by Dan Poblocki
They were parked on a purgatory street, surrounded by forest, the nearest houses far ahead and behind them. The trees on either side of the road were becoming silhouettes against an already muted sky, the sun still hidden behind thick clouds.
If they didn’t head home soon, the aunts might come back to the Diaz house looking for them. Right now, though, Neil knew they had bigger problems.
“Well, the band fell in love with Bree, especially when she started playing,” said Eric. Bree shook her head, as if she might be able to wiggle away from her embarrassment. “But what happened with you guys? Melissa burst into the garage, screaming her pants off.”
From the backseat, Neil and Wesley recounted their story. Eric and Bree listened with urgent attention.
“Yearbooks,” said Eric after they had finished, pointedly ignoring the tale’s ghostly aspect. “Brilliant. What gave you the idea to track them down, Neil?”
“Dunno,” said Neil. “The idea popped into my head this afternoon when I was on the phone with Wesley. It just came to me — I almost could have sworn a voice had whispered it in my ear. But it definitely wasn’t Wesley’s voice.” Bree shivered and hugged herself. “Anyway, we’re just lucky you knew where to find the books we needed, Eric.”
“I can’t believe we pulled that off,” said Wesley. “When it was happening, I wasn’t sure we would.”
“So … if Rebecca wanted you guys to get these yearbooks out of there,” Eric said after they’d finished, stealing an uncertain glance at Bree, “there must be something good inside.”
“That’s what we were hoping,” said Neil. The books sat on the seat between him and Wesley. All four of them stared at the pile. “There’s one for each of us.” He picked them up and handed them out.
Neil held Rebecca’s freshman year in his lap. He opened to the class photos section and quickly found her portrait surrounded by those of her classmates. She stared up at him from the page, her eyes as wide as her toothy smile. Her long brown hair was parted down the middle and tucked behind protuberant ears. She glowed with a happiness that made Neil sad.
According to the earliest pictures, Rebecca could have been any girl on the verge of great things — a girl filled with possibility, who saw the world as a treasure chest waiting for her to come and crack it open. Put together, however, the four volumes revealed a different kind of story, one whose morbid ending became more apparent with every page turned. By her senior year the exuberance that had existed in Rebecca’s fourteen-year-old face was gone, as was her smile and any hope that it might have contained.
Neil, Wesley, Bree, and Eric spent nearly half an hour sharing the books with one another, flipping through the pages and indexes, looking for a moment — some indication — of where, when, and why things had changed for her.
“Wait a second,” said Bree, after she’d gotten hold of Rebecca’s junior year. “Here’s something strange.” She lifted the book so they all could see. Near the front, a photo of a woman filled nearly half a page. A name was printed beneath the photograph — Mrs. Alice Curtain. Mrs. Curtain had brown hair cut into a bob. She wore large glasses, a reserved smile, and a pink twin-piece sweater set. She looked off as if she’d been caught unprepared for the shutter to close. At the top of the page were the words In Memoriam.
The principal had written a brief eulogy about Alice, about how much the town would miss her, about the good work she had done at the school. He proclaimed that the accident that had caused her passing was a tragedy and should act as a reminder that every day must be seen as a gift.
“She died earlier that year,” said Bree.
“Who was she?” asked Wesley.
“Duh,” said Eric. “She was obviously a teacher.”
“Yes,” said Bree, “but she was more than that.” She pointed at what looked like a short poem at the very bottom of the page.
For My Mother
“Do you remember the way home?” she always asks, like
A woman in a fairy tale protecting her
Daughter from the
Dangers of the world.
“Yes,” I remind her
Dutifully, as
I step into the woods, haunted by
Desire for certainty and her dread. I promise to leave a trail of clues
In the dark, for her or me or someone who follows.
The bread crumbs glow. None of us are alone.
— Rebecca Smith
“Alice Curtain wasn’t just any teacher,” Bree continued, her face drawn, her skin pale beneath the car’s overhead light. “She was also Rebecca’s mom.”
BY THE TIME ERIC HAD DRIVEN NEIL AND BREE back to the aunts’ house, the wind had picked up and lightning flashed in the distance. The sun had gone down, and the front porch light was on, straining to cast its orange glow through the thick mist and increasingly strong rain.
Turning into the driveway, Eric sighed. “Will Claire and Anna be mad that you’re late?”
“We’ll be fine,” said Neil, his voice hushed by doubt. He gathered the yearbooks from the backseat and opened the car door. “But we have to find out some more about Mrs. Curtain. Learning what happened to her will give us a clue about what happened to her daughter. These must be the glowing bread crumbs Rebecca left behind.” He thought of her poem. “A trail of clues in the dark,” he said, wearing a bleak smile. “Let’s talk tomorrow. Okay?”
Everyone nodded, their exhaustion weighing heavily on them. As Bree got out of the car, grappling with her case, Wesley slipped past her into the front seat. Before she closed the door, Eric leaned across him, calling out the window. “Hey, Bree,” he said, “you really do play a mean violin. Those guys would be lucky to have you in their band.”
Bree smiled crookedly. “Thanks,” she said. “Same to you.” Neil noticed with amusement that she hadn’t corrected him — she played viola, not violin.
A growl of thunder rolled by overhead as Eric drove off.
Neil and Bree dashed across the lawn toward the front porch and up the steps. Before she could reach for the door, Neil grabbed her arm. “Wait,” he said, nearly dropping the four books as he glanced back at the driveway. “Look.” Two vehicles were parked there instead of the usual one. The aunts’ Chevy sat closest to the barn. Behind it, a black minivan seemed to slumber. “Isn’t that Mom’s car?”
The front door swung inward. From behind the screen door, a tall figure stood in silhouette, staring out at Neil and Bree. “Well, look who finally made it back,” said a deep voice.
Neil’s body went instantly numb. He hadn’t heard the voice in such a long time, his instincts told him he must be dreaming. He shivered — the cold water that soaked his shirt seeped into his skin. He realized, unfortunately, that he was awake.
Bree stepped forward, a strange smile plastered across her face. “Dad?” Her voice was unnaturally high and shook like a child who was on the verge of tears. “What are you doing here?”
INSIDE, NEIL AND BREE SAT ON THE COUCH in the living room as their father leaned against the fireplace mantel and told them his story. Claire and Anna listened from the kitchen — this was the second time they’d heard him go through it that evening. From the looks on their faces, Neil knew they couldn’t stomach it again.
California hadn’t worked out, he explained. The casting agent had broken every promise she’d made. He said that he’d come back to New Jersey mostly because he missed his family, and he knew they’d welcome him home.
“This afternoon,” said their father, “I flew into Newark, I took a cab back to the house, and borrowed your mom’s car. I drove all the way up here for you guys.” He grinned, as if he’d just presented them with an enormous, brightly wrapped gift. “You can pack your things. We’ll leave tonight. Whaddaya say?”
Neil wished he could squeeze himself backward into the couch hard enough that it would swallow him up. He couldn’t look at his father’s face — determination and hope combining into an expression that filled Neil with nausea.
<
br /> “What does Mom think?” Bree asked. The little girl with the wavering voice was gone.
A chip of the gleam fell from Rick’s smile. “We’ll surprise her.”
Neil found himself shaking his head. “No,” he said. “I’m not leaving.”
Now Rick’s smile crumbled entirely. “We’ll be together again,” he said, stepping toward his children. “Come on. Don’t be like that. Bree, can’t you talk some sense into your brother?”
Bree seemed to choke on her thoughts. Then she said, “If you knew Neil at all, you’d understand that sometimes he doesn’t make sense. I certainly don’t have the power to change his mind, and I doubt you do either.” She turned and smiled weakly at Neil, and he knew that she hadn’t meant to insult him. What Bree had said was true, and she seemed proud of him for it. “Maybe if you’d been around for the past few months, you’d have seen that.”
Rick turned red. “Well, you guys might not have a choice.” He crossed his arms. “After everything your aunts have told me, I’m not sure how much longer they’d like to keep you around.”
Anna came from the kitchen and stood in the doorway. “I can tell you the answer to that one,” she said. “Bree and Neil are welcome to stay as long as they want to.”
Neil’s face burned with surprise. Was that true? Had his fears about being sent away only been in his head? Maybe. Maybe not. Either way, his father’s appearance had galvanized the aunts against him.
Rick scoffed. “I appreciate the offer,” he said, “but I think we’ll pass.”
“It’s more complicated than that,” said Claire, joining Anna in the door. “Linda may still need some time to herself. Did it even occur to you to ask her what she wants? Just because you’ve decided to come home doesn’t mean we’re all ready to have you back.”
Anna sighed. She took Claire by the arm and led her around the corner into the hallway.
Rick was left alone in the living room with Neil and Bree. “Thanks a lot,” he whispered, his tan face looking sunburned and suddenly old.
“I’m sorry, Dad,” said Bree, reaching out for his hand. But he stepped away. Then, to Neil’s horror, she added, “We’ll think about it, okay?”
A moment later, Claire and Anna came back into the room. Anna nodded toward the front door. “Come on, Rick,” she said. “Let’s go for a ride.”
“A ride? Where?”
“We need to talk in private,” said Claire, glancing briefly at Neil and Bree. “You can take Anna and me to dinner.”
“What about us?” Neil asked, standing up.
“There’s some food on the stove for you two,” said Anna. Neil hadn’t been asking about dinner, but he kept his mouth shut. “Help yourselves. We won’t be long.”
Annoyed, Rick shook his head as he grabbed his car keys from his jacket pocket. He glanced at his children. “Go pack your things,” he said again. He turned and followed the aunts out the front door.
THE MINIVAN STARTED UP WITH A ROAR. The headlights shined momentarily through the living room windows before the car backed out of the driveway, its tires spinning on the slick road as their father gunned the engine.
Seconds later, Neil and Bree were alone.
They stood in the foyer, staring at the door as if it might burst open again, all three adults laughing and patting each other’s shoulders, proclaiming how funny a joke the last fifteen minutes had been. But that didn’t happen. The rain only came down harder, raising a din of white noise that threatened to drown out the sound of Neil’s own thoughts. Glancing at his sister, he forced himself not to speak, because he knew if he did, the words would be, This is what you wanted. Right?
“What do we do?” she asked, almost as if to herself. “Should we pack?”
Neil shook his head. “I’m not going anywhere with him. At least not until Aunt Claire and Aunt Anna kick us out.”
In the living room, he slid over the top of the couch and landed with a whoomp on the cushions. The stack of yearbooks that had been sitting there toppled to the floor. Rebecca’s junior year landed open to the page remembering her mother.
Bree stood behind him, looking at the book from over his shoulder. “I suppose we need to decide which are more important right now: the problems of the living or the problems of the dead.” She came around and sat down. Picking up the remote control, she turned on the television. “I honestly don’t want to think about either.”
An old black-and-white movie was on. Neither of them recognized the actors, but Bree didn’t change the channel. She seemed to stare right through the screen, as if she was seeing something Neil could not.
Neil picked up the yearbook from the floor and examined Alice Curtain’s portrait again. He read over Rebecca’s poem several times, the strange words seeming to slowly seep into his skull.
Why did Alice have a different last name? he wondered. She must have married a man who was not Rebecca’s father. The incomplete Graylock file had left so many questions unanswered. How frustrating that she wasn’t able to just appear and tell him, forced instead to use subtle hints and partial clues.
Glowing bread crumbs.
Ever since he and his sister had entered room 13, it seemed that these clues had lead them down a dark, secret stairwell, one that no one had traversed in a very long time. Why them? Was it because they lived so close to Graylock Hall? Or maybe one needed a certain kind of awareness to recognize mysteries hidden in plain sight. Despite the horror of the past year, what had happened between Neil’s mother and father may have allowed him and his sister to understand the world in a way others did not. Like how Wesley noticed Green Men in ordinary hillsides, Neil and Bree had been forced to see the world in a different way. Maybe this was the reason Rebecca was drawn to them. Maybe this was why she’d taken them to the lake and shown them her death.
Glowing bread crumbs.
But no, Neil thought. She hadn’t given them nightmares to merely make them aware that she’d died. Or even to learn that she’d been murdered. She wanted them to do something for her. She needed them to see the clues she’d left behind. She knew that, because of their mom, they’d be more likely than most to help.
Looking into the yearbook, Neil’s heart felt as if it stopped. The poem. It had suddenly changed shape. The biggest clue yet stared directly up at him. His hands trembled as he lifted the book to show his sister. “Look,” he said. “She left a message.”
When Bree noticed how pale Neil had become, she grabbed the book from his hands, then reached out and smoothed his hair away from his forehead. “What’s wrong?”
“The first letter in every line of Rebecca’s poem,” Neil managed to say. “Read them straight down.”
Bree concentrated on the page. She recited the poem aloud.
“Do you remember the way home?” she always asks, like
A woman in a fairy tale protecting her
Daughter from the
Dangers of the world.
“Yes,” I remind her
Dutifully, as
I step into the woods, haunted by
Desire for certainty and her dread. I promise to leave a trail of clues
In the dark, for her or me or someone who follows.
The bread crumbs glow. None of us are alone.”
A look of horror blossomed across her face, and her mouth fell open in shock.
“Daddy did it,” she whispered.
THERE WAS A FLASH OF LIGHT, a crash of thunder, and the room went suddenly dark.
They both screamed, then moved so quickly toward each other on the couch that they nearly bumped heads. It took them several seconds to realize what had happened. The storm had knocked the power out.
Neil glanced around the room, but he couldn’t see much. Rain continued to pound the roof. Lightning flashed again, briefly revealing tree branches outside, whipping about in a strong wind. Several seconds later, the house shook under the crushing sound of thunder. Neil pulled his knees up to his chest and hugged himself. Thunderstorms didn�
��t usually bother him, but on top of everything else … this one was a nightmare.
He felt the yearbook poking into his leg. He swatted it away, and it fell to the floor with a loud slap. “Rebecca Smith died on a night like this.”
“I wish we had cell phones,” said Bree, as if deliberately trying to not think about the ghost story they were living.
Neil took his sister’s hand. “Bree,” he said, “we know who killed her. She wrote it in the yearbook.”
Bree was quiet for a few seconds, then nodded. “She wanted everyone to know, but was too scared to tell.”
“That’s why she looked so different from her sophomore to junior year,” said Neil. “Like two different girls.” Shadow people. “What causes that?”
“Fear.”
“If she knew her mother had been murdered by her father, maybe she was afraid that she’d be next.”
“Yeah. She might have been right. Especially if her father thought she might tell someone.”
“She did tell,” said Neil. “But did he find out?”
“Maybe,” said Bree. “Maybe not. We know she went into Graylock afterward. Her doctors said she was crazy, but was she really?”
“You think she was pretending?” Neil asked.
“Maybe she thought she’d be safe in there.”
“But she wasn’t safer. He tracked her down.”
“He knew where she was. He was her father.”
“And since they lived here in Hedston, he must have also known that several patients had drowned in that lake,” said Neil. “Drowned on nights like this, when the power went out and that back door unlocked automatically. Rebecca hadn’t considered that. On the night she died, her father knew that if he got her out of the building, he could make her death look like an accident. Another tragic drowning. And she’d never attempt to tell what he’d done to her mother again like she had in the yearbook.”
