by Willow Mason
“We don’t know it was connected to the pranks,” I said in an uneven voice. “But the police should definitely put out a warning about it.”
“If we put out a statement, you can guarantee the rates of teenagers involved in this game will instantly skyrocket.” Lucas shook his head and sighed. “We need the help of someone with influence over these kids.”
Brody tapped me on the shoulder until I glanced back at him. “Let’s go,” he mouthed.
“Can I leave now? I’ll be at home if you need anything further.” Uncertain how much of his memory had gone, I added, “It’s just down the road.”
“You should watch out,” Esther said. “I’m guessing you’re the one who recently moved into Esmerelda’s place.” She grabbed her son’s phone out of Lucas’s hand and scrolled before passing it over. “They’re planning to hit your place tomorrow.”
With a jolt, I read my address on the screen. “This is nonsense. My house isn’t haunted.” I blushed as I remembered Maisie’s staged appearances shortly after I first arrived in town, then shook my head. That definitely didn’t count.
“If you want a police presence tomorrow, I’m sure between us we can work out something.” Lucas pulled out a card and handed it over. “Just get in touch in the morning and we’ll sort it out.”
The thought of policemen camping out in my home while I was trying to sleep sounded just as bad as teenagers creeping around, recording themselves. “I’ll let you know.”
As we waved goodbye and walked along the street, Brody elbowed me in the side. “According to Syd, Old Mr Phillips had a closet stocked with monster hunting potion, so it appears he was in league with Blake Stone. I doubt these teens are nothing but a distraction. Somebody is taking their revenge on these guys.”
“How many monster hunters do we have around here?” My horror at Mr Phillips occupation wiped away my distress at finding his body. Not that I’d wish death on anyone, but it was hard to mourn someone who wanted to kill you.
“The thing is, unless they parade about, telling everyone, like Blake Stone and his mates, you’d never know until it’s too late.”
I shuddered. “That’s dreadful. They should get a chemist to examine the potion they use. Perhaps it’s mucking up their brain cells while it’s letting them see supernaturals.”
“Their brain cells must be mucked up already if you ask me.”
We walked inside and I triple checked the doors and windows were locked before I sat on the sofa. “If a teenager was a supernatural, it’s possible Old Mr Phillips saw them for their true self and the killing was in self-defence.”
Brody nodded. “I know Lucas has concerns about the police releasing the message, but somebody needs to. Two people dead in one day is a tragedy. To leave everything alone in the fear you might make it worse doesn’t sit right with me.”
“Who in town could get the message out?” I covered my face with my hands, trying to will a fitting name out of the darkness. “Are there any local celebrities?”
“Not that I know of.” Brody flicked through pages on his phone, his face screwed up in thought. “There are people that everyone knows, but only by virtue of owning local businesses and stuff like that.”
“Do you have a radio station?” I’d briefly dabbled in student radio until a stint with ulcers on my vocal cords had turned my voice into a croaking mess. Even after recovering, I’d never felt the desire to go back.
“We do.” Brody frowned. “But I’m not sure they’re in charge of their own programming.”
“Let’s see if we can change their minds,” I said, jumping to my feet. “If the universe is willing, I’ve got dandruff to spare.
“Ew. Please keep those details to yourself in future.”
Muffin trotted along behind us, tapping my leg when we reached the front door. “Hey, guys. I know this is important, but didn’t we mention earlier ordering something to eat?”
“There’s a bakery on the way,” I said, scooping Muffin into my arms and plonking her down in my bicycle basket. “And since it’s the end of the day, if you look extra cute, we might even get a few muffins for free.”
“As if I could look anything but extra cute.”
Apart from a bored man at the front desk who waved us straight through the security gate, the radio station appeared deserted. On the first floor, a bright red sign told us the studio was ON AIR above a ratty brown sofa that instantly made me prefer standing.
Halfway through his monologue, the DJ inside the booth noticed us waiting and gave a start. A few minutes passed while he surged through a host of ads before introducing a song and flicking off his mic.
“Come on through,” Dwight Palmer, the radio DJ, told us when we explained why we were there. “Most of the schedule is covered by regular programming from our parent station. It doesn’t allow gaps for local announcements.”
“Oh.” My throat closed with disappointment. “Is there nothing we can do?”
“Sure, we can. I’ll just take our station out of the network and start a rogue broadcast.” I assumed Dwight was being sarcastic until he clapped his hands together with glee. “It mightn’t be quite as dramatic as sailing a pirate radio ship out in the Hauraki Gulf, but it’s the closest I’m likely to get, so I’ll take it.”
He waved me into a chair and Brody dragged a stool over from the corner to sit beside me. Muffin jumped onto the table but received such a deathly stare from Dwight she soon struggled back inside the protection of my jacket.
“No animals are allowed in here,” he said, following up the words with a light trio of sneezes. “Their hairs interfere in the electronics. This is delicate machinery, you know.”
So delicate, a line-up of Dwight’s used cola cans and energy drink bottles were haphazardly piled at one end.
“Now, do you have a script, or should I wing it?”
“Wing it,” Brody and I said in unison and Dwight’s eyes gleamed.
He flipped over a row of switches, paused, then singled out further channels for adjustment before turning the mic back on. A thrash metal song blasted from the ceiling speakers and Dwight headbanged along with the chorus, obviously familiar with the raging tune.
When the song came to a merciful end, he grabbed the mic and pulled it close. “That was the local band East Coast Armageddon with their latest release, Killing Season. Speaking of which, lock up your sons and daughters tonight because there’s a serial killer on the loose in Oakleaf Glade.”
Chapter Eleven
“Hey, Mum,” I said when my mother finally picked up her phone. “It’s me. I’ve had a terrible day.”
“As bad as someone who’s been dragged through fourteen shops in search of the perfect brown shoe?” My mother snorted. “I don’t think so.”
I laughed along with her but soon enough it transformed into broken sobs.
“Woah. Is the house falling down around your ears or something?”
“No, it’s worse. I found two dead bodies today.”
My extroverted mother, with whom I usually struggled to get a word in edgewise, stopped talking for so long I checked the screen to make sure the call hadn’t disconnected. “Oh, honey,” she finally said with a breathy sigh. “What on earth is going on down there?”
I could hear Muffin and Brody laughing in the lounge room and tried not to resent them for the easy way they could switch off the horrors of the day. With a wriggle, I changed the position of the pillows under my aching shoulders and closed my eyes, squeezing out some random tears.
“There might be someone hunting me or people like me,” I whispered.
We still hadn’t talked in depth about my inheritance. The question mark hanging over Great Aunt Esmerelda’s effective ejection from the family had seemed too steep a mountain to climb. As I spoke the words, I wasn’t even sure if my mother would know what I was referring to. I couldn’t tell if she knew such a thing as supernaturals or pixies existed.
“You should get out of there,” she said, not
clueing me into her knowledge base but sounding reassuringly like a good mum. “Even if there’s a hint of danger, it’s better you come home and ride it out here.”
I wondered what she’d think if I turned up tonight. Pink hair standing on end and my ears and chin pointing up and down with a flourish. Would she scream or laugh or just hug me because even with the physical changes I was instantly recognisable as her daughter?
“The police will watch my house tomorrow night,” I said, avoiding the idea altogether. “There’s a chance someone might break in.”
“Get out.” My mother’s voice changed from concerned to flat and authoritarian. “I mean it. The house might’ve been a great windfall, but it’s not worth losing your life over.”
She was right. I should come home. But what about Brody and Muffin? Rosie and Posey? Even though Lucas was acting weird, I didn’t want him to come to any harm. Let alone Leo or Syd.
“My entire community is under threat,” I said, rejecting the notion. “We can’t all pack up and leave or there’d be nobody left.”
“I don’t care about the community—I care about my little girl. If you won’t listen to sense and come up here, then I’m driving down. Tomorrow, if I can scrape up enough petrol for the car.”
“No!” I sat up, imagining how I’d feel if my mother was targeted by the killer. “You can’t. Not until the police have caught the murderer. Promise me you won’t.”
“Promise me you’ll come home.” My mother’s voice broke, and she sniffed. “If it’s too dangerous for me to visit, then it’s not good for you to stay.” She dropped to a whisper. “Please come home, Elisa. I don’t want to read about you on the news.”
“It’s really not that bad,” I said, babbling. “Just forget I said anything. My head’s messed up because it’s been a rotten day, that’s all. There’s no real danger, not with all of us on high alert. Visit when you have time off work instead, and I’ll show you around town.”
“Elisa, I can tell when you’re lying to me.”
“I can’t come home, okay? If I leave town, I could be in even more danger. There’s a ton of people watching out for me here. It’s as safe as we can make it.”
Mum knew my backpedalling from old, but she didn’t protest as I talked myself out of fleeing town for the comparative safety of Nelson. “If you’re sure,” was the last she spoke of it, before heading onto brighter news.
When I hung up, I hoped the catastrophic radio announcement would stay buried in the depths of the national reporting. The last thing I needed was to relive the disastrous announcement. If Dwight had spent a year designing the perfect speech to fuel terror and seed fear among the local populace, he couldn’t have done better. As soon as we left the station, Syd had been on the phone to give us all a dressing down.
“Are you sleeping?” Muffin asked, pushing open the door. She jumped on the bed and snuggled into the curve of my neck.
“If I was, I wouldn’t be now.”
“Good. Because with everything that’s going on, you’re getting another guest for the evening.”
While I frowned at her, the door swung open wider, and a sheepish Brody stood there, pillow and sleeping bag in hand.
“Just for tonight,” he assured me, setting himself up on the thick pile rug. “I’ve been fine all day long but the thought of trying to fall asleep while believing every creak is a killer will drive me batty.”
Instead, I had the pleasure of staying awake half the night, listening to Brody’s snores.
Rosie stood next to the stove, waiting for a frypan to heat and beaming. “I especially liked the part of the broadcast when Dwight said how hardcore teenagers are these days. How did it go?”
“My mum used to tell me off for staying out late and these kids are stabbing men in the heart.” Posey winked at me. “Not that I’ve memorised it.”
“On the bright side, you’ve alienated every single teenager in Oakleaf Glade at one go.” Rosie beamed and hugged herself with glee. “They’ll all be so busy on social media tearing you and Dwight down, they’ll have no time to dare each other to spend the night in haunted houses.”
“If it works, I don’t care.” Sitting next to Rosie, I smothered a yawn against the back of my hand. Sleep, which had seemed impossible at midnight, was tapping on my shoulder, saying now’s good.
“It might work but you’re not out of the woods,” Rosie warned me. “The police are furious at the broadcast and their condemnation carries a lot of weight in this community.”
“I was just trying to help.”
My weak protest didn’t cut any ice with Rosie. “Sit down and eat your breakfast,” she commanded, sliding a fresh pancake onto a plate and shoving it towards me while she poured another with her free hand. “Once we’re all looking decent, Posey and I are taking you to church.”
“Oh, but I’m not—”
“You mightn’t be affiliated with any religion, but we’ve got a rollicking supernatural service that’ll blow your socks off. It’s also crammed full of folks who need to see contrition from you right now. Especially after you laid the blame for two murders at their darling children’s doors.”
“Hey, Muffin. With your vast knowledge of pixie culture, do you know of a spell to stop me putting my foot in my mouth?”
“It wasn’t your mouth, it was Dwight’s.” Muffin sampled the pancake straight from my fork and sat back, a thoughtful expression on her face. “I still prefer muffins.”
“They’re in the oven,” Rosie called out, shoving her hand into an oven mitt. “Five minutes.”
Muffin rolled her eyes. “Such a long time! Why must I always be fed last?”
Posey poked her in the side. “Because you’re so tiny these days, we forget you’re even here.”
“Nonsense. They take longer because there’s more batter to cook,” Rosie said, pulling the tray out and poking the closest cake with a skewer. To Muffin’s horror, she then replaced the tray in the oven. “Three minutes.”
The kitten lifted a paw to her forehead and pretended to faint.
“Your flare for drama needs a bigger stage,” Brody said, sliding onto a stool next to me. “Are you here to tell us the gossip?”
“We’re here to stop you becoming it,” Rosie said, handing him a plate. “Eat up and get dressed.”
“I am dressed.” Brody plucked at a T-shirt so stained it was hard to work out what colour it started out as.
“Church dressed.” Rosie arched an eyebrow, then explained the plan while I giggled at Brody’s increasing look of terror.
“Afraid you’ll burst into flames as soon as you walk through the door?” I jibed before finishing my last bite. The twins immediately hustled me upstairs. An old dress of Esmerelda’s appeared fit for purpose. I pulled the full-length floral sundress over my head and tied the straps while examining myself in the mirror. With a pair of low heel court shoes paired to a light blue jacket, I decided that would do.
Despite my ribbing of Brody, I was the one who clung to his arm in trepidation as we entered the old building. A sign mounted above the eaves proudly announced it was the first permanent construction project in Oakleaf Glade, dating back to 1857.
“I suppose if it’s lasted that long, it won’t fall down around our ears today,” Brody muttered, casting a wary glance at the oak beams arching into a vaulted ceiling. It was the last I heard from him for a while as a gaggle of young female parishioners pulled him away and began a polite interrogation.
“Go up the front,” Rosie instructed. “And for goodness’ sake, don’t start snoring with your eyes open. You’re here to make a good impression not leave with more of the town’s wrath.”
The unfortunate habit had cost me more than one job in the past and I was completely unable to control it. Putting the idea in my head just added another layer of worry to my anxiety.
Desperate to keep myself entertained and stop the dreaded affliction, I peered around the church at the folks gathering for the mid-morning servi
ce. Many were regulars, staking their claim at various pews with the confidence born of habit. A few others, like me and Brody, appeared completely out of their depth.
With a good ten minutes to go until the sermon began, the ride operator I’d spotted across the road from Leo’s house walked through the door. His wife sported a pair of fairy wings nearly three times the size of the twins and I gaped. It had never occurred to me they came in different sizes.
“Hide me,” Brody ordered as he slid next to me on the pew. “How come you didn’t get the third degree?”
“Maybe because I’m so new in town, nobody knows what to ask me.” I nodded my head towards the ride operator and his wife. “Do you know much about those two?”
“Those three,” Brody corrected as a tiny fairy buzzed up into the rafters before dropping into the welcoming arms of her mother. “No, not much. Their names are Andy and Erin and the daughter is Ruby. Erin’s a teacher at the primary school but she didn’t start until well after I left.”
“What about Andy?”
Brody shrugged and turned to face the altar. “I don’t really know. He does odd jobs here and there. He’s a househusband, mostly.”
My scanning eyes caught Lucas sidling into the church, keeping against the wall rather than face the questions of the community. Well, bad luck, fella. I scuttled along the pew and confronted him before he could take a seat.
“I’m sorry about the radio message,” I said, getting the apology in before he could demand one. “The DJ seemed so obliging when we asked him to send out a warning about the teen pranks, it never occurred to us he’d completely misconstrue our intentions.”
“It’s Louise at the station you owe the real apology to,” he said, pulling his slack trousers up by their belt. “She’s the one who spent most of the night fielding calls from angry parents.”
“Is she here?” My gaze took another spin around the church, coming up blank.
“She’s at home, having a well-deserved sleep in. Is there something else I can help you with, Ms Hamilton?”
