Mothman's Curse

by Christine Hayes

  8

  Suddenly I couldn’t breathe, as if a hand had closed around my throat and started to squeeze.

  “Goodness, are you all right?”

  I couldn’t speak, so I nodded instead, but she didn’t believe me.

  Eva’s voice became steel. “Fox! Fox Fletcher!”

  He yelped and dropped his magazine.

  “You come here this instant! I know you are listening.”

  Fox stood and inched closer, but stayed several paces out of arm’s reach.

  “Why so many questions? You would allow your younger sister to pursue evil such as this?”

  I found enough breath to clear up an important point. “I’m—actually, I’m older—”

  “Something is wrong with her. Do you see her face?”

  His eyebrows drew together as he studied me. “Yeah, I do. Josie?”

  I shook my head at him, signaling him to ease off, but Eva’s tirade continued. “What are you up to? The both of you?” Fox actually shrank back as she started up a lecture in her native language. I couldn’t be sure, but a lot of it sounded like curse words.

  “Have you seen the pin?” she demanded.

  “N-no,” I lied. “But if someone did find it, couldn’t they just throw it away?”

  “It would make no difference. Wherever the pin turns up, calamity follows. The owner of the pin must stop it, or the curse lives on, and people will die.”

  Now I really couldn’t breathe. Sharp claws of panic seized my chest. So I did the logical thing.

  I ran for the bathroom and locked myself in.

  * * *

  “Josie. Come on out of there. Josie?” Fox’s fists pounded on the door.

  My teeth chattered. My wet, half-finished hair hung in my eyes. A curse? What kind of curse? What did she mean by “calamity follows”? Was my family in danger? The whole town? I paced a two-foot path, back and forth, trying not to touch anything in the tiny room.

  I remembered a similar panic when Momma died. I’d crawled under my bed and sobbed until I couldn’t breathe, until Dad came and held me and smoothed my hair.

  “Josie!” Pound, pound, pound. I pulled the pin from my pocket, clutching it tight enough to leave marks on my skin, to feel the bite of the icy-cold metal. I unfolded my fingers to stare at the ugly thing. Eva had said the curse couldn’t be broken by throwing the pin away. What if I flushed it? Was that the same thing? Or I could break it. Surely others had tried that, right? Still, it was worth a shot.

  I dropped the pin and ground my heel into it. I pictured glass splintering and shredding the dried-up moth beneath it. I listened for the satisfying crunching sound it would make against the tile floor. It never came.

  “Josie? You better be decent in there because we’re coming in.” A key rattled in the lock. The door flung inward to reveal Eva and Fox standing on the threshold looking winded and worried.

  I shoved the wet hair out of my face and tried to take deep, even breaths. “I’m okay,” I told them. “I’m okay. You were right, Eva. I take those scary stories way too seriously. Hey, Eva, could I talk to my brother real quick? I just need a minute. We’ll be right out. I promise.”

  She stared me down, eyes searching my face for the truth. A truth I couldn’t bear to confess to anyone but Fox. She nodded and left us alone. As soon as the door swung shut, I lifted my foot and stepped back. The pin lay gleaming on the tile, whole and undamaged.

  “Is that—?” Fox crouched down for a closer look. “Oh, no. Josie—oh, man. Where did you get this? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I found it after Dad fell. It must have been in the safe with all those papers.” I hung my head. “I had a feeling something wasn’t right about it.”

  He reached to pick it up. “Don’t!” I shouted, diving for the pin myself. I stood and backed away, cradling the pin in my hands. “What if it curses you, too?”

  He straightened but kept his distance, his face wary. “Is that what Eva said?”

  “She said whoever possesses it.”

  “Well, that’s specific. You believe her, then? You really think it’s cursed?”

  I looked down at my clasped hands, suddenly realizing where the pin had been. I made a face and hurried to the sink, running the pin and my hands under a stream of hot water. “Two minutes ago I tried to squash this into bits with my shoe, and there’s not a scratch on it,” I said. “Yeah. I’d say it’s cursed.” I shook the pin dry and put it back in my pocket, out of sight.

  Fox ran both hands through his hair. “So Mrs. Goodrich owned the pin. She and her husband tried to stop a major disaster in Clark, and failed. She got the pin from her sister, who died in a major disaster in Point Pleasant.”

  “And Point Pleasant is famous for its Mothman sightings,” I finished. “According to Eva, Mothman was seen in Clark, too, and this curse of his is linked to the terrible things that happened. Sound about right?”

  “So is he causing the disasters? Trying to stop them?” Fox wondered. “Or something else?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, shivering. My hair lay heavy and cold around my shoulders. The pin sat like a stone in my pocket. I folded my arms across my stomach. “What do I do?”

  “We figure this out together,” he said. “And we stay here until we get the whole story from Eva.”

  I swallowed and nodded. “Thanks, Fox.” I peeked out the door. Eva stood, hands on hips, jaw set. “Seems like maybe she’s done talking, though.”

  We left the bathroom. I sat back down in the beautician’s chair like nothing had happened. Fox claimed the chair next to me. We all stared at each other in awkward silence. Finally, Fox said, “Please, Eva, you have to tell us more.”

  “I will do no such thing. I have said far too much already.”

  Eva stayed stubbornly silent as she finished up the haircut and dried my hair. Through the front window I watched a bank of black clouds swallow up the sky outside.

  Lightening flashed. Seconds later, a rumble of thunder followed, and then the skies opened.

  I groaned. A nice, three-mile bike ride in the rain.

  Eva patted my shoulder. “Don’t worry. I will take you home.”

  I nearly cried with relief.

  * * *

  We somehow squeezed our bikes into the trunk of Eva’s tiny car. The ride home was quiet, thick tension weaving around us like fog. Raindrops pelted the windshield and pounded the car roof, running down the windows in little rivers. It looked as though the car was weeping.

  Eva spoke only when we arrived, turning to face us over the driver’s seat.

  “You have more questions,” she said. “I see them in your faces.”

  “Just one,” Fox said. “Did John and Nora live in Clark when they inherited the pin?”

  “Yes,” she said. “Somehow they knew there would be a disaster, years before it happened. They tried everything they could think of to stop it.” Her eyes filled with tears. “Some things they told me; many they did not. I stayed with Mr. Goodrich after the town was lost, after his wife passed. Such a terrible time. He said someday another disaster would come. For years I stayed, until he sent me away.”

  When she finished, we reached for the door handles, unsure of what else to say. But then I thought of one final thing I had to know. “Mr. Goodrich—he was a good man, wasn’t he?”

  “Yes. He always tried to do what was right, sometimes at great personal cost.”

  I mulled this over, remembering his worried face and desperate eyes.

  “Please, please be careful, my children,” she said in parting. “Stay far away from this.”

  We thanked her, climbed out of the car to retrieve our bikes, and made a run for the garage to escape the downpour.

  By unspoken agreement we stashed our bikes and went straight to the Cave to figure out our next move.

  We sat across from each other, the pin on the table between us. We stared at it. I drummed my fingers on the scarred tabletop, tapped my foot, cleaned my nails, twisted
a strand of hair around my finger. Fox sat perfectly still. His patience set my teeth on edge.

  “I don’t know what we’re waiting for,” I complained. “It’s not like the pin is going to start talking to us or anything.”

  Fox had already done a web search on his phone for cursed moth pin and found exactly nothing.

  “I’m just gonna put it on,” I said suddenly, at the same time that Fox said: “Maybe you should put it on.”

  A nervous laugh bubbled out of me. “How else are we gonna find out anything, right? Maybe nothing will happen. Maybe it’s all just a story.”

  I reached for the pin.

  “Josie, wait.” Fox grabbed my wrist. “What if the curse doesn’t kick in unless you put it on? We could still get rid of it.”

  I’d thought of that, too. Maybe it wasn’t too late to drop it in the river, or down the garbage disposal. But I knew it was wishful thinking. Somehow I could feel that the pin had already claimed me. “The truth is we don’t know how any of this really works.”

  “I guess. It’s just … I could … that is, maybe if I…?” I hadn’t seen him so tongue-tied since he was eight years old and got caught polishing off an entire pumpkin pie the night before Thanksgiving. “What if I tried it first? Could we share the curse?”

  I was so grateful for his offer I almost took him up on it. I wanted to. But just knowing he’d tried made me feel braver. I knew it was time to put on my big-sister shoes. “It’s okay, Fox. I’m not sure it can be shared. It’s really great of you to offer, but I got this.”

  I closed trembling fingers around the pin, withdrew my arm, and then, before I could change my mind, jabbed it through the collar of my sweatshirt.

  “Well?”

  I didn’t realize I’d closed my eyes until Fox spoke. Slowly, I opened them and relaxed my tightly clenched fists. I looked left, then right, finally allowing my gaze to settle on Fox’s tense face. I felt the corners of my mouth lift, watched his expression mirror my own.

  “Nothing’s different. I can’t see any—”

  Red light flared, filling my vision. I flinched, tried to cover my eyes. The air shimmered; light vanished. I saw only watery blackness, as if I’d been plunged into a dark, icy river. It swallowed the room and me along with it. I felt myself falling, falling, Fox’s voice calling my name as if from a great distance—

  * * *

  I was a world away, standing in a grassy field. Two young men were sprawled, lazing in the sunshine, dressed in old-fashioned clothes. One lay on his stomach in the dirt, watching a bug creep along the rocky ground. The other, tall and fair-haired, watched a young woman as she sat on a stone bench nearby, reading a book.

  “Edgar, you’re missing the best part of the afternoon!” the taller man called.

  “I like the view just fine from here, William.” Edgar scowled, his dark brows knitting, creasing his angular face.

  “You and your bugs,” William said, and went back to watching the woman, his chin in his hands. “Ah, Elsie. There must be some way to capture your attention.”

  The scene dimmed, rushing past in blurred streaks of light and color and motion.

  * * *

  Edgar reappeared, a few years older. His wavy hair was slicked back. He stood on a porch, clutching a drooping bunch of wildflowers.

  A matronly woman answered the door. “I’m sorry, Edgar. Elsie is out with William this afternoon. Would you like to leave those for her?” she said, reaching for the flowers.

  But Edgar snatched them from her reach and crumpled them in his hand. He stormed away, muttering to himself.

  * * *

  Edgar sat in a dim basement, hunched over a long worktable. He was surrounded by dead bugs of every shape and size, carefully pinned under glass and mounted in dark frames like gruesome trophies. He held delicate tools in his hands as he carefully fashioned a tiny piece of gold jewelry. Edgar kept a running conversation with himself as he worked. “She’ll love it. There isn’t another like it anywhere. She won’t want anything to do with that simpleton William when she sees this.” He held it up to the flickering light of an oil lamp. It was a stickpin. In its center was a moth, preserved under a perfect circle of glass.

  * * *

  Edgar stood at Elsie’s door once more, a hopeful smile softening his face. He wore a dark suit, his slim shoulders thrown back. Elsie graced the open doorway, holding the pin in her outstretched hand. Her full lips shifted from a grimace to a forced smile.

  “Edgar Tripp, what a nice … gesture. But I’m afraid I can’t accept it. My heart belongs to William. It’s not your fault, dear. Girls just don’t fall for boys like you, with your bugs and your childish ways. I do wish you well. Perhaps we will invite you to the wedding.” She moved to hand the pin back but dropped it at the last moment, her smile twisting, eyes unkind. “Oh, dear. Clumsy me.” She shut the door in his face.

  Edgar bent to retrieve the pin. He cradled it in his palm, then clenched his fingers around it, blinking back tears.

  * * *

  Once again at his worktable, hair in disarray, Edgar hunched over a paper filled with scrawled handwriting and strange symbols. His lips moved in a whispered chant as he read aloud from the page, the words coming faster, turning to smoke that twisted and writhed from his mouth like a serpent, winding to encircle the pin and lift it into the air, where it began to glow with a white-hot fire.

  * * *

  Edgar stood in the grassy field, pointing a gun at Elsie and William. William stepped in front of Elsie, his face a mask of fear and disbelief. Edgar’s own face was smooth and peaceful.

  “I’ll give you a choice this one last time, Elsie. I’m only going to kill one of you. Save the life of your beloved William, or save your own. It doesn’t matter to me, but I believe you truly love no one but yourself. Prove me wrong.”

  “Edgar! We were friends. Please don’t do this. Please!”

  “Do be quiet, William. You were only my friend when you had nothing else to keep you amused for the day.”

  Elsie looked from one man to the other, her face streaked with tears.

  “Quickly, now, Elsie. I’m getting bored.”

  “I—I choose…” She met William’s eyes, then looked away. “I choose him. Kill him.”

  William’s eyes filled. “Elsie…”

  She would not look at William, so he turned to face Edgar, unflinching. “Yes. It should be me. Please, allow her to live, Edgar. Fear compels her. There is unselfishness in her heart. I know there is.”

  “We will see,” Edgar said, and pulled the trigger.

  * * *

  I gasped, throat raw, lungs heaving. I found myself curled in a ball on the dirty floor of the Cave, Fox kneeling next to me, his face stark, shaking my arm and begging, “Please, Josie, wake up, please, please.”

  I sat up, trembling, my skin icy. I scooted back into the corner and hid my face in my hands.

  Fox swiped a sleeve across his eyes and blinked at me. “Josie? Are you in there?”

  I nodded, not trusting my voice.

  “You want me to get Aunt Barb?” He looked like a little boy, face ghost-pale and tear-streaked. Like the day we put Momma in the ground.

  He hadn’t cried since, not about anything, not even the day he broke three toes when he dropped a cast iron doorstop on them. Nothing had cracked that perfect facade.

  Until now.

  I sniffed. “No.” I sat up a little straighter and wiped my face with both hands. “I’m okay, Fox. I’m okay.”

  “Where did you go, Josie? You were out of it for, like, five minutes. I finally took the pin off you, hoping it would wake you up.” He pointed to a corner of the Cave where the pin lay gleaming in the dust.

  I tried to stop shaking, to make my voice less wobbly, as I explained about Edgar and Elsie, trying not to leave out a single detail. Then we sat side by side against the wall, the heavy silence broken only by the patter of rain on the roof.

  “So this Edgar … you think he’s Mothman?
” Fox said.

  “Yes. Probably. I saw him making the pin. He must have given it to Elsie after he killed William. I’m guessing that’s how the curse started. I think there was more I was supposed to see, but it got cut short.” We looked over at the pin.

  He scowled and crossed his arms. “You’re not putting it on again.”

  “Fox, there’s still so much we don’t know. That might be the only way to get the answers.”

  “No. I won’t let you. You looked dead, Josie. You understand? Just forget it. We’ll think of something else.”

  I let my head thump against the wall, too exhausted to argue. I missed Dad. I missed Momma. I wished I’d never heard of Mothman or John Goodrich or their stupid, ugly pin. But none of this was going to go away on its own. Gathering up my resolve, I lunged across the floor on hands and knees, closed my hand around the pin, and shoved it through a thick fold of my hoodie.

  “Josie!” Fox shouted, standing over me, green eyes flashing, angrier than I’d ever seen him.

  I glared back, defiant. We waited, the seconds ticking by, but nothing happened. We gave it another minute just to be sure. Finally, he sighed and held out a hand to help me up. I reached to take it—

  —and saw the ghost of John Goodrich standing behind Fox’s shoulder.

  9

  “Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!” I couldn’t manage anything more intelligent. It was all just too much.

  Fox ducked, looking right and left trying to glimpse the threat. “What? What is it?”

  “It’s him,” I hissed. I fought the urge to hide under the table.

  “Mothman?” He stared all around. “I don’t see him.”

  “Goodrich. He’s right there!” I pointed. The figure didn’t move or speak. Mostly it just looked at me, forlorn, edges muted and smudged as he’d been in the Polaroids, still all in black and white. He wore the same dreadful suit and glasses, too-long hair parted and combed neatly to either side, huge sideburns hugging half his face.

  “Why can you see him and I can’t?” Fox’s gaze fell on the moth pin. Before I could stop him, he grabbed the pin and clipped it to his own shirt. His eyes darted here and there but didn’t settle on any one spot. “I still can’t see him. Can you?”