Not that he was bitter or anything.
The shop’s speakers crackled with static, the record finishing up. A few moments later a voice began singing. Feminine, overly compressed, auto-tuned so it no longer sounded human. “What the hell is this?” He eyed Trish.
“This, Boss Man, is that little skank you’re holding in your hands.” She chewed at a nail covered in black polish. “Biggest song on the planet for three weeks and you’re hearing it for the first time.”
He closed the box of CDs and tried to drown out the lyrics, something about being young and in love, partying all night. The beat was your standard fare, constant and droning and it seemed to invade his mind. His eyes grew heavy and he could feel a migraine coming on.
Outside the sun was setting and the other stores were closing. He doubted anyone would mind if they closed for the night, but it would be irresponsible. It was late October in the country’s Halloween capital. Someone might wander in from the streets and purchase a Darkthrone record or two.
Wishful thinking. Give it another three months and you’ll be closed for good.
Still, closing up shop didn’t sound bad right about now.
It would be a relief to get away from these CDs he hadn’t ordered in the first place. He couldn’t pinpoint exactly how the music—if you wanted to call it that—made him feel but the sensation went beyond annoyance. Made his hair stand straight up. That feeling when you were being watched. But that was silly, wasn’t it? It was just a pop song.
“For the love of God, Trish, shut that shit off.”
“Very funny.” She carried a bag of trash into the back room.
“Seriously. I’m going to make you work all night if you don’t turn it off.”
She set the bag down and walked over to him. “I can’t tell if you’re joking.”
“Joking about what?” The headache was perverse, spreading through his skull. His pulse became a snare drum, pounding harder and harder. He daydreamed of boring a hole through his skull just to relieve the pressure.
Angie’s voice spouted within his mind, as if she’d found a way in through his ear canal. Forever with you, she sang. I’ll never leave your side.
“Josh, I shut it off five minutes ago.”
He rubbed his eyes and the headache receded, as did the internal beat. Only the hum of the air conditioner now. “What?”
“Are you okay?” Trish placed a hand on his forehead.
“Maybe I’m coming down with something. Why don’t you get out of here? I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Get some sleep, will you?” She grabbed her backpack and headed outside. He watched her go and, despite the pain, couldn’t help but wonder if he’d ever work up the nerve to ask her out.
Fat chance of that, Melissa said within his mind. She’d been out of his life for almost a year, yet she still riddled him with negativity. A brain tumor that wouldn’t respond to treatment.
He tried not to look at the box on the counter, overflowing with Angie Everstein CDs, tried to ignore the faint beat slowly creeping back into his head.
He wrote a note to find out who’d ordered those infernal things. Had he not been financially pinched, he’d fire them on the spot. He was jotting down the tracking number from the box when he heard the door open again.
“Miss me?” he said, turning around, certain he’d see Trish standing there.
No one and nothing but a cool breeze permeated through the store.
“Pig face!”
Shawna Everstein ignored the comment. Not the first time, nor the last. Even in Salem, a town known for its Wiccan and Goth communities, she couldn’t catch a break.
“Oink, oink,” another onlooker said. She thought it was Brandon Matheson or perhaps Derek Sorrentino, the worst of her bullies.
She lifted both hands in unison and removed her hearing aids. The world faded to near nothingness. A bittersweet tradeoff. Her tormentors could no longer hurt her with words—sticks and stones, her ass—but other sounds faded too. Beautiful sounds. Distant traffic, fog horns, and crunching leaves—all of it vanished in exchange for a few moments of pure, unadulterated silence.
She climbed the hill, past the convenience store, past residential houses, until she arrived at her favorite spot in the world. Normally, Gallows Hill was packed with tourists during the days, teenagers during the nights, Brandon and Derek among them. But today, it was eerily void of activity.
She placed her hearing aids back in. The world returned, sounds registering once more. No matter how many times she repeated this process, it was always a shock. A small miracle and reminder she could still hear, no matter how poorly.
She sat on a bench and admired the scenery. The leaves had turned wonderful shades of bronze and gold and orange. She’d never traveled much, had only been to Canobie Lake Park, Water Country, and Dream Woods. But she was certain there was no place quite like Gallows Hill. Salem citizens took it for granted, a gold mine for tourists. To Shawna, it was a quiet place to sit and gather her thoughts.
And today she had a lot to think about.
Angie would be coming home soon. Life had been good these last few months. Shawna didn’t have to feel inferior whenever her celebrity sister was in the same room. Didn’t have to remember she was the ugly Everstein. Things would quickly go back to the way they were.
Or worse.
Because now Angie was a hometown hero.
Just thinking about it made her antsy. She stood and walked several steps before stopping suddenly.
Something caught her eye in the distance. A structure just beyond the line of trees. It hadn’t been there the last time. Of that she was sure. This place was her private sanctuary. She knew every detail by heart.
A stage.
There was a stage behind the trees. A professional job. Lights and pyrotechnics and a large backdrop with words she couldn’t make out. Had she been in the center of town, near the tourist shops, the revelation wouldn’t have come as such a shock. Millions traveled to Salem for the season. On Halloween the place became a tornado of debauchery. Slutty costumes and cover bands for as far as you could see. But up here, away from the activity, there shouldn’t have been a stage.
She took a few steps and stopped again. Something in her gut told her to turn around. The closer she got, the more the air seemed to change. She couldn’t say exactly what had transpired but the atmosphere felt charged somehow.
Something moved behind the trees. Something misshapen. Its skin was eclipse-black and its legs ended in cloven feet. She smelled death, rotting things.
Someone grabbed her shoulder.
She turned toward her attacker.
But it wasn’t an attacker after all. Just a construction worker whose breath smelled a bit like cold cuts. “You shouldn’t be here.” His voice sounded almost as tired as his raccoon eyes looked. “It’s dangerous.”
She nodded toward the woods, trying to catch her breath. “What’s with the stage?”
“What about it?” He retrieved a crumpled cigarette from his pocket, lit it with a shaking hand. Something told her it wasn’t from the temperature.
“Why up here, away from the festivities?”
The man looked around, studying Gallows Hill as if someone—something—observed from nearby. Shawna’s skin prickled as if to confirm the suspicion. “How the hell should I know? I just show up and do what they tell me.”
“Who’s they?” Shawna wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer.
“You’ll find out soon enough.” From the same pocket he produced a flask, unscrewed the cap, and drank for a long time.
Before she could ask another question, he walked toward the stage that should not have been there and was swallowed by the trees.
That night, Shawna stared at her computer and tried not to cry. Her room was dark, the screen the only source of light. It washed the walls in a strange shade of blue as though she’d nodded off and entered a dream.
Or, to be more precise, a nightmare
.
It wasn’t just Gallows Hill that made her pulse speed. It was the Skype conversation from hell. On the screen, sitting on a bed twice the size of her own, was a girl that looked and acted like a stranger, though the two knew each other well.
“What do you want?” Mia said.
“I just wanted to hear your voice.”
“Good luck with that.” She laughed, touched her own working ears. Once upon a time, her giggles had been endearing but they’d turned mean-spirited in recent times. As had Mia herself.
Shawna rubbed her eyes, tired beyond return. She ought to turn in early. Tomorrow marked the beginning of the school week.
“Are we done here?” Mia said. “I hate it when you space out like that. It’s creepy.”
“Sorry, I was just thinking about—”
“About us. Yeah, you said that already. How many times do we have to go through this? There is no us. Not anymore. Not ever again.”
“You can’t mean that.”
“I mean it. I promise.” Mia rolled her eyes, as if she were addressing a teacher and not her ex-girlfriend. Three months prior, she’d been caring and loving but a change had taken place.
Change isn’t strong enough of a word. It’s like she’s possessed.
The thought chilled Shawna. It wasn’t the first time it had crossed her mind.
They’d dated mid-junior year through this past July, when the transition began. It took roughly three and a half weeks for Mia to transform into the girl on the other side of the screen. One day she’d worn her typical outfit: ripped jeans and an oversized metal shirt. The next, her pants were free from damage, more form fitting. The day after that, the band shirt (usually Cannibal Corpse or Metallica) was swapped for something boring: a halter top with reflective sequins. Then came the blond hair dye and the layers of make-up, until the girl Shawna had loved became someone else entirely.
It wasn’t just her exterior, either. Something had changed inside her.
Their relationship, though short-lived, had been healthy. Mature. She didn’t consider what they’d had to be puppy love. Mia had stopped answering Shawna’s texts and calls. Near the end, when they did hang out, she was never in the moment. Something always on her mind. Infidelity perhaps. Mia was bisexual, Shawna queer. The former had more options. The latter felt like there was no one else in the world for her.
“Are we done here?” Mia said. “I’ve got plans tonight.”
“What kind of plans?”
“None of your business.” She stood from her bed and slipped on bright red shoes that looked fit for a runway model. Her shirt was bedazzled with sparkles and her lipstick made her face clown-like.
“Don’t go,” Shawna said. “Please.”
“I have to. See you around. Maybe.” Just before she ended their conversation, Shawna caught a glimpse of something hanging on her ex’s wall. A poster that seemed even more out of place than Mia’s new personality. Surely a trick of the light.
Surely she hadn’t seen you know who holding a microphone and singing to a sea of fans.
Shawna slammed her laptop shut.
Her heart hammered. She wiped away equal doses of sweat and tears and almost screamed when her door opened.
Her mother, the glare from the hall blinding so she was just a shadow at first. She reached in and flipped the light switch. It took a long time for Shawna’s eyes to adjust but when they did, she wished she was blind and deaf.
“Hi, sweetie. Dinner’s almost ready.”
She sniffled. “I’m not hungry.”
“I think you will be when you find out who’s here.”
It can’t be. I’m supposed to have another week before everything goes back to hell.
Her mother stepped aside and another figure appeared. The same figure she’d seen moments before hanging on Mia’s wall.
The same figure she could not escape no matter how hard she tried.
Her room’s temperature plummeted but her mother didn’t seem to notice the change. No one ever did. It was like the general population was too hypnotized to see the beast that stood in front of them.
The second figure stepped forward, sat on the edge of the bed. Shawna recoiled as if she were face-to-face with a snake, only the truth was far worse.
That smile. Those eyes. The teeth.
Every feature a nightmare in and of itself.
“Hi, Sis,” Angie said. “Miss me?”
CHAPTER TWO
YOU’RE INVITED
A KNOCK AT THE DOOR.
“We’re closed,” Harriet “Esmeralda” Hopkins said. “We open at nine tomorrow morning. Come back then.” She did not look toward the door lest she see the idiot tourist, mouth hanging open, give her that look. The one that said You are the palm reader and you will read my palm, O ghastly woman.
It came with the territory. You couldn’t own a magic shop in Witch City without drawing a crowd. Especially this time of year. And with crowds came exponential chances of encountering idiots like the one standing outside.
She’d be glad when the season was over. She loved Halloween. Loved the decorations and the horror movie marathons, not to mention pumpkin-flavored goodies, but it would be good to return to normalcy come November 1st.
Another knock, this one a bit insistent for her taste. She ignored them. Sometimes a cold shoulder did the trick.
She picked up a box of spell supplies (eye of newt and several other herbs that customers devoured) and carried them from the back room to the front counter. The books would need to be tidied up. A group of college kids had ruined the order earlier that day. The top shelf was reserved for rare leather-bound volumes, the middle for vampire literature. She didn’t like stocking novels about sparkling immortals but she also didn’t like the idea of being homeless. Girls ate the stuff up so she’d kept on ordering them. It seemed obscene, paranormal romance novels sitting next to Aleister Crowley texts, but she was too tired to care. It could wait until morning.
A third knock, loud enough to rouse her from her thoughts.
She dropped the box of supplies onto the counter too hard. One of the bottles within tumbled to the floor and shattered. Green powder erupted. “Son of a bitch.”
She grabbed the broom and dustpan and set it near the counter. Then she turned her attention toward the door and gritted her teeth. “Like I said: we’re closed.”
No knock this time. In its place, a whisper. Make that several whispers. They seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. Countless voices formed words too quiet to decipher. Her ears shuddered in response. Her skin went prickly and for the first time, not realizing what it meant, she was certain it was not a tourist standing outside Esmeralda’s Ye Olde Magic Shoppe.
The light above the door flickered and burned out.
She’d replaced it just last week.
It thrust the front half of her store into darkness, like the night was a spreading disease.
Her heart rate tripled. Esmeralda had grown in size these last few years. Her doctors warned of ramifications. Cardiovascular disease and diabetes ran in her family—on both sides, mind you—and she’d surely follow in her parents’ footsteps if she didn’t make a change. The weight had not appeared miraculously. She liked to eat because it made her forget, if only for a moment, how much she hated her life.
But now, staring at the darkness and feeling lightheaded, she wished she’d taken her doctors seriously. Wished she’d kept up with her salads instead of Twinkies.
Wished she’d sold her business and moved to Florida like she’d always fantasized.
The whispers grew more persistent. Her mind raced with warnings.
Use the back exit. It’s blocked with boxes but it won’t take more than a minute to toss them aside and get the hell out of here. Whatever’s out there isn’t going to wait to be let in.
Whatever? When had it turned from tourist to something indefinable?
Around the time she began to make out what the whispers were saying.
&nbs
p; At first she thought it was a poem of some sort. There was a rhythm to the words. A cadence. But the longer she listened she realized it wasn’t a poem at all.
A song.
A song she recognized from the radio. Hard to escape these days, considering who sang it.
She walked toward the door in a trance, pushed along by an unseen breeze, until she was inches away from whatever lay on the other side.
Across the street, the lamp flickered for a moment. She feared it, too, would go out but it remained, the dim light not offering much in the way of visibility. It was dark out there. Darker than it should have been. Derby Street had grown too quiet. People passed by every few moments but the crowds had lessened drastically. It seemed unnatural. Halloween was two weeks away. The place had been mobbed earlier. But now it seemed Salem’s offseason had arrived early.
She opened her mouth to scream, and though no words came out, something told her the passersby would not hear her voice even if they had.
The words (lyrics) grew louder.
One voice shined above the rest, angelic and demonic at the same time.
Forever with you, it said. I’ll never leave your side.
Forever with you.
Don’t ever try to hide.
She’d never heard the entire song, made it a point to shut it off during her commute. Still, she felt as though she knew every word by heart. Perhaps it had played while she was shopping or waiting in the dentist’s office but the theory didn’t feel right. Her jaw worked against her will as she opened her mouth and sang along with the chorus. Again she had the urge to scream.
Especially when the figure stepped up to the door.
It was impossible to make out its features in the darkness but just as she knew the song, she also knew the figure was horribly deformed. The shadows were a blessing. If she laid eyes upon whatever infernal thing had come to her shop, she would finally have that heart attack the doctors mentioned so often.
The figure lifted what looked like a hand. It wound back and slammed against the door. The glass groaned, a small crack appearing in its center. It cut through her name and the logo and somehow that seemed symbolic.
A Voice So Soft Page 2
