The Mary Shelley Club

by Goldy Moldavsky

  “Look at me, Bram.” To my surprise my voice didn’t sound angry. It sounded tired. “Why don’t you ever look at me?”

  Bram did look at me then. And for the first time, the mask that he’d worn since the moment I’d met him fell away and I glimpsed something real in him. The look in his eyes was different. Softer, somehow. For once, he didn’t look like he hated me. He actually looked like someone capable of empathy. He walked over to his bed and lifted the corner of the mattress. Underneath was the mask. He came back to me. “Is this what you came here for?”

  I didn’t need to fight him for it; he placed it in my hands. It was wiped clean, but part of the fabric, where it had touched the monster’s rubber forehead, was stained dark. Bram saw the spot that I was fixated on.

  “Blood,” he said. “But it’s not Saundra’s. It’s mine.” He pushed back the hair that swooshed over his forehead, revealing a cut close to his hairline. It wasn’t like the fresh cut in his eyebrow. This one was healed but was still tinged with pink. “Saundra smashed a bookend over my head. Knocked me out cold. I deserved it.”

  I stepped closer, my fingers reaching to touch this damage that Saundra had done. It was so recent, indelible; it was like she was still there. I dropped my hand when I realized what I was doing, shifting my gaze from the scar to his eyes. “What are you saying?”

  “I didn’t come to until she’d already fallen,” Bram said. “I’m truly sorry for what happened to her, Rachel. But it wasn’t me.”

  I couldn’t accept that. New tears sprang to my eyes, unbidden. Saundra was dead and it was somebody’s fault. “It was you.”

  “No.”

  “Then why were you hurt the night after Felicity’s Fear Test?”

  “What?”

  “I saw you grab your ribs and wince. Sim told me he kicked the masked guy in the ribs. So why were you hurt that night?” I made sure to keep my voice steady and calm, clear as a bell.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  He was lying. I could hear it in his voice, see it in his eyes. All of him suddenly, subtly, dimmed. And he knew I could tell, because he came closer, like he needed to contain the situation, contain me.

  “You’re a liar,” I said.

  “Rachel, don’t believe me about anything else, fine, but believe me about Saundra. Whatever you think of me, you know I didn’t do anything to her.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know that.”

  “You do know that. Deep down you know it. You want me to be the bad guy because it means you can ignore the truth.”

  I shook my head, shaking the tears loose from my eyes. It had to be Bram. All signs pointed to him—it had to be. Putting all the blame on Bram was easy, because it meant that I didn’t have to take any of it for myself. But more than that, it meant I didn’t have to acknowledge the truth locked away in a dark corner of my mind. The truth about who the Masked Man really was.

  I was taking bigger and bigger gulps of air, but I still felt like I was suffocating. Bram was so close I could feel the heat from beneath his fresh shirt, could smell the infuriatingly intoxicating scent of pine and lime in his hair. I realized suddenly that his arms were around me, and my arms were around him, too. I didn’t know why we were hugging—if we were hugging. It felt more like he was holding me up.

  Without my realizing it, his finger was under my chin, gentle as it tilted my face up. “You know the truth, Rachel. You’ve known all along.”

  He was so close that the line between hate and heat blurred. His touch on my skin felt electric. The air felt combustible.

  I blinked. Stepped back. Immediately, whatever spell we’d unwittingly found ourselves under broke. I walked out of the room and didn’t stop until I’d left the party. I didn’t look back.

  47

  I COULDN’T STOP thinking about what Bram had said.

  Deep down you know it.

  Ever since Sim had said he’d seen a masked man, I’d wondered, What if? And when he’d appeared at the Halloween party, I convinced myself it was just my imagination, but the logical part of my brain still wondered: What if? And since Lux had said she’d seen him, the words pounded in my head like a mantra.

  What if? What if? What if?

  And now with Saundra, it seemed so obvious.

  It was him.

  The second person from my home invasion. Because Matthew Marshall hadn’t worked alone. There had been two people wearing masks that night, and while one of them stayed, one of them got away.

  What if the person who’d fled from my house that night was back?

  What if he was infiltrating the Mary Shelley Club’s Fear Tests, trying to send a message?

  What if he was after me?

  So what does a person do when they’re fairly convinced there is a masked killer out to get them? They go back to high school Monday morning.

  It wasn’t like I could stay home—it was the day of Saundra’s memorial, and I’d promised AssHead I’d say a few words. I sat in the auditorium doing a fairly good impression of a normal girl whose life wasn’t being threatened by a masked madman. I held a sheet of loose-leaf paper, my speech for Saundra. The scribbled handwriting was nearly illegible, even for me. The glee club was onstage finishing some song about grace. Behind them hung a sheet obscuring some big surprise AssHead was going to tell us about. I could only assume it was a giant plaque honoring Saundra’s memory. I wondered whether Saundra would’ve loved having her name permanently engraved on a shiny gold surface or if she would’ve hated being associated with this school forever. I hated myself for not knowing for sure.

  When the glee club was done, AssHead walked on the stage to usher them off. He led us all in a round of applause. I joined in too late and stopped too late too, only lowering my hands when AssHead looked at me pointedly.

  “And now, a word from one of Saundra’s friends,” AssHead said. “Rachel Chavez.”

  I stood and climbed the three short steps to the stage, taking my place behind the podium. I let the seconds pass as I smoothed my page. My hands were shaking and my skin was starting to itch under my collar. The lights seemed extra bright, like they could probably wash me away.

  I suddenly hated AssHead and everyone in this auditorium for making me do this. But then I found my mom in the crowd. She was standing in the back with the rest of the teachers. She was already crying and I hadn’t even started yet. And then I found Freddie. He nodded encouragingly when our eyes locked.

  My skin felt less itchy. The lights no longer seemed that bright. I looked down at my paper and began to read.

  “When I knew that I’d be up here to talk about Saundra, I tried to think about what to say to honor her. Because she’d want something great. She deserves that. I tried to think of all the best things about her. Like that she was generous. She was happy to help anyone, in any way she could. And she was bold. She could introduce herself to people like it wasn’t the hardest thing in the world to do. And she hated scary movies.” My voice caught on a sad, wet laugh, and for a moment I looked up from my paper. There was a somber smile on Freddie’s lips.

  “But in the end, the reason I loved her most is selfish. I loved Saundra because she was my friend.” I took a deep breath, heard it crackle over the microphone. I read the next line silently to myself before saying it out loud, the ink going blurry behind my tears. “She was my friend when no one else wanted to be. And she didn’t deserve what happened to her.”

  I tried to find the club members in the crowd. Felicity was looking up at the ceiling lights, bored. Thayer didn’t seem to be listening either, slumped in his chair, listless as a corpse. Bram watched me, though, his eyes locked with mine. There was a little bit more left to my speech but I couldn’t really see it through my tears. I decided that Saundra wouldn’t want me to be a big, sloppy mess up there. “So yeah. To Saundra.”

  The Manchester student body clapped and AssHead came to join me at the podium. I was about to head back to my seat but he stopped me.r />
  “Would you help me unveil this?” he said, gesturing to the big white sheet behind us.

  I went to stand on one side of it while he stood at the other.

  “What happened to Saundra Clairmont was a tragedy,” AssHead boomed into the microphone at the podium. “She was beloved by all, a friend to all, and she certainly will be missed by all. But she will not be forgotten. Behind me is something that will be mounted in the lunchroom. A plaque that won’t only honor Saundra, but will also be honoring the beneficiaries of the Saundra Clairmont Fund, which her parents have generously set up. Students who receive the scholarship will have their names permanently added to the plaque.”

  AssHead tugged on his side of the sheet and I tugged down on mine. The revelation was met with gasps. I started clapping because it seemed like the thing to do, but the gasps just grew louder and turned into shocked murmurs and whispers.

  I twisted to look at the plaque properly. I stopped clapping.

  The plaque was covered in red spray paint. I had to step back to read what the paint spelled out.

  Freddie Martinez

  Felicity Chu

  Thayer Turner

  Bram Wilding

  Then I saw my own name, police-siren red.

  AssHead was saying something into the microphone, but his voice fizzled in my ears, words losing all meaning and fusing into incomprehensible static. I searched for the club members. We looked at each other, uncomprehending.

  The thing was, everyone else in the auditorium was looking at us, too.

  48

  THE FIVE OF us were crammed into AssHead’s office, trying to make ourselves smaller under his glare. It was weird, standing shoulder to shoulder after taking so much care to not be seen together. But there was no separating us now. We had been named.

  “What is the meaning of this?” AssHead asked.

  Of course none of us said anything. We didn’t know what to say.

  “Somebody had better start talking,” AssHead said. “Why were all of your names spray-painted on the plaque?”

  Because we’re part of a secret society responsible for Saundra’s death. I wondered which of us would talk. But we all remained silent, staring at our shoes with sudden interest. Anyway, AssHead had asked the wrong question. He should’ve asked who had written all of our names on the plaque. But if I told him it was the Masked Man, he might have given me detention for being a smartass.

  “One of you’d better—”

  “I don’t know,” Felicity said. “I don’t have anything to do with these people.”

  I had to give it to her—she was good at lying. She actually looked like she was disgusted to be associated with us, and appalled to even be called in here. Maybe because she didn’t need to act very hard.

  “Who vandalized the plaque?”

  “I. Don’t. Know,” Felicity said again.

  “I’m not looking for attitude, young lady. You were all on that list and there must be a reason. Miss Chavez?”

  My head snapped up, my body suddenly alive with nerves.

  “I told you the last time you were in my office that I didn’t want to hear anything more about you and pranks.”

  I didn’t know what to say. How could I begin to explain this? My head spun with all the various ways I was about to blow it for myself and the rest of the club, just by merely hesitating right now. But Freddie saved me.

  “Mr. Braulio,” he said, “clearly, none of us knows what this is about. And none of us would disrespect Saundra’s memory like this. I mean, why would any of us put our names up there? It’s like asking to get kicked out of school.”

  “So if you don’t know anything about this, then you don’t know anything about a game either, I take it?” AssHead searched each of our faces, and if there was ever a good moment to develop a poker face, it was then.

  How had he known about the game?

  He picked up a piece of notebook paper and held it up. “This was taped to the back of the plaque,” AssHead said, and then he read it: “Finish the game.” Any idea what that could mean?”

  He put the paper down on his desk again. I didn’t dare look at anyone else and give anything away, but I could feel a wave of panic pumping through us, a collective heart about to burst in the silence that followed.

  “I will find out why you were all listed on Saundra’s plaque, and I will find out what this game is,” AssHead said.

  We continued to stand there like we didn’t know each other. But as I glanced at the others, I knew the club well enough to know that they were scared. So was I.

  * * *

  Bram sent out a group text after school. He was holding a meeting in his study. There had been a time when I couldn’t wait to go to the Wilding study, would drop everything, lie to my Mom and Saundra, just to be there. Now I dreaded it.

  But we needed to figure out what the hell was going on.

  “Someone is after us.” Thayer stood in the center of the room. The harsh light of day came through the glass terrace doors and washed Thayer in pale tones. “Someone is after us and they’re trying to expose us.”

  “You sound paranoid,” Felicity said.

  “Our names are spray-painted on a golden fucking plaque, Felicity!” Thayer yelled.

  “Calm down,” Freddie said.

  “Oh, calm down?” Thayer said. “Yeah, oh, uh, how about fuck you!”

  “Okay,” Freddie said, standing. He didn’t seem upset or defensive. Bram was the natural leader of this group, but Freddie was the one who always stayed levelheaded whenever shit went down. He did the same now.

  “We can’t point fingers at each other,” Freddie said. “We’re supposed to be a team. Now, someone put us on a list, which means that someone is after us.”

  Bram spoke up. “What we need to do is stop playing.”

  Felicity shot him an appalled look. “Listen to yourself. The game isn’t over until we’ve all played.”

  “This has gone on long enough,” Bram said.

  “You read the note,” Felicity said. “We need to finish the game.”

  “We need to figure out who wrote that note,” Freddie said.

  I thought again of what Bram had told me: You know the truth, Rachel. You’ve known all along.

  “I know who it is.”

  The club turned to look at me, watching me expectantly.

  “In my initiation, when I told you guys what happened when I was attacked. I left something out. I told you there was one person there. Matthew Marshall. But there was someone else. Another person in a mask.”

  Their faces colored with varying degrees of shock, except for Bram, who knew all of this already. Felicity leaned forward, eyes sharp. “That’s quite the omission.”

  “Who was he?” Freddie asked. If he was hurt that I hadn’t shared this with him, he didn’t show it.

  “I don’t know. He ran off. He never came forward after what happened to Matthew. The police had no leads.” I swallowed and picked at the cuticle of my left thumb. I only looked up again after a few moments passed, afraid of what the club’s reaction would be. “What if he’s back?”

  “Why would he…?” Thayer started.

  “To get back at me,” I said. “Revenge for killing his friend?”

  “So let me get this straight,” Felicity said. “Some guy from your past is tormenting us by threatening to further expose our whole deal unless we finish the contest where he’ll probably kill us?”

  When Felicity said it, it sounded ridiculous, but, “Yeah.” I stood up. I couldn’t just keep sitting there, doing nothing. “You don’t have to worry. It’s me he wants.”

  “So what now?” Thayer asked.

  “We have to finish the game,” I said. I never thought Felicity and I would agree on something so preposterous, but she was right. If I wanted to put an end to this, we would have to put an end to the game.

  “Wait, hold up.” Freddie stood up, too. “We don’t know that it’s this guy you’re talking about.” />
  “Who else would toy with us like this?” I asked.

  “Whoever it is, we can’t just follow his commands,” Freddie said. “He wants to finish the game so he can lure us into a trap.”

  “No,” I said. “We’re going to be the ones to lure him.”

  I was making the plan up on the fly, but as soon as I said it, I knew it was the only way to make this stop.

  “Look, if this guy followed me here, then he’s determined,” I reasoned. “And if he showed up at all the other Fear Tests, then he’s going to show up at the final Fear Test, too.”

  They watched me, their collective stares Children of the Corn-icy. I felt awful for bringing them into my nightmare, but there was nothing I could do about it now. Except get them on board. “Now that we know he’ll be there, we can level the playing field,” I said. “We can smoke him out. Put an end to this.”

  I didn’t yet know what that meant, or what I’d be willing to do for us to come out on top. All I knew was that the only way out of this fucked-up game was through it.

  I had to face the monster.

  * * *

  That night, I dreamed we were in the kitchen. Again. Our designated battleground. Like always, the tile floor was cool under my head. I couldn’t see anything behind his mask, no eyes behind the eyeholes. He was calm. Ready. But this time so was I.

  This time, I was the one holding the knife.

  I plunged it into him.

  49

  THE NIGHT CALLED for fear. It was close to two in the morning and quiet on the Upper West Side. Well, quieter than usual for New York. The only people still outside, lurking in the streets, were looking either for fun or for trouble. So here I was. I was playing a game, but it’d stopped being fun a long time ago.

  I walked alongside the waist-high stone barrier that surrounded Central Park. It was snowing and the wisps of white filled the air, like the sky was a down pillow slashed through the middle. Its beauty did not escape me. And to think that if I’d been in bed right then, I’d have missed it. My mom hadn’t caught me all the other times I’d snuck out, and tonight had been no different. Sneaking into Central Park was another story. I’d never been to the park this late, but I knew it’d been closed for an hour. I’d actually googled it. Would there be guards at the entrances? Gates closed? Would they cart me off to jail if they caught me?