At Woods Edge

by E. M. Fitch

  Of course she said yes, even though it stung a bit that she had been replaced, and they had a new go-to babysitter already on call to watch their children.

  Now she was alone in a home with two sleeping children, children she was responsible for. Alone. In school, Cassie was always surrounded. Teachers and peers, underclassmen, teammates, secretaries, librarians, someone was always there. It had been like that lately, either by Cassie’s own design, her fear of being caught off guard, alone and vulnerable; or by the design of others. Her parents had certainly been more attentive, Officer Gibbons hung around, even her teachers seemed to be particularly aware of her.

  The only time she was truly on her own was when she was taking her evening run. But then too, she had always felt protected by the watchful eyes of the nosy residents of the street. Suddenly, the thought of being watched was like icy fingers creeping down her spine. She burrowed back into the cushy leather sofa that dominated the Sheridan’s small living room. Was it him? Or just the general collective concern that she had felt while running? Was it just the neighbors that peeped out from behind their curtains, watching one of their own lest she be stolen away like the other girls before her? It was hard to tell.

  Her parents, her father in particular, had been agitated about the meeting that was taking place right then. Cassie glanced at the stove clock, the numbers glowing green in the otherwise dark kitchen. The meeting had started over an hour ago. She wondered how long it would go, how long anyone could drag out a conversation involving vandalism and high school graffiti. And she wondered what else what might come from it.

  It was bad enough the after-school activities were shut down, that the students had been set against each other, that there were officers stationed at the door and patrolling around town for anyone loitering. Cassie had seen more police cruisers in the last week than she could ever remember before. Normally, she thought this might make her feel more secure. It would. If only the officers could see Aidan. They couldn’t, as far as Cassie knew. She was the only one who could, and the only one Aidan wanted.

  A small noise sounded from upstairs, a creaking. A twist of anxiety coiled in Cassie’s chest. The Sheridans had left twenty minutes before the meeting started, their two boys already tucked up into bed when Cassie got there. Which meant it had been over an hour since she checked the children. She muted the television show that she wasn’t really watching; the flickering glow of the comedy cast shadows over the dim room and shot sparkling light along the wall halfway up the stairs. She rose from the couch, glancing toward the staircase. She could only see the bottom half of the carpeted steps through an opening of rungs. The rest rose behind a wall to the second floor.

  The Sheridan’s house was a small cape style, decorated in varying shades of beige and brown. The lamps in the living room left warm, yellow glows in pockets of the home. Cassie moved toward the stairs and flipped on the hall light. The upstairs lit in glaring contrast to the shadows that had just dominated the space. Every corner was illuminated, the dark pushed out entirely with one flip of a switch.

  There were only two rooms on the second floor, one for the parents and one for the kids. Randall and Quinn Sheridan shared a bedroom. Though Randall, the two-year-old, liked to sneak into his parents’ room at times.

  Cassie started up the stairs, noticing as she did that the Sheridan’s bedroom door was ajar. She was almost positive she had closed it when she first went upstairs to check on the sleeping boys. It was probably Randall, sneaking around. Everything was quiet and still as she tread up the stairs. Soft noises could be heard, the rustle of little bodies under the covers, the bedspreads shifting as tiny lungs took breaths of air. The sound traveled ever so slightly, almost just a perception of not being alone.

  Anxiety bubbled in Cassie’s chest though, an unspoken fear. What if he had come? Would Aidan sink so low as to threaten the children, just to get her attention? She didn’t really think so. He hadn’t shown himself all winter. Throughout those barren winter months she would not have even known he was still around, if it hadn’t been for the flowers. But no, even without the flowers she felt him, felt his stare. Those intense eyes, watching her, featured in her nightmares. The bouquets, and the graffiti, and yes, the breaking into her home, they were all escalations; but she hadn’t actually seen him, just felt him there.

  Maybe she couldn’t actually see him anymore, maybe that was why he was leaving these things. There was some piece hidden deep inside of her, some flaw that had allowed her to see these creatures when others could not. Whatever it was, maybe that part of her soul had broken when Laney left.

  The thought was a warm beacon of comfort, even if she couldn’t fully commit to believing it.

  She focused on the hall ahead of her. All was silent. He wouldn’t harm the children. At least, she didn’t think he would.

  She moved to the door of the master bedroom, it swayed gently as she approached. She blinked into the darkness, unable to see anything but vague outlines. She frowned though, noticing the smooth shape of the bed in front of her. Cassie moved into the room, her hands outstretched before her. The comforter was smooth and taut under her fingertips. Randall was certainly not wrapped up in his parent’s blankets.

  She looked up, her eyes adjusting in the gloom. The room was still and untouched. Her gaze was drawn across the space.

  She swallowed a scream as a set of eyes looked back at her. Shadowy and sure, someone stared at her from across the room. Cassie jumped back, reaching for the switch. In the sudden flood of light, she looked up to see her own startled reflection staring back at her in the mirror over the dresser.

  Nothing. It was nothing. Just her own face, nervous and scared, watching herself in the reflective glass. Her limbs trembled, and she drew a deep breath. She stood taller, pushing her auburn hair behind her ears. Cassie stepped back into the hallway, flicking the switch as she passed. The room fell dark as she pulled the door firmly shut behind her. She pushed slightly on the doorknob, making sure it caught and latched.

  It was two steps to the boys’ room. The door opened with a gentle creak. A small star nightlight hung above the beds; specks of brilliance dancing over the blue walls. Quinn tossed in his crib and then fell still. Randell lay quiet in the middle of his low bed, the comforter thrown from his little body. Cassie moved forward, bringing the blanket gently over his frame. He didn’t stir as she adjusted it. She watched for a moment, listening to the gentle snores and easy breathing.

  The Sheridan boys were especially sweet when they slept.

  Cassie crept back out of the room. She shut the door softly and turned toward the stairs. Once she reached the bottom she flicked the lights off, swathing the hall behind her in shadows once more. The living room in front of her seemed pleasant and warm by contrast. She reached for the remote that she had left on the couch and turned off the television. The dancing light that had been racing up the walls eased.

  Cassie moved to the kitchen. She grabbed the sponge and wiped down the table, then turned and did the same to the kitchen countertops. She wished she had brought her homework with her, but she hadn’t had time to grab it. She needed a distraction. The kitchen was cleaned up in a few moments and Cassie flipped the light off. There was only the one lamp left on in the front room, a soft radiance that reflected off the living room window and warmed the soft brown walls. Cassie moved toward it. The window was a dark, glossy surface, so shiny it looked almost wet. She squinted at it, struggling to see across the street. The Sheridans lived directly across from the Blakes. There was nothing but darkness. No soft glow from their windows. The thought that occurred to Cassie was a somber one, maybe they were staring out their black windows just as Cassie was. Maybe they were looking for the things that took their daughter. Then again, maybe they didn’t even have the energy to stand. Something dropped in Cassie’s stomach, a dull ache.

  She reached out, thinking of her missing friend and the grieving people Laney left behind; her fingers p
layed with the lamp’s knob. She twisted it. The light shut off with a click.

  Eyes, not her own this time, stared back.

  She felt her breath leave in a small huff, the air leaking from between her frozen lips. Every contour of her face stiffened; the muscles of her arms zinged with tension. It was good, though. She stood like a statue, staring into Aidan’s thoughtful gaze.

  He stood just outside the window, amidst a grouping of azaleas not yet come to life in the wake of winter. If he leaned forward, his nose would graze the glass. She had no idea how long he had been standing there, watching her. She hadn’t been able to see him through the shiny, reflective glass. Tiny vibrations danced over her skin, the sensation of bugs crawling.

  He grinned slowly, a small pull of his lips at first and then his teeth, glowing in the darkness. His skin was that same pale luminescence that Cassie had last seen on Laney. The sight made her ache for her best friend. His eyes were the piercing blue she remembered, truly lovely, if they didn’t belong to a creature so terrifying and fierce. Tonight, he was amused, and his eyes shone with merriment.

  His grin faded slowly, but he never looked away. Nice to see you, he mouthed.

  Cassie didn’t react. She forced her gaze over his shoulder, pretended she was looking down the road for the Sheridan’s car, for the beams of light that would be weaving down the pavement. She acted as though she didn’t see him, this strange being who wouldn’t stop harassing her. Her skin prickled with terror and she wanted, at the same time, to keep the light off and him in her sights, and to pull the drapes and pretend he wasn’t really there. Her fingers felt wooden on the switch that rested in her taut grasp.

  She was still caught between decisions when headlights did appear on the road. The car slowed around the corner before pulling into the driveway. The tension leaked from Cassie’s shoulders, and she took a searing breath. Aidan’s lips quirked up again. He reached forward, his hand resting against the glass. He tapped once.

  “I can’t wait for you to talk to me again,” he whispered. “I can’t wait for you—”

  The door to the living room swung open. A shiver traversed Cassie’s spine as she spun, a gasp stifled on her lips. The silhouetted outline of Ann and Peter Sheridan stood in the open door frame.

  “Cassie? Why are the lights out?” Ann Sheridan called out. Cassie came to life in an instant. She twisted the knob. The soft glow lit the room and turned the glass milky smooth once again. Both adults blinked into the light, staring at her in confusion.

  “Sorry,” Cassie gasped. “I was just checking outside. Thought I heard something in the yard.” A soft chuckle sounded from outside, though neither adult seemed to hear it.

  Mrs. Sheridan cocked her head at her, appearing concerned, but her attention was diverted quickly toward the stairs. “The kids?”

  “They’re fine,” Cassie answered, moving to grab her jacket. “I just looked in on them a few minutes ago.”

  Cassie’s hand shook as she picked up her jacket, her nostrils flaring at the infusion of floral-scented air that wafted toward her.

  “Don’t forget this,” Mr. Sheridan said. He reached toward the table next to the front door. There was a small bowl there, a decorative glass piece that was usually half-full of loose change and spare pens. Next to that was the extra set of house keys. Between the two, laid very deliberately, was a brilliant flower. It sat atop a fresh green stem, each petal curling upward and together so that it all resembled a bright, multi-hued pompom. The very center was a dazzling yellow and then the color shifted deeper until the edges were coated in blazing orange. It looked like the sun, a vivid sun lying dormant by a set of spare keys.

  It wasn’t there when Cassie went up to check the children. Her breath caught in her throat as she stared at it.

  “But, that’s a chrysanthemum,” Mrs. Sheridan said, looking from Cassie to the flower. “They’re not even in season. Where did you get it?”

  “Ann, don’t bug the girl,” Mr. Sheridan interrupted. “I doubt she wants to tell us old people all about that boyfriend she’s got.”

  “I don’t think it’s bugging Cassie, and I think we have the right to know if some boy is hanging out at our house.”

  “No, Mrs. Sheridan,” Cassie interjected, her words sounding dull and lifeless to her own ears. “Ryan wasn’t here. I was alone. He gave it to me before, you must not have noticed.”

  “See, Ann?” Mr. Sheridan huffed. “You’re just going a little crazy. Not that we didn’t already suspect that, eh Cassie?”

  He winked in Cassie’s direction, and she forced a smile. His wife tittered, snatching the flower from her husband’s hand and forcing it into Cassie’s grip. The stem was still dewy with moisture.

  “Walk the girl home, you old fool,” Mrs. Sheridan said.

  Cassie followed a laughing Mr. Sheridan into the dark night air. The outdoor light clicked on overhead.

  A shadow watched from the bushes, his outline dark against the night sky. Cassie kept her eyes to her neighbor’s back, the flower dangling in her limp fingers. She didn’t look up until they crossed the street. The Blake’s garbage can was still out at the end of their driveway, even though, technically, garbage pickup was three days ago. Cassie tossed the flower in the open bin.

  The night was soundless behind her. If Aidan saw, he didn’t say anything.

  Her own front porch light was on. Cassie hopped up the steps, turning when Mr. Sheridan coughed from behind her.

  “Better not forget this, either,” he said, offering a folded bill in her direction. She kept her eyes on his hand, forcing her lips to form words of thanks. She took the money with numb fingers, turned quickly away, and yanked her door open. Just before it swung shut behind her, she heard the menacing whisper.

  “Don’t worry, darling. I think I can wait, after all.”

  Cassie barely slept that night. Her room felt small and hot, claustrophobic. The hall thermostat read sixty-five degrees so she knew she shouldn’t be sweating. But throughout the entire night she alternated between cocooning herself in her heavy comforter, feeling sweaty but safe, and pushing it back to let errant limbs hang out in the cold, exposed air of her bedroom.

  The exposure made her chest vibrate, an insistent thrum of unease, and a nauseating thought would catch and lodge in her brain.

  He’s watching you.

  She pulled her limbs back, encased them once more in heavy cotton, burrowed herself into damp bedsheets, and lay listening, always listening.

  Aidan would come again.

  She arrived at school barely dressed in the morning, her auburn hair thrown up in a messy bun. Her father made sure she got into the building and then turned immediately for the Main Office. Rebecca was just ahead of her. She turned, took one look at Cassie, and raised her eyebrows slowly, an expression of concern. Cassie shrugged and leaned forward, catching her friend with her shoulder. Rebecca threw an arm around Cassie and dragged her into the school building.

  The announcement came as they were dumping their bags in their lockers. All morning classes were canceled. Students should head to the auditorium for a special program.

  The words “special program” was said with such trepidation, that if Cassie hadn’t already promised her father she wouldn’t ditch, she’d have dragged Rebecca back out to her car and off the school grounds.

  As Cassie passed the Main Office, she waved to the secretary, Jane Keller. Jane grimaced and waved back before putting her head back down to her work.

  Ryan, Jon, and Samantha met up with the girls just outside the auditorium’s large double doors. Students streamed past, filing into the burgundy upholstered rows of fold-down seats. Sneakers caught and squeaked on the polished cement floor. Cassie heard a nearby English teacher complaining about the heat in the room, fanning her face with a bunch of folded papers. Cassie could see the red ink of corrections on the essay paper she held. Mr. McLean, their assistant principal, nodded his head along, motioning to
one of the janitors to prop the back door open.

  Cassie frowned as she moved into the large space, feeling a sweep of warm air rush over her.

  “What’s up with the sauna?” Jon asked, pulling his shirt from his chest a few times at a rapid pace.

  “Broken heater, it won’t stop pumping. The freakin’ bio lab feels like a jungle,” the kid in front of him turned around to say. “I was happy to leave it, but it’s just as bad in here.”

  “Try to get a seat up front, by the doors,” Ryan said, nudging Jon forward as the other boy turned back around. Jon cut across one of the rows, stepping over the knees of a group of freshmen girls with a muttered apology. He hurried down the empty aisle against the wall of the auditorium, jumping a row to get prime seats saved for the rest of them. Ryan, Cassie, Samantha, and Rebecca all followed him, much to the annoyance of the girls they had to walk past.

  “As if it wasn’t hot enough, now we have to get trampled, too!” one of the girls huffed. Cassie ignored them.

  It was cooler with the breeze from the open doors wafting over them, though Cassie could still feel the hot, dry air beating down from above and snaking along the floor, swirling around her ankles. She hoped the assembly wouldn’t take long. Already she felt cramped and uncomfortable, seated between Rebecca and Ryan. The chairs weren’t large and the students were still filing in, soon the entire room would be packed with sweating, fidgety people.

  That description included their principal. Mr. Rossi stood center stage, just beside a podium that had been placed there. He checked the position of the microphone, fumbling it before turning away and facing the growing crowd once more. He bounced on the balls of his feet, his rotund figure looking like a boiled egg about to tip over and come rolling at the students, an out-of-control Humpty Dumpty.