Wide Awake

by KB Anne

  They stare into each other’s eyes, silently communicating the way Gram and I do sometimes. It’s upsetting to see them so intimate. I don’t want to have anything in common with my mom.

  Gram’s friend, Mrs. Paige, crosses the room from behind me, pulling on her coat. “We’ve got about three hours of light before nightfall. If we’re going to do this, we need to head up.”

  The scene quickly changes before my eyes. Mom’s holding me in her arms. We’re standing on some sort of island away from the water’s edge. Uncle Mark’s with us, along with a handful of other people including Darius and Mrs. Paige. I don’t see Gram, Calliope, or the little toddler anywhere.

  Genuine warmth permeates from her as my head rests against her chest. Her rich lavender scent relaxes me, lulling me into a restful sleep.

  Out of nowhere, an ear-splitting, nerve-shattering howl destroys the silence of the night. An involuntary shiver rifles through my body. I bury my head in my mother’s chest. A quiet confidence radiates from her. Her presence soothes me.

  I lift my head up and glance around. The people who once stood with us are gone. I can vaguely make out their forms in the distance. I hear the clash of metal. The cries of pain. The inhuman growls.

  People begin dropping out of the trees all around us. Their faces are covered with fur with broad snouts and scary teeth. I wonder why they have masks on. Then I remember today is Halloween. We must be at a Halloween party.

  But why am I so fearful?

  Looking more closely at the masked people, I realize they aren’t wearing costumes. They are wolves that walk like men, and we are surrounded.

  Pulling me tight to her chest, Mom whispers in my ear, “My Gigi, my love, my life.” Then she kisses me on the forehead and hands me to Uncle Mark.

  His eyes fill with tears. “There has to be another way.”

  “You know there isn’t. Stay here until morning light. Then you will all be safe,” she says with a determination much like my own.

  As she steps away, an overwhelming sense of loss consumes me. She begins chanting something as she raises her hands, palms up. Stepping onto the surface of the water, she glides across the pond as she continues to chant. When she reaches the other side, she turns and blows a kiss across the water. A warm breeze reaches me, then darkness …

  * * *

  “Gigi, wake up! Gi, are you okay?” a voice asks as I’m shaken back and forth. A voice I’d know anywhere.

  I open my eyes to Scott staring down at me with a worried expression. Lizzie and Ryan hover behind him, looking just as worried.

  I wipe the tears away. “What’s wrong?”

  “You were having a nightmare. You were screaming and thrashing all over the place.”

  I sit up. My sleeping bag is right where I crawled into it last night. I, however, am at least ten feet away with a branch sticking into my back and twigs jabbing into my legs. I stand to brush the pine needles off, trying to act nonchalant even with the tears streaming down my cheeks.

  Something terrible happened to my mom, and somehow the woman, Calliope, was involved. She said, “He’s coming. He knows.” Who is “he”? And why were there werewolves? The last memory of my mom gliding across the water is the most disturbing image of all. And the most familiar. She told Uncle Mark we would all be safe.

  Safe from what?

  But I don’t share any of this with my friends. I don’t want to appear crazier than I already am.

  “I guess the ghost stories got the best of me,” I manage to choke out.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” Scott says, his hands out ready to catch me. He knows me far too well.

  “I’m fine. Really. Just a little nightmare. No big deal. I can’t even remember what it was about.” The burning makes it hard to speak. One day, I think I will light on fire, and that will be the end of me.

  “It was probably about Scott asking you out on a date,” Ryan says, his arm slung around Lizzie’s neck.

  And with that, the bantering continues where it left off the night before. Monsters and nightmares left where they belong.

  Or at least that’s what I tell myself.

  36

  Silver Bullet

  Scott calls it a “camper’s breakfast.” I call it “crap.” Maybe I’m not cut out for this camping business if raw oats and chocolate-flavored liquid chalk are examples of camping cuisine.

  After washing down my last gagging mouthful with some of Gram’s tea, I start stuffing my sleeping bag into my backpack. “Are we still going to search for the old church, or did you all chicken out on me?”

  “Oh, I’m in,” Scott says. “Ryan, you in, or did your balls crawl up inside you?”

  “Eww, Scott, that’s a nasty picture,” Lizzie says, gagging on his ball usage, though it could be the breakfast.

  “I’m in. So are Smith and Wesson. We’re not afraid of anything,” Ryan says with a vigorous flexing session.

  I roll my eyes at his testosterone display. Typically, he’s a lot more imaginative.

  I hold up my hand to block my view. “All right, that’s enough manliness for this early in the morning.”

  “Morning? Try early afternoon. You slept through most of the morning,” Scott says, packing up the rest of his gear.

  “Really?” I glance up at the sun and see it’s almost at its peak. “Guess I’m not the only one, considering the rest of you slackers didn’t eat breakfast earlier.”

  Lizzie winks at me. “They neglected to mention that part.”

  I hoist on my heavy pack. “Do we have enough time to go up to the church and be home by dinner?”

  “I don’t know about dinner, but definitely dessert. Do you still want to go, or are you worried about Gram?”

  At the mention of Gram, I remember the fear in her eyes and the look of betrayal. I will never forget it. Never. Whoever this Calliope is, she wronged my gram. I will kick her ass if I ever get the chance.

  “She’ll be okay. One late dinner isn’t going to kill her.”

  Ryan grabs Lizzie’s hand. “Well, let’s hit it.”

  Fabulous. They’re going to be one of those couples.

  Scott points in the far-off distance. “The church is supposed to be at the top of that mountain.”

  “More like hill.”

  “It’s a mountain, or at least the closest thing around here. It is part of the Appalachian Mountain range,” he says but he can’t help laughing too.

  For the next few hours, we traipse through Scott’s “trail,” a barely visible remnant of something that, evidently, only he can see. Whenever Lizzie, Ryan, or I find a more reasonable cleared path, he condemns us for our lack of bushwhacking experience—as if the scratches, torn clothing, and grass stains didn’t make that observation obvious.

  It’s doubtful we will find our way home period, let alone be home in time for dessert.

  Finally, when I’m sure all is lost and there’s not even a chance of Search and Rescue finding us, we step into an overgrown meadow teeming with wildflowers—daisies, black-eyed Susans, foxglove, bee balm, and coneflower, along with countless others. Remnants of an old post-and-rail fence mark the fields along the border to the woods.

  Off to the right side of the meadow there’s a scummy, overgrown pond with a cluster of boulders forming an island along the eastern shoreline. The scene reminds me of my nightmare. My breath catches in my throat, but then I release it and mark it as coincidence. All ponds look the same.

  “Look, there’s the church,” Lizzie whispers.

  I glance toward the western corner of the meadow and notice the small, white, one-story church—if that’s what you want to call it. There’s no steeple, no stained-glass windows, no real indication of any kind that it’s a church.

  “Who wants to go first?” Scott says.

  I jump up and down. “Oh, me first!”

  No one argues. I pull my lucky bullet key chain out of my pocket and clutch it in my hand, pointing it in front of me.

  “Wha
t’re you going do with that?” Ryan says.

  “Nothing, spaz. It’s my good-luck charm. You know that. I don’t see you volunteering to go lead.”

  He grips Lizzie’s hand. “Well, how can I compete with you and your silver bullet?”

  I clutch the bullet to my chest with the tip pointing out. “All right, let’s go.”

  Scott’s lightly touching my back, followed by Ryan, with Lizzie behind him. Tension pours off them.

  I turn to look at them. “What are you nervous about? It’s light out, number one, and number two, the ‘church’ is about as big as my bedroom.”

  Scott nudges me forward. “Quit stalling, tough girl. Let’s go.”

  Truth be told, the church isn’t the least bit scary, but an uncomfortable pit forms in my stomach. I take a deep breath to push away my uneasiness before continuing onward. As we edge toward the church, a fleeting sense of familiarity strikes me again. There is no reason this place should be familiar to me. I’ve never been here before, and if I have my way, I will never come here again.

  “Scott, are you sure this is the right place?”

  “Fairly positive. What does it matter anyway? It’s an abandoned place that is begging us to explore it.”

  I stop to scan the horizon. There’s not any sign of civilization in the far-off distance. Not a dog, not a door slamming, not even a car engine revving. Nothing but trees, trees, and more trees.

  “I can’t believe people would travel this far to go to church.”

  “Back then, everyone traveled a long distance to go to worship. They didn’t think anything of it. Besides, they probably only came once a week or once a month. No biggie. You aren’t scared are you, Gigi?”

  I punch him in the arm. “You should know better. I’m just making conversation.”

  “Ouch,” he moans as I climb the rickety old porch stairs. He follows closely behind me, with Ryan and Lizzie close behind him. The rotting floorboards protest under our weight. Clutching my bullet, I push the heavy oak door open and plunge into the darkness.

  37

  Spinning out of Control

  The opening casts a ray of light into the small room. Thick layers of dust and debris cover the floor. Cobwebs hang from the collapsed ceiling. The place is in total shambles. No one has entered the building for a very long time.

  On the back wall, there’s an old calendar. Scott shines his flashlight on it. “The calendar hasn’t changed for fifteen years,” he says, still holding onto my back.

  Ryan and Lizzie giggle behind him. Every romantic interaction and remark feels like both a searing pain plunged into my back and a shot of warmth to my heart.

  Yes. I am one major contradiction after another.

  A creak. A rip. Then the ceiling collapses down on us. A scream erupts from my lungs as I turn to run out the door. I crash into Scott, and we’re both sent spiraling to the floor. A giant cobweb covers my face as I claw my way out of the room. Then I hear it—laughter. And not just any laughter. Ryan’s laughter, followed by quiet giggles from Lizzie.

  Scott stands up and shakes the crap out of his hair. “You bastard!”

  Ryan doubles over laughing with Lizzie clutching her stomach beside him.

  There’s nothing funny about what happened. Nothing at all. I stomp over. He straightens at my approach. I glare at him. He attempts to swallow, but his smile still covers his face. I jab him in the stomach as hard as I can.

  “Holy shit, Gigi! Where’s your sense of humor?”

  Lizzie steps in front of him. “Are you okay? Did she hurt you?”

  “Is he okay? That idiot could’ve killed us!”

  She turns to me, Ryan still cradled in her arms. He’s really working the injured warrior angle if you ask me.

  “Don’t be so dramatic. He was just being funny. You and Scott looked so spooked when you walked in here. He just wanted to lighten the mood. We’re supposed to be having fun, remember?”

  I fling my arms out in the air to reveal my wretched, filthy self. “Fun? You call this fun?”

  “We’ll look back on this day and laugh hysterically,” Ryan says. “You’ll see.”

  “I think the only part of the day I’ll laugh at is when Gigi punched you in the stomach and your face scrunched to half its size!” Scott says.

  “Your face was pretty funny.” I mimic Ryan rubbing his stomach.

  “No, no, it was more like this,” Scott says, imitating him.

  Ryan straightens himself. “All right, all right, we get the idea. All business from now on.”

  He acts like we made an impression on him. Fortunately for us, we know better. Next opportunity to mess with us, he’ll take it.

  Lizzie heads down a hallway with markings on it. She traces her fingers along the wall. “Take a look at this. These look like anarchy symbols.”

  Ryan puts his arm around her. “I betcha devil worshippers came up here.”

  The walls are covered with all sorts of bizarre markings and undecipherable inscriptions. None of us says a word as we follow them down the long hallway to a large, white, circular room with a high cathedral ceiling. Specks of dust sparkle in the air from the narrow beams of sunlight filtering in through the cracks.

  “You won’t be able to pull down the ceiling in here, Ryan.” I try to sound pissed off, but I probably don’t succeed because this place has me awed and creeped out at the same time. The huge room is completely empty. Not an altar. Not a pew.

  “Look at the floor,” Scott whispers. “Now that’s spooky.”

  Red lines cover the floor with entire sections shaded white or black. Upon reaching the center of the room, I begin following the design on the floor. The pattern mesmerizes me. Slowly, without realizing it, without thinking about it, I spin three times in a clockwise direction.

  “I think we should get out of here,” Scott says quietly. He starts backing out of the circle. “We shouldn’t be here.”

  “Chicken, Scott?” Ryan teases, still holding Lizzie’s hand off to one side.

  “No … this … place … I don’t like the feel of it. Something … something isn’t right here,” he whispers, still staring at the floor.

  “You know what? This is … this is a pentagram … with a circle around it.” I begin twirling in the opposite direction, completely mesmerized by the pattern on the floor.

  “Gigi, stop!” Scott yells as I make my third rotation.

  Before I can ask why, the room rumbles. Floorboards moan complaints of being stretched and pulled—moved in ways they haven’t been since their harvest. It is a gentle wakening, but an awakening nonetheless. I try to get my bearings. Scott is my anchor. Lizzie is my lifeboat. I can’t find either one of them, not fast enough anyway. Not before the floor explodes upward, shooting timbers and wood stakes high into the air. The deadly fragments smash against the ceiling. It is a battle of might and power and force. Heaves and insults batter the timber-framed roof, but in the end, gravity wins with one mighty swipe. The debris crashes down around me and falls through the space where it once lay. I alone am left on an island of wood. A movement in any direction on my part will send me spiraling to an unknown hell.

  Laughter—hysterical laughter—fills the room, soon followed by horrible screaming. A scream of loss and pain and imminent death. For just a moment I think Ryan’s playing another one of his stupid jokes on us, but then my brain catches up with my sight—Ryan and Lizzie crashed through the floor. But then, who is that laughing?

  Peering down into the darkness, I am terrified by what I might find, but I can’t see anything in the dark space. I can only hear the terrible laughter and the screaming. That screaming I’d know anywhere. That screaming belongs to Lizzie.

  “Gigi, jump!” Scott yells.

  I stare over at him and feel a nanosecond of relief. He’s okay. He’s safe. But he’s on the other side of the room, and there’s no floor between us.

  “It’s too far to jump!”

  Scott looks wildly around. He grabs a rope anc
hored to the wall. The remainder of it is strung up around one of the ceiling rafters. He quickly unties it and yanks down on it as hard as he can. “Catch!” he shouts as he tosses one end over to me.

  I manage to wrap my fingers around it, but no way, no how, am I using it to jump to him. “Are you nuts?”

  Then the screaming stops. Real panic leaps in.

  “Gigi, you have to trust me. The rope will hold. Now jump,” he says again.

  We lock eyes, and a feeling of complete trust rushes through me. Grabbing hold of the rope, I take a deep breath and leap. An all-consuming terror grips me as I swing across the void. There’s more screaming, but I’m unsure if it’s me or someone else. The mocking, sinister laughter echoes all around me.

  “Let go!” he says, bringing me back to the moment.

  Before I can think about my decision, I let go. He catches me and rushes out of the room.

  Before we make it back to the first room, I return to my senses. “Wait!”

  He ignores me as he runs toward the front door.

  “Wait!” I yell again and buck against his clutch hold.

  “Gigi, I have to get you out of here!” He shrieks. His terror matches my own.

  “No, we have to go back and get Lizzie and Ryan.”

  “Are you crazy? That laughing thing got them. They fell through the floor. I need to get you out of here!”

  “We have to try and save them.”

  Before he can disagree, I break free from his grip and sprint back down the hallway toward the screams and the laughter. I’m fairly certain I’ve gone completely insane, but the driving need to find Lizzie is the only thing keeping me going. I catch the rope I used to swing across. I yank. I pull. I need it to get Lizzie.

  “Here, let me do it,” Scott says, coming up behind me. He takes out a knife, but it’s not your regular Scout-issued pocketknife. It’s a silver dagger. He slices through the rope with ease. “Now what?”

  “Ryan! Lizzie! Can you hear me?” I shriek into the abyss. The screaming has stopped, leaving only the laughter to consume the room. “Lizzie! Ryan!”