Nocte

by Courtney Cole

  I nod. “They don’t have vocal cords. But it sounds like a scream sometimes, when the air bubbles out of their stomachs.”

  “That’s a pleasant thought,” Dare says wryly.

  “I just don’t think about it,” I shrug. “Because they’re delicious.”

  “Sadistic yet practical,” Dare observes as he holds the door open for me.

  I grin. “That’s my hamartia.”

  Dare shakes his head. “I don’t believe in fatal flaws.”

  I pause, staring up at him. “Really? Then what, pray tell, will be your downfall?”

  Dare pauses too, purveying me with his arms dangling limply at his sides.

  “There’s a very good chance it’ll be you.”

  13

  TREDECIM

  “How can you possibly say that?” I stutter. “You only just met me.”

  Dare’s lip twitches and he starts walking toward my house. “I’m a very intuitive guy, Calla-Lily. I guess you can just call it a feeling.”

  I feel like I’m walking on a cloud of confusion as we make our way to my house. I barely greet Finn when we walk in, and he immediately knows that something is up, although he doesn’t ask for details. Instead, he just calmly assesses me.

  “Everything ok?” His voice is slow and even, and I nod.

  “Yeah.”

  He nods. “Good. I’m not feeling well, so I’m going to eat in my room.”

  He turns and disappears into the back hallway before I can say anything. I suspect that his absence has more to do with Dare’s presence and less to do with not feeling well. I sigh as my father comes through the kitchen door.

  He glances at Dare. “Would you like anything to drink?”

  “Sure. I’ll have whatever you’re having,” Dare answers.

  My father is gone for a minute, and comes back out with a beer. “You looked like you could use something stronger than lemonade.”

  Dare almost looks relieved, and takes a big gulp. “Thanks.”

  As Dare wipes his mouth with one of smashed up hands, my dad eyes the damage, but doesn’t say anything.

  It’s strange how everything is socially acceptable and comfortable, despite the fact that Dare’s hands are mangled and everyone is ignoring that fact.

  “Let’s go find the first aid kit,” I tell Dare. He nods and sets his beer down, and dad heads into the kitchen.

  “The crabs will be ready in five,” he calls over his shoulder.

  “We’d better hurry,” I murmur to Dare as I lead him through the halls. We pass the Viewing Rooms and the Great Room and never once does Dare say anything about the Funeral Home smell.

  After we quietly walk the length of the halls leading to the basement, I gently push him into a seat outside of my father’s Embalming Room. “Be right back,” I tell him.

  I push open the door, and ignore the instant change in temperature that sends goose-bumps forming down my arms and legs. I also ignore the reason it has to be so cold in here. Cold = Death. It’s an equation that was long ago impressed in my head. It’s one reason I’d love to move someplace tropical. Because Warmth = Life.

  I dig in a cabinet for gauze and medical tape, rustling around loudly enough that I don’t hear Dare walk into the room. It’s only when he speaks from behind me that I jump.

  “So, this doesn’t look that scary,” he observes, his quiet voice loud in the silence.

  I whirl around, my heart pounding. “Sorry,” he says quickly, holding up a hand. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  “It’s all right,” I tell him. “I just wasn’t expecting to hear a voice.”

  He nods, his lip twitching. “Yeah, I guess that would be a bad thing in here usually.”

  I nod, still willing my heart to slow down as I grab the supplies I need.

  Dare turns in a slow circle, eyeing the wall of coolers, the metal tables in the middle with the run-off trays, the sterile walls, the medicinal smell.

  “This room is creepy,” he announces, focusing in on the run-off trays. “I don’t see how your dad can do what he does.”

  “I don’t either,” I agree, as I pull him from the room. “I hate being in here. The last time I was down here was when they wheeled my mom in.”

  She’d been in a bag, completely covered by black canvas. I thought she needed me with her, to hold her hand, so she wouldn’t be alone. But I’d only lasted until the zipper reached her chest, and I saw her yellow shirt turned red with blood. Then I was out of here like a shot.

  I poke a long swab of iodine at his knuckles, and Dare doesn’t even flinch. “Surely your dad didn’t… your mom…” his voice trails off as he realizes how sensitive that subject is.

  I swallow hard. “He did, actually. I have no idea how. But he said he couldn’t trust anyone else to take care of her. I don’t know why he bothered. The casket was closed, anyway.”

  My chest clenches up, and I dab, dab, dab at Dare’s cuts and then wrap his hands with gauze and tape.

  He looks into my eyes, a long, slow look. “I’m sorry. It was thoughtless of me to ask. I’m not usually so clumsy with words.”

  I shake my head. “It’s ok.”

  He examines my hands, moving deftly to bandage his. “I’m not going to ask how you learned to do this so well.”

  I can’t help but smile. “Smart. Although I have to say, it’s nice to work on someone living.”

  I snort when Dare does a double-take. “Kidding. I don’t work on the bodies. Ever.”

  He exhales and I laugh, and then put the supplies away. When I turn back around, Dare is trailing a finger down one stainless steel cooler door.

  “Are there any… I mean, is anyone in here?” He doesn’t even sound nervous.

  I nod. “Yeah. I think there’s one.”

  Dare raises an eyebrow. “And it seriously doesn’t bother you to sleep in the same house?”

  I shrug. “I’ve never known anything different. My father has been a mortician my whole life. I used to get made fun of in school. Funeral Home Girl. That’s what they called me.”

  I don’t know why I said that, and apparently Dare doesn’t either because he studies me now.

  “Why would they do that? It’s not like you chose your father’s profession.”

  “I know. Who knows why kids do what they do? They can be cruel. But I lived. And Finn did too. They used to tease him for being crazy.”

  Dare’s eyes are dark as he looks into mine. “So you were basically all each other had growing up,” he says slowly. “No wonder you’re close.”

  I nod. “Yeah. That about sums it up.”

  “So that’s why you were upset the other night on the beach. Because you don’t want to be separated from Finn.” Dare’s voice is so calm, so slow and so steady. I nod, sucked into the vortex of that comfort.

  “Yeah.”

  He nods. “I can understand that. What’s wrong with your brother? You said he’s…”

  “Crazy,” I interject. “I shouldn’t call him that. He’s not. He’s just got a mental issue. He’s medicated though.”

  I hear the condensation in my voice and cringe. My brother is more than, not less than.

  “He’s harmless,” I add. “Trust me.”

  “I do,” Dare answers, his eyes gleaming. “Trust you, I mean.”

  That answer causes my heart to thud. I don’t know why. It’s not like others don’t trust me. My dad, Finn. My mom used to. But to hear that Dare trusts me, it’s like an intimacy, words that roll off his tongue and meant only for me. I like it.

  “Ready to eat?” I manage to ask casually. Dare nods and we make our way up the stairs and into the dining room. When he holds my chair out for me, I manage not to swoon.

  ***

  The sound of cracking crab legs fills the air, along with the fishy smell of the meat. It makes my stomach growl in sort of a Pavlov’s reaction to melted butter. Across from me, Dare eats his like a pro.

  He’s clearly done this before. I watch as he exp
ertly cracks the leg, then picks the meat out in one deft movement. Most people utterly muck it up.

  “So, where do you live, Dare?” My father asks this casually as he takes a bite of biscuit, but his tone is anything but casual. I know it, and Finn knows it, but thankfully, Dare doesn’t know him well enough to see that my father is pumping him for information.

  “My family lives outside of Kent, in the English countryside by Sussex,” Dare answers just as easily. I might be imagining things, but his eyes seem guarded.

  “Oh?” My father raises an eyebrow. “You don’t say. You’re a long way from home then, fella. What brings you to the Pacific Northwest?”

  I’m of course at attention now, blissful that my father is asking him these questions so I don’t have to. My questions are numbered and valuable.

  Dare smiles politely.

  “I’m just here visiting. America is beautiful, particularly this area.” He skillfully skirts the actually question, something that we all clearly see. However, there’s no way we can politely ask for a better answer.

  Crack. My father splits open another crab leg. “I guess you’re used to the rain, coming from Sussex. My wife grew up in England. That’s why she never minded the rain here.”

  Dare nods. “I’m very used to it.”

  We all fall silent and continue eating, and I can practically see my father wanting to ask more questions.

  “You are twenty-one, right?” he asks as Dare takes a swig of his beer. “I don’t want to contribute to the delinquency of a minor.” He says it jokingly, but he means it. Dare smiles.

  “I’m twenty-one exactly.”

  I knew it. He’s definitely more of a man than a boy. Even more so than the calendar says. His eyes are even older than twenty-one. He’s seen a lot. I can tell. Just how much though, is the question.

  As we eat, I watch him easily maneuver the crab legs and eat without making a mess. He eats four in the time it takes me to eat two.

  “Do you like lobster, too?” I ask him after a few minutes. “You seem to like crab.”

  Dare smiles a blindingly white smile. “I love lobster. Pretty much any shellfish, really.”

  “Me too,” I tell him.

  We continue eating with the sounds of cracking and dipping and chewing.

  Finally, I glance at my father. “Is Finn all right?”

  My father nods slowly. “Yeah. I’m sure.”

  Suddenly, the quietness of this house, which is actually a mausoleum, my father’s tension, Finn’s strange absence…all of it smothers me and I suck in a deep breath.

  Dare glances at me, his eyes so freaking dark. “You ok?”

  I nod. “Yeah. I just…I’m restless. You know how you didn’t believe that I know someplace creepier than here?”

  He nods slowly, interested, his eyes gleaming. “Yeah.”

  I smile. “Want to see it tonight?”

  My dad coughs a little. “Calla, I’m not sure that tonight is the best night for that. It’s dark, you could get hurt.”

  I roll my eyes. “Dad, Finn and I have been there a hundred times over the years. It’s fine.”

  I look at Dare. “You up for it?”

  He grins. “I never say no to an adventure.”

  14

  QUATUORDECIM

  Finn

  From my window, I watch them go and the darkness from outside seems to bleed into my room, into my heart, into my blood.

  LetHerGoLetHerGoLetHerGo.

  I swallow back the hateful words as I watch my sister get into our car with him. Bile rises in my throat because my sister is mine and distancing myself is the last thing I want to do, but at the same time, it’s the only thing I can do.

  DoWhatIsRight.

  That’s my voice. Finally. Breaking through the crazy, through the voices, through the words.

  I’ve got to do what is right.

  What is right.

  What is right.

  ProtectYourSecret.

  The other voices come back, hissing, reminding.

  My secret.

  That’s what it comes back to now.

  Always.

  No matter what.

  15

  QUINDECIM

  Calla

  Dare sprawls on the passenger side seat, taking up every inch of space as I drive us carefully down the mountain. I don’t even glance at my mother’s cross as we pass, and although I’m sure Dare has seen it and wondered about it, he doesn’t mention it.

  “So where exactly are we going?” he asks in his sexy as hell accent as we turn onto the highway at the bottom of the mountain.

  I glance at him and smile.

  “Are you scared?”

  He shakes his head, rolling his dark eyes.

  “Not hardly. I’ve got you to protect me.”

  I laugh at that because the idea of little me protecting huge him is laughable. But then I shake my head. “You’re going to have to wait.”

  So he waits while I drive. Into the night, along the quiet highway, until we turn off and head into a quiet part of town, then out onto the edge, where it’s darkened and only a few city lights twinkle in the night.

  We drive beneath the old burned out sign, the words that form a rickety neon arch, faded purple and created back when neon signs were cutting edge. The bulbs have long ago been broken, a glaring reminder that this place is sad and abandoned.

  JOYLAND, the letters spell out.

  Even the letters look spooky, all darkened and jagged. There’s nothing joyful about this place anymore, other than the memories that it contains, memories of riding the old train with Finn, laughing with him on the bumper cars, running through the haunted house. But that was all before they closed this place, of course. Afterward, Finn and I came here to be alone, to huddle together and talk amongst the creepy buildings because we found it amusing to scare ourselves. But we haven’t been here since mom died. I guess real life is scary enough.

  I pull into an abandoned parking spot, between faded orange lines, among a sea of other empty slots.

  “My parents used to bring Finn and I here when we were little,” I explain. “But the owner apparently got into tax trouble and overnight, this place was locked up and abandoned.”

  Dare looks around, at the black parking lot, the darkened gates, and at the rickety Ferris wheel looming above the gated horizon, it’s spindly bars a haunting white against the blackness of night.

  “So you just come here and sit in the parking lot or what?” he speculates, his face blank. I chuckle.

  “No. We figured out a way in a long time ago.”

  Dare grins now, as realization spreads across his face. “Ohhhh. Breaking and Entering. Always a crowd favorite.”

  I chuckle again. “Somehow I’m guessing this will be a first for you.”

  I open my door and the creak echoes through the night because there are no other noises here to mask it. It feels like we’re on the edge of the world, all alone, and if we take one wrong step, we’ll vault over the side.

  “It’s all right,” I call over my shoulder as I head for the park. “The owner is long gone. We heard he’s overseas now so I’m sure he doesn’t care who pokes around. We’re not the first, and we won’t be the last.”

  I feel Dare behind me, so close that I can smell his cologne, as I lead him along the fence. Finally, I see what I’m looking for… the jagged hole that someone cut away years ago. It’s just the size for a person to crawl through.

  I duck through it, and Dare doesn’t hesitate to follow. The idea that he trusts me enough to follow without question makes my belly warm. He barely knows me.

  But as I turn and pause, staring up at his handsome face, the look in his eyes melts my insides. Because he wants to know me. That much is clear.

  I swallow hard, then turn back around, surveying the scene in front of me.

  The Midway is empty, completely abandoned and dark, like something out of a horror movie. The carnival games line each side, with grotesque c
lown faces and peeling race cars, and the gleaming paint of a beaver as it watches me from afar.

  Trash blows in the breeze like paper tumbleweeds, and there is graffiti on a few of the buildings, evidence that we certainly aren’t the first here. TURN BACK, is written in artful red and black. DROP DEAD is painted directly beneath it in glowing orange. And then, at the very bottom, painted in eerie, morbid white, is DEATH COMES TO US ALL. I don’t bother mentioning that my brother painted that one.

  “Interesting,” Dare says slowly, as he pivots in a circle. “But I wouldn’t say it’s creepier than a funeral home.”

  “That’s because this isn’t what I want to show you,” I tell him mischievously. He glances down at me.

  “Well, I’m ever ready,” he announces. “Lead on.”

  I giggle at his formal tone, which even still is sexy with his accent, and without thinking, I reach behind and grab his hand in the dark. I almost startle at the contact, at the feel of his warm fingers and strong hands. He’s surprised by it, but he doesn’t shirk away. Instead, he grips my hand firmly, yet softly, and I pull him along, enjoying the very idea that I’m touching him right now.

  I’m holding hands with Dare DuBray.

  We walk through the dead center of the Midway, past the Old Mill boat ride, with it’s rotting boats bobbing in the murky moat, past the hanging swings, their chains creaking as they move in the wind, and past the bumper cars, with the defunct cars all shoved together in the middle.

  I stop in front of Nocte, Joyland’s version of a house of horrors.

  Dare reads the dark sign, the black letters that seem to drip with blood. “Nocte, huh?”

  I nod. “It means by night in Latin. Finn used to love this place. And I think it’s what started his love of Latin.”

  I don’t mention my theory that Finn loved this place because the grotesque horror of it made even him feel sane. That’s why we still come, because it still has the same effect, maybe even more so. The atmosphere of abandonment adds to the horror, making it seem real, somehow. So when he walks through it, he’s the sanest thing in the room, aside from me.