White Smoke

by Tiffany D. Jackson

  “Thanks, Pop-Pop,” he says quick as we race back into the kitchen.

  “What’s going on?” Yusef asks, leaning over my shoulder.

  I zoom in to the blurry family photo, the kids all with white-blond hair. Judging from their modest clothes and hairstyles, the picture was taken a long time ago, but the girl’s eyes are a familiar crystal blue. Haunting with a soul-sucking stare. I remember thinking the same thing when I noticed her eyes before.

  “Can I look up something on your phone?” I ask, breathless.

  “Uh, sure,” Yusef says, a question lingering while he’s passing his cell.

  The Foundation may be watching our Wi-Fi, but maybe not watching his.

  I google Scott Clark and a Wikipedia article comes up first. I scroll down to the personal life section.

  Scott Clark has five children: Scott Clark III, Kenneth Clark, Abel Clark, Noah Clark, Eden Clark. . . .

  Eden! That’s the woman who sits on the board for the Sterling Foundation. Eden Kruger. Her maiden name is Clark. Scott Clark is her father. Scott Clark, the magic seed pusher, the Cedarville scammer.

  “Holy shit,” I mutter.

  If I had dug a little deeper, searched a little harder, I would have seen the forest for the trees early on. But once I knew what I was looking for, it was all easy to find. The connections . . .

  —Patrick Ridgefield, heart surgeon

  Also part owner of Lost Keys, the contracted architecture firm hired through the city for the redevelopment project, and city board member, approving budget.

  —Richard Cummings, retired football player and community activist

  Also the owner of Big Ville, a for-profit prison.

  —Eden Kruger, philanthropist

  Also the daughter of Scott Clark, magic seed scammer.

  —Linda Russo, partner at Kings, Rothman & Russo Law

  Connected to the Russo Empire mafia.

  —Ian Petrov, CEO of Key Stone Group Real Estate

  His name is on the deed for over fifty properties in Maplewood. All of which are abandoned. And he has kept them that way for over thirty years, leaving the Wood to look like it’s in shambles when it could be so much better.

  Dad was right; this is a game of chess. And all the pieces have been moved in place to checkmate Maplewood.

  “Dude,” Tamara says over the phone. “This is like major true crimes–type investigation shit we’re doing here. A haunted house and now this . . . you can come live on my floor for the rest of high school. My mom won’t mind.”

  Knowing the Foundation was watching, I placed a call from one of the Riverfront casinos’ free phones to the only person I knew who could rock this research stuff.

  “There’s another thing,” Tamara says. “You mentioned something about Devil’s Night, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Dude, it’s, like, all over Instagram. You don’t see it?”

  I pull out my phone again and try. “No. Nothing under the hashtag. It’s empty.”

  “Hm,” Tamara huffs. “Well, then . . . I think it’s been shadow banned.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “It’s when a certain hashtag is blocked from people seeing any content related to it. So, like, I’m looking at photos of Devil’s Night in Cedarville here in California, but you don’t see them at all. Which means . . .”

  “They’re banning the content so no one can see what’s happening in Maplewood! But why?”

  Tamara clicks her tongue. “Dude, you have to get out of there. And judging by the pictures I’m about to send you, you better be out of there before Halloween.”

  Snuggled in a bed made of blankets and pillows on the floor next to Sam, Buddy snores beside me as I stare at the ceiling. I can’t even pretend to sleep. Not after seeing the eight photos of Devil’s Night Tamara sent. Each one worse than the one before. Fires raging on almost every street corner, homes massive fireballs turning the sky orange. Sobbing neighbors, standing in front of their own well-lived-in homes, desperate to save them. Seems they got the shitty outcome of a very shitty situation. I know, not super eloquent, but it’s the truth.

  Some of the houses I recognize from my morning runs. The charred remains barely standing, now surrounded by weeds, like warped monuments to the past. The more recent photos of Devil’s Night didn’t have many burning homes, just a few lit-up trash cans.

  But it all seems so tenuous, like we’re sitting in a false sense of safety. This place could easily slip back into old habits.

  CREAK

  I’ve been up enough nights to recognize the different sounds the house makes. And I know without question the bathroom door just opened down the hall, yet no one walked in there.

  Buddy tenses, his ears perked, staring at the door, a chair and rope tied around it, keeping it locked.

  CREAK

  Sammy suddenly sits up, scrambling for his flashlight. Fear tightens its hand around my throat and squeezes.

  “Did you hear that?” I whisper.

  Slack-jawed, Sammy only nods in response. And I’m not going to lie. It feels good, having someone else experience this with me. Feels good not being so alone. But I hate that it has to be Sam. He’s already been through so much. And I’m partly to blame.

  Thump. Thump.

  Footsteps outside. Something is walking downstairs. I can’t believe Alec or Mom doesn’t hear this. They can’t be that tired.

  The footsteps thump down the hall, into the kitchen. Water trickles out a faucet; cups clink. Buddy leaps to his feet, his fur bristling, and I grip his collar, holding him back. Don’t want him to chase the noise away.

  This time, we welcome it.

  In the morning, Sammy collects all the hidden cameras set up in the kitchen and family room.

  “We definitely caught something last night,” Sammy says, grinning. He takes the cameras over to the TV, playing with the various wires, and I find myself impressed by his nerdy techy skills, how handy they’ve become in times of need. I can barely charge my phone without assistance.

  “Okay, I think I’ve got it,” he says, switching inputs, and in pops a frozen image of the kitchen with night vision.

  “Can I just say . . . this is very Paranormal Activity.”

  Sammy glares at me. “Don’t say that.”

  “Why?”

  “You clearly didn’t see the end of that movie either.”

  My back tenses. Oh boy.

  “Mom! Alec!” Sammy calls upstairs. “Can you come down here for a minute?”

  After somehow corralling our parents onto the family room sofa, Sammy stands proudly next to the TV, camera in hand.

  “What I’m about to show you is going to blow your minds,” he announces like the opening act of a magic show. “It’s the proof that we need.”

  Mom and Alec share a curious glance and chuckle.

  “Proof of what?” Mom asks.

  “You’ll see! Mari, hit the lights.”

  In the darkened room, Sammy speeds up the playback for the kitchen camera. Most of the night, no activity. Then, at the 2:52 a.m. mark, something moves in the corner. The light pops on, the kitchen empty. Mom and Alec sit up straighter. I hold my breath, watching them study the screen, just as eager to see the face of the monster that’s been haunting me for the past two months. But it’s only Piper in her powder-blue pajamas, entering the kitchen, reaching over the sink, filling a cup with water.

  Sammy’s mouth drops.

  We watch Piper stop in the middle of the room to take a big sip, and though it’s somewhat hard to tell, she seems to be looking directly into the camera.

  I whip my head around, finding Piper standing in the hallway, staring right at me. A laugh on her lips.

  She’s playing us.

  Mom’s frown deepens. “What are we supposed to be looking at here?”

  In the video, Piper wipes her mouth and places the cup on the counter. Almost in the same spot I’ve found cups before.

  Sammy stumbles over his wo
rds. “But . . . we heard something last night.”

  Alec raises an eyebrow. “Why were you spying on Piper?”

  Quickly, I leap over to grab the remote and turn off the TV.

  “False alarm,” I blurt out, before the conversation could go left. “Taking Buddy for a walk. Sam, come on!”

  “Hey, Sam! Marigold! Get back here.”

  I grab Sammy’s wrist. “Whoops, can’t talk. Gotta run!”

  On the corner outside the secret garden, the fall wind slips through our jackets. Sammy, deflated, kicks a nearby rock.

  “She must have heard us talking about the cameras,” he groans. “Sneaking around like usual. What do we do now?”

  For a moment, doubt slips in. All this time, could it really have just been Piper grabbing a cup of water late at night? But . . . how did she reach the glassware? And those footsteps . . . they were too heavy to be Piper’s. Unless she was purposely walking that hard. So many questions, and a video might be our best bet of answering them.

  “Let’s take another crack at it,” I say. “Set the cameras up in different spots this time. We have to catch her doing something! Dad will be here in a few days so we have one more shot.”

  Sammy, resolved, nods. “Okay. But what about Piper?”

  “I’ll distract her while you set the cameras up again.”

  “How are you going to do that?”

  I chuckle. “Easy. I’ll just talk to her.”

  From my room, I watch Sammy tiptoe down the stairs, giving me a thumbs-up. He needs at least ten minutes to set up all the cameras. I take a deep steady breath and walk across the hall. Piper is lying on the floor dressed in her pajamas, drawing on sheets of printer paper, her lava lamp turning the room blood red.

  “We need to talk,” I say, closing the door behind me.

  Piper frowns, dropping her crayon before sitting back on her heels. “About what?”

  “You know what. This little game you’re playing. I’ve had enough of the bullshit.”

  At first, Piper plays coy, as if she has no clue what I was referring to. Then her face darkens.

  “I told you,” she hisses. “This is Ms. Suga’s house and she wants you gone.”

  I cross my arms, inconspicuously checking the time. Two minutes.

  “So what’s in it for you, being Ms. Suga’s guard puppy?”

  She raises her chin. “She’s my friend!”

  “No, you don’t have any friends because you keep talking to this fake one! She isn’t real.”

  The corner of her mouth twitches. “I have friends. Ms. Suga is my friend. She cares about me! Not like you!”

  “What? What makes you think I don’t care about you?”

  “You’ve never been nice to me. You were always making fun of me behind my back. And you called me annoying.”

  “What? When?”

  “The day before you . . . you . . .” She pauses. “And then you went away to that hospital.”

  Shit. I have a vague memory of that day. I remember that I was exceptionally high, didn’t even make it to track practice. Piper came in my room to show me . . . something, but I shoved her out.

  “Is that what this is all about? Piper, I know we didn’t really know each other back then. I mean, you’d just moved in, but . . . I’ve changed.”

  She jumps to her feet. “No you haven’t. You’re still mean to me! You’re still smoking that stuff that makes you sleepy. And Ms. Suga doesn’t like it. This isn’t your house. It’s her house and her rules and she said she doesn’t want you here. She said, when you guys are gone, she’s going to make an apple pie for me and Daddy just like Grandma used—”

  She cut herself off, knowing she’s said too much, exposing her real mission: to replace her grandma. The only friend she really had. My heart softens and I can’t even be mad. She’s hurt. And she’s acting out on that hurt.

  “Piper, I—”

  I stop short, the drawing by her foot catching my eye. On the paper are stick figures of her and Alec standing outside the house, all the windows in hectic flames. Then in the corner, by what I guess is the street, I see another person. A woman with brown skin, strands of white hair . . . wearing a pink apron with a pie on the front. My mouth goes dry.

  Piper snatches up the paper and shoves it behind her back.

  Be cool, I tell myself, rubbing my temples. Though I was ready to run, screaming. Five minutes.

  “Piper,” I say gently. “Listen to me. Ms. Suga . . . she’s not real.”

  “That’s not true,” she whines.

  Six minutes.

  “It is true! And this isn’t her house anymore. This is our home now. She needs to let go. We need to help her let go, move on. And we can do that . . . together.”

  Piper is flustered. “She is real. And she says you need to leave! You’re a junkie and you need to go!”

  “She’s not real, you idiot! You’re just a pawn in some game she’s playing. Don’t you get it, she’s using you!”

  The words left my mouth before I could stop them. And it took a fraction of a second for me to realize I fucked up.

  Piper’s eyes narrow, her hands rolling into fists. “You’re going to be sorry that you said that.”

  Zzzzzz POP!

  The lights click off and we’re thrown into darkness, the fear instantaneous. I reel back, hitting her accordion closet door with a yelp. The door shakes, hangers clacking, and I jump away.

  Did . . . did that damn door just push me?

  I turn to Piper and she doesn’t move, her little face a shadow. A scream is stuck inside my throat, legs desperate to flee. But I can’t move. Don’t know what’s out there. Then I look at Piper and realize, I don’t know what’s in here either.

  I yank open the door to the hall and hit a wall of stench so foul it makes my eyes water. It’s spoiled meat, sour vomit, and shit. The coldness makes the scent sharp, stinging my nostrils.

  Something is here. Alert and aware. It’s like the house can hear our every word, knows what we’re thinking. . . .

  Oh no!

  I take off running, trying not to trip down the stairs.

  “Sammy!” I shout, sprinting through the hall.

  Sammy is in the family room, a flashlight pointed up to his face.

  “You okay?”

  He nods, holding Buddy steady, and gives me a thumbs-up. He’s safe . . . for now.

  The basement door huffs, metal jiggling.

  “Did you hear that?” I whimper. The house . . . it’s coming alive.

  Wide-eyed, Sammy slowly drags the light across the empty room, into the corner.

  Alec’s bright blue shirt hovers by the basement door, the light bringing out the natural red highlights in his hair.

  “Who locked this?” Alec asks, yanking the handle again.

  A heavy gasp escapes and I deflate against the sofa.

  “Where did you come from?” Sammy asks, voice cracking.

  “I was in the office fixing Mom’s printer.”

  So he was just down here in the dark? That’s weird.

  Mom trudges downstairs carrying a flashlight.

  “Why aren’t you in bed?” she asks as she shines the light in the corner for Alec. He wiggles the knob, examining the lock.

  I push Sammy behind me, backing into the windows, watching Alec attempt to open our only protection from the demon living below.

  “Maybe . . . maybe we shouldn’t do that,” I offer, muscles clenching.

  Alec pauses to glare at me. “Well, if I can’t get into the basement, I can’t access the circuit breaker and get the power back on.”

  Whatever lives in the basement, it wants us to come down there. It’s been trying to lure us from the very beginning. Sammy grips my shirt.

  “Mari . . .”

  Mom glances at us, frowning. “What’s wrong with you two?”

  Alec steps into the kitchen and opens a drawer. “Where’s the key?”

  “Key? What key?”

  “The key to t
he basement,” he says, as if it’s a stupid question. “I put it right in here after storing the moving crates.”

  There’s a freaking key? Has he been going down into the basement all this time?

  Buddy stiffens, a low growl rumbling from his throat.

  “Daddy?”

  We whip around, shining all our lights in the direction of her voice. Piper stands in the hallway, wincing at the brightness, hands shielding her eyes.

  “What’s going on?”

  “It’s okay, sweetheart,” he says, taking a flat-head screwdriver to the lock. Piper blinks, looking stricken.

  “Daddy,” she whispers hesitantly. “Don’t.”

  Shit. Even possessed Piper doesn’t want him to go into that basement! And if he opens that door, I’m not standing around here to see what’s on the other side.

  “Make a break for it,” I whisper to Sam. “Hurry!”

  Sammy nods, skittering down the hall with Buddy. I circle, widening the distance between the basement and myself, before gently touching Mom’s elbow.

  “Mom,” I whisper. “Mom, we need to go.”

  Mom doesn’t notice the seriousness in my tone, too preoccupied watching Alec.

  “Let’s just call the electric company,” Mom decides, pointing her flashlight on the table to find her purse.

  I’m going to have to drag her out of here. I won’t leave her.

  “Mom—”

  Zzzzzz POP!

  All at once, the lights flick on and we flinch. Sam is already outside, the porch light shining above him.

  “Well, there you go,” Alec says with a grin, dusting his hands. “My job here is done!”

  “What was that all about?” Mom laughs, resetting the stove clock.

  “Old house, old problems,” Alec says with a shrug. “But if I could get downstairs, I could check it out to be sure. Will have to call a locksmith tomorrow.”

  “Mom! Come look!” Sammy shouts. “I think the lights are still off down Maple Street.”

  We congregate on the porch, the night air brisk. Sweets sits on the ledge, facing the street. Alec shuffles down the walkway, straining to see.

  “I don’t think it’s just Maple Street,” he says. “I think it’s all of Maplewood.”

  It’s easy for us to gather in the middle of the street when cars never drive this way. From our view, you can see that Maple, Sweetwater, and Division are sitting in pitch-blackness. Houses in the distance blend with the night sky. Our house is a tiny candle in the middle of the dark woods.