Hunger

by Eliza Nolan

  I’m not sure I should tell her about the dude in the lot. She has enough to worry about, and she’ll probably overreact.

  There’s a gentle tap on the door. My stomach, already a twisty storm of anxiety, churns like a freaking hurricane. Grace and I search out the windows, but it’s too dark to see. She switches off the light and pulls a cord on the door blinds, revealing the face of our visitor: the guy from the park bench. He’s young, with brown hair and crystal-blue eyes staring out from wire-rimmed glasses.

  Grace’s eyes soften as they rest on his face, and she reaches for the door.

  6

  Grace

  My hand goes for the handle without me even thinking.

  Eva grips my wrist and jerks it away. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “I was going to see what he wants,” I say. Eva is totally wound up again. Jesus, she needs a spa day even more than I do.

  She puts her hands on her hips. “We’re at a dark, deserted roadside rest stop, with no other people,” she annoyingly but rightly points out.

  I huff out a breath and cross my arms over my chest. “Fine, but we can’t just pretend the guy’s not out there.” Besides, there’s something about him; he’s like a familiar smell that pokes at a memory I can’t quite grasp.

  “What do you want?” I yell through the door.

  “I don’t mean to bother you,” he says. “I just noticed your trailer hitch is all mixed up.” He adjusts his glasses and squints, straining to see inside. Now that our lights are out, we can see him, but he can’t see us.

  Eva turns to me. “I thought you checked the hookup at the gas station. You said it was fine.”

  “Yes, but...” I did check it at the gas station, and nothing looked twisted or broken. But there were these extra chains, and I wasn’t sure I’d hooked those up right. “I’ve possibly been a tad overconfident.”

  “Look,” he says through the closed door, “I don’t mean any harm. I just saw you pull in and thought you might want to know. You could lose your trailer if you keep driving like that. Or worse. But if you don’t want my help, I’ll leave you alone.” He shrugs, slips his hands in his pockets, and shuffles away, a backpack bouncing on his back as he crosses the parking lot towards the rest area’s solitary building. I’m not sure, with this familiar feeling I can’t quite place, if I’m willing to let him go.

  I press my hands to the glass and watch him for a beat, and then scramble to unlock all the locks and toss open the door.

  “Don’t go out there.” Eva tries to stop me, but I slap her hands away.

  “Wait!” I dart after him.

  Eva yells, “Grace, what are you doing?”

  She thinks I’ve lost it. And she’s not wrong. But I’m going through some stuff right now, so it’s understandable.

  “Hey, guy!” I shout.

  “It’s Ashton,” he says, and stops mid-parking lot, hands on non-existent hips. He turns back to me, and I eye him in the streetlight. There’s absolutely nothing remarkable about him. He’s my age, my height, bony as ever, and looks like a nerd with glasses. I scrunch up my nose. Not even a hot nerd. But I still can’t shake the feeling I should know him, somehow.

  “Ashton,” I say. “Can you show us how to fix the trailer?”

  “Sure.” He smiles and ambles back.

  I slip my hand in my coat pocket and wrap my fingers around my house keys. I’ve heard you can use those as a weapon. I’m curious about this guy, and I want to make sure the trailer is hooked up right, but I’d like to think I’m also not completely stupid. I scan the parking lot’s perimeter to make sure Ashton doesn’t have any buddies hiding in the shadows. But the place is surrounded by overhead streetlights. If there’s anyone lying in wait, the only place to hide is a long jog across the lot behind the restroom building.

  Eva has stepped out of the trailer and stands a few paces back, squinting her dark-lined eyes, legs square and her shoulders by her ears. She’s puffed up, like she’s planning on defending us if things get out of hand. I chuckle. She’s smaller but has been dorking out for the past several months learning martial arts stuff. She is the one who knows how to fight—I hope.

  Why the heck am I even engaging this guy? I’m smarter than this. I maintain a safe distance, eyeing him out the corner of my eye.

  Gravel crunches underneath our boots as we pace over to the trailer hitch.

  A semi’s horn blares as it rumbles down the nearby road, breaking the silence.

  “Your chains are all wrong.” He crouches over the hitch and unwraps one of the chains twisted around the rigging. He hooks it underneath the car. “You also need to screw these things on.” He points at two bars running off the trailer towards the car. He digs a small everything-tool out of his backpack, unfolds a screwdriver, and then fixes that as well.

  I watch, making mental notes of everything he changes. Not only do I need to check tomorrow to make sure he’s actually done it right before we go, but I don’t want to be put in this position again—stuck in an empty rest stop at night with some guy showing me how to fix our hitch.

  He turns his head and smiles at me as he finishes. There’s a softness in his eyes. I smile back and loosen my grip on my keys.

  Jesus, what am I doing? Is this some sort of demon-sense thing? Like I can pick up on the thoughts of people around me or something stupid like that? I grip the keys in my pocket once more and concentrate on the chill in the air, allowing it to bring me back to the present.

  “So, is that all we need to do?” I ask.

  He looks up and nods.

  “Thank you,” I say. “How do we…do we pay you? How can we repay you?” I reach for my wallet.

  “Yeah, no.” Eva steps forward, putting herself between Ashton and me. “Thanks, guy. But we can’t pay you. We don’t have any cash. Sorry.” She gives me a hard look.

  I keep my hands in my pockets. My hand tightens around the keys.

  “It’s nothing,” Ashton says. “I feel better knowing that you’re driving safe. Besides, I’d hate to see you lose such a cute little trailer.” His brow wrinkles and he glances from me to Eva and back. There’s an awkward pause.

  “I’m Grace,” I say. “This is Eva.”

  He smiles. “Well, Grace and Eva, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m happy to help.” He nods at each of us in turn. “Have a good evening.” And he heads once more to the rest-stop building.

  “Good night,” I call after him.

  Eva’s fingers dig into my arm, and she whispers under her breath. “Don’t you dare go after him again. Just let him go.”

  I frown, but then roll my eyes. “What, you think I was going to invite him to stay the night? Maybe in our guest bedroom.”

  We climb back into the camper, and I lock the door. We both lean against the kitchen counter and stare at the pull-out couch, covered in our luggage, sleeping bags, and several layers of books I haven’t yet found a home for.

  “Let’s just share tonight,” Eva says, nodding at the small bedroom in the back—the one we used to share when we were younger.

  I nod, and scoop up her sleeping bag, tossing it to her, then liberate my pillow from my suitcase, grab the other sleeping bag and follow Eva back to the bedroom. I can finish cleaning up the trailer in the morning.

  We only have to move a few stacks of papers off the bed, and then we roll out our sleeping bags on top of the bare mattress. Eva curls up on the inside near the wall, balling her sweatshirt up under her head for a pillow.

  I pad to the doorway in my stockinged feet, switch off the lights, and slip into my own sleeping bag next to her. The streetlights trickle in through the bottom of the curtains, illuminating the trailer just enough. I almost don’t notice that Eva’s eyes are wide open and locked on me.

  “Are you scared of me?” It hadn’t occurred to me, that she might fear being trapped in a small camper with a demon—me.

  Her eyes soften. “No, Grace. I’m scared for you.” She sighs and puts a hand on my arm.


  I breathe out a shaky sigh of relief. “We’ll figure this out.”

  She blinks a few times then nods. But her eyes are unsure.

  I take in a long, calming breath and blow it out slowly. “We’ll be okay.” This time I say it with more assurance, almost enough that I believe it myself.

  She closes her eyes and adjusts her head on her wadded-up sweatshirt.

  Then adjusts again.

  And again.

  I should have grabbed her pillow.

  She fidgets around some more, and I shove my pillow at her.

  “What?” she says.

  “You take the pillow. There’s no way I’ll sleep with you flailing around every five seconds. Besides, I think I’ll stay up for a bit.”

  “You sure?” She scoops the pillow under her head, hardly putting up a fight.

  I sigh and step out into the main area of the trailer, then sit at the table and pull aside the curtain. There’s not a car or a person in sight. Ashton must have taken off.

  What was it about him? I felt calm when he was near. Now he’s gone, I still myself and hold my breath. The world outside is quiet except for the muted buzz of nighttime critters, and the occasional rumble as a car or truck passes by on the freeway. Otherwise, nothing.

  I turn my focus inwards. And that’s when I feel it. The rapid vibrations of tangled-up feelings—love, anger, jealousy, rage, and most of all, fear. Through all of them, each and every emotion, lies a dull, pervasive, ache of pure hunger.

  The emotions churn around inside me, like laundry in a wash cycle. The fear I understand, but the others seem foreign, considering the current situation. Why would I feel jealous of anything right now? Alone at a rest stop in the middle of nowhere, there isn’t anything to be jealous of. And rage? Eva’s asleep. She’s literally the only one who can send me raging. So where are these feelings coming from?

  The hunger, though. I recognize that. It’s been all but consuming, ever since…

  I reach over to the couch and grab my bag of sweets. I blindly open the first small package I find and cram a sandwich cookie into my mouth. The hunger inside almost vanishes. I chew as slow as I can, savoring the chocolate and cream filling as it melts over my tongue. I swallow and close my eyes, enjoying the moment of calm. The different emotions are still in there, but without the ache of hunger, they’re bearable.

  Where are all these feelings coming from? Why are they all mixed up inside me? Why can’t I feel them the same way I would my own emotions? And why were they hushed when Ashton was around?

  “It’s gonna be okay,” I whisper to myself. “We’ll figure this out.”

  There’s a plink above, the sound of a water droplet hitting the roof. Then another and then many. The slow patter of muffled rain dulls the churning of emotions, my breathing slows.

  I peek down the hallway to the bedroom door still ajar. Eva doesn’t stir. She’s already fast asleep. My little sister. She’s been so good to me. So protective, acting like the older sister when it goes against every brat-atom in her kid-sister being. She’s driven all day, and watched my back through this whole thing. She might drive me nuts, but despite that, she is also literally the only thing making me feel safe. I can’t let anything happen to her.

  My baby sister.

  I lean my head against the window, close my eyes, and listen to the rain.

  7

  Eva

  My eyes open to the grey light of a too-early morning. Rain slaps at the roof of the trailer. My joints ache from sleeping on the not-at-all-soft trailer bed. The paper-thin cushion is on top of a very hard surface. No springs—all pain. I roll over and find Grace’s spot empty and the door to the small bedroom closed. I rummage around until I locate my new phone. It’s low on juice, but I check the new email account I set up yesterday. There’s already an email from Fiona.

  Hey E,

  Sorry I can’t call yet. They’ve got their eye on me since they found me at your house yesterday. The bad news is that your parents didn’t show up for work and the police called to check. I tried to tell them your “family trip” was a last-minute thing, but the police made it official—you and your family are missing. The good news is that they’re looking for your whole family driving a green Volvo wagon. Where on earth are they getting their info? There’s also no mention of your mom’s “office.”

  Don’t talk about where you are, just in case they find this email.

  Are you guys okay? Has Grace gone all evil on you and tried to eat you or anything?

  More later,

  ~F

  I shoot a quick reply.

  Fi,

  We’re okay, still on the road. You’re paranoid. But fine, I won’t tell you where we are.

  Grace seems normal, annoying as ever. Thankfully the horns have stayed out of sight. It’s almost like she hasn’t changed at all. I mean, when I close my eyes, I can still see her with those horns, and it gives me chills. But I look at her now, and I just see Grace.

  How weird is that, about them looking for the wrong car? I don’t think we’ve ever owned a green Volvo. I’m not sure where the police got that.

  Thanks for the update and all your stealthy advice.

  Eva

  I pocket the phone and open the door to the bedroom. Down the narrow hallway of the trailer, Grace sits at the table, bent over an open book. My sister. The demon. My nice demon sister who loaned me her pillow last night.

  She glances up at me, her forehead creased in thought. “Morning.” She blinks several times before her usual positive-polly, pink smile brightens her face.

  “Morning,” I grumble. “How long have you been up?”

  Her eyes pan around the trailer. “A while. The camper’s tank was empty, so I had to use some of our bottled water to wipe things down.”

  That’s when I notice that the kitchen counters are cleared and clean. The white, laminate floor shines. The place is spotless. She must have been up all night. Apparently, there is enough room in the trailer for everything, because there’s not a box in sight. The place looks decent. She’s also brushed her hair and changed into pink yoga pants and a baggy black sweater. She’s even wearing eyeliner and mascara. It’s like I have my pre-demon sister back.

  She swings her leg out into the aisle, jostling a small plastic bag by her feet. Colorful food wrappers spill out the top.

  “How much did you eat?”

  “I…” She gives me her sad-puppy eyes. “I think I might need to go and get breakfast soon.”

  “Did you eat all our food?” We didn’t bring a lot, but I’d salvaged a few bags of groceries from our kitchen at home. The car burns through gas with the trailer hooked up, and after we purchased the burner phones, we’d already raced through several hundred dollars. “We have to try to conserve our money, Grace.”

  “I’m sorry. I think I might have a larger appetite now that I’m…you know.”

  “Demonic appetite?”

  “Don’t say that word,” she says, her eyes cast down. “Please don’t say it. I’m not ready.”

  Too soon. I frown, apologetically.

  “I just, I need time to get used to this.” She holds up the book she’s reading. It’s Fiona’s dog-eared paperback: Encyclopedia of the Occult. “I’ve been flipping through it for a while now.”

  I slide into the bench across from her. “Have you learned anything? Does it say anything about the demon realm or why you’re eating so much?”

  She presses her lips together and looks down at the table. “No.” She shifts in her seat. “I mean. I haven’t gotten to the stuff about demons yet.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut and massage my temples. She spent the whole night with a trailer full of books that might help her, but she’s still not ready to find out what she is. I open my eyes and examine my big sister. She’s hunched over, and her eyes are bloodshot with dark circles. No wonder she cleaned the whole camper. She’s barely holding it together.

  I force a smile. “Did you learn anyt
hing?”

  “Well, I guess I learned that Mom was being less than honest about how far behind she’d left the occult.” She slides out of the booth and into the aisle between the table and kitchen, and then opens the overhead cupboards. Someone has taken a thick sharpie and drawn elaborate symbols on the inside of both wooden doors. “They’re called ‘sigil.’ There are others hidden in different places hidden all over the trailer. I haven’t been able to figure out what they all mean, exactly, but—” she pulls a book off a shelf above the table and slides it in front of me. “Signs and Symbols” is written across the leather cover “—I found a few of them in here. They’re meant to ward off evil.” She opens the hall closet to reveal more symbols, scraped as if by knife point into the inside of the door. She reaches in and removes a silky black pouch, smaller than a baby’s fist and tied closed with a black ribbon. “This thing is filled with a few stones, and what looks like ashes. As far as I can tell this is another form of protection.”

  “Okay,” I say. “But Mom and Dad have had this trailer for years. Right?”

  Grace nods. “As long as I can remember. Before it was Mom’s office, we used to use it to camp out.”

  “So maybe this stuff is all left over from before? Maybe they’ve had this even longer. Like before we were born?”

  “That could be.” She points to the compartment above the table. “But look at these books.”

  I crawl out from under the shelves and twist around to see. The small case is lined with faded, worn, leather-bound books with words like “Grimoire,” “Gods,” and “Demons” down the spines. A few of them aren’t in English.

  My heart sinks. Mom was supposed to have stopped studying the occult shortly after she made the deal with the demon. The one which sealed all our fates. She switched majors. She was a sociology professor. “Maybe this was all left over from that time as well?” But we share a look. I’m grasping at straws.