by Molly Snow
Damien moved in closer, his mouth so close to hers she could feel his warm breath tickle her lips. There was no room for thinking, just enough for believing. And Stella could hardly believe this was happening. She took a deep breath and readied herself for the kiss. He placed her hand around his neck and moved his own hand up the back of hers, into her hair. He closed his eyes, and she kept hers open.
The door squeaked open. It was Maggie having no clue she burst the moment. “Dinner almost… ready?” Her voice dropped at the tail-end.
Stella scooted off the stool, and quickly left the kitchen, feeling complete embarrassment.
*
What just happened? Stella asked of herself for the seemingly thousandth time. She sat on the padded toilet of the small bathroom that stunk like old lady perfumes. “Damien Capernalli almost kissed me.”
TWELVE
“Hi, Maggie.”
“Hello, Damien? Did I just see—?”
“Yes. Yes, you did.”
“Bloody hell. Does this mean I don’t got a shot with you?”
(Silence.)
“Never mind I just said that. Good luck and God bless and—”
“Thanks, Mag.”
“I’ll go now…”
“See you in twenty, for dinner.”
“Oh, right. Is that when it’s ready?”
“Yes.”
“Right then. See you. Be looking forward to it.”
(Door squeak and footsteps.)
*
Stella was late for dinner, finally coming out of the bathroom after Caleb knocked with an “emergency.” Damien caught a millisecond glance to him before she took a seat far from him. Did she regret what they almost did? Awkward silence hovered over the dinner table from then on. Even the compliments over his masterpiece were obviously forced. The ticking second hand of the clock beside them seemed to get louder and louder and louder….
“How was everybody’s day today?” Damien asked, throwing himself out there, out to what he metaphorically compared to a shark-infested ocean, he being the lone seal. It felt like moments ago he almost blew up all over Kit. And moments ago Maggie walked in on him trying to make out with Stella. Surely gossip must have spread throughout the little circle by now, about both incidents.
Gordon slowly answered, “It kind of sucked.”
Caleb let out a burst of laughter to that, and Kit rolled her eyes.
Surely they must have been thinking all the drama he caused sucked. Way to make new… friends, Damien considered the term.
Gordon took his second slice of pizza, before saying, “Are we still going to have sharing time tonight?”
Sharing time? Damien wondered what that could be, other than a bunch of first graders talking about what their mommies and daddies do for a living. “What’s that?”
Maggie answered, “It’s like a book club thing. We discuss the latest stuff we’ve been reading. Or it could be about movies, too. As long as it’s paranormal, you know.”
That actually sounded like the perfect plan. Get everyone talking about things and thinking about things other than the rifts he caused. “I’ve been reading some stuff lately.”
Several eyebrows raised to that. He ignored it. Obviously it was a surprise to them that he could read. “Yeah, I finished New Moon the other day.” No one responded to that, but Stella looked up to him, as if awaiting more. “…Have any of you read that?”
Gordon and Maggie put up their hands. Gordon added right away, “It was just because my sister read it, and it was lying around the house. I don’t really like Twilight.”
Maggie smacked him with a look to not be rude, and said, “That book is the bomb. Best out of all four of the Twilight series, most definitely.”
“I wouldn’t know,” Damien confessed. “It’s the only one I’ve read.”
“Really?” she asked. “You missed loads of character development between Bella and Edward from the first book. What made you start with Book 2?”
Damien shifted in his seat and finished chewing on a big bite, taking his time to think over a response. “Well, I don’t have a sister who would have laid it around, so I don’t have that as an excuse.”
He heard a small laugh restrained from Stella’s end of the table. “Anyway,” he went on, “I guess I was more interested in reading about Jacob’s journey.”
“Jacob’s journey?” Kit repeated.
“Yes. Jacob’s.”
“Why’s that?” she asked, sounding like the question was a challenge. Maybe she didn’t believe he actually picked the book up, much less, read through its pages.
“Because, well, he is the one who is the werewolf.”
“Werewolf,” Kit repeated, and Damien caught Stella’s quizzical stare at her.
“Yeah,” he simply said, and then it dawned on him that Kit may have seen him hairy and all, and then wondered whether or not she told the others. He took a moment to look each person in the eyes one at a time. That could be the real reason they were all acting so strange. They knew he was a werewolf. Suddenly “sharing time” didn’t seem like such a perfect plan. Or did it?
“Sure. While we’re on the subject,” he challenged back, narrowing his eyes, “let the new guy know all your thoughts on werewolves. I heard you went werewolf hunting this morning.”
“We did go werewolf ‘searching’ this morning,” Maggie said, taking her second slice of pizza. “But all we found were prints.”
“Yeah, and how do you know they belonged to a werewolf?”
Gordon interjected, “They match precisely what handbooks show.”
“Handbooks?”
“Sure, like bird or flower books, to match types and species, only it’s for paranormal creatures. The print matched the species of werewolves.”
“And you have this book on you?” Damien hoped, just for curiosity’s sake.
“No, it’s at home. I just have a really good memory. It’s a photographic memory.”
“He’s also been in space,” Maggie said with a dry, unenthused voice.
Damien ignored that little remark, whatever that was supposed to mean. “So you found werewolf tracks. That’s pretty cool. Where exactly were they?” If he was going to pass out and forget stuff like this, at least he could piece some of it together through clues.
“Three miles north.”
Caleb said, “Kind of up the mountain behind us. It would have been fun to actually get to see a werewolf, but the tracks were cool.”
Damien looked at Kit, challenging her again. “You haven’t seen any werewolves since you’ve been here?”
Rather than respond, Kit took another bite of pizza.
“Alright.” He moved on. “So, as I said, I read New Moon. Jacob basically transforms into this creature because of his blood. It runs in his family, as part of his ancestral heritage. As we probably all know, since the movie’s been out for a while, he is Native American. So, do werewolves descend strictly from a Native American heritage, or can anyone, from any background, become a werewolf?”
“There are two ways,” Maggie said, setting down her slice. “There are two known ways someone can become a werewolf. Either they get bitten by one, or they come from a lineage of them. So, let’s say an African-American gets bitten by a werewolf one night. If he then has a child, that child would also be a werewolf. You see how that works? So, nationality isn’t a factor; anyone can be born a werewolf, given that one of their ancestors were turned.”
Hm, that was a twist he hadn’t considered. Maggie didn’t mention that after the PAA meeting Thursday night. He zoned out, thinking about his family. Uncle Leo had taken care of him for the past year, and he never knew his father. Could it be…?
When he came out of his bubble, most eyes were on him, waiting. “Sorry, I guess I just zoned out a moment.” Now was the perfect opportunity to keep asking about werewolves, since he still had everyone’s attention. “Okay, what do you all think about imprinting?”
Caleb responded first, aro
und a mouthful. “Fake. No such thing as imprinting.”
“Why do you think that?”
“I don’t know. I just think it’s made up by that author. You don’t see it in other fiction.”
Like almost anything about werewolves, Damien didn’t really know either way. He was pretty sure his interest in Stella was more of a normal teenage male hormonal thing, so he scooted the worry aside.
The Deathheads tattoo on his back came to mind, and he opened his mouth to say something but stopped. If he brought up tattoos next, he feared that would hint too much at himself.
Before he could say anything more on the subject anyway, the front door opened. It was his first time seeing the elderly woman. She carried a brown bag of groceries, struggling to shut the door behind her with a foot. Without giving further thought, Damien went right over to help.
“I got it,” the woman said. “If you want to help, go out to my car. There’s more there.”
Damien went out to the station wagon, and opened the back seat. There sat three more brown bags filled to the brim with food. He balanced two in one arm and grabbed the other. It was already dusk, and the moon was especially bright tonight. He looked up to it, like it was calling him. “What do you want?” he asked. He then had the sense someone else was nearby watching. He stepped along and up to the porch, looking over his shoulders.
Back inside, he was surprised to see the woman talking about him. “The paperwork didn’t mention anyone else was coming. How old is he?”
Damien set the groceries down exactly where he was, on the wood floor, and cut in, “I’m seventeen.”
She turned to him, her back a bit hunched, staring him down. “I have no permission slip for you.”
That was true. All he did was tell Uncle Leo he’d be out, spending the night with different friends before school started. “I’m sorry. I left it back home.”
She stepped closer. “You aren’t allowed to stay here. You just better head back home. Now go. Get on out.”
Maggie stood up from the table, and said, “Mrs. Partridge, you don’t expect him to just drive all night to go home, do you? It would be safer if he stayed here, and left during daytime.” Damien thought it very brave of Maggie to step up like that, but he needed a good excuse to not spend the night anyway.
“It’s okay,” Damien said. “I have another place I can stay the night.”
Stella looked him in the eyes like she knew it was the beach. He hoped his yearning for her showed enough in his own eyes. He really liked the almost-kiss they shared, and wanted to follow through with its intention. No way would he just up and leave, go all the way back home, just because the old woman told him to. He’d hang around, whether or not that meant at the bed and breakfast. Plus, he made some progress tonight, learning more about his situation.
“I’ll be where you know you can find me,” he said to all, making his message clear he wouldn’t completely leave.
THIRTEEN
At 12:10 a.m. a soft knock on Stella and Kit’s door startled them out of their very heated thumb war. They knew it was 12:10 on the dot, because they were timing their little game. “I’ll whip your thumb’s butt later,” Stella promised. She softly stepped across the room, and slowly opened the door, not knowing what to expect.
Caleb’s face was ready with a wagging tongue, making a silly face. Gordon was beside him with an Uno deck, and Maggie, behind them both, balanced a stack of bowls and a gallon of ice cream. They all smiled, not making a peep, and practically tip-toed as they entered. Stella cringed at the small creak of the door as she shut it behind them.
“What are you doing?” Kit whispered loudly, still sitting on the bed.
“It’s party time,” Caleb whispered back, and plopped next to her.
“I was going to beat Stella at a thumb war for once,” she whined.
“I’ll play you.” He put his hand out and Kit eagerly accepted.
“Watch out for her secret,” Stella said. “She has a trick thumb that clicks all double-jointed.”
“Hey, someone needs a trick when they play against long freaky fingers like Stella’s.”
“My fingers are not freaky.” Stella lifted them up to analyze, just in case, as Gordon and Maggie took their places on the bed.
“They’re a little freaky, actually,” Maggie agreed. “Look—hold them up all creepy-like.” She clawed at the air. “I bet they’ll look pretty witchy.”
Stella couldn’t help but imitate the move.
“I won.” Kit fist-pumped.
“I let you win,” Caleb said.
“You did not.”
“Yes I did. It’s only proper to let a lady win.”
“Oh please…”
“I was being a gentleman.”
“You’re such a dork.” Kit whapped Caleb over the head with a pillow, and the two started up a wrestling match that went beyond just thumbs.
“Quiet,” Stella warned. “We’re not supposed to be up still.”
Kit wiped a stray strand of purple bangs out of her eyes and asked, “What do you all think Mrs. Partridge would do if she caught us up past midnight?”
“Make soup out of us like the wicked ol’ witch in Hansel and Gretel,” Maggie said.
They all looked at each other with serious faces, Gordon’s hand stopped mid-air, passing out an Uno card. The next second they each sputtered out a laugh.
“No, but I mean it.” Maggie nodded, showing sincerity. “After the way she treated Damien, I think she was wanting to take the biggest man out. Now we’re more vulnerable. We can use a beefcake like Damien out here in these lonely woods. I wasn’t even going to confront her about her lack of fulfilling her contractual duties of feeding us tonight.”
Kit gave her a funny look and snickered again.
“I said I mean it. Anyone else wonder why she would live here all by herself? We should find out what happened to the last guests here. See if they’re still living.”
That last comment got to Stella. She had wondered why the woman lived alone and acted so creepy. “Let’s not let our imaginations run away with us,” Stella whispered. “She’s just eccentric. And she just wanted Damien out so she wouldn’t be responsible for him without proper permission.”
They didn’t respond, to which Stella added, “Let’s play. I love Uno. Did you bring this game, Gordon?”
Gordon nodded and with a reassured smile finished passing out the cards.
Not more than ten minutes into the game, Caleb was down to one card and called out Uno a little too loud. Stella cringed along with the rest and their hands went up in quick gestures to be quiet. Not more than ten seconds after that, one of the hallway’s floorboards creaked.
Kit leapt off the bed and flicked off the light. When she returned to her spot, Maggie whispered, barely audible, “It’s too late. She woulda seen the light.”
Another floorboard creaked.
The moonlight did its best to peek through the heavy drapes to no avail. It was completely black in the room. No one made a peep, but they could hear each other breathe. Stella was holding someone’s hand. Who it belonged to, she hadn’t a clue. It didn’t matter.
Gordon finally whispered, “Could it be ghosts?”
The next thing she knew, Stella was huddled with the group beside the bedroom door. Caleb turned the knob and cracked it open. Nothing but a chill met them. Maggie said to Gordon, “Now, go.”
“Why do I have to go first?”
“Because it’s your scanner.” She nudged.
“Someone needs to come with me. I’m not going alone.”
“Dude, I can’t fight,” Caleb said. “I’ve never been in a fight in my life.”
“I’ve never been in a fight either,” Gordon said.
Stella cut in, “I don’t think any of us have been in fights, but—”
“I’ve been in fights,” Maggie interjected. “Just not with a wicked ol’ witch.”
Stella finished, “Let’s all go together, at the same t
ime, then.”
Still huddled together, they gripped each other as they went, tip-toeing across the hall. Nothing jumped out at them. Once in Gordon’s room, the door shut loudly. Each turned to each other with a “Shhh!”
Gordon tripped around in the dark, over the guys’ strewn clothes, shoes and suitcases. “Shhh!” everyone again warned. The drapes were open, and they could see his silhouette as he rejoined their group. Then the scanner’s red light turned on.
Right away Gordon’s machine made a static sound, and the red light flickered. “You know what this means, guys?” he whispered loudly in excitement. “Paranormal activity!”
They all sputtered words of excitement, and Gordon explained. “It’s like a game of hot or cold. The closer we are to the thing, the faster the light will blink. When we’re right at the thing, we’ll hear a soft beeping instead of static.”
“Oh my gosh, this is so freaking amazing.” Kit hopped in place. “Whatever it is, it’s definitely here at this bed and breakfast, right? What’s the range?”
Gordon nodded. “My machine only detects activity within an acre. By the way the light is blinking once every three seconds, I would say it is in the house.”
Caleb fumbled around with his phone. “I’m ready for pictures.”
Maggie said, “I’m telling you guys, it’s Mrs. Partridge herself. She’s a witch.”
Stella felt all jittery inside. No way could it all be true. Could it? As a self-proclaimed nonbeliever, paranormal creatures were supposed to be limited to entertainment, not reality. If they were suddenly real, then what would that mean?
Kit asked, “Maggie, what about the story you gave us about ghosts creaking and moaning down the halls? Couldn’t it be a ghost?”
“You guys, I made all that junk up.”
Now everyone was bewildered, looking to each other in surprise, and demanding she explain herself.
“I’ve never been a ghost hunter. I didn’t live with my grandmother in an English cottage.”
Stella gasped, speechless. The others were apparently speechless as well.
She went on in an American accent, “I’ve never even lived in England. And my grandmother—she’s from Kentucky.”
“What?” Kit demanded, “What the heck, Maggie? If that’s your real name. What are you saying?”
Maggie breathed, and said, still with no more accent, “I do believe in ghosts and all, but I have a problem with compulsive lying. I am a compulsive liar. There, I said it. Please don’t hate me. I already hate myself.” She started blubbering into a hand.