The next day at school passed mostly without incident. Jane kept her head down and took notes, occasionally tracing the outline of the silver key under her blouse with her finger. Audrey and the Mean Girls from Hell kept their distance but made sure that Jane could feel them leering at her and could overhear their childish taunts. Jane tried to ignore them, thinking about the impossible room and the strange key that now hung around her neck like some weird souvenir. What did it all mean? The fact that Luke could experience it too just made it even stranger. It meant she wasn’t going crazy, which would be the simplest explanation. Her neuroscientist mother had always said that a scientist goes for the simplest explanation of a particular phenomenon. Occam’s razor, she called it.


    Luke was doing his level best to appear as if he wasn’t waiting for Jane after school as he waited for her after school. Jane thought it was sweet, and she smiled when she saw him. They hadn’t spoken since the previous afternoon in the secret room in her attic.


    “Hey,” said Luke. “So I was thinking, maybe I could do a little profile of you for the school paper.”


    Jane scrunched up her nose. “Why?”


    Luke shifted his feet. “Well, I figured if everyone knew more about you, then you wouldn’t be a stranger. And maybe Audrey and her hell girls would be a little nicer to you.”


    “I don’t know…maybe?”


    Luke brightened at this. “Listen, if you’re not doing anything, I’d like to introduce you to some of my friends. I think you guys would get along great.”


    Hating the thought of being alone in that gigantic house until her father got home, Jane said, “Sure.”


    They walked away from the school, going in a different direction than the day before. A few blocks later Jane found herself in a quaint town square, dominated by an old courthouse and a ring of shops and other buildings. Among the usual small-town offerings–a drug store, a barber shop–Jane was surprised to see a tattoo parlor. A white sign painted in flowing black ink declared it as Miskatonic Ink. Jane followed Luke into a storefront labeled simply Books in chipped gold paint. A little brass bell over the door announced their presence.


    The inside was dimly lit, the only light coming from floor lamps spread around at odd intervals. Huge shelves were crammed with paperbacks and hardcover books separated by category: Romance. Mystery. Sci-Fi. To their right was a long, glass-topped counter upon which sat a fat and very bored-looking black cat.


    Jane hurried over to the feline. “Hello,” she cooed, carefully stroking its head. The cat sat up, startled, looking affronted as it appraised this interruption of its nap, then settled back down. “Are you the proprietor?”


    Luke laughed. “That’s Mrs. McGonagal. You know, from Harry Potter? Because she turned into a cat?”


    Jane nodded. “Right.”


    “Come on,” said Luke with a jerk of his head. “Everyone should be back here.”


    Jane waved bye-bye to Mrs. McGonagal and followed Luke through a labyrinth of Nancy Drews and Erle Stanley Gardners and Harlequin Romance to a wide sitting area. A boy and two girls sat on the mismatched furniture. The boy was thumbing through an issue of Cosmo.


    “Hey, guys.” said Luke. “I’d like you to meet Jane.


    The boy flung the magazine aside and crossed toward them. “Hey, New Girl.”


    “Jane, this is Quincy, Arkham’s resident out and proud gay man.”


    “At your service, milady.” He did an exaggerated curtsy, which made Jane giggle. Quincy was tall, rail thin, with dark skin, slicked black hair, and intense brown eyes. “Saw your mean girl drama in the caff with Audrey the Queen Bitch of the Universe yesterday. That was pretty major. Don’t let those bitches get you down. Audrey’s just jealous because she doesn’t have your cheekbones. Seriously, girl, what’s your regimen? Do you even have pores?”


    Jane smiled, “I don’t…”


    “I’m just showing her around town,” said Luke, interrupting him.


    Don’t blink,” said the first girl. She had straight brown hair and wore glasses. “You’ll miss it. Chloe Peaslee.”


    Jane shook her hand.


    “This is a nice bookstore,” said Jane, glancing around.


    “It’s my aunt’s,” said Chloe. “I run it for her for a couple hours after school.”


    The second girl stood and came over, fingers jammed into her pockets. She was older, wearing blue jeans, black motorcycle boots and a black t-shirt with Miskatonic Ink printed on the front in white lettering. A swirling tattoo sleeve wove its intricate way up her right arm, and she had a thick mop of curly blond hair.


    “I’m Odessa Ridley,” she said. “My parents own the tattoo shop down the street.”


    “Cool,” said Jane, and she meant it.


    Odessa smiled. “When you turn eighteen, come see me. I’ll hook you up with some sweet ink.” Odessa pried a hand from her pocket and Jane took it, feeling an electric jolt as both of them pulled their hands back. Odessa got a weird look on her face, and began chewing her bottom lip.


    “Quincy’s from Boston, Odessa and her family moved here from Worchester about five years ago, but Chloe here’s tenth-generation Arkham,” said Luke. He pronounced "Worchester" like "Wusta."


    “Twelfth,” Chloe corrected.


    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    Luke extended his arms, indicating the group. “We are the Arkham Historical Society.”


    Jane blinked, not knowing what to say to that. An auspicious name like that conjured images of old ladies knitting in the genealogy room of the local library, while old men hunched in front of microfiche readers or big dusty volumes of ancient, bound newspapers so stiff and yellow they looked as if they would crumble at the slightest touch. “OK.”


    “We all help out with Luke’s podcast,” said Odessa. I do some art, Q and Chloe help run down story leads.”


    “And why do you all do this?”


    “Boredom,” said Quincy with a roll of his eyes. “Seriously, New Girl. This town is boring AF. At least that’s what we thought at first.”


    Chloe nodded. “Turns out there’s a lot of weird stuff bubbling over the surface.”


    “You should know,” said Quincy. To Jane he says, “Girl got a double dose of it in her own family.”


    “Shut up, Q,” Chloe said, punching him in the shoulder.


    “Ow!”


    “Knock it off, you two,” said Odessa. “Look, this meet and greet has been fun and all, but I gotta get back to the shop. I’ll have the cover image for the next podcast over to you by tonight, OK? Later.”


    With that Odessa headed toward the front of the bookstore and exited, the little brass bell tinkling.


    “What’s her deal?” Jane asked.


    “Culture shock,” said Quincy. “She’s an outsider like you. Though the girl needs to learn to deal. She’s only been here for five years.”


    “She’s older than us, right?”


    Luke nodded. “Graduated two years ago.”


    “So she buys you guys beers.”


    Luke blushed. Chloe giggled.


    “Sometimes,” Luke said.


    “Girl, what kind of gay man would I be if I had to have a girl buy me beer?” Quincy said, putting on his best shocked and appalled face.


    “The kind that doesn’t live within a thousand miles of another gay man,” said Chloe.


    “Logistics. Six percent of the population is gay. They’re just hiding it because of the rich vein of puritanism running through this town.”


    Chloe rolled her eyes but said nothing.


    “Odessa can be a little intense at times,” said Luke. “She’s prone to these, uh, psychic flashes.”


    Jane’s mouth fell open. “You really think she’s psychic?”


    Luke shrugged. “I think Odessa thinks she is.”


    “Personally, I think they’re hot flashes,” Quincy said.


    Chloe punched him again.


    “Ow!”


    Jane smiled. “Is every meeting of the Arkham Historical Society like this?”


    “No,” said Quincy. “Sometimes there’s beer. Well, gotta run, girls. Later.”


    Quincy sauntered out the door.


    “Well,” said Chloe. “It was nice meeting you, Jane. But I gotta get back to work. I’ll see you at school tomorrow, OK?”


    “Sure,” said Jane with a smile. She liked the thought of having another girl to talk to, and Chloe seemed friendly. More friendly than Odessa.


    “I should get home too,” Jane said. “I still have lots of unpacking to do.”


    “Mind if I walk with you?”


    “Not at all.”


    They waved bye to Chloe and Mrs. McGonagal as they left the bookstore, standing out in front of it for a long moment. Jane didn’t exactly want to go home, but she didn’t want to hang around in front of a used bookstore either. Fortunately, Luke took the lead, Jane following him away from the store and back up the street the way they came.


    “So what do you think?” Luke said after they’d traversed half a block.


    “About what?”


    “About the historical society.”


    Jane stopped, turning to look at him. “What? You want me to join your little club?”


    Luke looked hurt, and Jane felt a stab of regret.


    “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it to sound like that. I’m just not much of a joiner.”


    “It’s OK,” said Luke. “I just thought, since you’re from out of town, you’d be…you’d want…”


    The unfinished words hung heavy in the early autumn air between them.


    “Listen. I have to go. My dad should be home soon. I need to make dinner. See you tomorrow?”


    Jake nodded sadly.


    Still feeling guilty, she added, “You need to interview me for my profile.”


    Luke brightened. “Yeah. Yes. Of course. Yeah, see you tomorrow.”


    They parted ways, Luke trudging toward the other side of the square and Jane going back the way they’d come. She still didn’t quite know her way around, but the layout of the town was easy enough. She knew their house was near the college, so she walked west until she could just make out the tall brick smokestack of what her father had told her was the old maintenance and generator plant.


    Jane passed Miskatonic ink on her right and paused to look inside. There through the plate glass window she could see Odessa doing something to a gleaming tattoo gun. They locked eyes for a moment, Odessa’s face cold but impassive before she returned to her work. Jane moved away quickly, wondering what had passed between them back at the bookstore. It felt as if Odessa didn’t like her for some reason, and she had enough of that going on at school already. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe she had just imagined it. But she didn’t think so.


    As Jane walked toward home she watched the sky as gray clouds stacked heavy in the east, promising some of that dreary New England weather she’d heard so much about. The town beneath it took on an ominous cast, and she felt herself walking quickly past the boarded-up home where, according to Luke, strange, dark rites had allegedly taken place so long ago.


    She saw a few people as she walked by, checking their mailboxes or raking up the first batch of early autumn leaves, dour New England faces staring at her with a mix of wonder, fear, and disdain. The people of Arkham didn’t cotton to outsiders, but Jane saw no reason outsiders should be particularly enamored of them either. She kept her head down and speed-walked up the street until her shins were on fire, not stopping until she reached the crumbling steps that led to the house. She didn’t think of it as hers, and doubted she ever would. It was a waystation. A stopping place. A detour. A limbo purgatory of gambrel roofs and dusty eaves. And, as it turned out, a secret room that shouldn’t exist. As soon as Jane graduated, she’d be gone. She intended to apply to every far off college she could just to get away from this place. From Arkham. From her father and the painful memories they shared.


    Jane sensed movement out of the corner of her eye and jerked right as the tall thin man she’d seen the day she and her father moved in was mounting his bicycle and speeding away. She watched him as he pedeled down the block and disappeared around the corner. Her heart thudded in her chest even though whatever danger there might have been had passed. She made a mental note to ask Luke who the man was as she unlocked the door and went inside, making a point to lock the deadbolt behind her.