by E. M. Fitch
“We lost, Cass,” Rebecca grumbled the following day during English class. “Jane is a nightmare. Seriously. How sick were you?”
“Sick,” Cassie answered, rummaging for a pencil in the bottom of her backpack. “I’m much better now.”
“Thank goodness,” Lindsey mumbled. She turned around in her seat, shooting Cassie a quick frown. “Coach is so pissed that I’m leaving next week for the coast. And Lara is still out. We need you here.”
“I know, I’m sorry,” Cassie whispered, aware that the substitute teacher at the front of their class was staring the three girls down. She sat back, nervously tapping her pencil on the desktop. “I’m here now, promise.”
Cassie slept the night before, her windows locked and her hand wrapped around the handle of the antique knife that she had tucked under her pillow. Still, she slept better than she had in a long time. The knife was now flush against the skin of her calf, held there snugly inside the high knee sock she had on under her jeans. It wouldn’t be easy to access, but it was easier to hide that way. She was breaking a hundred rules just by bringing it to school, but she couldn’t leave it home, she wouldn’t. It steadied her.
She wasn’t sure she was right about the iron. It didn’t matter precisely. It wasn’t so much the material of the object resting against her skin, it was more the decision to keep it there. One thing she had realized in her panic-induced flight of yesterday. These beings were not immortal, they could be killed, and if they threatened her or her family again, she would defend herself. She would try. She would be ready.
Lara was still in the hospital, and her family had sent word requesting no visitors. They were distraught and terrified after her outburst in the ICU. She had woken in fits since then. Every time she woke, she started screaming.
Mark remained in the ICU. From what Cassie had heard in the whispering corners of classrooms, he wasn’t doing any better. His heart continued to stop, just as it had that day Cassie and Rebecca had been there. He had been resuscitated each time, but Cassie couldn’t help but wonder just how much his human body could withstand.
Samantha had yet to wake up.
Jon went every day to sit with her. Ryan joined him. Cassie was glad for that. There, they would both be safe. She was sure Aidan would have noticed by now that she and Ryan were no longer together. He watched her so closely, even when she was not entirely aware of it. She wondered though, would that matter? Aidan must have known how Cassie felt about Ryan, even after their breakup. Would he lash out anyway, out of jealousy? Or was he so deluded about Cassie, so convinced that she could really have feelings for him, that he felt it didn’t matter either way?
Cassie wasn’t sure. She kept her distance from Ryan regardless. Not that he was exactly seeking her out either. She watched him from afar, feeling more like Aidan than she ever wanted to; but not all of it was her fault. They still shared classes. Cassie ran into him at the hospital a few times as well, pacing the halls with Rebecca, waiting for news on their friends.
It wasn’t the only thing she was waiting for.
The creatures hadn’t come back. They stole Cassie’s concentration with them, dragging her thoughts down the paths of the forest and away from the life she was living. Her grades started to slip, her focus in class was lost. Softball practices were a struggle. She could see everyone watching her, feel their eyes and their concern. Her parents spoke softly and carefully when she was in the room. Officer Gibbons showed up, more and more often, dropping not-so-subtle hints about wanting to talk.
Their voices were like the brush of butterfly wings on her skin, light and distracting but of utterly no substance. Her mind was with them.
Where were they? Why had they not attacked yet? Her knife was ready and waiting. She was ready. Every blade of grass that bent in the wind, the flowers that bloomed, faces reaching for the sun; she searched them for meaning, for the voices inside that would speak to her. None of them did. The regrowth of the earth around her wasn’t unnatural, it wasn’t them, it was spring coming to take its rightful turn.
Cassie was abandoned on uneven ground, half in her world but getting sucked into theirs with each day they left her waiting.
“Cass. Cassie!”
She was jerked out of speculation, dragging her gaze from the window in her Math class to the girl who was hissing in her ear behind her. Maggie Fallon, her left fielder, frowned at her.
“Did you hear what I just said?”
Cassie shook her head, her gaze sweeping the rest of the classroom. Student’s phones sat out, buzzing on desktops. Even the teacher didn’t seem to mind, Mr. Green’s expression was one of concern and not annoyance. He called attention to the class to tell them he’d be available, if anyone wanted to talk. He informed them that the guidance counselors would be staying after school, just in case the students needed anything. Cassie waited for him to elaborate on why. He didn’t. She turned fully in her seat, locking eyes with the junior girl behind her.
Maggie’s brow furrowed, and the words came out in a stilted whisper.
“Mark’s dead.”
Cassie wasn’t surprised another town hall meeting was called. She had been expecting it.
What she hadn’t been expecting was being alone in her house. Both of her parents already had their coats on and her dad had the car keys in hand when Cassie got home from practice.
“You’re going out again?” she asked, a spark of fear fizzing in her chest. Her father nodded. “Because of Mark?” Cassie asked in a quiet voice. Both of her parents stilled, her mother watching her expression closely.
“Did you know him well?” her mother asked. Cassie shrugged. It was a small town. It was impossible to not know a kid in her class.
“What’s the meeting about?” she asked instead. Her dad’s jaw clenched, and he inhaled sharply.
“Probably nothing,” he said. “Another fear-inducing waste of time fueled by that idiot Evans woman.”
Cassie felt her eyebrows rise, never having heard her father make an outburst like that.
“Patrick,” her mom murmured. “Not in front of Cassie.”
“Someone with a brain has to be there, Cathy,” he snapped back, thrusting his arms through his coat.
“I agree,” she said. “But the woman lost her daughter.”
“So did—” He stopped himself just in time, possibly hearing his daughter’s sharp intake of breath. Cassie knew who else had lost their child, and also that the Blakes were having trouble even making it out of the house. Not like the Evans, who were burying their grief with public campaigns.
“I’m coming with you,” Cassie said, throwing her gear by the stairs. She moved back through the door in a hurry, afraid her parents would argue with her. Neither said a word, holding the door open for their daughter. Cassie thought she heard a quiet sigh escape her mother’s lips as Cassie passed by.
The night was dark and cold, the sky clear. There was a full moon and Cassie thought back on all the times her mother had complained, saying the emergency room was filled with whack jobs every time there was a full moon.
As a child, Cassie had thought whack jobs was another word for werewolves. She imagined her mother fighting away beasts strapped to hospital gurneys and wearing those flimsy hospital johnnies, furry tails poking out the backsides. Her mother had roared with laughter when Cassie told her this, tearing up. She had corrected Cassie, told her there was no such thing as werewolves, and that there was “just something about a full moon, it brought out the crazy in people.”
Who knew? Maybe it did.
The town hall sat just in front of the little league fields and just across the street from the library. Already the parking lot was full; her father had to park at the baseball fields to get a space. The building itself was darkened, all except the lights that blazed in the meeting room. From the parking lot, Cassie could see the warm yellow squares of light that shone out and cast orange rectangles on the darkened pavement. Inside the s
ilhouettes of the townspeople milling about could be seen. They were gathered in the same room the town used as a fake North Pole in the wintertime, the Woman’s Club all lined up around the room to hand out hot chocolate and cookies to the kids waiting to see Santa. It was the same room the Red Cross used when they came for the blood drive that got heavily advertised all over town every few months. Through the windows, it now looked like a bizarre shadow puppet show, all the actors angry versions of Sesame Street characters, bobbing heads and shaking fists.
The warm air of the interior engulfed Cassie as she walked through the door, bringing a flush of heat to her face. She could hear the angry muttering and barely restrained shouting coming from the meeting room. A sudden visual of werewolves popped into her head, all shaking and howling at the moon.
“Are you telling me that you really believe a spotty thirteen-year-old kid is still the biggest problem?” a middle age man shouted at the podium placed at the front of the room. Cassie and her parents slipped in the back, her dad already shrugging out of his jacket.
“I thought start time was eight sharp,” Cassie’s father said loudly, interrupting the man’s diatribe. The room at large turned to acknowledge him. He left his wife’s side and strode to the podium. The man who had been shouting stopped, sitting back down in his chair. Cassie watched her father as he reached the First Selectman, Mr. Fisk, and shook his hand.
Cassie had known Mr. Fisk for years; he had coached her in soccer when she used to play in the town recreation league with his daughter. He looked nervous and upset tonight, standing behind the podium with the Chief of Police. A few other members of the town’s board were seated behind him, all talking amongst themselves in low whispers.
Cassie looked around quickly for Officer Gibbons. She found him already watching her, nodding at her from a place against the side wall. She offered a little half-wave.
There were very few teenagers there, though Cassie wasn’t the only one. She recognized a kid she had bumped into in the hallways before and another from her assigned bus. Ami and Lexi were both there, sitting in the front row with twin defiant looks on their faces. Ami had her arms crossed over her chest, looking as though she was daring someone to question her whereabouts the night of the party.
It was the reason the meeting was called, after all. Cassie had no doubt. It must have occurred to someone that though kids doing stupid things at parties might be blasé, someone had to have supplied the kids with drugs. Knowing her town as she did, Cassie felt it was the supplier the parents would be most angry with.
She separated herself from her mother. There weren’t two chairs next to each other available anyway. Her mom took a seat close to the front, her eyes on her husband. As he paused in the act of putting his name down to speak, he shot a wry grimace toward her. There would be an open forum for people to air concerns. Cassie edged around the back of the room, heading toward Officer Gibbons.
He nodded at her as she leaned against the wall next to him.
“There are cookies in a tin over there, on the counter,” he whispered, leaning down close to her. She looked from him to the counter behind her, seeing the Christmas tin decorated in a snowflake pattern. Cassie walked back, popping it open under the loud speech that the first man on the list had started.
“They’re getting the drugs from somewhere, Mitch,” he started, addressing Mr. Fisk. “It’s coming through this town and we need to know how!”
Cassie came back with four cookies, handing two to Officer Gibbons.
“Did I just steal these?” she asked, looking up at him as he took a bite.
“Obviously,” he answered. “That’s why I made you do it instead of doing it myself.”
Cassie grinned and took of bite of her own cookie, chocolate chip. She settled against the wall.
The first man gave a lively and spirited act complete with hand motions and fist thumping. He was settled easily though. Mitchell Fisk agreed with him.
“Of course if there’s drugs we need to know where they’re coming from, Mr. Kennedy. That’s not even a question. Next citizen, please.”
The next two speakers seemed to have the wind taken out of their sails, having no other concerns but the obvious drug trafficking going through their town.
“Have you caught anyone with even a whiff of some super drug?” Cassie asked, leaning over to whisper to Gibbons.
“Not a trace,” he answered through a mouth full of cookie. “Why, know anything?”
Cassie shook her head. “Sure you don’t,” he murmured, smiling down at her to soften the blow. He was right though. She did know something, only he would never believe her.
“No one at the party can even remember doing any drugs,” Cassie continued, ignoring him.
“Been doing your own detective work there, Nancy Drew?”
She shrugged, unable to resist teasing him a bit. “It seemed like someone should.”
He laughed, seemingly unable to help himself. Several people turned and frowned at them. Cassie watched as Officer Gibbons coughed, resuming his impartial attitude, the effect slightly ruined by the cookie he bit into a moment later.
A woman stood next, the muscles of her jaw strained in agitation. “I have a question. How is this all going to affect the fair?” A collective groan went up around the room, several of the people sitting stood up. Townsfolk shouted across the small space at each other.
“How can you think of a stupid fair right now?”
“Seriously, Karen! That boy died!”
“It might mean nothing to you, but I’ve got my livestock,” Karen shot back, her face reddening. “My kids weren’t at some party doing drugs!”
A roar went up in the crowd. Cassie saw her father jump to his feet, getting in between two men who were pointing fingers in each other’s faces. The insults flew louder and more colorful across the room. Mr. Fisk banged his fist on the podium in lieu of a gavel, calling the meeting to order.
It was the soft cry of a woman who settled the frenzy. Mrs. Evans stood in the center of the fury and walked calmly to the podium. One by one, people sat back down. Even Karen abandoned her turn for the woman whose daughter had already paid the ultimate price.
“If I had any say,” Mrs. Evans said, speaking once the crowd had settled, “it would be that nothing should be put on hold. Of course the fair should go on, of course life should go on. But if we don’t get a hold of this now, it won’t go on for the next unfortunate child who gets targeted by this cultish gang that’s attacking our town!”
Cassie’s insides froze solid. She felt rooted to the spot. She was barely able to move her lips, her eyes glued to Jessica’s mother. She whispered it softly, the room was so quiet now that anything more would have carried over the hushed crowd.
“A gang?” Cassie asked, slowly turning to Officer Gibbons to gage his reaction. His lips were pursed and his arms crossed. He looked down at Cassie from the corner of his eye.
“She’s convinced there’s a cult, possibly living somewhere out in the woods.”
Cassie had heard her father talk about this before, heard the rumors that flew around town. Her father thought it was nonsense, and it seemed that Officer Gibbons did as well. But that was exactly what was happening, only most of the people in this room wouldn’t be able to see them. It was chilling how exact it was. Jessica’s mother went on and on. She pulled up photos on her phone that no one would be able to see across the large space, but she went into detail describing things.
She said that there were flowers growing in unnatural places and that these were warnings. She said there were reports of butchered farm animals and blood draining. The damage to the field and the graffiti left there couldn’t have been done by any of the students, according to Mrs. Evans. It was them, a cult, possibly devil worshipers, who had convinced Samuel Phillips to take the blame for them. They had sucked in other students as well, people closer to the town and the daily life of the people living there, people th
ey could convince to commit small atrocities. She insisted the bizarre bird activity was related to the cult, that animals all over the county had been behaving strangely.
Of course, to everyone except Cassie, half of her speech sounded like the ravings of a lunatic, but it seemed as though most of the people were willing to overlook these things because this woman had lost her child. The rest was just too close to the truth, to some possible explanation besides bad luck for all the terrible things that had happened around town. It seemed as though most of the people in the room were willing to swallow large portions of Mrs. Evans’ theories.
Cassie’s father stood up at what seemed to be the end of Mrs. Evans’ very long speech. He dipped his head toward her and she stopped, blinking over at him.
“With respect,” he started, “most of the things you’re saying aren’t connected in the slightest.”
“Oh, but they are!” she argued, leaning back as though his words had physically harmed her. Cassie looked from her to the crowd, they murmured in annoyance and anger, but not at the grieving woman and her bizarre claims. Instead their eyes darted to her father, once in appreciation and admiration, and now in distrust. It was as though the simple act of disagreeing with Mrs. Evans caused their faith in him to waver.
“We can’t let ourselves get riled up over this,” he persisted. “Trying to trace the source of the drugs. Fine. Yes. We should do this; it’s a logical and useful step. But starting to blame every strange thing that has ever happened on a bizarre cult that lives out in the woods? Has any one of you ever even seen a stranger traipsing about out in the woods?”
He paused for a minute to let the people consider. Cassie’s eyes swept over the crowd, curious herself to see if anyone would answer.
“Well, there are those hikers, Patrick,” someone called out. “Strangers come running through this town all the time.”
“Those are from the Appalachian Trail, Alec!” her father said, his frustration showing. “People have been passing through our town on that trail for hundreds of years.”