Dark and Twisted

by Heidi Acosta

  The washing machine is running, which is a good sign, and nothing looks abnormal. Well, abnormal for my family. My mom’s book shelves now hold canned food and various weapons that probably don’t even work. The pool table Dad found at a garage sale is now a makeshift shelf that holds items like rock salt, dried herbs, stacks of pie tins, and foil.

  “Essie, are you down here?” I call out

  A small brown head peeks out from behind the shelf. “Oh good, Eden, you’re here,” she says. Her hair falls in long waves around her heart-shaped face.

  She steps all the way out, wearing a blue and yellow striped sweater, which falls to her knees, and a pair of black leggings. “Will you help me?”

  “Sure.” I follow her as she pads barefoot across the concrete floor.

  “Grab the salt and that container over there.”

  I do as she instructs while she gathers her own armful of supplies, and we make our way up the stairs.

  “So how was school?” She drops the supplies on the kitchen counter.

  “Fine,” I say, examining a glass jar that holds what looks like tea leaves in it. “I tried to make a new friend today … a foster.”

  “Oh, that’s nice.” Essie takes out a large pot and places it on the stove top.

  “You know how everyone says that the foster kids are nothing but trouble?”

  She nods her head and starts to shake the contents of one of the jars into the pot. A sharp odor that smells suspiciously of paint wafts my way. I go over to the stove as Essie ignites the burner and confirms that my suspicions are right.

  “Well, they might be right. This one is really strange.” I take the spoon from her. “Something odd happened with him today,” I look into the pot, and it’s filled with a thick, red paint.

  “Strange what do you mean?” Essie’s eyes widen.

  “No. Not other worldly. Nothing extraterrestrial,” I say quickly relieving any sudden fears of hers. “Is this dinner?” I watch as a glob of thick liquid falls off the spoon into the pot.

  Essie lets out a musical laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous, Eden.” She bumps me out of the way with her hip. “We are going to paint the walls with this.”

  Oh, well that’s normal. I sigh. “Essie, we cannot paint the walls with this.” We’re already the freaks in town, really what would it change if we did? It’s not like I’m winning homecoming queen anytime soon.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course, we can. I met an alien expert this morning, and he said that this would prevent abductions.”

  I open the kitchen window. “You met an alien expert today, where?” I question her as I sip on my juice. I don’t want to alarm her, so I keep it airy, but my heart picks up the pace. The last thing I need is Essie listening to a whack-a-doodle that feeds into her delusions.

  “In a chatroom online. Umm, can you bring me the salt?” After I bring her the salt the fumes are starting to make me lightheaded.

  “Maybe you shouldn’t take advice from strangers. What if this stuff will just attract them?”

  Her hand stills over the pot while she processes what I just said, but almost instantly she shakes her head. “No, he has a blog about abductions and is very knowledgeable about them.” She whispers the last word, pointing to the ceiling.

  “Here take this and pour it over our bedroom windows.” She hands me back the jar of salt. “Go, go.” She smacks me playfully, and I go to salt the windows.

  I open my bedroom window, breathing in the cool air and dump a pile of salt on the sill. The wind picks up the granules, scattering them like snow. As long as Essie doesn’t burn down the house, and I keep it well ventilated, it should be okay. I plop down on my unmade bed. After all the weirdness with Jaxson, I don’t want to deal with Essie’s weirdness. I pull my phone out from my back pocket and dial Liv.

  “What’s up, mate?” Liv says into the phone.

  “What’s up, mate? Really?” I counter.

  “I thought I would try an accent… You know, spice up our relationship.”

  “Have we become so predictable that you have resorted to using bad accents?” I ask, and then we both burst out into a fit of laughter.

  “So what’s up?” She asks when we finally have our giggling under control.

  “I need to get out of the house for a little while.”

  “Oh, no. What happened?”

  “Nothing really.” I pause listening to Essie sing to herself down stairs. “I just need a little break from prepping for our impending doom.”

  “Well,” Liv sings, “it’s Friday night and Jamies at practice so we could have a girls’ night, complete with junk food, glitter nail polish, and the latest romance release. You know the one where the guy is dating the girl with no legs.” She sighs into the phone.

  “You had me at glitter.”

  “Only one problem, Blaise took the car. He is such a little pain in the ass ever since he got his license. I think he’s going to get pot, but my parents insist that he’s just going through a phase. Remember the time I dyed the blue strip in my hair? You would have thought the world was coming to an end. But Blaise goes and pierces every corner of his body and shaves his head into a Mohawk, and it’s just a—”

  “Liv,” I cut her off, more than happy to hear all about Blaise when I get there, “I’ll walk. It’s not a problem.”

  “Are you sure?” I imagine her twirling the cord of her ancient yellow phone around her finger.

  “Yeah, I need the fresh air, and I’ll take the shortcut, be there in fifteen.” I take a deep breath, relieved that I have Liv. She was there when Essie was fine, and she is here now when she isn’t, so if anyone understands, it’s Liv.

  “Crap, I have to go. Lily is potty training and just peed on my floor,” she says hurriedly, and the low beep of being disconnected fills the receiver.

  I pull on a pair of brown boots and head downstairs, a cold breeze meets me, lifting my hair. Essie is staring at the stark white walls in the living room

  “Eden, grab a paint brush and help me,” she says when she spots me.

  “I can’t, I’m going to Liv’s for a bit.” A flash of hurt crosses her face, and for a moment, I feel guilty. I hate feeling like I’m crazy, too, and whenever I participate in one of Essie’s projects, that is exactly how I feel. One of us needs to be sane. “She is having sibling issues. Stolen cars, possible pot smoking, and urine on the floor … you know that kind of thing.”

  “Okay. Well then, you should go. She needs you.”

  “I will only be gone a couple of hours. If you aren’t done by the time I get back, I’ll be happy to help.”

  She smiles at that.

  “Love you.” My hand is on the door and I’m ready to go.

  Essie calls to me. “Eden, wait. He also gave me this for you.” She meets me at the door.

  “He?” I ask as she holds out a small leather pouch.

  “It will keep you safe.” I hesitate for a moment before taking it from her, inside are stones with strange markings on them.

  Ummm, thanks.” I stuff the bag deep into my coat pocket.

  Chapter Seven

  I take the shortcut through the woods, and the wind blows wet leaves across my boots, leaving tiny dark spots on the fake suede material. I tighten my scarf around my neck and hurry. The cold air is mixed with a mist that isn’t heavy enough to be classified as rain, yet it causes fog to cling to the ground. I normally like dreary weather, but for some reason, it’s setting my nerves on edge. An eerie feeling of not being alone grows in the pit of my stomach.

  I know these woods as a child knows their favorite bedtime story. I can see the well-worn paths in my mind. Liv and I used to spend our summers exploring these woods when we were little. I know that a few feet up ahead if I veered to the right, I would wind up in the spot the middle school kids go. Broken, mildewed plastic chairs, from the cafeteria, sit in a circle around a pile waterlogged dirty magazines, empty beer cans and discarded cigarettes. If I veer to the left, the woods con
tinue deep into the hills.

  This is the spot where Essie was found twenty-three years ago after she went missing for a week. Dad always said what had happened to her had changed her forever. When they were alive, I was prohibited from ever stepping foot in these woods, but I never listened. I always felt oddly drawn to the woods. But, today, they feel foreign and dangerous. I wish I had taken the long way to Liv’s house.

  I recite a poem Essie taught me when I was little under my breath. She told me to repeat the words if I was ever scared and a tiny magical creature would appear to take the fears away. Tiny creatures never appear, but the words are strangely calming. I glance over my shoulder as I say the words aloud to keep me company.

  “Take wary steps along the dark and twisted road,

  Listen to wings that beat between evil and good,

  A sacrifice will be made,

  One of heart that will beat no more,

  Blood will spill,

  Fire will burn and ice will reign,

  Death will be the only way,

  If not for love—the only cure.”

  The fog creeps between the skeletal trees that seem to grow with each word. I glance over my shoulder, the feeling of not being alone grows in the pit of my stomach like a weed. I will my feet not to bolt as the sensation of being watched prickles at the back of my neck. Goose flesh spreads down my arms, and a cold shiver runs up my back.

  “I am alone there is no one else in here with me,” I whisper. The only sound is my heart racing and the alarms ringing in my head, telling me I am in danger. Run, run, run. Just a little farther and I will be out of these woods.

  I am about to take off when a dark figure dashes across my peripheral vision. I scream and my heart stops beating. I spin around, but I can’t see who it is. The silence of the woods is like a weight, and I drag in a sharp, icy breath that burns my lungs.

  I can’t stop shaking. “Hello?” My teeth chatter together, and my heart slams into my rib cage. I wipe the sweat off on my jeans and take a deep breath, trying to calm myself. I am no good if I panic. It is just probably someone else using the shortcut, and they are more than likely long gone. I’m letting my imagination get the best of me.

  I close my eyes and count to three before opening them again, and the dark hooded figure stands in front of me. This time, my scream cuts through the fog.

  Chapter Eight

  Blood pounds in my ears and my stomach plummets to my feet as I squint to get a better look at who it is, but the fog turns him into a shadow. My mind reels, attempting to figure out who would be in the woods besides me.

  It could be Buck, he lives a few houses away and could have seen me go into the woods. It would be typical for him to get laugh out of trying to scare me, but this is not funny.

  “Buck, is that you? Very funny. You scared me. Now you can go and tell everyone.” I call out, but as I do, I realize that it can’t be him. The person in front of me has a tall, thin build, besides Buck couldn’t go this long without insulting me. Dread washes over me at the realization. “I’m sure that you would like to get around me and continue on with your evening stroll.”

  He remains as still as a statue, his eyes burning through me. My throat dries and my mind races on a way around him. Why did I fake being sick the weekend Liv signed us up for the self-defense class? I’m out here, alone and unarmed. How stupid of me. I do a mental inventory of the continents of my bag: wads of paper, my notebook, a chewed pen, a tattered copy of A Midsummer Night’s Dream, half a bag of sour gummy worms, and my emergency tampon. Crap. What am I going to do? Tampon him to death? Smart, Eden. “So, yeah, my boyfriend is waiting on the other side for me.” I point past him. “Perhaps you saw him? He’s big and extremely jealous, the captain of the football team. I hate to keep him waiting. He gets in these fits of jealous rage, and last time, he beat up some poor guy just for asking me for directions.” I let out a nervous giggle at my lie.

  “Okay, so I am going to go now.” My made-up story doesn’t send him scurrying in fear the way I hoped it would, and I have wasted too much time, the gray sky is starting to deepen to a charcoal black. The last thing I want to do is be in the dark woods with some kidnapper —or worse.

  I push the strap of my bag up on my shoulder and start to walk, each step becoming a little faster. Veering off the path slightly, I leave a wide berth between me and the stranger while keeping my eyes on him. His face is completely hidden by the hood of his sweat shirt. He has on black Doc Martins that strap up to his knees. I have nothing to give to the police if I need to.

  He turns his head, following my every movement. I continue to glance over my shoulder to make sure the stranger remains where he is. I’m pretty sure this is all a sick and twisted joke. Someone probably saw me entering the woods and thought it would be funny to scare me. It’s not.

  The trail ends in a few hundred feet, and I am so close to being out of these woods. As soon as I step out, I will be on the pothole-filled street in front of Liv’s house. A shadow moves in front of me, and I know it’s him. My heart plummets to the bottom of my stomach. I don’t wait around this time to share pleasantries. I run.

  A high-pitched laugh cuts through the air, surrounding me as it bounces off the trees. It’s a dark, sinister laugh that turns my veins to ice and causes every hair on my arms to rise. I pick up my pace, and an ache in my side cuts deep into me like a razor, but I don’t stop running. Damn it for skipping out on all those gym classes. My legs burn, pleading for me to stop, but I don’t dare.

  The laughter grows louder until it’s everywhere. It chills me to the bone. I feel like I stepped into the scene of a horror movie. I hate horror movies. I pump my arms as hard as I can, my feet slamming on the ground, jarring my teeth. I’m almost there. The laughter dies, and I risk the chance of looking over my shoulder, hoping he will be gone.

  My feet are out from under me. Time seems to stand still as I’m suspended off the ground, and then everything speeds up. I try to scream, but, I slam down hard on the ground, and all the air is crushed out of my lungs. Pain shoots up my arm from where I hit the hard ground, but I don’t have time to worry about what I hurt. I’m being dragged backwards, fast, and the end of the trail is fading away. I grip at the ground, clawing at the dirt and dead vegetation. Anything to stop him from taking me deeper into the woods.

  Oh, my god, what will he do to me if he gets me farther in? The dirt digs its way under my nails, and scratches burn across my palms. I try to scream again, but it comes out muffled. Fear grips me as I desperately try to get away from him. No one can hear me, and there is no one coming to help me. I continue to grab at the ground for something to defend myself with, but the twigs and roots snap as a strong force yanks me forward. He holds my feet together by the ankles as I try to kick free, jerking with all of my might.

  His hold breaks, and now’s my chance to get away. I spin over, trying to get to my feet, but he grabs me by my hair and slams me back to the ground. My bag offers some protection, but gravel still manages to dig its way into my exposed skin as he drags me as if I’m nothing more than a rag doll.

  I reach back, pulling at his hand and trying to free myself. He releases, me and I crawl and stumble away, but I am not quick enough. He grabs ahold of my ankle and marches deeper into the woods, not loosening his grip on me.

  Desperate, I kick again, and my shoe finally makes contact hard enough that I hear the sickening sound of bone cracking. He lets out a growl that sounds more animalistic than human. Dropping my foot, he cradles his hand protectively to his chest. I scream and crab-walk backwards, trying to get away.

  Still holding his wrist, he turns and descends upon me, like a cat stalking a mouse. I scream again with everything I have. His eyes glow a fierce red, floating in a sea of black shadows. His uninjured hand goes around my neck, and it is like fire scorching the skin. I grab his hand and trying to wrench it away. But he is strong, and the pain is unbearable. My vision blurs, graying the edges, and I am unable to grasp
a single coherent thought as fire blisters my skin.

  The fire stops. It is gone, and the only thing left is the reminder of the burn. I gasp for air bringing my hands around my neck. The skin is tender but unharmed. What is he?

  His head snaps up, listening to the rustle of leaves. Then he is up off me darting into the woods.

  Chapter Nine

  Hours, minuets, seconds might have passed, but time doesn’t make sense to me anymore. I scream until my throat feels like raw meat.

  “Eden!” Mr. Wissian is leaning over me, slapping me gently on the cheek.

  I cry out and propel myself backwards. Searching the woods, but I see no one else, and I let the next scream die in my throat.

  “Eden, are you hurt? What happened?” He straightens up and hobbles back a few steps.

  “I was attacked,” I whimper. Didn’t Mr. Wissian see my attacker? Why is he looking at me so strangely?

  “Eden, do you suffer from low blood sugar?” he asks.

  I look at him and blink in confusion. Sighing, he produces a lint covered mint from somewhere in his pocket.

  “I think you fainted. Either that or you like taking naps on trails in the woods.”

  He sounds annoyed, but why would he be if I was the one being attacked?

  “I wasn’t taking a nap, and I didn’t faint. I don’t faint.” Why doesn’t he believe me? I look around the woods again. “Did you see him?” I ask.

  “Who?” He furrows his brow, filling his face with more wrinkles than usual.

  “The person who attacked me.”

  Mr. Wissian shakes his head and sighs. “I didn’t see anything. I heard you yelling when I was out for my afternoon stroll, but I assure you, you were alone.” He bends over and lifts my bag up, brushing the dried leaves and dirt from the patchwork fabric.

  “My phone.” I get to my feet and grab my bag back from him, digging around in the front pocket. “It was in here.” I push aside rumpled up homework sheets and straw wrappers. “It must have fallen out when I was …” I glance up at Mr. Wissian, who is watching me with concern. For a moment, I toy with the idea that it could have been him. He has on an oversized corduroy overcoat and a red sweater vest. No, he couldn’t have been my attacker. He’s too short and badly dressed and his eyes don’t glow. I bite down hard on my lip, holding back a whimper.