Lights at Midnight : A Mermaid Story (Lights at Midnight Series Book 1)

by Orchid Leigh

  “Small town indeed.” I laughed. This would take some getting used to. “So you knew I was coming?”

  “Oh, no,” said Peter. “It’s not as bad as that. I just knew someone was.”

  “Did you know Granny Leira?”

  “Yeah, I knew her,” he said with a smile.

  An unexpected bubble of jealousy floated up and popped at my heart.

  “I used to work for her,” explained Peter, “around the house. Mowing and stuff. She was a really sweet lady. A little eccentric, but sweet. She let me work anytime I wanted to and paid good. And she liked to cook and gave most of it to me and my family. She was always doing nice stuff like that. She even made my brother a baby blanket when he was born.” Peter glanced at me curiously. “Was she your grandmother?”

  “My great-grandmother. But I didn’t know her. My mom was adopted, so I never met her biological family.”

  “That explains why I’ve never seen you visit,” he said. “How’d you get the house then?”

  “She gave it to me. In her will.”

  “You got this from her, too,” said Peter. He tucked his hand behind my neck and gently pulled on the red tendril that sometimes peeked out.

  I glanced at the bright color that shone so much brighter in the afternoon sun. I smiled at Peter. “You’re the first person who didn’t just assume I dyed it.”

  “It’s the same exact color as Granny Leira’s hair, and she didn’t dye it. And I think she was well over a hundred when she died, too. Bright red hair—all the way to the end.”

  “Hmm . . . long life,” I said, contemplating the nice redheaded grandmother who was just a stranger to me. “So she was nice?”

  “Yeah, she really was. A lot like you.” He stopped walking and studied me for a second. He smiled and I could see something amusing in his eyes, but I couldn’t quite read what he was thinking. He blushed a little and started walking again.

  “What?” I asked, chasing after him.

  Peter pulled his shoulders in and looked at me with narrowed, thinking eyes. “I can’t say it,” he said, shaking his head.

  “You can’t say what?” I asked, confused and now way more curious.

  He smiled. “Don’t make me say it.”

  I laughed. “You know, this is making me more curious and you could have said anything instead of this.”

  “I’m not a good liar,” he said.

  “Can you give me a hint?”

  His smile stretched big and wide. “It’s cheesy.”

  “How bad?”

  “Pretty bad,” he said, laughing.

  “Just tell me. I won’t judge.”

  “I’ll tell you later.”

  “If you can tell me later, you can tell me now.”

  “No, you can still back out of being my friend right now. I’ll wait till you’re more attached.”

  “Okay, fine,” I said, backing off. “But if you’re going to make me wait, it better be super gooey. None of that sprinkled-on parmesan stuff.”

  Peter laughed. “I promise not to disappoint.” He stretched out his hand. “After you,” he said.

  ~

  I stepped onto the trail, and my mouth fell open.

  I had been expecting a tiny, overgrown path in which I would be swatting at branches and tripping over roots and rocks the whole way. What lay before us was a narrow road that twisted and curved, winding its way through the forest.

  The trees formed an arched canopy over the wide path, allowing just a light dusting of snow cover, so even in the midst of winter, the forest floor was relatively clear. The bright sun filtered through the branches with only a few select rays reaching the ground and casting a glow of magical, scattered light.

  “Wow,” I said in a hushed whisper the forest seemed to command.

  Peter was smiling at me. “It’s great, huh?” he said. He started down the path.

  “Who does all this?” I asked, scurrying after him.

  He shrugged.

  “You don’t know?”

  “No, I have no idea. It’s always been like this, and the paths go for miles. And it’s like the lake—no one else ever comes.”

  “Hmm . . . so beautiful . . .” I was craning my neck to view the canopy above. I glanced back down, feeling a little swoony. “Kind of hypnotizing, isn’t it?” I swayed and bumped into Peter’s shoulder.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  I turned to him with a smile. “Yeah. This is absolutely beautiful.”

  Peter nodded. “Can I show you something else?”

  We turned down another path, walking until we came to a clearing. It was a large, perfectly circular cutout in the trees, and it looked like a house-sized UFO had landed and cleared itself a spot in the forest. A blanket of snow, untouched, covered the ground.

  “It’s grass,” said Peter. “In the summer. And wildflowers.”

  I stepped into the opening until I was centered in the large circle. I turned my feet on the snowy ground and stared up at the disc-shaped opening above.

  “Huh,” I said. “This wasn’t on the map, either.”

  “The map?”

  “Yeah, this isn’t on the map online,” I said. “I mean, we can’t be that far from my house, right?”

  “No, your house is just over there,” said Peter, pointing at the trees.

  “I would have seen it. I’m pretty sure.” I paused, now doubting myself. “I definitely would have seen the lake, though.”

  “The lake?”

  “It’s not on the map, either. Haven’t you ever noticed?”

  “No, I guess I haven’t.”

  I looked back at Peter. “It’s pretty great,” I said. “Thanks for showing it to me.”

  He nodded. “Thanks for coming with me. It’s not as nice when you have no one to share it with.”

  “So you’ve never had a picnic here with anybody?”

  He laughed. “A picnic? No, I’ve never had a picnic anywhere. Do people still do picnics?”

  “Yeah, they do. And I want to come back in the summer and have one, okay?”

  “Sure,” he said with a grin.

  I dreamed about that idea for a second, then got excited about a new thought. “Oh, and a campout!” I screeched, grabbing onto his arm. “Wouldn’t that be fun?”

  Peter laughed again. “Don’t you have parents?”

  “Eh . . . yeah,” I sulked, knowing he was right. Dad wouldn’t let me camp here.

  “When we’re older,” said Peter.

  I nodded at him. “Sounds like a plan.”

  ~

  The squish of our footsteps on the muddy forest floor and the sweet songs of the birds as they enjoyed their bath in the sunbeams added to the magic of this forest that had completely enchanted me. My mind wandered dreamingly to a far-off place somewhere with the lake, with my sweet grandmother, whom I never knew, and with Peter, who seemed to fit in so perfectly with whatever this new life of mine was.

  “Your house is just up here,” said Peter, pulling me from my daze.

  I turned to follow in the direction he was pointing, but in my usual turn of clumsy unluckiness, my foot caught and twisted on an otherwise innocuous snow-covered divot.

  “Ouch!”

  A sharp stab pierced my ankle. I tipped away from the pain and Peter caught me by my elbow.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah. It’s my ankle. But I think it’s okay. Stupid clumsy me like always.”

  “Can you walk?”

  I tried to get up, but the pain shot through my foot again. “Ouch. Ouch. Ouch!”

  “Okay. No, don’t try that again. If you can lean on me for support, your house isn’t too much farther. Or should I go get help? Is your mom or dad home?”

  “Just Dad . . . and Millie.” I winced. “But no, it’s okay. I think I can manage.” I braced myself using Peter’s shoulder and pushed myself up. We took a couple of steps together. “This is okay. It doesn’t hurt.”

  “Okay. Just through here, and we’ll
come up to the back of your house, near the barn.”

  I wobbled alongside Peter and we exited the forest and entered my backyard. We were on the side of the barn and in plain view of the kitchen window that looked out to the rear of the property. The door opened. It was Dad.

  “Crap. My dad’s home,” I mumbled under my breath.

  “Ellie?” called Dad. He quickly started toward us.

  “Yeah, Dad. It’s me,” I called back. “Don’t worry, I’m okay!” I was hoping to put him at ease before he reached us.

  He crossed the distance between us quickly and was by my side, taking over as my walking stick, pushing Peter aside and doing an impressive job of completely ignoring him.

  “What happened?” asked Dad.

  “Oh, I think it’s fine. I wasn’t paying attention. I think it’s just twisted.”

  He moved me to the house and plopped me down on the wooden porch swing.

  Peter stood stiffly at the bottom of the stairs while Dad examined my ankle.

  “Hey, Dad,” I said, trying to get him to focus his attention on me and not my expanding foot. I was staring at Peter, who seemed nervous and unsure of what to do with himself. I wanted to introduce them so he didn’t have to stand there like an awkward outcast.

  “What were you doing in the woods? Millie said you were at the lake,” Dad asked, ignoring me.

  “Yeah, I was. I’m sorry. We just decided to come back through the woods since the trails lead here.”

  “I think it’s just a sprain. I’ll go get some ice.” He got up and started for the door.

  “Hey, Dad!” I called out again, trying to stop him.

  “Yup?” he said, finally snapping out of his worried-dad mode.

  I gestured to Peter. “Dad, this is Peter. He’s a friend I met in town.” Dad turned toward Peter. “Peter worked for Granny Leira here mowing the lawn and stuff,” I added, thinking Dad might need a positive spin for this boy who brought me home limping.

  “Is that right?” asked Dad.

  “Yes, sir,” said Peter, glancing up politely before his gaze reverted to his sneakers.

  Dad eyed him for a minute, then turned to me. I screwed my face awkwardly—silently pleading—in an attempt to get Dad to be nice to him. His placid expression gave no signs I was getting through. He turned back to Peter.

  “Well, Peter,” he said. “Maybe we can find you some work around here come spring.” His tone was kind and unassuming. I smiled at Dad—beaming and proud.

  Peter’s shoulders fell with relief. “Yeah, I could do that, sir.”

  “All right, we’ll talk about it later.” Dad opened the door. “Right now, I’m going to go get some ice for your foot,” he said and went in.

  “Hey, I should probably get going,” said Peter. He climbed the steps and sat beside me.

  “Oh, okay. Are you sure? You don’t have to. My dad’s fine. He was just worried about me.”

  “Yeah, I know. He seems cool. I should go, though. My mom’s probably waiting for me. She usually needs me to babysit my brother when she works at night.”

  “Okay. If you have to. Hey, give me your phone so I can add my number.”

  I put out a hand.

  “I don’t have a cell phone,” said Peter.

  “Oh.” I was perplexed. “Email then?”

  “No, sorry. My mom’s weird about the computer,” he said, sounding embarrassed. “How about I just call you from my house?”

  “Okay.” I smiled. “We’ll be old school.”

  “Do you have a pen?”

  “Oh, yeah, check my bag. The front pocket.”

  He rummaged through the bag and found a pen. “What’s your number?” he asked.

  I grabbed the pen and pulled his hand into mine. I wrote my number on his palm and closed it.

  “It was nice meeting you, Peter Evans,” I said with a smile.

  “You too, Ellie . . .” He fished for my last name.

  “Heart.”

  “Ellie Heart,” he said, bobbing his head and looking at me like he was stumped on something. “You’re pretty cool, Ellie. And I’m still not sure if you’re real.”

  I reached up and pinched his arm. “You think I’m cool, do you?”

  “Yeah, I do,” he said, laughing and rubbing my pinch away.

  “You don’t know me well enough if you think that. I can be quite a dork sometimes. Just wait, you’ll see.”

  He laughed again. “Can’t wait,” he said, getting up and starting toward the driveway. “Take care of that ankle.”

  “Bye, Peter.” I waved goodbye and watched as he headed down the road and out of sight.

  7

  My ankle ended up being a bigger pain in the butt than was necessary. The hole I tripped in wasn’t even a hole; it was more like Bigfoot’s thumbprint, really, but here I was with a big fat brace strapped to my foot, weighing me down and making me miserable.

  I had been cooped up in the house for days now. Winter had come on fierce again. After that last warm day with Peter, an unrelenting cold front swooped in and hovered over our area like a ghost, frosty and mean. Now, a winter storm warning was in effect for our county, and we were hunkered down for the night with no prospect of leaving.

  I hadn’t heard from Peter since he left four days ago. I was beginning to wonder if everything was okay, but I figured he was just busy with his family. I had been primed my whole life to rely on cell phones, so it was hard to get past the idea that I couldn’t text or call him, and the lack of communication was making me feel like I had been whisked away and plopped right back down into the Dark Ages.

  I was upstairs, sketching in my new journal. It wasn’t a drawing of Peter, but I had doodled his name in bubble letters a couple of times on Monday after our day together. Right now, I was staring out the window at the backyard, sketching the forest skyline. The jagged silhouette reminded me of the big buildings in the city, and I imagined I was back home, gazing out over the harbor.

  I didn’t miss it like I thought I would, but I tucked the fond memories of my other life somewhere warm and cozy in the back of my mind with a smile.

  I continued to watch out the window. It was twilight—that lovely time of day just after the sun falls behind the horizon. It would be dark soon. But for now, the light lingered and lit the snowflakes as they began to slowly fall, one by one.

  From up here, I could see the entire backyard. And beyond the forest, where the light was the brightest, I could just make out the dark and distant lake.

  I imagined on a sunny day it would be glistening and sparkling in the sunlight. And I longed for a hot summer day where Peter and I could swim and play by the dock until nightfall. I wondered again where he was.

  There was quite a commotion coming from downstairs. Dad and Millie were enjoying their respite from adulthood, and it sounded as though Millie had had one too many glasses of wine. Dad had his guitar out and they were singing and playing their favorite country tunes together. Millie’s high-pitched laughter played easily over the music, and to my surprise, there was an occasional note of laughter from Dad. It was a side of him only Millie could bring out, and it always made me love her that much more.

  The sky had darkened now, and my drawing was either finished or would have to be completed another day. It didn’t matter. I closed my journal and turned to check my phone again. Maybe I had missed a call from Peter—no.

  That was when I saw it: a quick, bright flash of light coming from outside. What was that? I turned back to the window, but all was black. I got up to flick the light switch on the wall, then pressed my nose to the windowpane.

  I strained my eyes but saw nothing. It could have been lightning, I told myself. Thundersnow, I remembered from science class. Surely, that was all it had been. Realizing my foolishness, I turned away.

  Again! Quick and bright. A single beam of light, like a flashlight turning on, then quickly off again. My heart pounded in my chest. Who was down there?

  My eyes searched the d
arkness. Then I saw it.

  It was just a shadow. Near the barn. I could faintly make out the silhouette of something big—an animal of some kind, I was certain. I couldn’t tell what I was looking at, though. A deer? No. It was much bigger. With another flash of light, I saw what might be . . . a horse? What?

  Without a thought, I got up and ran down the stairs. As quickly as I could, I made my way down both sets, big fat brace and all. If my ankle was getting reinjured, I didn’t notice.

  Dad and Millie were in the living room, so I circled around and entered the kitchen through the dining room. I grabbed my coat near the door and ran out the back.

  The light flashed again. I cautiously walked toward it. As I neared the side of the barn, a creature emerged. A horse—maybe. But unlike any horse I had ever seen. It was bigger, with long, lean legs. It had thick, shiny white hair and was slender with a graceful walk that made me think of an elegant ballet dancer prancing around on stage in her pointed shoes. Its eyes glowed brightly in the darkness. They were big, sparkling, and blue. They locked with mine.

  Slowly, it began to approach.

  “Ellie!” called Dad from the door. “Get back in here!”

  The animal was startled by Dad’s voice and turned away. Just before it did, I saw the flash of light once more. It seemed to hover above the creature’s head. But no, it was coming from the tip . . . of a singular, spiraling horn that stretched long and sharp from its forehead.

  The wind whipped around me, and I stood frozen.

  8

  It took a whole day to dig ourselves out of the mess that fell that night, and by the time the walkways had been cleared and there was a spot in the driveway for the car, another storm began its fury.

  The weather had pushed the start of school out by another few days, and I was stuck at home waiting . . . for some kind of life to start already! I hurled my whiny knot of desperation at the mean universe that kept throwing snowballs at me.

  The isolation was on me full and strong and the cabin fever was hot, very hot. No . . . stifling, very stifling. It was too much.

  And my extraordinarily gigantic—bigger than the universe—secret wasn’t helping. I wanted to tell Peter, but he never called, and I was past the point of thinking he would.