by Alessa James
Before moving, I had run exactly one season on the cross-country team—a concession to my dad’s campaign to get me to rejoin the land of the living. Now, though, with neither a coach nor upcoming races to motivate me, I had skipped so many workouts that I was struggling just to jog for a couple of miles. Plus, I had yet to adjust to the fact that rainy weather didn’t necessarily mean a break from outdoor activity.
Ten minutes passed, and I swiveled in my seat to look for Sean. A sea of blurry heads bobbed up and down, the condensation on the windows of the restaurant making it difficult to distinguish faces. Assuming that he was stuck in a long line, I turned the key in the ignition and flipped radio stations, stopping when I recognized the song playing—another old one. It was one of my favorites, even if it had probably been released when I was in Kindergarten. The Diamond Sea by Sonic Youth. I almost never heard it on the radio anymore, but I had always loved the lyrics. There was something strange and haunting about them.
The rain picked up, pelting the roof of Sean’s car, and a chill swept over me as I looked across the parking lot and then scanned the street beyond. The tiny hairs on the back of my neck stood on end as I registered a man standing alone on the empty sidewalk. He was just standing there instead of hurrying toward shelter like every other sane person. I couldn’t make out his features through the rain, but for a second it felt like he was staring at me.
And then he was gone.
I was tempted to rub my eyes like a character from the cartoons. I had just seen someone, right? When the driver’s side door popped open, I jumped. Sean grinned and shoved a greasy bag in my direction before setting two milkshakes into the beverage holders between us.
“It’s really coming down out there,” he said, sounding irritated with the weather he had lived with all his life. “But what do I expect? Why’d your dad move here again?”
He turned the key in the ignition and then stared at me.
“Hey, you see a ghost or something? You’re looking pale. I mean paler than usual.”
“Low blood sugar,” I mumbled.
Sean nodded solemnly and pulled out of the parking lot. We hadn’t known each other long, but it was long enough for him to know exactly what I was like when I didn’t eat often enough. He liked to joke that I resembled a wild animal ready to tear off his arm when I wasn’t given food at regular intervals. At the stoplight, he pulled a fry out of the bag and dangled it in front of me before pausing with mock solemnity.
“Just the fry, Casey. Not the fingers.”
I snatched the fry and rolled my eyes.
After the final bell, I walked to the bus stop since Sean was already running late for his shift at the bookstore. Before moving from Irvine, I had promised my dad that I would finally get my driver’s license. Still, summer had come and gone, and I just kept putting it off. Sean teased me relentlessly, but I didn’t give a rat’s ass if I was the only senior without a license.
The bus ride took forever, and as soon as I got home, Darcy followed me into the kitchen for a scoop of kibble and some canned food while I got water and an apple. When we both finished, he followed me upstairs to my room where I threw my backpack on the bed and turned on my ancient laptop to see if I could get on the Internet. While I waited for the computer to turn on, I pulled out my copy of Ernest Hemingway’s For Whom the Bell Tolls for Ms. Gilbert’s AP English. Every few seconds, I looked up to see if the screen would come to life. But after an eternity of whirring and clicking, the computer froze like it usually did, forcing me to give up on Internet access and wait for my dad to come home so I could use his tablet. I moved on to my Trig homework. It only took a half hour before I gave up in despair. Math was easily my least favorite subject, simply because I was so bad at it.
Going over to the dresser, I rummaged around for sweats and a long-sleeved shirt. Prior to our move, most of my running clothes had consisted of shorts and T-shirts—not exactly appropriate running gear for the Oregon winter I had been bracing for. Darcy’s ears perked when I asked him if he wanted to go for a run, and his tail drummed the hardwood floor while he waited for me to change. Finally I texted my dad in the unlikely event he would get home before I finished my run.
Pulling on my shoes, I felt my heart begin to pound in anticipation. I loved the freedom of running. It was the perfect sport for me—solitary. I relied on no one but myself, and if I wasn’t fast enough, then that was my problem. When we got outside to the front porch, I debated briefly before deciding to take the path toward the woods behind our house. I didn’t want to put Darcy on a leash or wait at stoplights in town. Plus, the farther from school I stayed, the less likely I was to see Allison Monroe and her fan club leaving cheerleading practice.
I looked past the houses lining our street into the thick cover of trees surrounding Winters. Over the summer, Sean had taken great pleasure in telling me creepy stories about the woods, ancient gossip about people disappearing, never to be seen again. I didn’t believe the stories, but I had still run a quick online search, relieved when I had confirmed that the rumors were just that—urban legends.
Looking up at the already darkening sky, I shook my head. I still couldn’t process how quickly night fell now that summer had passed. In Southern California, night had always come gradually, the fiery sun slowly dipping into the sharp line of the horizon, leaving behind a fury of oranges and pinks. The sun in our new state, pale and virtually imperceptible behind the gray skies, would disappear hours before I expected, as though someone had suddenly remembered to lower the lights on a stage after a performance.
Darcy, no doubt relieved to escape the boredom of the house, happily panted beside me as I began jogging. The rain had settled into a light mist, making everything around us appear softer as the streetlamps glowed in anticipation of total darkness. Looking through the windows of the houses on our street and seeing families going about their evening routines, I turned away quickly. Instead, I concentrated on my footfalls, trying to find an easy rhythm as I gulped air.
The wind that whipped by us was fresh and had an unfamiliar but pleasant scent, a mixture of water and sodden earth. It smelled green, if the color could have a smell. The constant rain took some getting used to, and some nights I dreamed of sunshine. But I was already in love with Oregon. It was like there was more air here than in Southern California.
Some crows took flight from the trees bordering the empty lot at the corner, their voices sounding lonely in the oncoming dusk. I looked over at Darcy, who tilted his head to listen to their conversation.
“There’s nothing out there,” I said, lowering my hand to scratch his ear.
Down the block was the entry to the trail through the woods. The trail meandered for several miles before eventually coming out on the other side of town near school. I had never run there, not even on sunny days during the summer. While I didn’t take Sean’s stories about the woods seriously, I still kept to the sidewalks. I wasn’t about to go wandering through the dark woods like Little Red Riding Hood. I wasn’t crazy. But today, even my usual route felt isolated. The farther I jogged, the fewer houses remained in sight, leaving only the perimeter of the woods, which seemed eerily alive as the dense wall of evergreens whispered in the breeze.
Just as I was about to loop back toward the houses and the comforting illumination of streetlights, a long, bone-chilling howl emerged from the trees. Suddenly, before I could reach for Darcy’s collar, my dog bolted past me in the direction of the sound. I watched in dismay as the trees swallowed him. I waited for him to come back before calling his name sternly, scowling when my voice shook. Then I waited some more. Nothing. He must have seen a rabbit, or his favorite—a squirrel. At least I hoped it wasn’t a coyote.
“Seriously, Darcy?” I muttered under my breath.
I should have known better than to leave him off leash. Ignoring my growing sense that I was about to star in a horror movie, I tightened my ponytail and took a deep breath before cautiously jogging to the edge of the trees, w
hich seemed to loom toward me, almost grasping. The eerie optical illusion made me swallow before I forced myself to move forward despite the voice in my head urging me to turn and run.
At the edge of the trail, I paused before darting into the trees. I could see the last of the light disappearing beneath the cloud cover—darkness wasn’t far off. Trying to keep my voice even, I called out again for Darcy and shuddered at what sounded like an animal snarling. The sound was so unlike my dog that I stopped and rocked back on my heels before forcing myself forward again.
“Darcy!” I whispered hoarsely, trying to ignore the sense of panic rising in the pit of my stomach. “Darcy, come here, boy.”
I was getting closer to the sound, but it took longer than I imagined. Ferns and moss-covered stones littered the path as I pushed forward. Tripping several times, I squinted into the gloom. As I clawed my way through the overhanging branches, they tugged like fingers at my clothes. Finally reaching a small clearing, I felt a flood of relief. Up ahead I could see Darcy standing at the foot of an old-growth tree, looking up.
“You squirrel chaser!”
A low growl made me jump as Darcy turned his head in my direction. As I moved closer, suddenly I wasn’t sure the sound had come from my dog. I knew there were mountain lions in Oregon, but according to my late-night Internet searches, they were reclusive and usually stayed far from human activity, I reassured myself.
But then why are you so scared? a tiny voice in my head whispered.
My breathing came in short gasps as my heart began to race. Fear locked my legs in place like something out of a bad dream. When I whispered again for Darcy, suddenly the entire woods seemed to notice my presence, the air becoming so thick that I stumbled and fell back. Looking up, I watched, hypnotized, as a dark form materialized from the trees and flew toward me. I opened my mouth to scream, but before I could suck in any air, I heard a struggle. It sounded like it was coming … from above me? Snarling sounds—like wild animals fighting over a meal—made my blood run cold.
Then I saw the unbearably perfect face above mine, and the scream died on my lips as blackness closed in around me.
Chapter 2: Dark Dreams
“Aven! Are you on a hunger strike?”
I woke with a start and stared blankly, disoriented. As my vision focused, I saw the dark wood writing desk that had been my mom’s and the newly painted walls of my bedroom. The lamp on my nightstand was on, and I was propped up in bed. Looking down, I frowned. I was wearing my running clothes, and my running shoes were still on. Then I froze. I had no idea how I had gotten here.
“Aven Casey!” my dad yelled again.
Swinging my legs off the bed, I tried to call to my dad, but no sound would come out. I cleared my throat and tried again.
“I’ll be down in a second!” I coughed.
It was bad Chinese take-out night, I recalled slowly. My dad must have just gotten home. I looked at the clock on my nightstand. Eight-thirty. Where had the afternoon gone? I remembered getting dressed for a run, but afterwards … I shivered. I couldn’t remember anything. A sharp jolt of panic seized me.
Darcy! Where was my dog?
Flying downstairs, I looked around desperately, completely ignoring my dad, who had been standing at the foot of the stairs waiting for me. Then I stopped cold. My dog was sitting in the doorway to the kitchen.
“Darcy!” I sighed in relief.
He jumped up and walked over to me, and I patted his head, lost in thought. He was fine. But why wouldn’t he be? Again, I strained to recall anything from the last several hours, but still came up blank again.
“When did you get home?” I asked my dad, careful to keep my tone casual.
“A couple of minutes ago. I tried to call you to tell you that I was running late, but you didn’t pick up.”
“I must have fallen asleep,” I muttered lamely.
He studied me for a moment.
“Are you feeling okay?”
“Yeah. Why?”
He pointed at Darcy.
“Your fearless protector was locked in the garage when I got home.”
I paused and deliberated.
“Um, I guess I locked him out by accident …”
I definitely wouldn’t have left him in the garage all night, but it sounded less crazy than forgetting an entire afternoon. My dad’s expression turned worried.
“Aven, Dr. Miller said to call the office if you started having a bad reaction to the medication.”
I grimaced. Our new doctor had prescribed a “mild sleep aid” after I reluctantly admitted that I hadn’t slept through the night since our move. That, and the good doctor had probably noticed the dark circles under my eyes. I hated the little blue sleeping pills, and I only resorted to taking them if I absolutely couldn’t sleep—or if I woke up in the middle of the night feeling like somebody was watching me. One word: creepy.
“Did you go for a run?” my dad asked, looking me up and down.
“Um, I was going to, but I changed my mind. You know—rain,” I shrugged, not about to admit my lapse in memory.
He shook his head and laughed.
“You might want to get used to the rain, kiddo. It doesn’t look like it’s going to let up any time soon. C’mon. Dinner’s in the kitchen. And I’ve got a surprise for you.”
He winked, and for a second I remembered what he had looked like before my mom died. Happier. Lately, he had gotten into the habit of bringing home little gifts, like he was trying to make up for something he thought I wasn’t getting. I fidgeted; it always made me feel uncomfortable. I wanted to tell him I was fine, that I didn’t need anything. But I also didn’t want to sound ungrateful, because he always looked so desperate in these moments, like he needed to fix things—and this was the only way he knew how. When we got to the kitchen, I stopped, caught off guard by a large gift-wrapped box on the kitchen table. It had a lopsided bow on the top.
“Go on, open it,” my dad said quietly.
He stood waiting.
“Dad, I don’t need anything. Really.”
Walking up, I toyed with the tape that held together the wrapping paper.
“I think you’ll change your mind when you see it,” he smiled.
I still hesitated another moment.
“Just open it, Aven!”
I tore through the paper and gawked when I realized what it was. A brand new computer. I stood, speechless, for another moment.
“What do you think?” my dad prodded.
I screamed. I had been typing out my assignments on that hideous, unpredictable old laptop my dad had bought second-hand from his old university. This was way above and beyond my wish list as far as technology went. I flung my arms around his neck and kissed him on the cheek.
“It’s mine … Right?” I said slowly.
My dad reddened and laughed.
“Of course, sweetheart. And there’s a new printer in the car. It came with the computer. Better Internet, too.”
The times my dad smiled, I could see why my mom had always called him handsome in an absentminded professor sort of way. With perpetually rumpled brown hair and becoming lines etched under his eyes from years of living near the beach, his brown eyes gave the indication that he absorbed more than he let on. His complexion was much tanner than mine, and he had always called me his albino offspring, a moniker I had hated during childhood when all I had wanted was to enjoy effortlessly bronzed skin like my friends.
I frowned as I contemplated where my dad had gotten the money for a brand new computer. I was tempted to ask, but I didn’t want to ruin the moment. Instead, I went over to the refrigerator to get us drinks, and we settled at the kitchen table, Darcy immediately taking up his position at my feet. My dog watched intently as we ate Chinese food straight from the boxes, and I thought maybe he was waiting for a handout, but the butterflies in my stomach told me otherwise. He had barely left my side since I came downstairs—probably afraid I was going to forget about him again.
&nbs
p; As I looked out the kitchen window into the darkness beyond, a hazy image flashed in my mind. I was in the woods with Darcy and something was coming toward us. Another nightmare? But the surge of panic that rushed through my veins felt so real that my stomach clenched and my skin crawled with goose bumps.
“Anything going on at school?” my dad asked, startling me.
“Not really, why?”
“You just seem a little preoccupied, that’s all.”
I sat up straighter. It wasn’t often he noticed—or at least acknowledged—things like that. It had become standard procedure to ignore the other person’s silences. My dad tried really hard to maintain an air of normalcy. So much so that it almost looked physically painful. He had a tendency to vacillate between concerned parent and stoic, preoccupied roommate. Sometimes I didn’t know which I was going to get, like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, only my dad wasn’t homicidal.
“Nope. I’ve just got a lot of homework—and I still can’t believe you got me a brand new computer!” I said, smiling broadly as I stood to clear the table.
The truth was that I had actually finished most of my homework during my fifth period study hall and sixth period Journalism class, which I had with Sean. When I had enrolled in school, I had planned on a fourth year of French, but there wasn’t space in the AP class. My only other option, the Winters guidance counselor had informed me, was woodshop. Given that I preferred not to lose a finger to the miter saw, I had chosen study hall, which freed up an hour of my afternoons that I would have otherwise spent on homework.
“Why don’t you go ahead upstairs? I’ve got the dishes tonight,” my dad said.
I smirked at the empty Chinese food boxes.
“What dishes?”
“Exactly.”
Leaving my dad to clean up the kitchen, I walked upstairs to my room to grab a pair of flannel pajamas from my dresser. As I headed down the hall to the bathroom, a wave of exhaustion swept over me. Locking myself in the bathroom, I turned on the hot water and stripped out of my running clothes. The moment I stepped under the water, I reveled in the only time of day that I felt truly warm since summer’s end. Still, despite the soothing sensation of hot water beating down on me, I couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that I was forgetting something important. A quiz in Ms. Kluman’s Trig class? Math was the last subject I wanted to catch me off guard. I was already working too hard just to maintain a B average.
