by M. Leighton
I felt a frown pinch the skin between my eyebrows so I purposely tried to relax those muscles. “Where did you go?”
“I was ready to go almost as soon as we got there,” she said, her expression conveying what her words did not. She had not enjoyed herself and she did not consider that a good time. I felt very small in her sight, remembering very clearly how she’d found me when she arrived. For years I’d wanted to attend a party like that, be one of those people, travel in those kinds of crowds. I was utterly ashamed and wondered what she must think of me.
She continued, “We waited for a while for you to come back with Stephen, but then Derek got there. He said you knew him and that he’d make sure you and Stephen left before twelve so you could get back here on time.”
Derek!
A millisecond after hearing the name, pieces began to fall into place. I remembered the dinner conversation where Mr. Kirby had mentioned that Derek, the “family felon” was coming. I also remembered that Leah hadn’t been too pleased about it. Again, my curiosity rushed to the surface, but now was not the time to start digging into that so I let it go. For now.
“I didn’t realize that you two had ever met,” she said, suspicion clear in every line of her face.
“Well, I’ve only seen him a few times,” I replied, hoping the vague answer would satisfy her. And it was technically true. I left out the fact that, until I’d glimpsed him at the mall, I had only seen him in my dreams.
“Hmm” was her only response. Then, “So, how was the rest of the party?”
“It pretty much sucked,” I said candidly. “The fire pit sort of went wild and burned some grass and benches and then got on the curtains of a cabana,” I explained, sticking to the basics.
Leah’s eyes were as big as saucers. “Shut up!”
“I’m serious.”
“So what happened? Did anybody get hurt? Did the fire trucks come?”
“No, it started raining and put the whole thing out.”
If possible, her eyes got even bigger. “You can’t be serious.”
“It’s true.”
“Man,” she exclaimed. “Wouldn’t you know! Leave it to me to bail right before all the excitement,” she said regretfully.
“Be glad you did. It wasn’t worth staying for.”
She digested that for a few seconds before moving on to her next question, one I knew was coming. With a mischievous grin she asked, “So how’d it go with Stephen?”
I toyed with the idea of stretching the truth here and there, but I knew she’d either hear all about it at school or Ryan would tell her. So I decided I was better off telling her my side of the story, the real story.
And so I did. She was at turns shocked and irate, but always sympathetic to my plight. We stayed up talking for a while after that then watched some Letterman.
I was watching stupid pet tricks, my eyes prickling with fatigue, when it cut to commercial. I let my lids drop for just a second and then…
I was outside again, in the middle of the night, all alone.
I was walking through a field in the dark. Up ahead I could see a large structure looming against the horizon, backlit by the pale globe of the moon. It was a house, tall and narrow and deeply shadowed.
I moved toward it. Dead grass, black and crispy, crunched beneath my feet as I made my way through the field. Images floated in the inky shadows, people with dark eyes and pale skin. They drifted by, one by one, as I walked. To my right one particular face caught my eye and I stopped. It was a girl. And she looked familiar to me, but where had I seen her?
Needing a closer look, I took several steps toward her until her features became clear. She motioned with one slim hand, beckoning me to come forward, further into the shadows. Against my better judgment, I stepped closer still. My gasp was like a whisper in the darkness and the girl in the shadows smiled. I could see her clearly now and, but for the onyx of her eyes and the red of her hair, she looked just like me.
Fear rippled through me. I closed my eyes against her macabre face.
This isn’t real, this isn’t real, this isn’t real, I repeated in my head. When I opened my eyes again, she was gone, the shadows once again black and empty.
I resumed my walk toward the house. Gradually, the crunch of dead vegetation beneath my feet became a soggy squish. I looked down and saw that I was in water. I don’t know how I hadn’t seen it, but there was a small pond right in the middle of the field.
It wasn’t very big. In fact, I looked back from where I’d come and realized that I’d already crossed more than half of it.
I looked ahead. It didn’t appear to get much deeper, so I decided to just go on rather than go back and try to walk around it. I was already soaked after all.
I took another step forward, and another, then another. Each step became more difficult, like something was dragging at my feet. I looked down, but I couldn’t see anything past the glassy black surface of the water.
Or could I? Just then I saw a face rising from the depths.
I stumbled backward, my feet tangling beneath me, and I fell into the cold water. I turned to scramble back toward the shore when something about the face struck me, gave me pause.
Hesitantly, I turned back toward the house, toward the body, and took two tentative steps forward until I could see the body drifting lifelessly just beneath the surface.
The short hair floated in a dark halo around a face so white it appeared almost blue. The features, though bloated from time spent in the water, looked familiar. Then I really saw the face.
It was my father.
In a panic, I looked up, intending to run to the house for help, but I was already there. I was at the top of the steps, standing on the stoop.
I looked behind me, confused, and saw that there was no water, only the black field that I’d seen from the beginning.
I turned my attention back to the house. It was tall, taller than it had looked from a distance. When I looked up, I could barely make out the gable at the peak in the roof. And it was dark, much darker than just deeply shadowed; it was pitch black—the siding, the trim, the steps, the eaves. Even the door I was standing in front of was black. It, too, was tall, almost twice as tall as me, and slender, just wide enough for me to pass through.
I looked to the left and right of the door, hoping to peek inside a window, but there was nothing on either side of the door, just more black siding.
I looked up again. Above the front door was a row of seven doors that spanned the entire length of the house. Above that row was a single door and above that was another row of eight doors. At the top of the house, centered beneath the peak of the roof, was another single door.
I stared at the doors, thinking something looked off. Then I realized that only two of the doors had knobs. The front door had a silver knob, etched with some sort of intricate design, and the single door in the second row had a gold knob. Though I was puzzled, I didn’t dwell on it, supposing it didn’t matter since there were no stairs by which to access the doors anyway.
I walked around to one side of the house. From top to bottom, the entire side of the house was covered with doors, all without knobs. I continued on around the house. The back and the other side of the house looked the same—all doors, no knobs, no windows.
When once more I stood before the front door, I heard the creaking of old hinges. When I looked up, the third story single door stood open.
I blinked and I was inside. I stood in the center of a room, evidently the room where dozens of hallways converged. I turned in a circle and saw corridors spread out before me in every direction, like spokes of a wheel. Dozens of dark hallways lined with hundreds of dark doors. On each door was a different symbol of some sort, geometric in design.
All of a sudden, a deafening creak split the stillness and every single door opened simultaneously, just a crack. Fear lanced through me like a hot knife. The hair at my nape prickled at the danger I felt gushing down the hallways toward me. Something
was waiting for me.
I woke with a start. I lay still for several minutes, staring quietly at the ceiling, relieved that I had only been having a dream. At least it was a different dream, I thought. Still, I was unable to shake the feeling that I was trapped—in the house, by the house.
I saw the first pale streaks of dawn peeking beneath the yellow curtains at Leah’s windows. Knowing that I wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep, I slid from between the sheets and crept out the door and down the steps. When my foot hit the bottom step, I inhaled deeply. The smell of coffee drenched the air. I closed my eyes to savor the scent. I loved coffee. Sweet like dessert or plain black, I loved it all. Dad didn’t let me indulge very often (said it would stunt my growth) so I enjoyed it at every possible opportunity when he wasn’t around.
Though my mouth watered at the prospect of a cup of the brew, I toyed with the idea of going back to bed; I didn’t want to disturb the Kirbys while they enjoyed the quiet of early morning.
I stood on the bottom step, one hand on the newel post, debating what to do, when Derek suddenly appeared at the bottom of the steps. He startled me and I couldn’t prevent the involuntary leap of my muscles
He just stood there, staring at me for several seconds before he finally moved. He extended his hand and I looked down into it. His long fingers were looped through the handles of two coffee cups. A shiver wiggled its way through me. I don’t know how he knew I was there.
Adding that to my ever-growing list of mysterious and/or bizarre occurrences, I merely nodded in gratitude and carefully took one of the proffered cups. When I did, Derek turned and, without a word, walked back the way he’d come. I hesitated only for an instant before I followed him.
He went through the kitchen to a small den that sat off the back of the house, almost like a sun room only with more comfortable furniture. Its pale yellow walls looked like warm gold in the rising sun and the puffy floral seat cushions seemed particularly inviting.
Derek sat in one of two extra wide, deep-seated chairs; I padded barefoot across the cool tile floor and slid into the other. He crossed his legs, resting the ankle of one leg on the knee of the other, then leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Evidently he had nothing to say. I, on the other hand, had a lot to say, mostly in the form of questions. So many, in fact, I didn’t know where to start.
So I went with simple. “Who are you?”
“Derek. Derek Hrolf,” he replied, not even opening his eyes. “Leah’s cousin.”
“I know that,” I said, rolling my eyes. “I mean who are you?”
After several seconds of silence, he finally answered. “Nobody,” he said enigmatically.
Obviously, this wasn’t going to be easy. “What were you doing at that party?’
“I told you—”
“I know what you said,” I interrupted abruptly. “But what does that mean?”
“You’re dangerous, reckless. Unpredictable. I knew if I didn’t stop you, someone would end up getting hurt.”
“I would never—“
“I didn’t say you’d do it on purpose.”
“Yeah, but I could never—“
“Yes, you could,” he interrupted, lifting his head and pinning me with his silvery stare.
Goosebumps spread down my back and arms. “How?”
“You know how.”
I didn’t want to get into all that I suspected. I’d much rather he just answered my questions directly. I decided to try a different tack. “But how did you know?”
His eyes narrowed as he looked at me. The mercury of his gaze seemed to ooze through my pores into my very soul, penetrating me in such a way that I almost felt violated. I had no idea what he was trying to see, what he hoped to see, but I felt like he saw too much.
“Answer me,” I snapped, my temper rising quickly to the surface.
“Shh,” he hissed.
“Then answer my question.”
Derek closed his eyes and leaned his head back again, looking relaxed and unengaged.
“I could feel it,” he finally supplied.
“Wh-what do you mean?”
“I mean I can feel it when you wield.”
“Wield what?”
“Fire,” he answered simply.
Though he confirmed what I had begun to suspect, it was still incredibly frightening to be asking the question, to say nothing of the anxious anticipation I felt for what the answer might be. “But h-how can I do that?”
With a shrug of his big shoulders, Derek said, “Because you’re cursed.”
CHAPTER NINE
Just like that—I’m cursed. My first thoughts were that this guy was obviously terribly unbalanced and I needed to march right back upstairs, get my stuff and go home, but then...there didn’t seem a whole lot of other explanations for all the strange things happening to me lately.
I felt the blood rush from my face leaving me lightheaded and a bit disoriented. The room tilted just a hair so I closed my eyes and counted to ten then opened them again.
“Cursed?” There were days I might’ve jokingly said I was cursed, but never for one second did I think it might be true, and yet… “How? Why?”
He shrugged again. “Someone made a deal.”
“A deal? What kind of deal?’
“The expensive kind, the kind that costs someone’s life…sort of,” he said mysteriously.
“Well, I can assure you that I’m not crazy enough to make a deal like that.”
“It doesn’t always have to be you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Unfortunately,” he said, bitterness liberally coloring his tone. “A parent can make such a deal.”
“But my parents would never—”
“Don’t be so sure,” he warned harshly, raising his head and glaring at me. “It happens all the time with twins. It’s their failsafe—they only lose one. I guess that seems like an acceptable loss to some parents.”
“But I’m not a twin,” I cried urgently.
“What?”
“I’m not a twin.”
Derek studied me for several long seconds before he spoke again. “Yes, you are.”
“Uh, no, I’m not,” I declared, but that did little to deter him.
“Any siblings?”
“A sister.”
“But not a twin sister?”
“No!”
“Where is she?”
“She stayed with my mother.”
“How old were you when your parents separated?”
“Just a few months. Why?”
“Can you be sure she wasn’t your twin?”
“Yes! Don’t you think I’d know? Don’t you think my father would’ve told me?”
“Did he ever tell you that you weren’t?”
“Well no, but I’d think he would’ve said something.”
He made no comment, just leaned his head back and closed his eyes again.
I sat in silence, waiting for him to continue, a thousand confused thoughts chasing each other through my head.
Indignant, I broke the silence. “This is ridiculous! You —“
“Hey, I’m just telling you what I think. Believe what you want,” he said, shrugging again, apparently unconcerned. Then, suddenly, Derek stood to his feet. “Go home. Ask some questions. Meet me at the forks at six.” With that, he turned to walk back into the kitchen.
“But, I—” I began, but stopped when I heard the closing of a cabinet door. I looked behind me and Mr. Kirby was turning, coffee mug in hand, toward the pot.
“How’d you sleep?” I heard Mr. Kirby ask Derek when he stopped at the sink to rinse out his mug.
Derek shrugged, a gesture he obviously used often. “I got in a couple hours.”
I watched as he put his mug in the dishwasher, turned and walked out of the kitchen toward the front of the house. Seconds later, I heard the front door open and close.
I sat back in my chair, an overwhelming sense of foreboding settling around my hea
rt like a cold, wet blanket.
********
As soon as it was socially acceptable for me to leave, I rushed home, ready to put Dad in the hot seat. What I found instead of my father, however, was a note. He needed a part for the Camaro, one we couldn’t go forward without, and he’d located one. Unfortunately, he had to drive all the way to Wise for it, a trip which would take the better part of the day.
