“Ew. Next room.” I tugged Enzo’s hand, and he followed me down the hall.
The bedroom was empty except for an ancient-looking sheet balled up in one corner.
“Who do you think lived here?” I asked.
“I have no idea,” Enzo said.
“Pretend you do. Come on. You love to tell stories.”
“OK.” Enzo took a deep breath and thought for a moment. “It was probably some guy who went nuts after the war. He didn’t trust the government, so he moved his family out here where they could live off the land and have peace and be happy.”
“And were they happy?”
“For a while. But you know happiness never lasts forever.”
“Whose room was this?” I urged, ready to get lost in his story.
“A little boy’s,” Enzo said. He pointed to the far corner. “His bed was over there. And his desk was in that corner, and he had a toy box right where we’re standing. He wanted to play with army men, but his dad wouldn’t let him, so he played cowboys and Indians instead.”
“Tell me about the rest of the family.”
Enzo laughed, and it echoed in the empty room. “Come on.”
He pulled me to the next bedroom, which was pretty much the same as the first, except for some leaves that had blown in through the broken window.
“This was the girls’ room. There were two of them. Twins.”
“And?”
“And they were afraid of the woods at night,” Enzo said, not trying to keep his voice low anymore. “They said they could feel creatures watching them. That’s why they got a room at the front of the house. Their window faced the field instead of being close to the trees.”
“Were they right? Were they being watched?”
Enzo looked at me. “What do you think?”
“Yes. Of course they were. The twins were probably out playing one day and saw something, a beast. Maybe it lunged at one of them, but they managed to get away. And that’s what started the haunting. Every day, something strange and scary happened until it became too much, and the family abandoned the house.”
I was out of breath by the time I finished talking. I was excited and scared and, well, happy. I’d been waiting forever to find someone who’d tell stories with me the way Enzo did.
Enzo grinned, and I smiled back at him. My heart was pounding even more than before. We were both suddenly very quiet, and Enzo looked at me, and everything felt different and strange.
“Come on,” Enzo said. “Let’s go see where the parents slept.”
Enzo pulled me toward the next room, and I let him, laughing. He reached the doorway first and stopped short. He dropped my hand.
“Shit.”
“What?” I pushed ahead of him then stopped too. “Oh.”
Unlike the other rooms, this one had been occupied recently. A mattress piled with blankets was pushed up against one wall. There was a gallon water jug and a flashlight on the floor next to the mattress. And a book, laid open to mark a page. I tried to see the title and take in the other stuff in the room—newspapers, food wrappers, a pair of boots—but Enzo pulled me back and whispered that we had to leave, and he didn’t sound happy anymore.
I pulled away from him. “Enzo, it could be Lizzie.”
“It’s not.”
“You don’t know that.”
I moved toward the mattress. Enzo grabbed my shoulder hard enough to hurt.
“Hawthorn, it’s not Lizzie.”
I turned to look at him. His face was pale.
“We spend all this time looking for her, and now that we finally have a real lead, you don’t even want to check it out?”
“Stop it,” Enzo said. “This isn’t pretend. Someone has been squatting in this house. Not Lizzie. Not a werewolf. We need to get the fuck out before whoever it is comes back and finds us here. So let’s go.”
I still hesitated, glancing back at the bedroom. My eyes landed on boots. Men’s boots.
My stomach sank. It was suddenly hard to breathe. I imagined every killer from every horror movie I’d ever seen, waiting downstairs for us with a knife or machete or chainsaw. Probably not a gun. That would be too easy. Our death would be too quick.
“Let’s go,” I agreed in a whisper.
Enzo nodded and started down the hallway. I followed. I wanted to reach out and grab his hand again, but I didn’t.
We were halfway down the stairs when I heard the noise, a creaking sound from somewhere below us. Enzo and I froze. I put my hand over my heart, which felt like it was going to pound right out of my chest.
We waited.
There was nothing but silence.
I opened my mouth to ask Enzo if he thought it was clear when there was another sound. Someone—something—other than us was moving around in the house.
“Enzo.”
“Shhh.”
We listened. There was definitely something in the house with us. Something that was trying to be quiet. Maybe something that was listening for us the same way we were listening for it.
“We can’t stay here forever,” I whispered.
Enzo nodded and slowly began making his way down the stairs. He winced every time a riser creaked.
We hesitated again at the bottom of the steps. The hallway was empty. The front door was still ajar, like we’d left it. We could run for it and be outside in a moment. Unless the something in the house was crouched in one of the shadowy doorways between us and the front door, waiting to grab us as we passed.
I stepped out and looked back toward the kitchen. There was a door at the end of the hallway we hadn’t opened when we were exploring the first floor. It was smaller than the others, more like a coat closet than the doorway to a room. But I was pretty sure it wasn’t a closet. I was especially sure of it when I heard another shuffling sound.
“It’s in the basement.”
Enzo nodded. He made a beeline for the front door. But I stayed. There was something below us, maybe a monster, maybe a man, and maybe even Lizzie Lovett. My imagination wasn’t playing tricks on me. This wasn’t me being weird or wishing for something crazy to happen. There was really something moving around downstairs.
“Hawthorn,” Enzo hissed.
I didn’t take my eyes off the basement door. I wanted to know what was behind it. I needed to know.
“Hawthorn, let’s go!”
Enzo was getting frantic. The footsteps were coming up the basement stairs. I couldn’t look away.
“Hawthorn!”
I could hear a doorknob rattling, a rusty hinge whining as a door swung open.
Or maybe it was just my imagination. Either way, I bolted.
Enzo and I ran down the porch steps and raced across the field toward the trail and my car. I was pretty sure I’d never moved so fast in my life. I wondered if the rush was anything like what my brother had felt while running across a football field to score a touchdown.
Enzo and I got to the broken gate and hurdled over the debris. I dug in my pocket for my car keys. For a brief moment, I wondered if this would be the time my car didn’t start, if all the months of putting off taking it into the shop would finally catch up with me. The thought was scary but also exciting. The whole situation was scary and exciting.
The adrenaline rush gave me clarity. It was as if I were watching myself in a movie instead of actively participating. I was fully in the moment, aware of everything around me at once.
My car started on the first try. I drove, bumping down the dirt road faster than was reasonable in a Volkswagen. Enzo twisted in his seat and watched out the back window.
When I got to the fork in the road, I slowed.
“Is it following us?”
Enzo shook his head.
For a second, we just looked at each other. Then we started laughing. The ten
sion left my body. I stopped the car and leaned my forehead against the steering wheel, giggling. I could feel Enzo shaking with laughter next to me.
“What was that?” I asked a little bit later when I caught my breath.
“I don’t know. Maybe we imagined it,” Enzo said.
“Something was totally there.”
“It could have been a squatter. Who was probably as scared of us as we were of him.”
“Did you see the book he was reading?” I asked.
“No.”
“I’m not positive, but I think it was Macbeth.”
Something about a basement monster reading Shakespeare made us laugh all over again.
If there was a monster, and it suddenly sprang up behind my car to get revenge on us for infiltrating its lair, I didn’t think I would mind. Even if the monster killed me, at least I would die having the best day of my life.
Chapter 23
Shedding Skin
My house was empty when I woke up on Sunday morning. Rush’s peewee football team had a game, and my parents went to see it, like his coaching was some big accomplishment. I stayed home and hung out with the hippies.
“Free associate it, man,” said the guy who called himself CJ, which was short for Castaway Jesus, which I wasn’t going to question.
“I don’t know what you mean,” I said. Timothy Leary was curled up in my lap while I worked dry shampoo through her fur. Sundog lay next to us on an Indian blanket with his eyes closed and his hands folded over his chest.
“Free association is the pathway to embracing your own naturality,” CJ said.
I looked at Sundog. “Translation?”
“It’s a way to look inside yourself for answers,” Sundog said.
“But how can the answer be inside me? I mean, there was either something in the house with us or there wasn’t. If I knew the answer, it wouldn’t be driving me crazy.”
CJ held up a hand as if to stop my train of thought. “Your consciousness isn’t limited to your body. Yesterday, you saw and felt things your brain couldn’t register, because it’s just too much for an unexercised mind. But it’s all here.” He leaned over and lightly tapped my temple. “Get it?”
“So I can free associate and, uh, unlock the answers or something?”
“Let me show you.” CJ closed his eyes, straightened his back, and put his hands on his knees, almost like he was meditating. “Basement. Tablecloth. Vicodin. Argyle. Mother. Pain. Supernova.”
CJ fell silent. I glanced at Sundog and was relieved to see that he looked amused and wasn’t taking the whole thing super seriously.
After what seemed like an uncomfortably long time, CJ opened his eyes. “Whoa. That was intense.” He shook his head as if to clear it. “Your turn now.”
I shrugged and closed my eyes. “Basement. Dark. Damp. Cold. Silent. Stagn—”
“No,” CJ interrupted. “That’s not how you do it. You just described a basement. That’s not the point, man.”
“Oh. Sorry. I guess I’m not, you know, enlightened yet.”
CJ sighed, clearly frustrated by my ignorance. “Whatever. I need to recharge.”
After CJ wandered away, Sundog sat up and stretched. “The question is, Hawthorn, did you want someone to be in the basement?”
“I think so.”
“Why?”
I shrugged. “Because it would’ve been interesting.”
“The world is always interesting.”
“Not really.”
“You need to open your eyes and experience the glory of being alive and part of this universe.”
Sundog wasn’t really making a ton of sense, but compared to CJ, he sounded like the most rational person who’d ever lived. And I didn’t really care what was or wasn’t in the basement. It had mostly been something to talk about.
I changed the subject. “What’s it like to not have a real home?” I asked Sundog.
He looked surprised. “I have a home. I don’t have a house, but these people are my home.”
“Well, what’s that like then?”
“It’s the same as your home is to you. Happiness, love, comfort.”
Sundog obviously wasn’t familiar with my and Rush’s relationship.
“Doesn’t all the traveling get old?” I asked.
“I didn’t always travel. I had a house once. That was before the war. I had a wife too and a well-paying job.”
I must have looked surprised, because Sundog laughed.
“Some people are born knowing their paths from the start,” he said. “The rest of us take a while to get there.”
“I wish you’d tell my dad that. All he wants to talk about is what I’m going to do with my life.”
“He means well. He wants you to be happy.”
“Well, maybe happiness isn’t randomly picking a life path from a course catalog.”
“What is happiness then?”
I thought for a moment. “Happiness is living in the moment and not thinking of the future at all. It’s learning new things and having adventures and solving mysteries.”
“Then you’re in luck,” Sundog said. “Life is the biggest mystery of all.”
Timothy Leary stood up and stretched. I imagined how simple life must be for her. If Lizzie was a werewolf, no wonder she wasn’t coming back. It must be nice to not have to think about school and work and what you’re doing with the rest of your life.
Though I guess even animals have fears and worries. Maybe there was no avoiding that.
“So what happened to you?” I asked Sundog. “To your wife and job?”
“My previous life was withering my chakra. I was in a cage, and the corporate world was draining me. You believe in werewolves, Hawthorn. There are vampires too.”
“So you ran away?”
“And never looked back.” He said it without any shame but without pride either. It was just a simple fact to him. The way it had to be.
“What about your wife? Did you ever talk to her again?”
“She thinks I’m dead. Which in a way is true. I was reborn and given a new name. She wouldn’t know me anymore.”
It was sort of terrible but also sort of brave and amazing. I would never have the guts to walk away from everything and everyone I knew. I thought of Lizzie, of course. Like Sundog, she shed her old skin and became someone new, started over from scratch. I wished I had their courage.
• • •
At work later that evening, I tried to ask Vernon his opinion on my conversation with Sundog, but he wasn’t in the mood to talk. I helped him with a seek-and-find puzzle instead and wondered if there’d ever been a point in his life when he started over. That’s when I noticed that Vernon and Sundog weren’t that far apart in age.
How could Sundog be traveling around the country, getting high with a band of young people and preaching about the dangers of chemtrails and fluoride, while Vernon’s hands shook while he drank coffee, and I was never sure if he heard the things I said to him while he worked on his puzzles.
Why do some people get old faster than others? Is it just luck? Like how some people are lucky enough to be born as one of the Lizzie Lovetts of the world?
“Deep thoughts?” Christa asked me, coming out of the kitchen.
I shook my head. “Sort of zoning out.”
She poured a cup of coffee for herself and leaned conspiratorially over the counter. “Daydreaming about Enzo?”
“What? No.”
“He likes you. I can tell.”
“How?” I asked, not that I was interested. Maybe. Probably.
“The way he looks at you.”
“He looks at me like he’s anxious for my shift to end so we can look for his girlfriend.”
“I think you like him too,” Christa said. She was teasing me, and I knew
it, but I could still feel my face getting red.
“Weren’t you the one who called him weird and creepy?”
“Well, maybe I was wrong. You wouldn’t hang out with him if he seemed messed up, would you?”
I didn’t know how to tell Christa that being a little messed up was exactly what would make me interested in a person.
“He’s taking me to the homecoming dance,” I admitted.
Christa squealed.
Vernon looked up and shouted, “Homecoming dance!”
“I knew it,” Christa said, not even blinking at Vernon’s outburst.
“It’s not a date. I just found this ridiculous 1980s dress that I want to wear.”
“Hawthorn, it’s a date,” Christa said.
I bit my lip and stacked the coffee creamers in front of me, one on top of the other, until the tower fell down.
“It’s just…isn’t it too soon?”
“Because of Lizzie, you mean?” Christa asked.
I nodded. I didn’t imagine going on dates while Lizzie was still missing would do much for Enzo’s reputation. Or that anyone would be thrilled I was the one he was going on dates with.
Christa thought about it. “It’s been a few months.”
“Barely two.”
“It’s not like she died.”
“We don’t know that,” I said. “Not for sure.”
“If she were dead, someone would have found the body by now. Lizzie walked off. She left Enzo, not the other way around. If he’s found someone to help him get over his loss quickly, there’s nothing wrong with that.”
“Yeah, I guess so,” I said, but I was still dubious.
“Besides, I doubt he was very happy with her.”
I looked up sharply. “Why not?”
Christa shrugged and looked away. She checked to make sure the tops were secure on the salt and pepper shakers. She lined up the ketchup and mustard and Tabasco in a neat row. But she didn’t make eye contact or answer my question.
“Oh, come on,” I said. “I know you want to tell me.”
The Hundred Lies of Lizzie Lovett Page 17