Another theory had the duo using fake IDs to gain entry to the Horseshoe Bar in Ruthsford. Driving home drunk, they struck a woman alongside the road near the Ruthsford Cemetery. In one account, the woman was thrown down a steep hill, with Ian and Todd carelessly leaving her to die in the ravine. In another version, the woman miraculously survived the hit-and-run and crawled up the steep bank, seeking help at a nearby house. Both stories ended with the two young men so afraid of being identified that they fled town, heading to Canada or possibly California.
Everett lit his little fires and stepped out of the way. He never claimed to be the source. And he didn’t fan the flames. He merely sat back and watched his stories circulate and solidify. Others made them real. It worked all too well. Sharla Ross, a sophomore, claimed her cousin was friends with the woman struck on the side of the road. Even the Blonde Eagle latched on to one of the Mexican drug stories, claiming she remembered overhearing the pair’s plan of sneaking away to Mexico for an adventure.
Even with the student body occupied with nonsense, Everett wasn’t satisfied. He knew police would be interviewing friends of Ian and Todd—as well as their enemies. No one became that popular without having a few enemies. Luckily, I was considered neither a friend nor an enemy of Ian and Todd. Never acting on the terror they had caused me, I was simply a quiet victim. The trouble was, Everett and Phillip had acted that October day after Ian doused me with his cheap cologne. And that brief scuffle as I scurried away held the danger of linking us to their disappearance.
So Everett infiltrated Ian and the Toad’s circle of friends. With them gone, it was easy. The groupies were all too willing to join alliances with an upperclassman who was just as charismatic as Ian. His strategy with their girlfriends required a bit more finesse, however. Sure, he empathized with them, showing concern for their missing boyfriends. But Everett knew Kirsten held some sympathy for me ever since she had apologized to him about Ian’s asshole-ish behavior. He used that sympathy to come across as a sensitive guy who was only standing up for his younger, awkward brother.
The police had little to go on. All they knew for sure was the pair was last seen at school that Friday afternoon in October and that Ian’s truck was missing. There wasn’t even any concrete evidence the two had left together. By the time the police showed up to school, the rumors were at their peak. The police were likely just as perplexed as the students had been, wondering which of Everett’s clever vignettes were true. They searched lockers for clues. They interviewed teachers, guidance counselors, and of course students. But since Everett had won over the groupies and smoothed things over with Kirsten and the Blonde Eagle, we were in no way associated with the twosome—as friends or foes. And so Everett, Phillip, and I evaded the inquisition. Only one piece remained: Everett’s white Grand Am.
I returned from the cornfield cradling the cat in my arms like a baby. I burrowed my cold hand in the warm fur of his stomach as he purred contentedly.
“You came back just in time. We’ve finished,” Everett said with a smirk.
I shrugged and joined them in examining the car. It looked like complete crap. Even after ten cans of spray paint, the work looked shoddy. The blue color was uneven, some patches darker than others. It didn’t go on smooth. It bubbled over the layer of paint beneath. Yet Everett seemed pleased with the outcome, so I wasn’t about to critique it. Besides, our goal had been accomplished: the car was no longer white. With the job finished, Everett’s mood was lighter than it had been all week. “We’re done for today,” he announced, finally relieving us of our duties.
“Thank God. No more bus,” I said, relieved.
“Not so fast,” Everett replied. “We’re keeping it out here for a while. Until this blows over. But if you don’t want to ride the bus anymore, Phillip could drive us.” Phillip looked past Everett to the weeds. He didn’t confirm nor object, just simply took what was thrown at him. “And, Phillip,” Everett continued, “before you go, I need to borrow your car for about a half hour.”
“You can do whatever you want. Clearly,” Phillip replied as he began to collect the scattered paint cans.
19
Cold, Dark Winter
Phillip waited with me in the basement for Everett to return with his car. I had carried the cat back with us. He sat on my lap purring loudly, happy to be inside from the cold. Cable wasn’t hooked up to the old television in the basement, and the reception was spotty. Our choices were limited to a religion channel and a home shopping channel. Much to Phillip’s annoyance, I habitually switched between the two.
I got a kick out of the exuberant televangelist bragging about how many people were watching the program from around the world and about how he had already saved millions by bringing them to the Lord Jesus Christ. He implored us to call the number at the bottom of the screen, promising that one of his prayer counselors would help us receive Jesus. Wondering what receiving Jesus would’ve entailed exactly, I reached behind me and jokingly picked up the phone. Phillip only rolled his eyes.
On the shopping network, an equally exuberant woman was selling a sixty-five-piece gold-plated silverware set. It was on special for seventy-five dollars for the upcoming holidays. She kept repeating how classy the set would look for special occasions, while also pointing out that the pieces were durable enough for everyday use. “What better way to make your whole family feel special than sitting down for a meal and seeing these utensils shimmering on the table? Absolutely stunning!” She beamed.
They were similar in their approach, the woman selling silverware and the evangelist selling Jesus. I was intrigued by their skills, their ability to convince people to pick up the phone. And who were these people calling the numbers at the bottom of their screens? Naïve people. Easily influenced. Quick to be taken in by charm and empty promises.
Phillip grabbed the remote and abruptly switched off the television. “You’re gullible,” he announced. The cat, awoken by his sudden voice, lifted his head and blinked glazed-eyed at Phillip. He stood from my lap and arched his back before stepping off my legs and rubbing against Phillip. Phillip ignored the cat and leaned toward me. “You believe everything he tells you. But he tricks people. That’s his thing. I don’t know how he does it. He’s tricked you into believing things that don’t exist. He’s tricked me into doing things I’d normally never do. He controls people.” He anxiously scratched the side of his face. His fingertips were stained blue, just like mine. Finally, Phillip was letting me in on what had been going on behind his vacant eyes.
“No one’s trying to control you,” I promised.
“He’s a fucking murderer. He’ll do what he has to so he doesn’t get caught. He’s even tried feeding me the same bullshit he’s filled your mind with.”
My face became hot. The cat became restless. He jumped from the couch and paced back and forth in front of the door. When he realized neither of us was going to let him out, he began reaching his paws beneath the crack. “What’d he tell you?” I asked, focusing on the agitated cat instead of Phillip.
“That it was you, through your dreams, who found that money hidden in the tree. And through your dreams, you knew about the Indians buried in the woods.” I was shocked Everett had exposed those secrets to Phillip. Yet at the same time, I was pleased. It meant he wanted Phillip to join us—completely. I did too. Yet based on Phillip’s reaction, perhaps it hadn’t gone so well. Perhaps Phillip wasn’t quite ready. “Everything he said was so ridiculous. I don’t buy any of it. Not one word.”
“But it’s true,” I vowed.
“Think about it for just one minute. Those coins you found? It could’ve easily been sleight of hand. He could’ve been carrying them all along and then pretended to pull them out of the tree. The Indians? He might’ve already known they were there and then planted the idea in your head about people buried in the woods. You say he comes to you in your dreams? Well, he knows that. He knows you dream of him. Maybe the real Everett is taking credit for the Everett in your drea
ms. You have to admit, you are a bit—impressionable. But c’mon. Spaceship rides in the middle of the night? Monsters in the corn?”
“The tree woman in the woods?” I interrupted. I was stunned how much Everett had revealed to Phillip. But if he could’ve admitted the tree woman’s existence, then surely he could’ve believed it possible there were such things as monsters. Yet Phillip retreated to that same vacant stare. I had every intention of forcing the issue and making him confess what he experienced in the woods. But for once, I stopped myself. Perhaps Phillip had buried her deep within his mind. Perhaps to validate her existence would be too frightening for him to handle. He seemed determined to stay in his world of logic, where there wasn’t any room for women with twisted branches in lieu of hair. If he didn’t acknowledge she actually existed, she could remain relegated to a fantasy world.
Phillip’s eyes veered away from me and became lost in the blank television screen. “My God. You two are crazy. And you’re making me crazy too.”
“You’re not crazy,” I assured him. “And we’re not either,” I added with some measure of defiance.
“I just wish you’d stop following him so blindly. I get it. He’s your brother. I know you can’t really get away from him. But you know what? I can. I will no longer allow him to manipulate me. I will no longer do whatever he says just because I’m afraid of what we’ve done.”
“Are you going to tell the police?”
“No. It’s too late for that now—unless I want to get arrested for being an accomplice to murder. But I’m telling you this: After he brings my car back, I’m not coming over here anymore. I’m not speaking to him at school. And in the spring, if he decides he still wants to work at RJs, I’ll find another job.”
I began feeling as agitated as the cat clawing to be let out. I sprang from the couch and snatched the cat. I placed him firmly in my lap, but he struggled away from me. He finally settled on the back of the couch behind Phillip. “What if it’s not that easy?” I asked. “What if Everett doesn’t let you go?”
“He doesn’t need me anymore. I’ve helped clean up his mess. Helped spread his lies. Helped disguise his car. There’s nothing left for me to do.”
I wanted to plead my rebuttal but was silenced by the sound of the door swinging open upstairs. The cat twisted his ears and stared intently at the ceiling as the stomps descended. Everett burst open the door. To our surprise, he was not alone. Oddly, there was an arm wrapped around his waist. I could tell the way Phillip’s eyes widened that he was just as shocked as I was when her head popped up from behind Everett’s shoulder.
“Hi, Phil!” She smiled at him, displaying her gap-toothed grin. She then lasered in on me. “Hi, Ayden,” she said, using a voice as if she were talking to a child. She bent over to greet me, and strands of her hair fell forward, tickling my forehead. I felt trapped within her hair. My skin began to itch under my sweater. After finally tossing back her head, she used her hand as a temporary ponytail holder. With her full face revealed, I noticed how much her deep brown eyes complemented her auburn hair. She didn’t wear makeup. She was pretty in a natural way, I supposed.
“Hello,” I quietly replied.
“Kirsten has horses,” Everett announced. “You like horses, don’t you, Ayden?”
“Yeah.” He knew I liked horses. He didn’t have to ask. The way she whipped her long hair in circles behind her head reminded me of a horse’s tail. “You kind of look like a horse,” I told her. Phillip chuckled cautiously while Everett produced a firm frown.
“Kirsten’s dad has fifteen horses on a ranch in Texas,” Everett continued.
“Yes. And I have three quarter horses and two Appaloosas here,” she boasted. “You can come over and ride them if you want.”
I couldn’t respond. I didn’t know what was happening. What’s he doing with Kirsten? Why’d he bring her into our basement?
“So let me get this straight. You two are an item?” Phillip bluntly asked the question I was too afraid to ask.
Everett wrapped his arm around her waist. “You could say that,” he said, flashing his devilish grin.
It was so strange. Was I supposed to congratulate them? I hadn’t ever seen Everett with a girl in that way. It was something I had never even imagined. Their affection toward one another made me feel embarrassed. And nervous. I found myself producing a fake cough.
The plastered-on smile left Kirsten’s face. Suddenly she became solemn. She clasped her hands and bowed her head as if she was going to pray. “Everett means so much to me,” she gushed with a quiver in her voice. “He’s been my rock. My best friend, helping me through everything that’s happened.” She looked to him adoringly before giving him a small peck on his stubbled cheek. Clearly, she was under his spell.
Phillip shifted uncomfortably. Perhaps he too found her as pathetic as I did. There she was fawning over Everett for helping her cope with her loss—when he was the one who had killed her boyfriend. And what was Everett thinking? Was she his ultimate revenge against Ian? There was no way he genuinely liked her. There was no way he truly fell for her big, dumb smile and her long horse hair. Was there?
“So you’re over him now?” I asked Kirsten. “Ian?” I felt the question was a legitimate one, seeing as it had been only about a month since he had gone missing. Yet I realized my mistake when the room filled with a terrible silence and Everett shot a glare my way so powerful it felt as if he were burning a hole right through me.
Kirsten clung tightly to Everett as if she needed protection—from me of all people. She looked about to burst into tears. But before she could let any stream down her face, she unlatched herself from Everett, took in a deep breath, and tossed her hair back once again. Her eyes were glazed, yet she smiled triumphantly through her pain. She turned to the cat, which had been watching her the entire time with intense curiosity. “Is it yours?” she asked.
“He doesn’t belong to anyone,” I replied.
“Can I pet it?” Without waiting for my answer, she reached for the top of the cat’s head. Already agitated, he displayed his fangs and hissed at her. Droplets of his saliva sprayed her hand. Before she had a chance to pull back, he clamped himself on to her arm, digging his claws into her skin. She attempted to pull away, but that only caused his nails to hook in deeper. He stood on his hind legs to tighten his grip. He then bit down on her like a snake injecting venom. Blood trickled from the fresh punctures. She whined for Everett, who came to her aid, scowling at me disapprovingly as he unclamped the ornery, growling cat from her arm.
“He’s wild.” I shrugged. I opened the door. The cat shot out of the room and galloped up the stairs. I followed him, no longer wanting to be trapped in the basement myself. I let him outside, and he darted into the bushes.
I stepped onto the driveway. The burst of chilly air felt good on my flushed face. Phillip too emerged. He stood beside me, hugging himself in the cold. “What’s Everett doing?” I asked, looking to the swaying bushes. “Why does he have to be the one to help her?”
“Do you mean to say you’re questioning Everett?” he replied sarcastically.
I didn’t answer. But it was the truth. Everett confused me that day. Before Kirsten entered our basement, I had never questioned Everett—not even after Phillip’s passionate tirade. It was strange. I never thought one person could change things so much. But Kirsten the Horse Girl did. “I just don’t understand why he is with her.”
Phillip laughed. And with all the wisdom he possessed at that age, he simply replied, “Relax, Ayden. As fucked up and crazy as he is—he’s growing up. What’d you expect? Him to never have a girlfriend?”
The wind was suddenly no longer refreshing. It began to sting my ears and nose. As my face went numb, I watched Phillip climb into his car. I followed it to the end of the drive and watched it turn the corner. Tiny frozen crystals began to gently sprinkle over the neighborhood. It had been threatening for weeks, and the sky had finally given in. It was time for cold, dark winter. An
d there was nothing that could be done to stop it.
Part IV
Kirsten the Horse Girl
20
Never-Ending Blackness
My fingertips squeaked over the paneling as I circled sunken, hollowed eyes and traced curved horns. The man with the melted face eyed me with his sinister, unrelenting gaze. But I knew there was nothing behind those eyes. It had been years since the monsters had separated from my walls and roamed free. On that night, I had an inkling they were searching for a way back in. It was most likely the horned monsters I heard scratching at the side of the house. Digging like dogs. Perhaps they were burrowing, searching for weaknesses in the foundation.
Phillip had been wrong. I realized that as my panic escalated. The monsters were real. I wasn’t dreaming. Everett wasn’t there to suggest their existence. In fact, they came for me because Everett was gone. For years, they had been waiting for the moment I’d be left unprotected. And finally, on that night, they had me right where they wanted. Alone. Vulnerable. Dad was on his route somewhere in Indiana. Mom was at the hospital. Not that it would’ve mattered much had they been there. Neither possessed Everett’s expertise. Versus one of the demons, they would’ve been devoured in seconds.
Shadows, black as oil, swelled from the corners. One climbed up on the foot of the bed. I pulled my limbs closer to my body. Another stretched across the ceiling. When it reached the light overhead, it began draining the bulbs. Tiny pops erupted until the bulbs were completely overpowered. In total darkness, all I could focus on was the scratching and digging, which morphed into rancorous clawing and pounding. The sounds intensified and overlapped, culminating in a single horrific hum. It was so violently loud, so unrelenting, I began to shake. And just when I thought I could no longer stay inside my skin—it stopped. Silence. My heart raced, but I didn’t dare move a muscle. And then, through the heating vent, came growling and low whispers. The monsters were in the house.
Where the Cats Will Not Follow Page 12
