by Daka Hermon
Framed photos and a lamp crash to the floor as I sideswipe the nightstand. I desperately grab for the bed, ripping the comforter from the mattress. Yanked off my feet, I zoom toward the television and brace myself for impact. At this speed, the collision is gonna leave a big mess.
My hands fly up to protect my face, but instead of slamming into glass, cold air, thick and heavy, squeezes my body. I crack open my eyes as I’m sucked deeper into darkness.
I’m weightless, spinning violently. I plummet down like I’m on a mile-high roller coaster. Air whistles through my ears.
My head snaps back. I’m jerked upward, then slammed down. Everything goes dark.
My eyes fly open. The darkness is so thick it takes my breath away. What … what happened? Where am I? Suddenly, like water spewing from a faucet, memories flood my mind. The Seeker! It came for me!
I jerk up, smacking my head against something solid. “Owww.” The pain hits as a lump instantly forms on my forehead. It throbs to the frantic beat of my heart. I hold still and wait for the dizziness to pass. My back is slightly arched and as I wiggle around a little, I realize I’m lying on my bulky backpack. The straps are tight around my shoulders.
It made it to Nowhere with me.
Nia was right. There’s no time to celebrate, though. I have to figure out where I am.
I inhale a deep breath. The air is humid and I smell … dirt. I slowly stretch out my trembling arms. I can’t extend them fully because of whatever is above me. My fingers slide over something coarse, with a wavy pattern. Wood maybe?
My hands shake but I keep reaching out. To my left and right, more wood. Beneath me, wood. Wiggling around, I’m able to judge the size of the enclosure. It’s small, just a little wider and longer than me. I’m trapped in a Justin-sized box?
A dark, wooden box the size of a person. It’s a coffin! I’m buried alive!
“Noooooo! Help! Somebody help me!”
I push and kick at the wood, but I’m like a turtle on its back, flailing helplessly. “Help! Let me outta here!” Air. Is it running out? I’m gonna suffocate. Can’t breathe. I’m dying. My body will shrivel, wither away until only dry bones are left.
“Help! Please!” I’m breathing so fast air whistles out of my nose. My stomach lurches, sending up partially digested orange chicken and fried rice. I slap my hand over my mouth and squeeze my eyes shut. I swallow back down the sour taste and struggle to control my breathing.
One … two … three … four … five. Inhale. Exhale. One … two … three … five … Inhale. Exhale. Breathe! Tears trickle out the corners of my eyes and I’m trembling so violently my teeth chatter.
Breathe. I’m alive. I’m not dying. I have plenty of air. The walls of this box are not closing in on me. I imagine wide-open spaces—acres of farmland, a desert with miles of rolling dunes, a football field, the large park near my house, empty beaches … Breathe. Count. Breathe. Count.
I clench my eyes closed and for some reason this darkness is not as scary. I’m aware of everything—the weight of the locs on my forehead, the sticky sweatiness of my body, the harsh sound of my breathing, the rough texture of my clothes against my cool skin.
“Justin.” It’s a faint whisper. So low, I think I imagined it.
“Who’s … who’s there?” My voice is weak.
There’s no response. I wait. All my nerves are on edge. “Who’s there?!”
I swallow hard. My nails claw into the wood beneath me as a swell of anger rolls through me in waves. The Seeker did this.
“I hate you! Do you hear me?! I hate you!” I kick the lid. It creaks but doesn’t break.
The Seeker took Zee away from me. It broke him and I may never have my friend back. Mrs. Murphy went through so much while he was gone and she’s still suffering. I needed my friend, especially when my mom died. And he wasn’t there because of the Seeker.
It came for us—Shae, Carla, Quincy, Nia, and Lyric. It hunted us, tagged us, terrified us, and brought us to this horrible place. It has my friends. What’s Nia going through right now? And Lyric? Victoria … When she realizes I’m gone, she’ll be hurting, too. She’ll be alone.
I have to get back to my sister. I have to find everyone and get us all home. Sweat trickles down my face and into my eyes. It stings. I breathe through the pain, focus on it. It fuels my determination to escape and make the Seeker pay for all that it’s done.
Every helpful tip my counselor has ever shared about dealing with stressful and scary situations comes back to me. This is the perfect time to put them all into practice. Breathe. Count. Focus. Release. Recover. I slide my hand into my pocket. The puzzle piece is there.
It feels like forever, but my pulse gradually slows until my heart is no longer battering my chest. “Think. There has to be a way out.”
Wiggling around the cramped space, I push at the lid, straining until my arms tremble and fall limply to my side. I wait for the ache in my muscles to fade. I have to break through the wood. I grit my teeth and punch the lid. My knuckles scream in pain. The lid splinters.
I punch again. Again. Again. My hand throbs. With a cry of rage, I put all my fury behind one powerful swing. The crack widens. Cold air seeps through the opening. I wait for dirt to pour inside. Nothing. Maybe I’m not underground after all.
Bam! Bam! Bam! More hits and kicks. A larger gap appears. There’s light. It’s faint but I see it. An unhuman sound erupts from me as I pry the wood back, ignoring the pain in my palms. My arm shoots out of the open space, and then I manage to push my head and torso through.
Panting, I glance around to see that I’m in a large hole in the ground. It’s a least six feet deep. It is a grave, only I haven’t been buried … yet. Above me the sky is a gloomy gray. It weeps drops of freezing rain.
I hurriedly squeeze the rest of my body out of the coffin. Once I’m standing on top of it, I breathe a little easier. Now I gotta get out of this hole. I tighten the straps on my backpack, wincing from the pain throbbing in my bruised hands.
I press against the wall of dirt. It’s solid enough for me to get a good hold. I dig my fingers deep inside, and like I’m rock climbing, I pull myself up. The soil stings the cuts on my hands. My arms shake from the effort to lift my weight. I grit my teeth and keep going.
With the last of my energy I lurch upward. My numb fingers dig into the ground outside the grave. I heave myself out and roll as far as my exhausted body will allow.
Panting, I collapse, my weary limbs tangled around me. I did it. I’m free. Wiping a hand down my face, to clear away the dirt and sweat, I glance around. My gaze lands on a tombstone, but it’s not mine. It’s my mom’s.
Helen Vaughn. Beloved Mother and Wife.
With a whimper, I crab-crawl back. I recognize this place. The tree planted near my mom’s grave. The stone angel a few rows away. It’s Forest Hills Cemetery. My eyes dart around and I notice that something is off. It looks different. The colors are faded, muddled. Everything is a little out of focus, like I’m staring through a dirty glass. And there’s this creepy fog that hovers almost as if it’s lurking, waiting to attack.
Several rows over I see an elderly man walking toward his car. I race toward him. “Hello! Hey!”
He climbs inside and shuts the door. “Can you hear me?” I try to bang on the window, but my fist passes right through the glass. I gasp and yank my arm back. He starts up the engine. “Stop. Wait.”
I run around to the front of the car and stare at him through the windshield. There’s something different about him. He’s blurry, like I’m looking at him through eyeglasses that are too strong.
He stares in my direction for a long moment. I believe I have his attention, then he shifts gears and drives forward. I cry out, expecting the pain of impact. But instead of being hit, the car passes right through me. My body tingles.
I glance down at myself. “How … What’s happening?” I spin around and watch as the car rolls away. Is this a dream?
The wind rustles the
dead leaves on the trees, and the sound it makes … it’s like muffled crying.
“Wait! Please.” I hurry after the car, desperate to find a way to communicate. I jog behind. “I’m right here!” I chase him outside the cemetery gates. He drives away, turning onto the main road.
Out of breath, I lean forward, my swollen hands on my knees. As I stand in the middle of the street, a thought makes me gasp aloud. The cemetery is close to Hyde’s house. Maybe he’ll be able to explain what’s happening. I take off, running toward his junkyard.
With every step, I’m aware of this eerie presence around me. Like someone is watching, following my movements. I make the mistake of turning around and what I see causes me to stumble and fall. I hit the concrete hard.
“Justin.”
I scramble to my feet.
My mom.
No. A grotesque version of my mom stands in the middle of the street.
Her too-big head is not centered on her body. One shoulder is higher than the other. Her limbs are not the same size or length. And her fingers … they’re stretched long with nails as sharp as claws.
She’s barefoot, wearing a blue hospital gown. Her body is thin, her skin that unhealthy gray color of sickness. Except for a few strands of long dark hair, her head is bald.
Three hundred and ninety-nine days now. That’s how long it’s been since she died. I’ve wanted to see her again, but not like this. Never like this.
She extends her arms toward me. “Come give me a hug, baby.”
I blink hard to erase the vision in front of me, but she’s still there. “One day soon you’ll leave from here and fight against all you fear.” That line from Zee’s chant pops into my head. Everything I’ve experienced since I woke up in the coffin has been a fear. Dying. Now this. Reliving my mom’s illness and death.
“Justin, I need you,” the Not-Mom says. She stalks closer. I’m frozen in place. When I remain silent, her expression morphs into fury. “I said, come here.”
I slowly back away. “You’re not my mom.”
She sneers. “I’m the only mom you’ll ever know.” She lifts her arms, forming a cradle. “Rock-a-bye, Justin, on a treetop. Your fears will keep coming and never stop. And when you break, the end will be near. This is your new home and the Seeker is here.”
“Stop it! Stop.” I slap my hands over my ears. “You’re not real. You can’t be real.”
The wind moans and flutters the hospital gown around her frail body. Not-Mom ghosts five feet closer. Her movement is so fast she’s a blur. She repeats that creepy chant.
Her cackling chases me as I race away. Not my mom. Not my mom. Just a nightmare. A living, breathing nightmare.
I slide to a stop in front of Hyde’s home, falling into the chain fence. I spin around, terrified of what I might see, but there’s no one there. That thing is gone, but for how long?
With weak arms, I push away from the fence and sluggishly make my way up the driveway past Hyde’s ice cream truck. It’s quiet, the kind of quiet that is unsettling and unnatural. As I walk forward, my gaze skates toward the backyard, where Quincy disappeared. It was just yesterday. I think. Who knows how long I was in that coffin before I woke up?
“Hyde,” I call out as I reach the bottom of the front porch. My legs refuse to climb the steps. “Hyde!”
No response. A chill seeps through my clothing. “Hyde!” My voice is louder, angrier.
“He can’t hear you,” a voice says quietly.
I swivel around. A young girl stands behind me. Dirty, disheveled hair hangs to her shoulders. She wears a dingy white shirt with a faded rainbow across the front. Her fraying jeans are covered in different-colored patches. She’s not out of focus like the old man was.
My breath catches in my chest. “You can see me? Who … who are you?”
“Nobody.” Her brown eyes dart around and her fingers twist the tattered edges of her worn shirt. “We’re all nobody here.” She starts to back away.
“Wait! Don’t go!” I rush forward and reach out to grab her arm.
With a cry, she flinches away. “Don’t touch. Never touch,” she says in a harsh whisper.
“I’m sorry. I …” I drop my hand. “Please don’t go. The Seeker took me and …” My voice cracks. “Can you, will you help me?”
She shakes her head. “I tried to help before but …”
“What do you mean?”
“Doesn’t matter,” she says.
“I need to find my friends.” I take a tentative step closer. “My name is—”
“Justin. And you want to find Lyric and Nia.”
My jaw drops. “You know me? You know them? How? Have you seen them? Are they okay? Where are they? Can you take me to them?”
She watches me steadily as I fire off questions. “I don’t know where they are.”
Hisssss. I jump as several black birds streak across the sky. They’re not crows, but something scarier, larger. They circle above us, as if searching for prey to devour, making raspy hissing sounds.
“I have to go,” she says, her eyes clouded with fear. “You should hide.”
“Wait! How do you know me and my friends?”
She backs away. “I saw you before, with my brother.”
I hurry after her. “Brother? Who’s your brother?”
Her eyes harden as she points at the house. “Hyde.”
I stumble to a stop. Everything in me shuts down. “Who are you?”
“I’m his sister, Mary,” she says quietly. “The one he left behind.”
“His sister,” I say faintly, glancing back at the house.
She nods and her gaze continues to bounce around. Hyde has a sister. Was she the girl in the photo I saw at his house?
“He left you here?” Shock gives way to anger. I didn’t think Hyde could get more foul. I was wrong.
Mary rubs her pale, thin arms and trembles. My eyes lock on her wrist. I step closer. “You’re tagged, too?”
She extends her arm. “I played the game with him. I’m 233.” A number is branded on her skin. “What are you?”
“I don’t have a number. It’s just a swirly mark.”
Mary stares at me for a long moment. Her eyes are haunted. “For now. The mark turns into a number. You’ll be counted, too.”
I swallow hard. “Counted for what?”
Loud barking has me spinning around. Butch races from around the house, growling and snarling.
I stumble back and Mary dodges me so we don’t touch.
“He can’t hurt you,” she says.
“Can he see us?”
“No, but he senses us like …” She falls silent as Hyde opens the front door and steps onto the porch. He stares in our direction with a smirk. My hands curl into fists.
“I know you’re there,” he says.
Mary steps forward and her face transitions from fear to disgust. “I’ll always be here, Brother.”
My gaze swings from her to Hyde. “It was you! He was talking to you. That’s why he was acting so weird when we went to his house.”
Mary picks at a scar on the back of her hand. It isn’t completely healed. She mumbles something to herself.
I take a cautious step toward her. “Mary?”
“I distracted him. He wouldn’t have let you inside and you needed to see.”
“See what? The room with the pictures of the missing kids?”
She nods. “I hoped you’d find it. I thought it would help you figure out what was going on.”
Butch runs up the stairs to stand next to his master. “Mary, I wonder if you have someone with you now? Maybe a couple new friends?” Hyde smiles. “Justin, are you there?”
I’m so hot, I’m surprised I’m not shooting flames. “Yeah, I’m here,” I say, though I know he can’t hear me. “But not for long.”
“The Seeker always gets what it wants,” Hyde says.
Mary’s hands curl into fists as she glares at her brother. “Because of your help.”
H
yde tilts his head upward toward the sky. “Butch, let’s go enjoy the sunshine.”
“Sunshine?” I mutter. “It looks like we’re about to have a storm.”
“He doesn’t see what we see,” Mary says. “This place is a darker, scarier version of that world.”
Hyde reaches inside and grabs a leash. After securing it on the dog’s collar, they step off the porch and stroll down the driveway, right past where Mary and I are standing. Hyde whistles that eerie Seeker tune, the same as Zee’s chant, as he leaves the junkyard. I want to run after him, yell at him for helping the Seeker, but there’s no point. I need to focus on figuring out this place so we can escape.
“What do you mean by a version of that world? Hyde mentioned a place called Nowhere. Is that where we are?”
Mary opens her mouth to respond, then freezes. Her eyes widen, her chest rising and falling heavily. “Oh no.”
“What is it?” I search the area, fearful that Not-Mom is back.
She turns and races toward the junkyard. I have no idea what she’s running from, but I follow, weaving around the maze of rusted equipment in the yard. My backpack bounces against my back. She’s fast and I struggle to keep up as my panic builds. After several twists and turns I lose track of her.
“Mary!” I slide to a stop, panting for breath. “Mary!”
“Here,” she whisper-yells. I glance to my right to see her huddled behind an overturned refrigerator. She waves me over.
I slide behind the appliance, careful not to touch her. “What is it?”
“Rat snakes.” She tucks her long hair behind her ears. Her hand trembles.
What?! “I didn’t see anything.” I keep my voice lowered to match hers.
“You wouldn’t, unless you touch me. It’s my fear.” She pulls up her knees and wraps her bare arms around them. “That’s why we never touch each other. My fears would become yours. And your fears would become mine.”
I stare at her. Touching someone tags them with your worst nightmares. I can’t handle my own. Dealing with someone else’s … “Are they close?”
