by Lois Ruby
A sharp, choking smell hits me when I’m safely to the fallen log at the edge of the woods. Shading my eyes, I peer back between pines and live oaks and cottonwoods thick with mid-summer growth. Smoke is pluming in dark clouds, and I know deep in my soul that the cabin is burning to the ground. My music box! I pray that the fire doesn’t jump toward the trees or toward the gentle animals that own the forest. They own it, not Cady.
An hour later I can still catch whiffs of the smoke. It stings my nose and makes me furious. But I’ve got to focus on solving the mystery instead of that burnt up old cabin that never meant anything to me anyway.
“Hey, Trick, can I borrow one of your Rubik’s Cubes?”
“Get your own,” he mutters, even as he tosses me his favorite one. That’s Trick for you, gruff on the outside and mushy inside. In fact, he’s the opposite of Scooter, who’s gentle and tender outside, but his interior is steely and stronger than anybody I know.
I take the cube back to my room, kicking the door shut. Scooter’s waiting for me to fill him in on things he’s missed while he was away. I clue him in on everything I know about Cady so far, though he hasn’t seen the actual graveyard and doesn’t want to. He fiddles with the Rubik’s Cube, trying to line up the colors like the champs you see on YouTube who can solve the puzzle in five seconds. He’s good, but not that good.
“Sure glad the whole forest didn’t go up in flames,” Scooter says reassuringly.
“Just the cabin. Miraculous, isn’t it, that the fire burned out so quickly? But then, Cady does a lot of things we can’t explain. Pass me the Rubik’s Cube, Scooter.” Randomly, I slide colors around, getting no closer to lining up all the yellows, reds, blues, greens, oranges, and whites on their own sides of the cube. But just slowly pivoting a multicolored panel of tiles helps me concentrate on clicking into place pieces of the riddle wrapped in a mystery.
Scooter grabs the cube away from me again and starts twisting. “Facts: what do we know about Cady? Let’s call her Orange on this cube. We’ll try to solve her. It fits because orange doesn’t rhyme with anything, just like she doesn’t fit into normal life any which way you try to wedge her in.” He flashes an all-orange side of the cube.
“Okay, facts. She can’t keep her stories straight,” I tell him.
“Say it right out. She lies.”
“I don’t want to say it. Fact: she has six empty graves in her cemetery, and one that’s got a customer in it, and that would be some relative from way back named Cadence Stanhope.”
“That she’s probably named after,” Scooter reminds me.
“Fact: she wants Sara and Luisa and me to come swimming at midnight tonight. What’ll we do about that?”
Scooter makes eyeglasses out of his index fingers and thumbs and gazes at me through them. “If I could see into ze future,” he says, in a fake fortune-teller accent, “I vould say do not go to ze lake at ze midnight.”
“Like Vivienne said—NO!”
“We haven’t gotten to Vivienne yet. Stick with Orange.”
“So Orange knows an awful lot about the forest and doesn’t get sick on poisonous berries or raccoon scratches like regular people do. She appears and disappears whenever she feels like it.”
Scooter slides the cube fast a bunch of times and gets the colors all mixed up again. “She knows way more than she should about Nightshade, the house, and the poison. Gives me the creeps.”
“And a lot about Vivienne and how she stood on the balcony of her studio, Dad’s studio, and suddenly her lights went out.”
“Blind as a bat.”
That triggers something in my mind. “Cady went ballistic when she saw the carpenters repairing the balcony. That’s got to be a key to … something.”
“Let’s move on to Vivienne,” Scooter says. “She’s Red. All we really know about her is what Cady told you, which may or may not be true.”
“Except that she’s haunting our house.”
“Like I said, which may or may not be true.”
“It’s true, believe me. Nana knows it. Even Gracie saw her. Sara and Luisa sort of did, too.”
We’re silent, barely moving for a few minutes while Scooter twists and solves, and finishes the cube again, but we’re no closer to solving our puzzle.
Suddenly his back shoots up straight and he tosses the cube in the air. “Think it’s a coincidence that Cady warned you not to fix the balcony, and that Vivienne warned you not to go for the midnight moonlight swim?”
“Coincidence? Hmm, maybe not, but why does that matter?”
Scooter says, “They hate each other?”
“Or love each other and just hate me.”
“I don’t think so. Maybe this sounds like a comic book, but what if Vivienne knows Cady’s power, and Cady knows Vivienne’s power, and each one is trying to protect you from the other one?”
“Wow, maybe you’re on to something, Scooter. That means we’d sure better not do the midnight moonlight thing. It’s settled. I’ll text Sara and Luisa in a minute.”
He tilts the cube back and forth so the overhead light picks up the glossy red side, then the glossy orange … red … orange.
“So next question,” I begin, “Yellow: how are Cady and Vivienne related? Remember, Cady tried to convince me that Vivienne was her mother with that crazy stuff about time being twisted and rippled like a ball of yarn.”
“Yeah, but time isn’t rippled,” Scooter asserts. “It’s a straight line from point A to point B, from noon to one second past noon.”
I’m brewing a thought that I can only grasp around the edges before it poofs away in a mind mist. “Stick with me on this Scooter, because I’m not sure what I’m saying. So if Vivienne is the ghost of someone who died in 1899, and time is all tangled up, why can’t Cady—”
“Be a ghost, too, just like Vivienne,” Scooter says.
“Maybe she really was the daughter of Vivienne.”
We look at each other, our eyes gaping wide at this absolutely insane idea and both say, at the exact same time, “Naaah, no way.”
“You got a better theory?” Scooter asks, and I have to admit I don’t, but I know for sure this one can’t possibly be right.
It’s finally Saturday night. Trick’s up in his room with the door locked, Scooter’s asleep (though he’s prepared to cover for me, if necessary), and Gracie’s been in dreamland since eight o’clock. But wouldn’t you know it? This is the first Saturday night Franny’s had off from the Rib Shack all summer. When Sara and Luisa arrive, sleeping bags and munchies and all, Franny says, “I’ll hang out with you. Slum a little for a change.”
Great. So how are we going to discuss Cady? It’s almost ten o’clock. Two hours to midnight. We’re wrecks, skittish and jittery. Sara’s chewing on the fringe of a couch cushion, and Luisa’s fidgeting with her toes as if she’s lost count of how many there are.
We’re in our pajamas, camped out in the family room with a movie on the wide-screen TV. There’s a big, beach-ball full moon out there, as Cady promised, and I feel it pulling me like it pulls the tides. Cady’s out there all by herself, waiting for us. She’s as lonely as the moon so far away from all those twinkly stars.
“Gorgeous moon,” Franny says. “It’s so romantic, or it would be if Cameron hadn’t dumped me last week. I don’t care. I was ready to move on anyway. Off to college in forty-two days.”
Our eyes are glued to the screen. We’re ignoring her, so maybe she’ll take the hint and go upstairs.
But no. “You know what they say about a big full moon? It drives people crazy.”
Sara darts a nervous look my way as Franny says, “I’m going into the kitchen to make Rice Krispies Treats. Anyone want to help?”
“Huh-uh.” Luisa and Sara and I all exchange looks: our chance! Even though we’d already decided not to go tonight, we’re all prepared … just in case we change our minds. As soon as Franny is out of earshot, we huddle.
“Got your suits and towels?”
“
Out on the porch for a quick getaway.”
“If we’re going.”
“Which we’re not.”
“Cady needs us to come.”
“Which we won’t.”
“But if we do … ”
“Flashlights? Bug spray? Mosquitoes are vicious at night around water.”
“We shouldn’t go.”
“But we can’t disappoint Cady.”
“This is crazy!”
“We wouldn’t consider it if we had an ounce, even a milliliter of good sense.”
“Which we don’t.”
“But if we did … ”
Franny pops back into the family room, rattling a cereal box. “It’s practically empty,” she says with disgust. “You can’t make Rice Krispies Treats without Rice Krispies.”
Luisa chirps, “Why don’t you go to the store for another box? And can you get us a giant bag of turkey jerky?”
“Yeah, great idea!” we chorus.
“Nah, I don’t need the calories,” Franny responds, curling into the corner of the couch with her laptop open.
“Can’t you do that somewhere else?” I whine. “Your computer light’s bothering us. What do you think, Luisa, you’re right next to her. Bothering you?”
“Majorly,” Luisa shouts, covering her eyes with a pillow as if Franny’s pointing a 2000-watt searchlight at her.
“Just checking one thing quick. There, I’m done,” and Franny flips the laptop shut.
The clock’s ticking. It’s nearly ten-thirty, and we haven’t reached a decision. Cady must be feeling desperate, wondering if we’ll come or not. Mom and Dad are still awake upstairs. My nerves are a jangled army marching across the bottom of my stomach.
And then, we’re saved. Franny yawns. “Sleepovers used to be a lot more fun when I was a kid. I’m outta here. Hasta la vista, girls!” She tosses the purple and green afghan, one of Nana’s uglier ones, on the floor and heads upstairs.
Then the huddle begins for real.
“Think about how sad Cady is. We’re the only friends she has,” I begin.
“She hasn’t got me,” Sara says.
Luisa shakes her head. “Me, neither.”
“Have a heart,” I say.
Sara looks me dead in the eye. “Look at it from a practical point of view. What if we stumble in the dark and break a leg? How are we gonna explain it to our parents in the emergency room?”
“Or what if we accidentally swallow some belladonna and croak right there in the woods, and nobody finds us for, like, twenty-five years,” Luisa moans.
“What if we get bitten by a possum or a raccoon or bear? Are there bears in the forest? Do they hibernate at night?” Sara is on a roll. “Black widow spiders, brown recluse spiders, they can totally kill, and you wouldn’t see them in the dark before they took a chunk of your flesh.”
Then Luisa points out what’s really on our minds. “What if we drown? What if there are three more graves dug next to Olivia and Cassandra and those other girls?”
“Ours,” I whisper.
We sit in stunned silence, contemplating this and all the other what-ifs, until Sara says, “Look, it’s okay if y’all don’t speak to me for the rest of the summer and all through seventh grade, but I’m not going.”
Luisa quickly chimes in. “This is kind of terrifying. I mean, think about it. Three girls out at midnight, hanging around with that total headcase, Cady. And, to be honest, I’m not a great swimmer. They made me wear a float donut at camp.”
“So you’re not going, either?” asks Sara.
“That’s two out of three,” Luisa says, casting me an expectant look.
They wait while I try to make up my mind. One minute, I’m going to the lake. The next, I’m not. I know I need to give them my decision. If I can figure out what it is.
I hit pause on the movie. We’re all yawning. I blow an imaginary bugle, then poke the air with a double thumbs-down. “Announcement, cadets, this just in from Mission Control. The mission is scrapped. It’s a no-go.”
Luisa and Sara both let out a huge sigh of relief, like my own.
“I’ll be asleep in two secs,” Luisa promises. Her long legs are coiled in Dad’s overstuffed chair, her head thrown back, her mouth open wide enough to catch dragonflies. Sara snuggles down into her sleeping bag with a pillow over her head, and in a flash her back is rising up and down in peaceful sleep, like hibernation. How can they both be out so fast, with a clear conscience?
I’m the night owl, wide-awake. I click off the TV and plop down on the couch, shielding my eyes from the yellow beam of Luisa’s flashlight and counting the ticks of the wall clock. It’s eleven thirty-eight. I picture Cady’s expectant face. She’s waiting for us on the shore, backlit by the powerful moon. What’s that word she used to describe the moon? Oh, yeah, lambent. I looked it up and found out it has nothing to do with sheep. It means glowing. The glowing, radiant moon. Luna. Waiting for Luisa and Sara and me. Well, Luna’s going to have a long wait!
My eyes are wide open; they’re on springs. I’m staring at the ceiling, counting spins of the fan whooshing overhead. I force my heavy eyelids closed. The ceiling and the clock are visible through narrow slits. From a great distance, as though it’s funneled down a skinny tube of time and space, I imagine Cady’s voice:
Let those cowards sleep. You’re the one with courage, Hannah.
In the back of my mind, I hear my father’s constant message to all five of us: “When in doubt, do the right thing, even if what’s right feels wrong.” I never quite knew what he meant until this minute, and now I’m having second thoughts about my decision.
It cracks my heart in two to think of disappointing poor Cady. I know how I’d feel if I were the one out there, all by myself in the moonlight. I can’t do it. I can’t abandon Cady this way.
I’m going alone.
Like that, I’m on my feet and out the door. I grab one of the flashlights stashed on the porch and head out into the night. I’m following someone’s footsteps—my own?—one foot after the next. Going where? Eyes wide open. Spectral night vision. Thin loblolly pines jut a hundred feet into the air. Thick cottonwoods surround me. They’re havens for small creatures. Eyes watch me pass; they know exactly where I’m going.
A thin wail in the distance cuts through the natter of forest night noise. Is it a trapped cat? A loon? The full moon floods my path. Crushed pine needles crunch under my feet. Why didn’t I think to wear shoes? I walk and walk, afraid I’ll never get there, and then I hear her:
“Hannah! You came. You really are an honest and true friend.”
“I can’t see you, Cady.”
“Because I’m wearing black, and the moon has slipped behind a cloud. Keep following my voice.” It’s a soothing, inviting voice, a mother’s lullaby. “Come, Hannah. I’m here at the lake. Let’s swim together by moonlight. Hurry. It’s nearly midnight.”
The voice is a rope that gently tugs me forward. No, it’s too soft to be a rope. It’s a long, white silk string—like the one that linked Moira’s wedding pearls. It’s tied around my heart like a kite string. I’m flying, with my feet on the ground.
“Just a few more steps into the water, Hannah. Dip your toes in. Ahh. It’s refreshing, right? Feel the soft silt squishy under your feet? Such a lovely feeling. A few more steps. Wade toward me. That’s it, yes, this way.”
Midnight water cools my stinging feet. My legs. My knees. My thighs. Something swims and floats around me: my pajama T-shirt. The water’s up to my waist, and now the shirt clings to my sides. I’m practically swimming. I can’t call it wading anymore, not this deep. But I’m getting no closer to the unseen voice.
“Over here.” Cady calls to me from farther and farther away. “My friends are waiting to meet you.”
“I’m coming, Cady. Stand still so I can find you.”
“Just trust me,” she calls across the water, which jingles a little alarm in my head. My father always says something else that seems relevant, but
I can’t think what it is because each step is a huge struggle. I’m dragging dead weight, like trudging through a bank of snow.
Soft ground slides away under my feet. The water lies heavy on my chest, then my throat. Wet hair slaps my neck. How can something as silky as water weigh so much?
The loon’s wail contradicts Cady’s soothing voice. “I’m here, I won’t let anything hurt you, Hannah. We come from water, and return to water.”
The loon is nearly screeching now. Have I upset its nest of babies? Its wail means something important, but what? I know the answer, but I can’t pull that out of my memory, either. Everything’s dreamy and hazy, and breathing takes every ounce of my strength.
My whole body shudders with a deep, cleansing breath. And now the water feels so welcoming, so comforting, so natural. Peaceful. Mosquitoes circle my face and nip at my cheeks. It doesn’t matter. We come from water, and return to water.
Must be midnight by now. Midnight moonlight loon nightshady. I’m blinded by the glaring light of the full moon. Blinded … like Vivienne.
But only for a moment. I blink to clear my eyes—and my mind. I suddenly know that it’s not a loon I hear. It’s a banshee wail, warning that someone is struggling into the world beyond just as I’m slogging through this cold water. Who would that be? I’m the only one here besides Cady. “Where are you?” I call. But I get no answer from her.
I’m starting to panic, and butterflying my legs to propel my body out of the water, but my legs are anchors, my arms are lead. They don’t work.
Finally, Cady wades toward me. But how can she stand, when the water’s nearly over my head and she’s no taller than I am? Suddenly she grabs my hands and pulls ferociously. I’m too weak to resist. My head goes under. My breathing is ragged, like how Scooter feels during an asthma attack. I’m choking! I force my exhausted legs to pump and thrust my head out of the water, spitting and drawing gulps of air. But Cady’s gone under the water, and she’s towing me down.
Why is she doing this?
In my head, Vivienne’s voice screams, No!
