern mom, wearing a red holiday sweatshirt with a reindeer appliquéd onto it and a festive gold headband. Her face stretched into a wide, fake grin when she saw me.
“Well, there she is. McKenna Brady! How kind of you to pay Tracy a visit,” she gushed in a phony voice.
“I heard that Tracy was really sick and wanted to come in person and apologize for the way I acted in the fall,” I lied. I smiled at Cheryl, who sat in the corner, as if relying on her to back me up, but my eyes fell upon Tracy lying in bed. She looked downright awful. Her overall pallor was a sickening shade of greenish yellow, like a bruise that had faded. A tube ran from a bag of saline hanging on a rack next to her bed into an IV on the inside of her elbow. Skin pulled tautly over her cheekbones, and her eyes sank into her face. Cheryl had said she’d only gotten sick the previous week, but she looked as if she’d been ill for a long time. Her lips were colorless, and her hair was greasy and limp. While Tracy had never been an especially gorgeous girl, she’d also never been ugly, either, and now she just looked ghoulish.
She replied in a flat, tired voice, “I find that hard to believe. What do you want?” She tilted her head in the direction of her mother and said, “She’s the one who attacked Violet and stole that car, Mom.” As if Mrs. Hartford didn’t already know what I’d done in November. Mrs. Hartford had her finger on the pulse of every rumor and secret in town. My temper flared.
“No, really, Tracy,” Mrs. Guthries insisted. She sat in the chair next to the bed. “McKenna fell in with a bit of a bad crowd at the start of the school year. She feels very bad about everything she did that may have hurt other people.”
I bit my tongue. I’d never said anything of the sort to Cheryl or to Mrs. Guthries, and in fact, I wasn’t sorry about anything I’d done in the fall except for playing Light as a Feather with Violet in the first place. But it didn’t benefit my cause to contradict Cheryl’s mom. I needed Tracy to accept my peace offering and keep it close to her. So I added, “I think my paranoia got the better of me after Candace died, and I did some very stupid stuff. I mean, I barely know Violet. But I’ve known you since we were little, so I feel especially bad if I hurt your feelings.”
Tracy snorted at my attempt at an apology. “Do you think I’m dying or something? Is that why you’re here begging for forgiveness?”
Her question was so on the nose that it stumped me for a second before I realized that she was joking around. Maybe she wouldn’t have cracked that joke if someone had informed her about Stephani, especially if she’d been present when Violet had predicted how Stephani would die. “Because if I’m dying, it’s from boredom. Not from meningitis. They don’t even have HBO here.”
Cheryl shifted uncomfortably. “God, Tracy. She’s just trying to make amends.”
“I know you’re not dying,” I managed to say, pitying Tracy because it was overwhelmingly clear to me that she was, in fact, dying. I wondered exactly how Violet had said she’d pass away, and if a brief stint in a local hospital was part of the story. “But I brought this for you, anyway.” I handed her the stuffed white dog, hoping she wouldn’t roll her eyes or wave it away.
It was a relief when she reached for it and tucked it under her left arm. “Cute. Thanks. You know, you really kind of missed out on getting to know Violet. She’s awesome. She’s worked so hard on planning the ski trip for the entire junior class. She even negotiated a discounted rate at a really awesome hotel with a…” Tracy faded away, pausing for a moment to catch her breath.
The ski trip. At the mere mention of it, my scalp began to tingle. Violet had promised it during her campaign speech when she’d run for class president without even asking for permission from any school administrators, and I’d organized and managed the fund-raiser that had made it possible. It had never occurred to me before to be suspicious about why Violet would have proposed something so outrageous during the election, except that now I had to question what would have been appealing to her about having the entire junior class assembled at the base of a mountain in the middle of winter. There were a wide variety of other preposterous campaign promises that probably could have gotten her elected, like arranging for Federico’s pizza to be available in the cafeteria or convincing the principal’s office to ease up on the dress code, which forbids shorts, even in sweltering temperatures.
But a lot of bad things could happen at a ski lodge.
The tingling suggested there was something important about the ski trip for me to discover. This was probably the only chance I was going to get to pose questions to someone who was close with Violet, so I said to Tracy, “Wow. I’d forgotten about the ski trip. It’s really happening?” I looked over at Cheryl for confirmation, knowing that Tracy would cut her off if she attempted to reply.
As Cheryl nodded and her lips parted, Tracy interjected, “Totally happening. We booked luxury tour buses to drive us up there on January twenty-third. It’s gonna be so—so…” She fell quiet again, her eyes blinking slowly. This much socialization and excitement was obviously tiring her out.
Cheryl cut in with, “It’s actually not going to be terrible. They’re letting us sign up for snowboarding or ski lessons in advance.
Tracy attempted to sit up a little taller on her bed because she had something more to add, but she couldn’t find the strength to prop herself up. Mrs. Hartford rose to her feet and set her magazine down on the table next to her chair. “Tracy’s still in very fragile condition. She’s probably not quite ready for so many visitors yet.”
“Yes,” Tracy agreed, finding her voice. “I need to rest so that I can get out of here this weekend.”
Mrs. Hartford shot Tracy an annoyed frown. “Enough of that already, Tracy. We discussed this. Even if your doctors think you’re well enough to be released, you’re not going to any parties.”
She must have been referring to the party at Violet’s house the following week. If there was any teenager in all of Willow who cared so much about social status that she was willing to tell her mom that she wanted to go to an all-night rager where there was sure to be tons of alcohol, drugs, and kids hooking up, Tracy was the one. And Mrs. Hartford was probably the only parent in town who wouldn’t want her daughter to miss out on such debauchery under normal circumstances.
“Right, Mom. Like that’s fair. I’ll be the only kid in the entire junior class who isn’t there that night,” Tracy sarcastically whined.
Cheryl grinned at me and interjected, “Except me, since I’m not even invited.”
Mrs. Hartford gestured at Cheryl. “See? Your cousin isn’t going.”
“She doesn’t go anywhere except band practice.”
“You’ll be lucky if you’re well enough to go on the ski trip in a few weeks,” Mrs. Hartford warned her. I didn’t know who Mrs. Hartford thought she was kidding; Tracy didn’t look like she’d have the strength to go skiing for another couple of months.
“Listen to your mother, Tracy. You wouldn’t want to miss that, would you?” Mrs. Guthries asked Tracy. It struck me as fascinating how different Mrs. Guthries was from her sister. Cheryl’s mom taught religion class on weekends and volunteered at the community shelter in Green Bay. Tracy’s mom hosted a Real Housewives cocktail night at her house every week. Maybe having such drastically different mothers was how Cheryl and Tracy had ended up nothing alike.
“There’s no way I’m missing that,” Tracy replied, sounding winded.
We all turned our heads toward the doorway when a light knock interrupted our conversation, and I saw Violet Simmons standing there holding a dozen pink roses. Before I had a chance to panic about violating my restraining order, she smiled with sickening sweetness at everyone in the room. “No one told me there was a party going on in here,” she gushed.
Mrs. Hartford rushed toward her, beaming, arms outstretched. “Well, hello, dear. It was so lovely of you drop by!” She patted Violet on the shoulder and took the roses from her. “Look, Tracy. Aren’t t
hey beautiful?”
“So beautiful,” Tracy agreed.
My heart started beating erratically. What were the odds of running into Violet again less than twenty-four hours from when I’d seen her at Hennessey’s? Beads of sweat were forming on my forehead. It was suddenly sweltering in Tracy’s room, and I wished I’d taken off my winter coat sooner. I was overwhelmed with dread at the thought of Tracy mentioning to Violet that I’d brought her a gift, and Violet knowing immediately why I’d done so.
“Well, I’m actually here to visit my mom, but I couldn’t very well drive all the way out here and not at least say hi to my best friend,” Violet gushed.
Tracy frowned with genuine concern. “Did your mom get worse the other night after we talked?”
“We thought it was just the flu when she got sick on Sunday, but her fever spiked yesterday morning, so my dad brought her to the emergency room. They thought it would be best to admit her and get her on fluids.” She turned her head ever so slightly toward me and side-eyed me before adding, “But she’s already improved so much that they’re talking about releasing her this afternoon.”
As Violet yammered on about how Pete had asked her to pass along his wishes for a speedy recovery, I shot a desperate look at Cheryl in the hope that she’d sense my discomfort and suggest we leave.
Catching my unspoken drift, Cheryl discreetly elbowed her mother, who caught on instantly. “We should be going,” Mrs. Guthries said, standing and swinging her tote bag over her shoulder.
We said quick good-byes, and I encouraged Tracy to get well soon while avoiding eye contact with Violet. I nearly passed out from relief when we stepped back out into the hallway, grateful for what felt like cooler air. The tingling eased up immediately. “That was a little tense,” Cheryl quipped as we walked toward the elevator bank.
“Yeah. Geez,” I said, realizing that Cheryl was referring to the entire experience, not just the part after Violet crashed our visit. “I feel like I could use a nap, and it’s not even noon yet.”
“McKenna.”
I stopped in my tracks and turned to see Violet standing behind me, her lips curled into a smile. “Can I speak to you for a second?”
Mindful of Cheryl and her mom, I replied, “I think that would probably be a bad idea, considering the restraining order and everything.”
“It’s okay,” she insisted. “It’ll be fast.”
With my scalp tingling as if needles were being pressed into my head, I took a few steps forward. “We’ll wait for you downstairs in the lobby,” Mrs. Guthries told me before she and Cheryl continued down the hall.
Violet’s smile vanished, and the sparkle in her blue eyes was replaced with a stone-cold fury. “I’m only going to tell you this once. Stay away from Tracy.”
For a moment I panicked about the stuffed dog I’d left behind, terrified that Violet might have guessed what I’d done and taken away the only form of protection Tracy had working in her favor. But I forbade myself to even think about it, as if there was a chance she could read my mind. “I was just visiting,” I said innocently. “You might not remember this, since you’re new in town, but the rest of us have known one another since preschool.”
Violet took another step closer to me, balling her fists at her sides and squinting her eyes into slits. “I know exactly what you’re up to, and if you’re successful, you’re going to be very, very sorry that you messed with me.”
I was grateful for my heavy winter coat, which covered the full-body chill that rippled through me. My first impulse was to panic about the safety of my mom and Maude at home, but then I remembered what the book I’d read had defined as the limitations of spirits’ power. I had no reason to believe that Violet could do anything to my loved ones unless she somehow convinced them to play her game, and my mom was most certainly not the game-playing type.
Somehow I found the courage to lie straight to her face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I know better than to mess with you, Violet.”
I turned and continued toward the elevator, sensing the hatred she was directing at me boring into my back like a laser beam until I rounded the corner and disappeared from her sight. In the elevator, I trembled all the way down to the ground floor. Perhaps Violet wouldn’t have an easy time causing harm to my mom. But she could easily find a way to doom more people our age, especially with the big party at her house coming up and then the ski trip.
The question I longed to ask the pendulum burned at my nerves as we walked through the cold parking structure to the Guthries’ car. I couldn’t wait to ask it about the theory we’d come up with regarding the link between Violet’s predictions and protecting someone she cared about. Was it a coincidence that her mother had made a miraculous recovery? When Cheryl suggested that we go out for lunch in Ortonville before driving back to Willow, I was tempted to lie and say I didn’t feel well, but then reminded myself of how poorly I had treated her back in September. I politely smiled for another hour as her mom treated us to Olive Garden, even though I was already rehearsing questions to ask the pendulum in my head.
As we turned onto my street, my phone began blowing up with Instagram messages from Mischa, who tended to contact me across several different social media apps depending on whichever she had been using at the moment when she decided to reach out. I think I figured out the five sisters! Call me asap!
“It was very nice to see you, McKenna,” Mrs. Guthries said as we pulled into my driveway.
“I got a gift certificate to go to the ceramics place in Suamico from my grandparents for Christmas,” Cheryl told me as I unbuckled my seat belt in the back. “We should go before you go back to school!”
Before even replying, I knew I wasn’t going to have time to paint ceramics with Cheryl in Suamico while I was at home in Willow. “That would be awesome,” I said, already dreading how I’d have to make excuses to avoid plans. Trey was scheduled to go back to Northern Reserve on Sunday. It was already Thursday, and I’d barely seen him—plus, I still had no idea how we were going to convince Violet to play a game with us before we all went our separate ways.
“How’s Tracy doing?” Mom called from the kitchen as soon as I stepped through the front door.
“Fine!” I fibbed before slipping into my bedroom and closing the door behind me. I wanted to ask the pendulum my questions before speaking with Mischa, but she called the instant I took it out of my drawer.
“Okay. So check this out.” Mischa hadn’t even said hello, she’d just started talking as soon as I tapped my phone to answer. “I went to one of those family tree websites and created an account as if I were Violet.”
“Don’t you need to know, like, personal stuff, like birth dates and maiden names, to do that?” I asked.
“Yep. Violet’s birthday is April fourth. That’s on her Facebook profile, easy enough to find.”
“Wow. Violet’s still on Facebook?” I marveled.
“Her profile is super old, and it doesn’t look like she posts anymore, but yeah. Besides, I probably could have found it in old Insta comments or whatever. Stalking people online is one of my superpowers.”
“So… what’s the deal with the sisters?” I asked, now genuinely curious about what Mischa had discovered. My attention was caught by a very light tapping on my window, and my heart leapt with hope that it might be Trey standing outside. I raised my blinds and was confused to see nothing there at all but snow on the ground. Across the yard, I didn’t even see any activity in Trey’s room. His shade was pulled down.
“You’re not gonna believe this.” I could tell she was excited. If there was anything Mischa loved, it was telling a scary story. “Four years before Violet was born, a baby girl was born at Northwestern Memorial Hospital in Chicago, Illinois, to Vanessa and Michael Simmons. She was named Christina Ann Simmons. Born on September ninth, died on September ninth.”
As Mischa spoke, I became aware of something strange happening in the steam that had collected on my windowpane. It was
as if someone was drawing a picture in it with their fingertip. An outline of a circle appeared first, followed by the crooked shape of a stick-figure body. The lower half of the body was a triangle, which meant girl.
“Holy…,” I murmured. I replayed the words that Mischa had just said in my head, realizing that the baby had died the same day it was born. “Now you’re freaking me out.” I didn’t tell her what was happening on the window because I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to infer from it yet.
“Oh, that’s not all,” Mischa continued, delighted by my reaction.
Another circle was drawn in the steam on my window, next to the first stick figure, as if Olivia’s ghost (I assumed) was drawing girls standing next to each other.
“A little over a year later? Another daughter, this one named Ann Elizabeth Simmons, was born on January third, and died on January third. And then another, Elizabeth Jane. Born and died on the same day the following November.”
I had goose bumps up and down my arms. “How did they have three daughters in a row who died on the same day they were born?” Legs were added to the third stick figure of a girl drawn on my window. Whatever Olivia was doing, it was as if she could hear Mischa.
“My friend Megan, whose mom works at St. Matthew’s? I asked her and she said that birth and death certificates are issued for stillborn babies. And on this website, you can actually see the certificates scanned in from hospital records. The time of birth is the same as the time of death.” Mischa was breathless with excitement.
“Mischa, I feel really, really weird about this,” I said.
“I do too. Like, super creepy,” she admitted.
The drawing on my window had stopped, I thought, but then I realized a fourth circle was being drawn a few inches away from the third as if to leave a gap in between the third and fourth stick figures.
“That brings us up to the year when Violet was born. Her birth certificate is there too. On this website, it shows that Michael and Vanessa Simmons were married in the Cook County clerk’s office the year before the first baby was born. By the time she had Violet, Mrs. Simmons was almost forty years old. They must have really wanted to have a baby by the time they had her.”