Fingers in the Mist

by O'Dell Hutchison

  He locks the door and takes my hand, guiding me across the front of the library, behind the diner, to the back of the school. Distant voices stop us in our tracks, and we press up against the wall so as not to be seen. A group of townsfolk walk by, murmuring softly. Once they’ve passed, we dart across the road to the park.

  The moment I step out onto the road I hear my name.

  “Caity,” Mitch calls. “Is that you?”

  He runs toward me, tears streaming down his cheeks as he leaps at me, wrapping his arms around my waist.

  “I thought they got you. I was so scared,” he says, sobbing. I try to quiet him so no one hears that I wasn’t at home. I choke back my own tears, guilt wracking my soul over the terror I know he endured because of me.

  “Cait? Oh my God, honey. You’re alive.”

  Before I can even look up, my father is there, wrapping his arms around me; his happiness spattered with irritation. “Where were you all night? Do you know how worried we were?”

  “How could you do that to us?” Judy’s voice is a harsh whisper.

  “I went for a run, and then the fog rolled in … ”

  “No more running off,” my father says, throwing his arms around me again as Judy glares in the distance. I’m not sure if she’s more mad that I ran off or that I survived the night.

  I take Mitch’s hand, and my father places his arm around my shoulders. Judy walks off to the side, refusing to be near me.

  “Cait? Oh my God. Cait!”

  Chas rushes toward me, one arm holding Parker, the other outstretched toward me. I run to her, throwing my arms around her shoulders. Parker gives a small grunt as we hold each other, his body pressed between us.

  “What a freaky-ass night, huh?”

  “To say the least.” I grab her hand and walk with her to the church. “I’m so glad you’re okay. When I saw the truck, I thought maybe something had happened to you.”

  “The truck just died on us. Jeb had to stay at my place last night. I know we’re not supposed to be outside our own homes, but thankfully nothing happened.”

  I follow her gaze across the square and catch a glimpse of Jeb. It appears that he’s getting a good tongue-lashing from his mom.

  “I’m so glad you guys made it back without any problems.”

  “We made it back, but Monique is dead.” My voice catches when I picture her bloodied body disappearing into the fog.

  “What?” Chastity stops in her tracks, eyes wide.

  “She wouldn’t get on the four-wheeler. We kept screaming at her, but she refused. One minute she was there and the next she was bleeding from the throat.”

  “Oh my God. I always hated her, but … ” Chas stops mid-sentence, a puzzled look on her face. “Umm … are you high?”

  I turn to look at what she’s staring at and my stomach drops to the ground. Monique stands a few feet away, her usual disgusted sneer plastered across her face.

  “Hi, girls. Make it home okay?”

  My mouth is a bag of cotton balls and my palms begin to sweat. It’s not possible. She died. I saw it.

  “Scary, huh?” she says, looking me dead in the eye. There’s something wrong here. Something off. She’s walking and talking, but everything about her is different. A smell like wet towels lingers in the air around her. Not only that, but her complexion appears smoother and her hair not as unruly. It’s like she’s a stinkier, prettier version of Monique.

  My eyes scan the crowd for Trevor, but I can’t find him. There are too many people here. He has to see this. It’s not possible.

  “Good luck tonight. Hopefully I’ll see both your shiny faces tomorrow morning. Just don’t run off again. You may not be so lucky next time,” she warns.

  For a brief second her eyes turn a milky white—the pupils completely gone—and blood runs from her throat.

  “Dude, seriously. What’s wrong with you?” Chastity asks as Monique walks off.

  “She was dead. I’m serious. I saw her die. Trevor will tell you.”

  Before she can reply, Reverend Carter’s voice rings out over the crowd.

  “Brothers and sisters,” he says. “It’s so good to see all your faces this morning.”

  I look up at the church steps, watching him as he seduces the crowd. Standing next to him is Maureen Edwards. She stands alone, staring at the ground. I knew it would be her after what I saw happen to Mr. Edwards last night, but the sight still breaks my heart. She’s alone. Left with no one.

  “Last night the Redeemers came, as we knew they would. Sadly, Mrs. Edwards lost her daughter and her husband because of a sin he committed. Not always do the Redeemers take the one who sinned, but last night, they did when he went after them. His guilt caused him to leave his house to try and save his child. His sin killed both of them.”

  Mrs. Edwards stares blankly ahead, her face swollen and pale, her eyes ringed with red.

  “I will now read the proclamation of sin,” Reverend Carter says as he unrolls a scroll. “Five-year-old Bethany Edwards was taken by the Redeemers on October 27, 2014 as punishment for her father’s sinful past. Mr. Edwards’s sin was that of lust. On many occasions, Mr. Edwards engaged in sexual relations with other men prior to his marriage to Maureen Edwards. After their marriage, he continued to have impure thoughts about other males, including some standing here with us today, many of them young men from the high school.”

  A collective gasp erupts from the crowd as if Reverend Carter just announced that Mr. Edwards was a serial molester. How do they know he lusted after high school boys, or the men here in this town?

  “His lustful thoughts were a threat to our children, the men of this town, and the sanctity of marriage. Mr. Edwards took a vow in front of God to love, honor, and cherish his wife, and he broke that vow by having these lustful thoughts.”

  Mrs. Edwards stares at the ground in humiliation. Her husband was a kind man. Even if he was gay or bi or whatever, I highly doubt any of what Reverend Carter says is true.

  “Mrs. Edwards,” Reverend Carter continues, “I present you with this vial of your daughter’s blood as a reminder of what your husband’s sin cost you.”

  She reluctantly takes the small tube filled with a red liquid, staring at the only thing she has left of her child. She immediately breaks down, covering her face with her hands.

  “As of this moment, the sins of your family are absolved and you are clean. Please join hands as we pray for Mr. Edwards’ soul, and pray for peace for Mrs. Edwards as she begins her new life.”

  Reverend Carter places his hands upon Mrs. Edwards’s head and begins to pray. I let Chastity and Mitch take my hands, but I don’t bow my head, and I don’t repeat the words delivered by Reverend Carter. This whole thing is disgusting. Who is he—who is anyone—to judge what people do in their private lives? I wonder if the town knows that their beloved Reverend dresses up in a red robe and peeks in people’s windows. I’ve never been a religious person, but this goes against everything I’ve ever read. What these people let happen in this town is evil—more evil than any supposed sin Reverend Carter chooses to create so he can murder people.

  Once the Reverend finishes his prayer, Mrs. Edwards seems more calm, her tears gone, her face stoic, and if I’m not mistaken, hopeful. Surely she isn’t over this so quickly. I watch as Reverend Carter helps her down the stairs. I want to throw up when I see her kiss him on the cheek and thank him.

  “It’s time to return to your homes,” he says, looking out at the crowd. “We will reconvene when the bells toll tomorrow. Remember, it’s against the rules to be outside your homes once the bells chime. We don’t need any unnecessary deaths. God bless you all.”

  He looks directly at me when he says this, eyes boring deep into my soul.

  He saw us.

  Chapter Ten

  At the end of the service, people begin to disperse, but I stay where I am, unable to remove my eyes from Reverend Carter. He stares at me; a sickening
grin spreads across his face. The stone around my neck gives a tug, and a crippling pain fills my head. I place my hands over my ears, squinting my eyes. It’s the same sensation I felt while on the mountain. There’s no doubt in my mind that he was the one I saw up there. Just as quickly as it started, the pain subsides and a soothing calmness washes over me. When I look back to the steps of the church, Reverend Carter is gone.

  “You okay?” Chastity asks.

  “Yeah. I just have a massive headache. I need sleep.”

  “I hear that,” she says. “Look, I need to get going. I’d ask you over, but … ”

  “Yeah, I know. Stay safe.” I give her a hug. How many more times will I have to say goodbye, wondering if I’ll ever see her again?

  “Hey,” Trevor says, draping his arm over my shoulders. “I need to get home. Mom wants to get back before the bells ring again.”

  “Did you see Monique?” I ask before he can go. “She’s alive.”

  “That’s not possible,” he says. “We saw her … ”

  “I know, but she’s alive, or something. She’s here. She talked to Chastity and me this morning.” He looks at me like I’ve totally lost it.

  “Hey, Trev.”

  The sound of Monique’s, sickening, sultry voice drains all the color from his face. He grabs my hand and I squeeze it.

  “Thanks for last night,” she says with a wink. “I’ll never forget how you saved me.”

  “There you are, honey,” Reverend Carter says as he walks up to us. “It’s time to go.”

  “Okay, Daddy.” Such an obedient little she-beast.

  “What is happening?” Trevor asks, staring after them in disbelief.

  “I don’t know, but I think Reverend Carter knows we were out last night.”

  “How could he?” He glances at them again just as Monique turns to look at us. She smiles and waves flirtatiously.

  “I don’t know,” I admit. “He was staring at me like he knew something. Be careful.” I give him a hug, and his lips brush my cheek before he pulls away.

  “I’ll be thinking of you. Please stay inside your house. Be safe.”

  “Cait?” my father calls, “Let’s go.”

  I suddenly remember the book I’d thrown behind the bushes of the library. I glance in that general direction. There’s no way I can make it all the way over there and back without being seen.

  “Cait,” my father calls again.

  I reluctantly move toward him. I have to leave the book for now. I’ll get it tomorrow. Somehow. Provided I make it through the night.

  Mitch grasps my hand the entire way home. My father walks on the other side of me, his arm slung over my shoulders. He gives me an occasional squeeze, letting me know that he’s happy I’m safe. Judy walks slightly in front of us, like she doesn’t want to be seen with us.

  “Mike? Caitlyn?” My grandmother’s voice floats from behind us and my father turns at the sound of his name.

  “How are you doing?” she asks.

  “We’re okay,” my father says. “I stopped by your house this morning on our way in, but you didn’t answer your door.”

  “I must have just left,” she says.

  “How are you holding up? It can’t be easy for you, being home alone while all this is happening.”

  “It doesn’t bother me,” she says, tossing it aside. “I’ve lived through many of these weeks over the course of my life. I practically sleep through the night.”

  “I can stay with you if you want,” I offer. Maybe I can get on her good side and get her to give me some information about my mother.

  “That’s not an option,” she says almost immediately.

  Well, that hurt. “I just thought maybe you’d like some company.”

  “I’d love some company,” she says, her tone shifting. “It’s just that we are required to stay in our own homes.”

  After leaving my grandmother, the three of us tramp up our driveway to the house. The bloody handprint still adorns the front door. In some grotesque way, it appears to be waving at us through the light mist hanging in the air.

  “I would kill for a shower right now,” I say as we walk up the steps and through the front door.

  “Better hurry,” my dad says. “The water shuts off when the bells ring.”

  “So is the power back on, too?” I ask.

  “No, that won’t be back on for a week. For some reason, the water works for a couple hours a day.”

  I rush up the stairs and strip out of my bloodstained yoga pants and dirty sweatshirt.

  I pull the bandages from my leg. Trevor put a ton of gauze on the wound and the bottom few layers are caked with blood. The bandage sticks to my skin, and it stings when I pull it off. I’m surprised to find that the wound has almost completely healed. Nothing more than faint white marks remain. How is that even possible? The marks were deep and bloody less than twelve hours ago.

  I step into the shower, shrinking away from the cold water that sprays onto me. Of course, it would be cold. I quickly scrub my body and wash my hair, feeling as though I’m bathing in an ice storm. I barely get my hair rinsed when the water shuts off.

  I hear the faint tolling of the bells as I walk across the hall to my room, the warm softness of my bed calling to me. I desperately need sleep.

  I throw on a pair of sweats and a clean T-shirt as the faint, gloomy light from my window fades. I pull back my curtains and peer into the backyard, but I can’t see anything. A thick, gray smog has replaced the fine, airy mist. I can barely see the branch of the tree that sits right outside my window. A deep chill passes through me. They’re back; our three hours of safety and calm over.

  I pull my curtains closed and sit on my bed right as there is a knock on my door.

  “Come in.”

  “I thought you might need these.” Dad enters the room, handing me a box of candles, a book of matches, and a candle holder.

  “Thanks.” I take them from him and place them on my desk. I promptly light one of the candles, eager to be rid of the dank, depressing darkness.

  “Where did you go to last night?” he asks, sitting on my bed.

  “I went for a run.”

  “Where did you go that you couldn’t get back?”

  I so don’t need a lecture right now. What I need is sleep.

  “I ran into Chas, Jeb and Trevor. We lost track of time.” It’s not a total lie, and I think he buys it.

  “We were worried sick about you. Where did you stay last night?”

  “The library.”

  “How did you get in there?”

  “I was with Trevor. He was walking me home when the fog started to roll in. It happened fast and there was nowhere else to go. He had a key, so we just stayed there.”

  “Well, I’m glad you’re okay,” he says after a moment of awkward silence. “Take your nap. We’ll be eating soon. I’ll send Mitch up for you.”

  I collapse onto my bed, watching the flickering shadows painted on my ceiling by the flame of the candle. The effect is both creepy and hypnotic. In no time, I’m fast asleep.

  ***

  Sirens scream, piercing the still air, jolting me out of bed. For a moment, I think maybe someone has come to save us. Maybe one of the townsfolk, Mr. Simpson probably, called the state police, alerting them about the crazy shit that is happening.

  The moment I’m out of bed, I realize something isn’t right. The room I stand in is much larger than my bedroom in Highland Falls. Horns honk and voices carry from below my window up to my room.

  I reach over and flip on the lamp. Light floods the space, and I realize I’m in my old bedroom in the townhouse I shared with my mother.

  I open my bedroom door. Canned laughter from a sitcom hangs in the air, and the soft light of the television flickers on the living room ceiling.

  I quietly walk down the stairs, sinking my feet into the familiar plush carpet. The living room is empty. My mother’s
favorite crocheted blanket lies near the coffee table as if she’d stood up quickly, leaving it piled on the floor.

  I place my back against the wall, breathing heavily. This is exactly the way it happened the night I found her dead body lying at the front door. I can’t do this again. I won’t.

  I turn to go back to my room. I just want to crawl back into bed. A slight scraping noise and the rustling of papers drift toward me from the dining room, stopping me in my tracks. Curiosity gets the better of me and I turn in the direction of the sound.

  An empty pizza box stands open on the kitchen counter. The scratching grows louder, and I realize it’s the sound of someone writing furiously. I poke my head around the corner. Sitting at the table in her favorite purple robe is my mother.

  “Mom?” My voice is low and scratchy. I clear my throat and call to her again.

  She keeps scribbling as I take a step toward her. As I get closer, I see a small box covered in fabric sitting on the table. It’s my keepsake box—something she started for me years ago. I keep everything in there: a lock of hair from my first haircut, the first tooth I lost, pictures of my mother and me, special cards, love notes—everything. What is she doing with it?

  “Mom?” I say, louder.

  “Just a minute, honey.”

  I watch as she folds the paper and stuffs it into an envelope. She licks it, seals it and stuffs it at the bottom of the memory box.

  “It’s all here. Everything you need.” She looks at the box as she holds it in her hands, nodding in agreement. “It’s all here.”

  She stands and faces me, and I shrink back against the wall. Blood seeps from between her eyes and runs down her face.

  “Stop them.” She reaches for me. “They’re coming for you. You have to stop them.”

  I bolt upright, my heart racing. I close my eyes and run my hands over my face as I try to push away the vision of the gaping bullet wound in my mother’s head.

  I crawl out of bed, unsure of how long I’ve been asleep. I don’t wear a watch and the clocks are all digital. I go to my closet to search for my memory box. I typically don’t believe in people talking to you from the grave, but after everything that’s gone down the last few days, I’m not going to ignore the feeling that the box may hold a clue. I have no idea where Judy may have put it when she unpacked everything, but the closet seems a likely candidate.