The Unleashed

by Danielle Vega

  Vi looked a little unsure as she shuffled to one end of the circle, between Connor and Portia. Hendricks stood to Portia’s right, with Ileana on her other side and the boys across from her.

  Ileana closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

  “This feels good,” she said, cracking her neck. “Balanced.” Turning to Hendricks, she asked, “Did you bring the stuff I gave you?”

  Hendricks had the black bag she’d gotten from Ileana’s store that afternoon at her feet. She picked it up.

  “Cool,” said Ileana. “So, everyone needs to take a candle. We need either three candles, or a number divisible by three, and the more the better. Since I’m the only one here who’s held a séance in the past, I’ll act as medium. Does that work for everyone?”

  One by one, everyone gathered nodded.

  “I also brought this.” Ileana knelt and pulled a loaf of bread out of the leather bag at her feet.

  “We get snacks?” asked Finn, sounding hopeful. Connor snorted.

  Ileana gave them both a look and placed the loaf in the middle of the circle. “Spirits don’t eat, but they really like the smell of food,” she explained. “It reminds them of what it was like to be alive. Hendricks, make sure everyone in the circle gets a candle, except for me, and then place three additional candles in the center for a total of nine.” Under her breath, Ileana added, like she was doing a complicated equation, “Nine is good.”

  Hendricks did as she was told. The candles were thin and tall and black. Once she’d handed them all out, she patted down her pockets—then paused, a sinking feeling filling her chest. She’d left Eddie’s lighter at home.

  “I got you, O’Malley,” Blake said, reading her mind. He dug a lighter out of his pocket and started passing it around. Soon, nine flickering lights illuminated their small circle.

  “Thanks,” Hendricks said, and Blake winked at her.

  “Now join hands,” Ileana said.

  Hendricks took Ileana’s hand and Portia’s hand. Around the circle, everyone fell quiet, doing the same.

  “I’m going to need you all to repeat this chant after me,” said Ileana. Her voice was suddenly low and very strong. It made Hendricks think of roots stretching deep into the earth, of new life sprouting from tiny seeds. She felt like she was part of something larger than herself. She shivered. Weird.

  “Our beloved, Eduardo Ruiz,” Ileana said, her voice strong. “We bring you gifts from life into death. Commune with us, Eduardo, and move among us.”

  There was a brief moment of silence after she’d finished. Everyone looked around, wondering who would start.

  Hendricks knew it should be her, but her throat felt suddenly thick, her mouth dry. It was that word, beloved, it felt so weird to say it in front of all these people.

  She wet her lips—

  And then Portia spoke, taking the lead. “Our beloved, Eduardo Ruiz,” she said, and squeezed Hendricks’s hand.

  Hendricks, relieved, began to chant along with her, “We bring you gifts from life into death.”

  One by one, everyone else joined in. “Commune with us, Eduardo, and move among us.”

  “Again,” said Ileana, once they were done.

  And then, again and again.

  “Our beloved, Eduardo Ruiz. We bring you gifts from life into death. Commune with us, Eduardo, and move among us.”

  The words layered over one another, reminding Hendricks of a song sung in rounds at nursery school, the voices weaving together like threads in a tapestry.

  Once they’d completed the chant seven times, Ileana fell silent. Hendricks closed her eyes, her heartbeat thudding in her ears.

  Please work, she thought to herself.

  The night around her was still. Wind sighed through the trees, and new leaves twitched on their branches. Somewhere far off there was a low rumble that might have been the distant call of thunder, or might have been a car driving past on the next street. Hendricks’s palms had begun to sweat.

  Please, please work.

  “Oh shit,” whispered Vi after a moment. “I—I think I just felt something.”

  Hendricks’s chest felt like a balloon that was about to burst, but it took her a moment to realize it was because she’d stopped breathing. This was it. Eddie, finally. Something inside of her began to hum—

  “Yeah, I farted,” Blake murmured, under his breath, and he and Finn burst into stifled laughter. Hendricks felt a jerk from the other side of the circle as Connor rammed one of them with his shoulder.

  “Knock it off,” he said. But Hendricks noticed his lips were twitching, like he was trying not to laugh, too.

  Hendricks felt her hope slowly drain away. It was like she was inside a small room in the dark. This was a mistake. Nothing was happening.

  She opened her eyes and saw that Ileana was already staring into the center of the circle, frowning slightly.

  “Something’s off,” she murmured.

  “What does that mean?” asked Hendricks. She felt like there was something caught in her throat. “Should we switch places or . . . or light more candles?”

  “No . . . I just don’t think this is going to work tonight.” Ileana dropped Hendricks’s hand. “I’m sorry.”

  Hendricks was confused. “I don’t understand. We just started. Can’t we try something else? A different chant, maybe?”

  “The chant isn’t the problem.” Ileana motioned vaguely to the air around them. “It’s like I said before, the energy of this place is . . . wrong. It’s like milk gone sour. Can’t you feel it?” Ileana made a face, like she smelled something foul. “The heaviness of it? It’s . . . sticky.”

  Hendricks had no idea how to respond to that. It was like Ileana was speaking in riddles. How could energy be sticky?

  She wanted to argue, but now Ileana was gathering the bread and candles, and Hendricks could see that there was no point.

  The disappointment she felt was bad, but even worse was the sudden rush of embarrassment that followed it.

  She’d been so hopeful. She’d really thought this was going to work. That hope still lingered in the back of her brain, whispering, Please, please.

  The rest of circle had started to break up, too. Finn and Blake were looking for their hacky sack. Vi was asking Connor something about carburetors.

  “Wait,” Hendricks said. The word came out half-croak.

  “We can try again some other time, Hendricks.” Portia touched her shoulder, apologetic. “I’m sorry.”

  “Maybe when there’s a full moon?” Ileana added. “A full moon is like the spiritual version of a car wash, it could help clean out the energy around here.”

  * * *

  • • •

  One by one, the group drifted off, until it was just Hendricks, sitting alone on an edge of the concrete foundation. She was cross-legged, her elbows balanced on her knees, her chin propped in her hands.

  She was on the verge of completely giving up. Not just on Eddie. On everything. She felt like a failure. No part of her body seemed capable of holding itself upright.

  “Why won’t you talk to me?” she asked the spot of land where Eddie had died. She didn’t feel hurt or embarrassed or disappointed anymore. Now she felt numb. She’d never thought she’d find herself missing the intense, all-encompassing pain that had taken her over after Eddie’s death, but she did. Anything was better than this.

  She slid off the edge of the foundation and walked over to the spot of dirt where Eddie had died. Little tufts of grass had begun to sprout up around the yard, but the spot itself was still mostly dirt. It was almost as though nothing wanted to grow there. She stared down at it for a moment. And then, she kicked it.

  Nothing happened, so she kicked again, harder. And then again. The tip of her sneaker caught on a rock and pain shot through her big toe. She grimaced and kicked again. Again. A
gain.

  Dirt flew into the air and scattered around the clearing. A few clumps sprayed the top of the foundation.

  She didn’t care. She kicked again. There was a shallow hole forming now, and nothing had changed so finally Hendricks stopped.

  She’d sort of hoped that kicking the ground would make her feel better, but it didn’t. She felt nothing. And now she was breathing hard and sweating a little. She couldn’t quite catch her breath.

  “Fine,” she said, gasping. “I give up. Stay . . . wherever you are. In the void, or whatever. I hope you’re happy there.”

  A tear pricked the corner of her eye, but she brushed it away, angrily, with the back of her hand. That stupid Two of Swords card—indecision—had made her think there was still some chance Eddie was planning to come back. Now she understood the truth. Eddie had already moved on. It was over.

  She turned back toward her car.

  A crow cawed as she walked back, and Hendricks began to feel an almost imperceptible tremble in the ground beneath her. It was subtle at first, the feeling of a train going by. She stopped short, wondering if she was imagining it.

  But no, the shaking of the earth was becoming more intense. Then the wind started to pick up. A cold gust moved through the trees, making Hendricks shiver.

  She turned in a slow circle.

  A sudden crash of thunder made her jump. The sky lit up.

  Hendricks stood stone still. Instinct told her to run. The last time she was in this backyard, the long-decayed corpses of three boys had clawed their way up from beneath her and attacked her friends.

  And now the tremor grew stronger. It felt like the beginning of an earthquake. Like something big coming closer.

  She looked around, half expecting to see hands reach up from the dirt, but there was only writhing earth.

  She took a single lurching step toward her car, but the ground was shaking too violently, and it sent her crashing to her knees. Her teeth snapped down, hard, on her tongue, and the taste of metal filled her mouth. She lifted a hand to her lips. When she pulled them away, her fingers were stained red.

  Another crash of thunder rumbled through the night, but no lightning followed. Instead, Hendricks heard a sound like smashing rocks. She whipped her head around.

  A crack had appeared in the middle of the concrete foundation of Steele House. As Hendricks watched, it grew steadily larger. Beneath the sound of churning concrete, she heard other sounds . . .

  Hisses . . . Whispers . . .

  “Help,” Hendricks whimpered. She fumbled for her phone in her pocket, but when she pulled it out, the screen was black. Dead. Minutes ago it had been fully charged.

  Hendricks shoved it back in her pocket and took a ragged breath.

  Maybe it’s him. Maybe it’s Eddie, she thought.

  She slowly pushed herself to her feet, creeping closer to the foundation. The edges of the crack were jagged, and there didn’t seem to be earth below, just a deep, hollow space. Staring at it, Hendricks remembered the Steele House storm cellar where little Maribeth Ruiz had died tragically three years ago. Had the construction workers built over the cellar without bothering to fill it in?

  The crack grew. The sound of crumbling concrete echoed through the night. Hendricks cringed and clamped her hands over her ears. The crack was the size of her forearm and then, seconds later, it stretched longer than her leg. She watched in horror, her breath coming in harsh little gasps.

  What the hell?

  When the crack was the length of a body stretched out across the foundation, it stopped. The gnashing sound of breaking concrete ended, abruptly enough that Hendricks could still hear it ringing in her ears. The night was suddenly still.

  Hendricks took a single step toward the foundation. And then another. Her armpits had begun to sweat. It was that cold sweat that smelled like fear. She could feel her T-shirt clinging to her skin.

  She was still a few feet from the crack when the darkness below stirred. She froze.

  Slowly, slowly, whatever was below began to crawl up.

  Hendricks stifled a scream and took a quick step backward, one hand flying to her mouth.

  The thing was dark and amorphous, shapeless and twitchy. It moved like an animal, but Hendricks didn’t think that it was one. It felt dangerous.

  She stood deathly still, worried that this thing might see her. Her heartbeat sounded like cannon fire in her ears, and the urge to inhale was so strong that it felt like her lungs might explode inside her chest. But she didn’t move, she didn’t breathe.

  The thing pulled itself out of the crack. It still didn’t have form, but there was a moment when it seemed to flinch, like a cat cocking its head because it had heard something.

  The thing peered through the darkness, back at Hendricks. Hendricks thought she could make out the shape of a head and shoulders. Arms, legs, torso, head. But no face.

  Despite her fear, Hendricks moved closer. This was the moment she’d been waiting for. She reached out her hand.

  Wind rattled through the branches and shook the trees. Before Hendricks could brush her fingers against the strange, dark shape, it broke apart, first becoming thick wisps of black smoke, and then—

  Nerves itched the back of Hendricks’s outstretched hand. The smoke, it was thickening, changing. It seemed to take on form and weight. And there was a sound coming from it. A sort of . . .

  Buzzing.

  Horror trailed down the back of Hendricks’s throat.

  The smoke had become wasps.

  They were only dim silhouettes in the darkness, but Hendricks recognized them immediately. Tiny, bullet-shaped bodies, vibrating wings. She screamed. Blood pumped through her skull, blotting out all other sound. She dropped to a crouch on the ground as the wasps formed a thick, grotesque swarm.

  She could feel them on her skin, crawling, in her hair, brushing against her cheeks. One of them burrowed into her ear. She thrashed wildly, trying to shake it free as harsh little gasps that she couldn’t control escaped her lips. Tears streamed down her face.

  Distantly, she thought of what Ileana had told her.

  Be sure that you’re willing to deal with . . . whatever comes back.

  Is this what she’d meant? Hendricks thought, numb. Is this Eddie?

  And then, the wasps took a sudden turn. The swarm around her began to dissipate. Hendricks lifted her head. They were above her now, barely more than a black cloud blotting out the moon, the droning sound of their wings growing distant. Still shaken, Hendricks anxiously patted down her arms and touched her face, wanting to make sure that every last one of them was gone.

  She hadn’t been stung, she realized. Not once.

  CHAPTER

  8

  Hendricks went back home—or whatever the rental house was. Not “home,” but as close as she was going to get right now. She doubted she’d be able to manage normal human conversation, so she walked past her parents and Brady without acknowledging them. Down the hallway and into the bathroom. She took a vicious pleasure in the feel of her door slamming behind her, the force vibrating through the walls and floor. It wasn’t until she heard her parents’ concerned voices drift down the hall from the kitchen that she realized how loud she was being.

  “. . . you think she’s okay?”

  “Someone should probably go talk to her . . .”

  She closed her eyes, groaning internally. Great. Now she’d freaked out her parents, too. She knew she should go back out there and assure them that she was all right, but she couldn’t bring herself to open the door.

  She thought of the crack appearing in the middle of Steele House’s new foundation. The shadow . . . thing that had crawled up from the earth and turned into a swarm of wasps.

  Hendricks was suddenly itchy all over, like she could still feel the wasps crawling on her skin. She shuddered. She wanted to soak her
entire body in bleach. She would settle for a bath.

  Her new rental home did not have a big antique tub like Steele House did. This one was small and plastic, and Hendricks knew it wouldn’t cover her entire body once it was full, but she switched the faucet on anyway and waited impatiently on the toilet seat until the warm water filled the tub. The air grew thick and warm around her. Steam fogged up her mirror. She hugged herself, trying to ignore the phantom feeling of bugs creeping over her skin. Every nerve in her body felt like it was on fire.

  Finally, the tub was full. Hendricks switched the faucet off with a flick of her hand, discarded her clothes on the linoleum floor, and climbed inside.

  She’d been right, it wasn’t big enough for her to lay down. She had to keep her knees bent and her head crooked awkwardly against the side of the tub itself, but a bath was still a bath. She tried not to focus on how cramped she felt and shifted her thoughts instead to the warm press of water against her skin, the steamy quality of the air, the steady drip of the faucet. Those sensations had never failed to soothe her before.

  She closed her eyes and searched for a peaceful memory, like they taught her at CTE. Find your happy place.

  Her happy place was a summer day at the beach from when she was little, back before Brady was born. She could feel the heat of the sun on her shoulders and how excited she’d been to wear her yellow swimsuit. Her dad let her get a treat from the ice cream truck, and she could still taste the creamy strawberry shortcake bar she’d chosen. Waves crashed against the shore, one after another, the sound so peaceful . . .

  The sound shifted in Hendricks’s mind, grew sharper, harder. It wasn’t crashing waves anymore, but crumbling concrete, howling wind, roaring thunder . . .

  Hendricks released a choked cry, her eyes flying open. She sat up so quickly that she sent a wave of water cascading over the side of the tub. Her heart was beating hard and fast inside her chest.

  This wasn’t working.