by Aly Noble
He actually chuckled a little. “How do you think I feel? I’ve been stuck in that house for years.”
“What happened?” I asked quietly. “Is it—um—dead?”
“It was never ‘alive’,” he reasoned softly, glancing toward the altar and then around to make sure no one was listening, “but it’s been destroyed.”
I relaxed slightly. “Good,” I murmured. “Was that the reason for blowing the house up?”
He shook his head. “No, I got rid of it before then,” he said quietly.
“Did you cause the fire?” I asked. When he nodded, I felt a little angry. “Why? No one knows what happened now. There’s no evidence. People deserve to—”
“To know?” he finished for me. “I can’t say how that would go. I can say that that’s not how things would’ve turned out.”
“Why not?”
“Remember what happened to Carla?” Jonah asked. I winced a little, and that was answer enough for him. “You saw her as she truly was and then she changed to show a different cause of death at Price’s will.”
“That happened to them, too?” I guessed.
He nodded. “Right before I destroyed it. Bullet holes. And you had a gun in your jacket.” Jonah glanced past me briefly. “There was only one thing to do that would solve both problems.”
I didn’t like it, but it made more sense now at least. “Well… Thanks then.”
Jonah smirked. “You’re welcome then.”
I thought back to my conversation with Estelle and asked, “Any idea what’s up with my eye?”
Jonah looked over and noted the difference, not seeming surprised. “It’s a very subtle mark of being touched by a spirit. Whether that spirit was Price’s entity or me in your case, I’m not entirely sure. It should be a harmless mark though.”
Remembering how his own right eye had been faded out when I’d found him on the roof before going inside to save Bethaline, I shrugged. “I’m going to assume it’s from you. I don’t want any souvenirs from that thing.”
He smirked. “Fair enough.”
“Are you going to see Bethaline while you’re here?” I asked.
He frowned and glanced toward one of the front pews where Bethaline sat with her father and infant brother amongst their family. “I don’t think so. I was going to tell her goodbye, but I don’t think she should have to lose her mother and her ‘imaginary’ friend in one week.” He glanced at me, and his eyes were sad. “It’s not fair to just leave either, but I think that may be easier. Especially since I haven’t seen her in quite some time anyway.”
I couldn’t disagree with that. “If you didn’t come for her, then why are you here?” I asked.
He shrugged and said, “Rose is already long gone, so more or less to say goodbye to you. Tie up loose ends. You’re leaving, aren’t you?”
I nodded. “After the service.”
“It’s about time,” he remarked. “I hope your next home is a better one. And, for the record, you’re one of the better people to have moved in during my incarceration. And I never did thank you for finding my scythe.”
“Bethaline actually gets most of the credit for finding the scythe,” I said. “I found the stone in the river, but she had the blade. She just didn’t know it was yours until I asked her if she’d seen anything like it.”
He smiled slightly. “I wish she hadn’t picked it up, but I’m glad she did. She’s a good kid,” he said fondly. “I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself for not being able to save her mother.”
“We’re in a similar boat,” I murmured.
We directed our eyes forward as the service began and just before the first speaker took their place, Jonah murmured back, “Wouldn’t be the first time.”
• • •
Jonah disappeared just before the service ended and I went to get in line to pay my respects. I smiled awkwardly at the extended family members I’d never heard of, relieved when I got to the end of the trail and came to Steve, Bethaline, and Axil. While I approached them, I tried not to think in depth about what this family would miss. The service had gone overboard with the things this loss might mean, but at the crux of it all was tragedy. It was as simple as it was complicated.
Steve met my eyes, and when I went in to shake his hand, he hugged me instead. “Keep in touch, Miri,” he said. “Just because we won’t be neighbors anymore doesn’t mean… Well, you know the rest.”
“I do,” I said. “And I will.” I gave Axil’s tiny hand a little squeeze before looking down to Bethaline and crouching to talk to her. She looked tired and older than she should’ve for her meager age. “Are you going to write me letters?” I asked her gently.
Bethaline focused on me after her thoughts were interrupted and nodded. “Do you really have to go?”
I smiled sadly. “I do. I miss my cat.”
That seemed to make a good amount of sense to her. “Will you come visit?”
“Sure,” I said. “Be thinking about what color you want your hair next until I do, okay?”
She nodded and subconsciously touched the turquoise streak I’d put in it a few days ago as she said, “Okay.” I thought she was done and I tensed to get back up when she threw her arms around my neck. I hugged her tightly and felt my heart break just a bit more. “Love you,” she mumbled against my shoulder.
“Love you, too,” I replied, hugging her until she started to let go. “Be good, okay?”
Bethaline nodded again, and I got up to walk out to the parking lot with one final wave. When I turned to look where I was going, my vision had blurred with moisture that I flicked away with a fingertip once it spilled over. I arrived at my car and hopped inside, immediately starting the engine and shuddering as I drew my coat more tightly around myself and waited for the machine to warm up.
Okay. You’ve earned your moment, I allowed as I felt my front of strength start to crumble. I put my forehead against the steering wheel and sobbed, getting a blast of heat to the face when the heater finally kicked on five or so minutes later. I leaned back and ran my hands across my cheeks and under my eyes, smearing away my runny eyeliner. I took a moment to wonder if I’d forgotten to say goodbye to anyone, but knew deep down that I was just putting off leaving this place and the people here who had come to mean something to me.
I collected myself and adjusted my posture, but before I shifted the car into reverse, I found myself warily glancing up at the rearview mirror.
My paranoia dissipated when I found it empty, just as it should’ve been.
I pulled the gearshift back, backing up just enough to swing out of my parking space. I turned onto the road when the coast was clear, the stir of powdery snow from my tires obscuring the “Welcome to Grendling” sign as I left its town behind.
Acknowledgements
Sometimes things fall together as gracefully as they fall apart. One of the most gratifying things in my life to have fallen together is this book along with the journey it took to write it.
Red Heather is the brainchild of my generalized anxiety and overall dissatisfaction with overused horror tropes, namely characters that don’t fight back against their would-be killers. For as long as I can remember, daily moments of harmless “what if”-ing has caused me an unnecessary amount of extra stress. It was when I started to use these intrusive worries as brainstorming sessions that I began to spin the beginnings of what would become Miri’s story.
That being said, there are a lot of people who deal with my anxious personality, and it’s about time they got some credit. My gratitude for the varying degrees of support, encouragement, and enthusiasm given to both my book-baby and to me, personally, over the years knows no bounds.
First, I’d like to thank my mom, who instilled in me a love of reading from a very young age. She has always been my biggest supporter, and encouraged me to pursue the things I want while keeping me grounded in knowing what I must do to get there. I love you more than anything.
Next, we have a very special
shoutout to a close circle of friends who also valiantly volunteered themselves as beta-readers in my time of need—Josh, Jess, Greg, Peter, Chris, Brock, and Aaron, who all took the time to read this monster of a draft while it was still littered with loose ends, mismatched facts, and typos. Some of them multiple times. Thank you all so much for your support, feedback, time, and excitement over what Red Heather started out as and has become. Thank you most though for your friendship—I love you guys.
As I wrote the majority of Red Heather while still in college, I’d like to send a few words of recognition to all of my incredible composition professors for helping me hone my craft. Thank you in particular to Drs. Jenn Stewart, Cathleen Carosella, and Beverly Hume. You each in your own way motivated me and taught me about writing, the world, and being positively kick-ass.
Thank you, Tamarin, for listening to me psychobabble about how I was going to publish this thing, and also for taking the time to read Red Heather and encouraging me to follow through on my plans.
I can’t feasibly thank everyone individually in this Acknowledgments section without it being a separate book, so I’d like to throw out a general thank-you to everyone who ever gave me words of encouragement or spoke positively to me about me or my writing—know that I heard you and it meant the world.
The inspirations for Red Heather are probably more extensive than even I’ve realized. However, there are at least a handful of authors and works that influenced my characters and world for this novel. These inspirations include but are not limited to On Writing by Stephen King (which got me out of a rough patch in my self-actualization as a legitimate writer), What the Night Knows by Dean Koontz, Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, The Raven Cycle series by Maggie Stiefvater, Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn, and House of Leaves by Mark Z. Danielewski.
Finally, thank you for picking up Red Heather, giving it a chance, and reading it all the way to the end. I hope you’ve enjoyed the ride and that I haven’t wrought too much havoc on your blood pressure.
Actually, I do because that means I’ve done my job.
