Wolfhowl Mountain

by Dian Cronan

  “So what brings us to this special place then?” I ask, staring pointedly at Ronan, wondering if he’ll give me a straight answer. “Still trying to bring me over to your side, are you?”

  “Is it that obvious?” He laughs. “No, I’m kidding. Look, I’m not responsible for the popularity divide. I can’t help it if kids in this town look to me and my family for leadership. It’s mostly because my dad’s so important.”

  “Your dad?”

  “Don’t play dumb, Rose,” Ronan says, a little unkindly. “It’s not cute on you. You’re smart and I like that. You know my dad is the head of the historical society, has been for years. He and the other society members are the sole reason that shack you live in still exists. That may not make us exactly popular with everyone, but even if the townspeople don’t agree with Dad’s decisions, they respect his power and position.” With each word, his chest seems to puff up with importance.

  So Ronan is a little full of himself. That’s okay; I like a guy with confidence.

  “The way everyone ‘round heeah looks at it is you’re either on one side of the fence or the other,” Ronan continues. “You’re on the side that believes in the curse, or you’re on the side that thinks it’s all horseshit.”

  I laugh. “Which side are you on?”

  “I’m supposed to be on the side that thinks it’s crap,” he says hesitantly.

  “But you aren’t?”

  “I dunno. I know what Dad believes, which is that it’s just a big coincidence. That house isn’t responsible for anythin’ that’s happened to this town or the people in it. It’s their own poor decisions that put them on the wrong path.” I have a feeling Ronan has heard this speech from his father many times. “So, I guess I’m on that side. But it’s hard to really decide for myself. You’re constantly hearin’ rumahs about this or that ‘round town.”

  I feign surprise.

  “Oh, it’s a taboo subject, but that doesn’t mean the gossips don’t find a way to talk about it.”

  “What side are the O’Dwyres on?” I immediately regret the question. Ronan’s face falls and I almost apologize, but then he starts talking.

  “They’re supposed to be on our side, the side of the people who don’t believe in the ghost stories. The O’Dwyres haven’t been well liked for a long time because they support the land and the house. Their family has been taking care of it for generations, when no one else would, almost like it was a responsibility. But then…”

  “Beckan’s mom died.”

  “Yeah,” Ronan says. “I was young when it happened, but I still remember. Everyone liked her even though she lived on the hill. A lot of people were upset when she died.”

  “Then why do you talk like you and Beckan aren’t on the same side of the fence?”

  “Last year, when the house had been vacant for a long time, and there didn’t seem to be anyone who would take it off our hands, Derry came to one of the town meetins and asked for the house to be torn down for, like, the thousandth time. No one wants it, the townspeople think it’s evil, so why keep it ‘round? It created quite the stir, let me tell you,” he laughs to himself. “It pit one group of townspeople against the other, and it eventually came to a vote. It was close, but the historical society won. The house is part of our town’s history and kind of an architectural anomaly, so it deserves to stay standin’. Derry wasn’t too happy ‘bout that and he stahted yellin’ at my dad. I told him where he could stuff it. That didn’t sit too well with him – or Beckan. The next time I saw him, he decked me, for no reason other than tellin’ his old man the way it is! Ever since then…” he shrugs.

  I nod. The silence grows between us. The cold is getting to me and I start shivering.

  “Are you cold?” Ronan asks, pulling me closer.

  “A little.” I pause, considering how to proceed. I decide being blunt is the only way to make my point. “Look, Ronan, you can stop being coy. I know you didn’t bring me up here to chat about history class.”

  “Oh?” He raises his eyebrows. “Why’d I bring you heeah then?”

  “To kiss me.”

  He laughs again, that nice throaty laughter echoing behind the watery curtain.

  For a moment, we look at each other without saying a word. Then, Ronan leans his face toward mine. His lips are cool, like spearmint. I can taste the gum he’s chewing to hide the aftertaste of beer. He’s a little pushy, taking the lead over me, but clumsily. He puts his other arm around me and pulls me closer to him. I know Ronan has nice arms molded at the gym, but they feel thin and brittle around my body, like a pair of icicles. I wonder if Beckan’s arms would feel this insubstantial around me.

  “Really?” A voice interrupts us. “Him? Everyone in this town and you pick him?”

  We break apart to face the shadow standing before the watery blind enclosing us. It’s dark, but I can just make out Adam’s features in the thin veil of moonlight.

  “What are you doin’ heeah?” Ronan’s voice is hostile.

  “You don’t own this spot,” Adam says venomously. “I don’t have to tell you why I’m here.”

  “Well it obviously isn’t to be with a girl,” Ronan retorts acidly.

  “That makes you better than me?” Adam laughs cruelly. “You’re such a hypocrite. You ramble on all day about ‘that weird girl’ who lives in the house on the mountain and how she’s going to be ‘the end of us all,’ and here you are kissing her.” He rolls his eyes. “Mary will just love this.”

  “You keep your mouth shut ‘bout Mary,” Ronan snaps as he hops up, hunching slightly in the curve of the rocky roof above us. Feeling the situation quickly escalating, I stand too.

  “Let’s just calm down here,” I say. “You can come in and hang out, Adam. There’s plenty of room.”

  He looks at me with the same disdain he showed Ronan, and his hatred is so strong I have to step back. “You? Please! Your friendship isn’t going to win me any favors in this town.”

  I’m taken aback by his anger. What does Adam have against me? I’d somehow seen him as different. Like me, he’s an outsider, something that should bring us together. We’re two bits of coal in a pit full of diamonds. We’re supposed to be on the same side.

  “You apologize to her,” Ronan says, pointing an angry finger at Adam.

  “I don’t have tah listen to you,” Adam shouts back. “Look at you, thinking how big and important you are around here, puffing up your chest like a little bird.” Adam laughs his mean laugh again. “It’s pathetic.”

  Without even taking the time to think about it, Ronan pulls back his fist and swings hard, clocking Adam in the jaw. Adam flies backward through the icy curtain and disappears.

  ***

  After Ronan punched Adam, I made it back to the cabin. I’m ready to go home. Adam’s sure to have a black eye – something else we’ll have in common. He’d emerged from the water like an icicle, but otherwise unharmed. He glared at us, his eyes lingering on me as if I’d been the one who decked him, before he stalked off into the darkness. He didn’t even turn around when I called after him to see if he was okay. I feel terrible, mostly about myself. The revulsion in Adam’s eyes hurt the most, which just reminds me how much this place sucks. Rejection was completely unknown to me before Port Braseham.

  Oh, how I hate this godforsaken place.

  “Where’ve you been?” Letta pounces on me as soon as I return to the warmth of the cabin. “And whose jacket is that?”

  “Huh? Oh.” I shed the jacket and toss it back into the designated coatroom, which now has two couples making out on the mountain of coats. Ronan let me enter first and walked around to the back door. He doesn’t want Mary to see us together, to be sure. “What’s going on?”

  “Is your lipstick smeared?” Letta demands with slits for eyes. “Nevermind. We’ll get to who you’ve been up to in a minute. I’ve got some information for you.”

  “About what?”

  “About Alva,” Letta says excitedly. “After that la
st diary entry, she hanged herself.”

  “Hanged?” I remember the article from the travel magazine, which stated essentially the same thing, but I’m still shocked to hear it out loud, to have it confirmed.

  Letta nods. “Eamonn found her when he came home from a fishing trip, hanging in that room on the second floor.”

  “The fire room?” I gasp. Is that why I feel so strange in that room? Because someone died in there?

  “Yeah, and when Eamonn found her, he was so distraught he hung himself right next to her!”

  “Oh my God! That’s terrible! But wait, what about the baby? Emily Lenore?” I look around the room, trying to block out the noise. My eyes seek out the loft and I catch sight of Beckan, leaning over the railing. For a moment, our eyes lock.

  Letta shrugs. “No one knows. And I know what you’re thinking.”

  “You do?” How could Letta possibly know that my mind has shifted so suddenly from Emily Lenore’s fate to Beckan’s lips?

  “Yeah. We need to figure out what happened to that baby.”

  That’s not what I was thinking at all, but I nod anyway.

  Over the din of voices and music comes an explosion of thunder and lightning. A lull falls over the crowd, only the dance music breaking the silence. Over the deep bass, we begin to hear the sound of the heavy rain and hail assaulting the cabin.

  The crowd gives a deafening cry. The party resumes.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The Noose

  I’m ready to leave but Shane and Patty are nowhere to be found. When we can’t find them, Letta drags me into an empty bathroom, where the tub is full of someone’s stomach contents, and makes me tell her exactly what happened between me and Ronan, and between Ronan and Adam. Letta’s eyes narrow when I tell her about the kiss. She’s probably wants to know why Ronan’s showing so much interest in me. Well, join the club. His fist in Adam’s face made it clear he didn’t want Mary knowing he was off with me, but then why go off with me at all? Surely others noticed us walking away from the party together. It won’t take long for word to get back to Mary. What’s he gaining from this little flirtation? But when I tell Letta about the punch, she only shrugs.

  “That Adam’s an oddball,” she says, but I have the feeling Letta’s holding something back. Before I can ask her about it, Letta turns on her heels and leads the way back into the throng of drunken teenagers. I lose her again as she leads a renewed search for Shane and Patty, now as determined as I am to leave.

  I wait alone the hall off of the kitchen. I catch another brief sighting of Eileen, this time with her lips wrapped around a bottle of Jack. I wonder if this is how Eileen always behaves at a party, or if she has another reason to drink so much – like what happened to her in my basement.

  This time when I feel a hand on my elbow I yank it back and whirl around angrily, but freeze when I see Beckan’s cool green eyes. He flinches, bracing for a punch.

  “Sorry,” I say, flustered. “I guess I’m a little jumpy.”

  “You? Never.” He smiles and winks.

  “Enjoying the party?” I ask, feeling stupid. Of course he’s enjoying the party; he has a beautiful date.

  He shrugs. “It’s okay. Parties aren’t really my thin’, but this one’s a tradition that must be honored,” he says with mock importance. “Plus, my cousin swore she’d kill me if I didn’t come.”

  “Cousin?”

  “Yeah. You know, the girl with the long jacket?”

  “Oh,” I nod, trying to hide my spreading glee, and without taking the time to consider why I even care about Beckan’s romantic attachments. “I just assumed she was your…”

  “Nah, nah… nothin’ like that.” A nervous hand finds the back of his neck and rubs it absentmindedly.

  “I figured she was the one who gave you the lighter,” I say as I eye it in his other hand. He’s fiddling with it anxiously, twisting it around and around between his thumb and forefinger.

  “This? Oh, this used tah be Pop’s.” He holds it out to me, and for the first time I notice the letters D and O, not B and O. “Mom gave it tah him for their tenth anniversary, but he can’t look at it anymore, so…” he shrugs. “It reminds me of her.” His eyes move up from the lighter slowly, and then lock on mine.

  There’s a bubble of silence around us that momentarily blocks out the chaos of the party, the loud music fading to a muffled thudding. As we look into each other’s eyes, I feel Beckan’s stare like a tangible presence, as if he’s trying to search my soul, trying to figure out what’s going on in my head. I feel self-conscious but find myself unable to look away. What am I thinking? Why does his stare make me feel naked? Beckan’s lips begin to part, drawing my eyes back to them. I feel my own lips parting, feel the heat rising to my cheeks. A nervous laughter bubbles up and I fight to keep it inside.

  “I found Shane and Patty.” Letta’s voice bursts our silent bubble, the music and loud voices flooding back into our ears. Letta continues, oblivious to the current between me and Beckan. “They’re waiting for us outside. Patty partied a little hard and she’s sick.”

  “I guess we’re riding home with the windows down,” I say sarcastically, pinching my nose.

  “I can give you guys a lift if you want,” Beckan offers. “That way Shane’s the only one who might get puked on.”

  Letta laughs, but it sounds forced. “Well, why don’t you take Rose? I think I’ll sit in the back and take care of Patty while Shane drives. I don’t want her ruining the plush upholstery. It’s the only thing that old jalopy still has going for it.”

  “Okay, sure,” I say uncertainly. “You sure you don’t need me?”

  “Nah,” Letta replies coolly. “I’ll see you on Monday.”

  Without another word, Letta turns around and is once again swallowed up by the crowd. Now I’m certain she’s keeping something from me, but for the life of me, I can’t figure out what. She even seems a little mad at me, and I start playing the last few days over in my head, trying to think of anything I might’ve done to upset her.

  “Is she mad at you?” Beckan asks.

  “I dunno,” I lie. If a clueless guy has noticed Letta’s odd behavior, then yes, Letta is most certainly upset with me. “Come on. Let’s go.”

  Beckan leads me back through the now drenched woods, holding me close to help me walk, and to shield me as best he can from the rain slipping through the tree canopy. As I walk alongside him, thinking about Letta, my only distraction is the sensation of how warm and strong Beckan’s arms feel compared to Ronan’s. I eye him a few times, noticing his striking profile in the bright flashes of lightning, my eyes darting away each time he turns toward me. I think I see him smile once or twice.

  Beckan lets me off at the front door in the driving rain. He says a simple goodnight, but I feel his eyes watching me until I’m safely inside. I do my best not to think about it and check on Liam before going to bed. He’s sleeping soundly and looks so peaceful. I touch his head lightly and think about how much I miss him – the real him, not this caricature of a rebellious five-year-old he’s become. Then, for the sake of being thorough, I check on Mother too. She’s also sleeping, but not peacefully. Her eyebrows are knitted, and her lips are taut with worry. I wonder what she’s dreaming about as I find my way to my own bed.

  ***

  Alva coos to the infant Emily Lenore, who is screaming and writhing in her twig-like arms. “Shh, sweet child. Shh.” Emily Lenore does not listen. Of course she doesn’t. She knows what Alva knows. Emily Lenore, tiny and only a few weeks old, knows and understands Alva is not her real mother. She may have carried her, birthed her, but Alva is not her true mother. She is merely a vessel.

  “She’s close,” Alva whispers to Emily Lenore as she gently sets her in the bassinet at her feet. “I can feel her. She’s near, and she is waiting for you. She’s going to be so happy when she comes for you!”

  Emily Lenore’s cries from the bassinet grow quieter but do not cease. Alva disappears from the ma
ster bedroom for only a moment and returns with her bible and a length of rope. She looks tired, haggard. The weight of the bible and rope in one hand, and her tiny newborn in the other, is enough to make her grunt with effort. She walks slowly down the frosty hallway and opens the door to the room on the other end.

  A frigid wind smacks Alva in the face as she stares through the unfinished wall toward the sea and into the darkening sky. Lightning skips across thunderheads in the distance. The storm is brewing. It will be upon them before dark. She must hurry.

  Alva looks up to the exposed beams in the ceiling. The one at the center seems sturdiest, though it needn’t be. Carefully, she sets down the bassinet and stands over it, staring into the eyes of her sweet child. No, not her child.

  Very quietly, she opens her bible and reads a prayer to the child. Her voice is quiet and melodic, as if she is merely singing a lulluaby. When she is finished, she hugs her bible close, whispers her own silent prayer, and then places the bible in the bassinet next to Emily Lenore. Then, she sets to work on the rope.

  Alva is the wife of a sailor and she knows how to tie many knots. When Eamonn had been courting her all that time ago, he spent much of their time together teaching her different knots. Slip knots, sheet knots, bowlines, and yes, for a little bit of forbidden fun, the noose. Alva always knew it was only an excuse for his fingers to brush by her own during their innocent, supervised courting. Now, she uses that knowledge to weave the right knot into her noose. She must be certain it will not come undone under her slight weight. The rope is thick and coarse, scratching her delicate fingers as she works. It takes her longer than she thought it would. The rope comes undone a several times under her unskilled handiwork, but eventually, it is complete.

  Alva turns back toward Emily Lenore with a knowing smile. “Soon, my dear,” she whispers. “Soon.” Emily Lenore coos back at her with a perceptive patience exceptional for a child of her age. Alva bends down to kiss her daughter one last time.