Wicked Cries (The Wicked Cries Series Book 1)

by Michelle Areaux

  That night I tried to take my mind off what I'd read by going for a run. I ran four miles, then came home and collapsed on my bed. I pulled the covers over my head and fell asleep, telling myself over and over that everything would be okay.

  I wished I believed me.

  Chapter Seven

  The next day at school I tried to blend in with the crowd. I didn’t want to think about dead girls or the fact that, once again, I was being faced with a problem and I was unable to ask anyone for help.

  My parents had planned for me to meet with my counselor to discuss my transition from California to Salem. I received a note allowing me to leave Language Arts during a discussion of themes in The Scarlett Letter. Excited to be free, I scurried down the stairs to the front office.

  I waited in an uncomfortable brown chair, in a reception area that hadn't been decorated since the eighties. Kids went in and out of the counselor's office as I sat there, patiently waiting my turn. I poked around my backpack looking for a book or homework to occupy my mind while I waited. I felt a string inside‒it must've fallen off of an old sweater I'd shoved into my backpack once.

  I took it from the bag and began to wind it around my index finger. I pulled the small black string tighter until the blood drained from my finger, it went numb and turned from its normal color to pale white. I watched in a strange fascination as my finger changed colors right before my bored eyes until, finally, a thin, older woman with silver hair and wearing a pin-striped navy skirt suit which clung to her petite body, appeared in the doorway. She held the door open for me and introduced herself. I walked into her small office and noticed the horrid brown paneling on the walls. She had pictures of vacation destinations and cats on her desk, turned to face the guest seating, which is where she motioned for me to sit.

  She sat straight-backed in the large black leather chair opposite me.

  "Sadie, how was your first day at Salem High?" she asked, typing rapidly on her keyboard.

  I hesitated before answering. I didn’t want to lie, but the truth didn’t sound like anything that would keep me from entering an insane asylum.

  For a moment I toyed saying, "Well, it was actually very interesting. When I went home I found the diary of a dead girl, which is strange, since dead girls usually just punch me in the face, but I didn't think it would go over very well in this situation.

  "It was fine," I said, keeping my eyes focused on her keyboard.

  "Have you made any attempts to make new friends? When I last spoke with your parents, before your move, they mentioned that you left your best friends behind. I know that can be difficult." She stopped typing, folded her hands on her desk, leaned in a little closer, and stared at me.

  "Yes, actually. I talked to a nice girl named Lucy at lunch, yesterday," I said, happy to have something to tell her.

  "Lucy? A tall thin girl?" she asked. A large smile spread across her wrinkly face.

  I nodded and smiled.

  "Yes, Lucy is a sweet girl. Much like yourself, she doesn’t socialize much." She made the last statement with careful consideration.

  I nodded once again. My eyes wandered about the room, focusing on the outdated furniture and décor. I was anxious to leave her office and get back to class or to just leave.

  "How are your classes? Do you need to make any adjustments?" She reviewed my course schedule, glancing up at me every other line.

  "No, my classes are fine," I stated, discreetly sliding my phone out of my front pocket to check the time. If she didn’t hurry up, I'd be late for my next class.

  She must've noticed my boredom with our conversation because she stood and walked me to the door. "Well, I guess that's all, then. It's about time you went back to class." She handed me a return slip and patted me on the shoulder. "Hang in there, Sadie. I hated high school, too, but things always seem to get better when people mature."

  "Thanks." I gave a half attempt to a smile. When she turned around and her back was to me, I rolled my eyes. What the hell did that mean? I don’t know why she felt the need to make me into some sad, pathetic girl, just because I was new.

  I crumpled the note into a tight wad in my hand, frustrated by her condescending attitude.

  There was some resistance as I opened the thick, wooden door leading to the hallway, followed by a loud, "Ouch." I closed my eyes tightly at the sound, fearing I'd knocked one of my teachers or the principal out. I stood there, motionless, afraid to move, until a hand pulled the door further open. It was the boy from my Geometry class, who stood there, rubbing his right arm.

  "I am so sorry. I wasn’t paying any attention," I said, bringing my hands to my forehead, mortified at my clumsiness.

  "If you wanted to hurt me, you could have just slammed the door in my face." He showed the glimpse of a smirk beneath his sarcasm.

  "Did I hurt you?" I asked as I watched him caress his arm, hoping nothing had been broken.

  "No, I'm fine. I'm indestructible; you gotta try harder than that to knock me out." He laughed, revealing a set of pearly white teeth, and helping to ease the awkward tension.

  I smiled back at him, still embarrassed, realizing he was the boy who'd been watching me in class the other day.

  "I'm Noah; we have Geometry together." He extended his wounded arm. His eyebrows raised when he looked at me, making me even more nervous.

  "I’m Sadie," I said, trying to keep my voice low. It came out as unmistakably shaky tone, which was strange, as nervousness was an emotion I rarely experienced.

  "Hey Sadie, I am glad we bumped into each other." The corny phrase made me roll my eyes. He had this alluring, mischievous smile that infatuated me, but somehow irked me at the same time. Still, there was something about his face that drew me to him with this unnerving force. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but there was something interesting about this guy. He wasn't the type of guy most girls would notice. He wasn't brawny or incredibly gorgeous. He didn’t have Brad Pitt’s confidence, but he did have an edge and an appeal about him that drew me into him.

  "Noah Bufford, I believe you are late for our meeting," my guidance counselor said, stepping out of her office and poking her wrinkly finger at Noah. She spoke in a scolding tone and looked at him with a menacing glare.

  "Sadie, you better get to class before you're late," she continued, her angry eyes having diverted to me.

  "Looks like I have a meeting with old grumpy in there," Noah said. "Maybe I'll see you around." He shot me another one of those boyish grins before turning to follow the counselor into her office.

  I couldn’t get that smile of his out of my head and spent the rest of the afternoon replaying our encounter, wanting to see his face again so I could analyze the infatuation, but it'd have to wait until later on in the day.

  On my way to my car, I was shaken from my trance by the sounds of school life around me. I hadn’t even realized I'd been like the walking dead up until then. When I looked up, I saw Noah running through the school yard, smiling and chasing after another boy whom I didn’t recognize. Noah caught up to him, jumped on his back, and threw his brown backpack to the black pavement, where it landed next to the rear wheel of a small black Jetta, and they both tumbled to the pavement.

  I stopped in my tracks, stunned at the sight. I wondered if they were okay, or if they'd been fighting, but then Noah jumped up, reached his hand down to the boy, and helped him up. The two of them laughed and exchanged friendly punches.

  I continued walking to my car, reaching into my pocket for my keys.

  "Hey, Sadie, wait up." I turned to see Noah running over to me, waving.

  I tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "Sadie, sorry about today again. I should've been

  watching before I bombarded into the office." His voice sounded sincere and soft.

  "It’s cool. I should actually be the one apologizing." I rubbed my car keys between my fingers to keep my hands occupied, feeling a stab of pain in my index finger where I'd wound the string around my finger ear
lier. I ignored the pain and I mustered a smile.

  "Hey, old grumpy in there wasn’t giving you a hard time, was she?" Noah pointed to the school and made as if he was joking, but I noticed a hint of anger in his voice.

  I shrugged my shoulders and smiled. "No, she was actually nice. Just checking up on me to make sure I’m not suicidal, or the Unabomber, or something." I questioned the statement after it had left my lips. I felt intoxicated, unable to speak clearly or with a conscious effort. My shoulders slumped and I felt like slapping myself across the face.

  Noah laughed. "Yeah, Sadie, you look the type," he said, mocking my last comment, much to my surprise.

  "Well, I have to make it up to you somehow, you know, me almost killing you earlier." I couldn’t believe the compelling self-assurance I was exhibiting. This was the most I'd probably ever spoken to a boy or even a peer in my entire life.

  "Well…" He thought for a moment. "I'm sure I can think of something."

  Chapter Eight

  I awoke on a chilly Saturday morning and went for a refreshing run after I'd completed my first week of school. It felt good to be out and moving around. To me, running was a way to relax and let out all of my stress. Since I really couldn’t talk to anyone about my issues, running had become my therapy. My first week of school had proven to not be a complete disaster, though I didn’t seem to be the new, exciting girl in school, either. Most of the students hadn’t even realized I was new, which, after much deliberation, I felt was probably a good thing. More importantly, my car, a small black Honda Accord had arrived, which meant I didn’t have to rely on my parents’ cars anymore.

  I was still struggling to understand Elizabeth’s journal or diary, or whatever it was. In my line of work, I knew there were no coincidences; I was meant to find that journal. But why? I'd never wanted a dead girl to visit me and just tell me what she needed from me more than I did then. The fact that she hadn’t come after me boggled my mind. In an attempt to push back the crazy drama of my life, I decided to let my mom take me out for a girls’ afternoon.

  My mom had planned a day of shopping for today, while my dad spent the day watching sports on ESPN. I put on a pair of jeans and my favorite vintage crop top for the occasion.

  "Good morning, Sadie. Is that…um…what you're wearing today?" My mom checked out my attire. My mother and I had different tastes in well…everything, but I loved her even though she looked like she'd stepped right out of a Banana Republic catalog.

  My mother had decided to wear a pair of khaki pants and a turquoise cashmere sweater, accentuated with her favorite pearl necklace and matching earrings. I looked out of place standing next to her in our bright kitchen. My black and white laced crop top and denim jeans didn’t exactly scream preppy.

  "Oh, should I change?" I dreaded the thought of having to spend the afternoon wearing uncomfortable clothing. I preferred to dress more for comfort than to impress others. Plus, in my line of work, I knew it was much easier to fight a dead girl wearing jeans and Converse sneakers than in a dress and heels.

  My mother sighed and said, "No. I think you'll be fine. Maybe while we are out at the shops you could pick up a nice cardigan twin set, or some dress pants. You know, Sadie, a little diversity in your wardrobe wouldn’t be the worst thing that you could do." She smiled and nudged me as we made our way to the kitchen table.

  "Sure, Mom," I said in my peppiest voice. "That sounds awesome!" We hurried through our bagel breakfast and then set off on our girls’ adventure.

  We parked our car in a side parking lot near a small coffee shop. Hidden between the parking lot and a small boutique was a quaint little shopping district. We entered through a covered walkway into a busy shopping arena. People scattered around us, carrying shopping bags and chatting with acquaintances. We stepped onto a cobblestone street lined with large oak trees which provided a shady canopy overhead. The sound of my mom’s heels on the roadway reminded me of horse hooves clicking on the pavement.

  Mom smiled as she took in the small-town atmosphere. She shared stories of her childhood with me and told me how much certain areas had changed since she was there last. I listened as she talked, enjoying seeing her happy and content.

  Small boutiques and bakeries lined both sides of the street. I smelled cinnamon and chocolate as we passed a wedding bakery, displaying beautiful and intricately designed wedding cakes in the windows. We stopped to admire a large square, three-tiered cake. A blanket of pink icing cascaded down the side of the cake. Dark pink and white lilies were carefully placed around the edge of the tiers, and a statue of a couple embracing stood on the very top of it.

  We continued on, passing by people sitting outside of bakeries in iron chairs, drinking coffee and eating treats. The sun shone brightly in the sky, protecting us from the winds that had begun to blow. We walked along the enchanting street, chatting as we noticed new fall fashions on display in the store windows as we passed. My mom seemed to be having more fun than necessary, watching me try on everything in each of the stores we visited.

  After we'd purchased four new outfits each‒that were thankfully my taste and not hers‒my mom and I decided to stop for a quick lunch at one of the restaurants along the path, one she used to eat at with her friends. We found a deli with a small line of people patiently waiting to place their orders. Once inside, we ordered two turkey sandwiches on wheat bread, potato salad, and cappuccinos. We took our lunch outside and sat at a small wrought iron table.

  The light breeze felt cool and refreshing against my face as Mom made small talk, asking me how school had gone that week. I was chewing on a large bite of my sandwich when I heard a deep voice behind me say my name. When I turned, I saw it was Noah. I tried to smile, but stopped, when I remembered the mouthful of turkey that I might lose if I tried to speak.

  I swallowed it in one large gulp, and said, "Hey, Noah, what you are doing here?’ trying to sound nonchalant.

  Noah strode over to our table. His brown curly hair waved in the wind, his light brown eyes sparkling in the sunlight. He was not handsome, by any means‒he was more tall and lanky‒but there was something about him that proved irresistibly alluring.

  He scanned my face for a few seconds before a large grin spread across his face. "Hey, Sadie. I'm just about to scope out the CD store to see if there are any new bands to check out." He glanced at my mom, then back at me. Like an idiot, I didn’t realize I hadn’t introduced him to my mom.

  "Oh, sorry. I am so rude.

  "Noah, this is my mom. Mom, this is Noah. We have a class together at school and I almost broke his arm the other day." I added the extra comment to show my mother how much I'd lightened up.

  I introduced the two, not sure how they'd respond to one another, but then Noah reached out his hand and shook my mom’s. She shot me a quick glance and a mischievous smile.

  "Well," Noah said, "I gotta go, but I'll see you on Monday."

  I said goodbye to Noah and then turned to my mother again. She had a goofy grin spread across her face as she watched me intently.

  "Who was that nice boy?" she asked. By the way she arched her eyebrows I could tell she was fishing for some juicy information, but sadly, I had none to offer. I felt myself blush. I wasn't interested in him; I barely knew him. The only information I had about Noah was that he sat behind me in Geometry and always carried an iPod.

  "Noah. He's just a boy from school. I don’t really know him that well." I fidgeted in my seat and moved my food around on my plate. I was nervous and giddy and totally didn’t want to talk about it with my mom just then.

  I lied. Well, technically I hadn’t lied‒I really didn’t know too much about him, but in the few short conversations I'd had with him, I felt like I could read his personality. He wasn't a hard cookie to crack, as far as I was concerned. He was immature and cute‒a dangerous combination for the typical teenage girl.

  Lucky for me, I'm not the typical teenage girl. I had angry, dead, teenage girls and scorned revenges to moderate. Boys ju
st weren't a part of that schedule yet.

  "He looks like a very sweet boy. Maybe you should get to know him, Sadie. It wouldn’t hurt for you take your nose out of all those books you read and actually talk to some humans for a change."

  As my mom spoke I could tell that she was already plotting some scheme or other. Back home in California, she was always trying to get involved at my school so she could help me find new friends. Unfortunately, her plans never worked. Little did my mom know that other than Amber and Lia, no one else wanted to be friends with the crazy girl that talked to herself.

  We continued our shopping trip, inhaling the sweet smell of autumn discount sales. My mother wanted to go into a small china shop that sold patterns that would match her new dishes.

  Uninterested, I found a small bookstore nearby, and we agreed to meet back up in an hour at the car.

  After finding my way through the crowds, I stepped inside the small shop to the aroma of vanilla and lavender from the large candle burning brightly on the counter, filling the dim space with a warm glow. A young girl, probably seventeen or eighteen, sat on a wooden stool behind the counter, reading a gossip magazine. She twirled her jet-black hair around her pinky finger, oblivious to the customers lurking in the store. I walked past her, under her radar, and went straight to the local section to read the titles.

  There were quite a few books written about the Salem Witch Trials and the people involved. I found biographies, books on how to become a witch, books containing love spells, and some on how to find love as a witch. I wanted to know more about witches and how people were technically classified as witches in 1692.

  After sifting through countless titles, I soon came across one that caught my eye. It was titled, The Truth behind the Salem Witch Trials. It was about the origins of witchcraft and looked as if it would tell me everything I needed to know about witches. I began to skim the pages, looking at sketches and historical documents inside. I was lost in the pages of the thick volume when I felt a tap on my shoulder.