《Reaping Autumn》


 Chapter 1

    "I can''t just pretend like I don''t see them. I don''t have that luxury. I tried to when I was younger, just ignoring them, but eventually you get tired of being afraid and the fear becomes white noise."


    <hr>


    Hearing the cries of the dead has a funny way of turning someone into a loner. I mean, it''s not like I actively avoid making friends, but how could anyone ever understand? They don''t know what it''s like to see an extra shadow in a crowd, or hear extra voices at night, or feel an extra pair of eyes staring at them when they''re alone. I''d rather just avoid the judgmental stares of the local flesh monsters, AKA my classmates.


    Living in a world surrounded by ghosts kind of changes your perspective on things. I became desensitized to floating dead bodies by the time I was twelve, so I don''t care who gets voted prom queen, or if my shoes are out of style. My sneakers are looking pretty rough though.


    I glance at my worn checkered shoes as my eyes trace the long cracks in the sidewalk. My daily commute borders a narrow two-lane road, stretching from the southern edge of town to the high school. I make the same trek, end to end, every weekday. I distract myself from the world around me by stepping over every crack, casually avoiding any eye contact with both the living and the dead. It''s harder than it sounds actually. Greenfield is like a million years old after all, and there are many cracks... and many dead.


    Greenfield is a tiny forgotten town, visited only by those coming to see their grandparents once a year. Its many amenities include houses so old they¡¯re practically museums, a library of books approved by the local church, and a creepy forest where two kids went missing last month. What more could a girl want?


    My black hoodie hides my face, and the morning chill tickles the tip of my nose. Winter is finally here. The sweet smell of morning dew lasts a little longer, and the nearby woods are little quieter. The overcast sky drains the color from everything, not that Greenfield is teeming with color (it isn''t), it just fills me with a little bit of calmness.


    Fuck. The calmness is gone.


    The air in my lungs evaporates as I pass a lone abandoned house, and a cold tingling fear creeps up my spine. I freeze, my feet firmly planted perpendicular to the brick steps leading to the front door. I refuse to turn my head and look at the house, knowing that something-someone is staring right back.


    The Davidson''s house went up in flames last year. Both the parents and their son died in the fire. Now the house just sits here, covered in caution tape, boarded up, and very haunted.


    I''ve been avoiding this particular spirit for a while. It''s just too sad, and frankly, it creeps me out. I close my eyes, breathe in slowly, and exhale in preparation for what is about to happen. "You can do this Autumn," I lie to myself. Then, I look up at the house.


    I open my eyes and everything is black. Everything, except the house, which burns with white hot flames. I can feel the boiling heat against my face. The fire roars and cracks as wood snaps, sending embers flying into the sky like a swarm of wasps. But one sound penetrates all of it and bangs around inside my skull¡ªa little boy screaming. His wails are filled with pure unfiltered terror, broken up with bouts of crying and coughing.


    I use my hand to shield my eyes from the blinding light and search for the source. Then I find him, just a dark silhouette in the top left window. He stares down at me with two hollowed out sockets where his eyes should be, and his jaw stuck open unnaturally wide. His body is completely still, devoid of any life. His screams ring in my ears, as if he''s standing right behind me, shifting from one ear to the other. "HELP. ME."


    "No. No. NO. NO!" I close my eyes and press my hands against my temples. "Get out of my head!"


    Then, it''s gone. The heat is quickly replaced with the winter breeze once more, and silence returns. I open my eyes again. The house has returned to its old, charred, boarded up self. I look back to the top left window, hoping, praying he''s gone. A shiver runs down my neck. One could mistake it for a simple reflection, but I see it¡ªhis silhouette still staring down at me.


    "Fine." My breath shudders, and I make my decision. "Today, I''m coming back for you, chiquito. I promise." I continue my walk to school.


    Davidson house: Residual/Intelligent/Poltergeist


    Intelligent. I''ve had a gut feeling all year, but that connection earlier made it absolutely clear. Only Intelligent spirits can reach out like that.


    Pretty and dull.


    is a perfectly rational fear. I could get caught. I could get hurt. I could fucking die. Plus, I have no idea what other spirits are haunting that house. What if there''s a poltergeist?


    Fear, unchecked, will destroy you. Fuck it.


    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

 Chapter 2

    "Whispers crawl into my ear like roaches. Eyes glare at me in the dark, and shadows dart just out of view. But nothing compares to the crushing fear of feeling an emotion that doesn''t belong to me, like an uninvited hatred willing itself into my body."


    <hr>


    Black scars cover the front of the house and stain the white paint like a disease, corrupting everything it touches. The burn marks begin from the garage and crawl up to the second story. Every entrance and window on the first floor is boarded up tight. This town is filled with old craftsmen who have nothing better to do, so every plank fits perfectly, and every gap is tighter than a penny. Caution tape and warning signs are plastered everywhere, making the message clear. Do not fucking enter.


    Maybe the rear entrance will offer better luck. I''m careful to take stock of every car in the area and ensure I''m not being watched. I slip out of view just as a woman runs by with her dog. Her little shih tzu yaps in my direction as she passes, but the woman anxiously tugs at the leash and drags her dog past the house with haste. I guess no one likes lingering near this place.


    Energy radiates out from the house in nauseating waves. It''s a sad and helpless feeling. It reminds me of when I''d sit in my room listening to my parents scream at each other. It sits on my shoulders and presses on my lungs like a weighted blanket. I try to shake it off as I walk around the side of the house.


    The backyard is surrounded by a tall wooden fence that borders the woods. Damn. The gate is locked. I''m not especially tall, so climbing won''t be easy. Hopefully there''s a gap in the fence around the back.


    I try not to think too hard about the woods as I step over the thick brush. Thicket Grove is a forested wetland. It stinks like a musty old fish tank, sour with stagnant water and decaying plants. My house also borders these woods, and I can never identify the animal howls and shrieks I hear at night. To top it all off, two kids went missing out here last month. So, I''m thankful the Davidson''s back yard doesn''t stretch too far into it.


    There''s a spot in the fence where some pickets are missing or broken. I peek my head through and immediately spot what I''ve been missing, the portal. It''s been behind the house this whole time and it''s almost completely faded. All that remains is a thin translucent vertical thread that stands only about five feet tall, subtly refracting the light behind it.


    The portal hovers between the back door and an old swing set. I twist my body to squeeze through the gap in the fence and walk up to the portal. I reach my hand out toward the glowing thread. It delicately flickers with a kaleidoscope of colors, reacting to my hand. These portals have always intrigued me. They feel like a trick of the light, like a cut in the fabric of reality. The first time I saw one, I mistook it for a single spider thread hanging from a tree. They give off no sound, not even a hum.


    Of course, the back door is locked. I attempt to force it open, shoving my shoulder into it, but it won''t budge. I click my tongue and step back. I hold out my arm with my palm facing the door. My face winces as I focus my thoughts on the door exploding. Come on... Nothing happens.


    I sigh. So temperamental. What good are powers if I can''t even use them? Okay, focus. What was I thinking about last time? The fog. Last year I was laying outside one day, watching the clouds roll across the sky. The fog slowly fell on the town like a blanket, making everything around me disappear. I took a long breath and-¡­


    WHAM!


    A gust of wind explodes from my palm and smacks against the door. The door doesn''t budge, but I gasp with excitement. I did it! So now when I''m in trouble, I just need to... meditate. Then a gust of wind will save me. Great. My shoulders drop as the excitement sputters out. Whatever, there has to be another way in.


    I scan the back of the house. There are a few windows, which I conclude are locked after minutes of trying to pry each of them open. I step back with frustration and notice a small window at the base of the house, hidden behind some overgrown grass. After a couple firm kicks, the glass shatters.


    I get on my knees and set my backpack on the ground. I dig around and find my flashlight. I''ve been doing this long enough to know that a decent flashlight tends to come in handy. So last year I got myself a heavy-duty torch, the same kind police use. I use the flashlight to break away the rest of the glass and I snap the old wooden frame off. I click the flashlight on and peer in through the window.


    It''s a dark basement with stairs at the other end of the room. The window sits just above a dusty washing machine. I pull a hair-tie from my wrist and pull my hair up, then zip up my backpack and slip it through the window. With my belly on the grass, I push my body through the window feet first.


    My feet find the top of the washing machine and I pull myself the rest of the way through. Immediately, I swing my flashlight around the room, creating a cone of light from the dust floating in the air. Spider webs spread across every corner and hang from the door frame of the stairs.


    I grab my backpack and throw it over my shoulder, and a sudden cold shiver crawls down my neck. The house groans, as if I just woke it up. Goosebumps spread up my arms. I shiver, attempting to shake off the fear. Then my torch suddenly dims to half its strength. Nope. I want out of this room, please.


    I begin to walk toward the stairs. My flashlight flickers. My pace quickens. I feel like someone is breathing down my back. Just as I reach the stairs, my light evaporates, and the darkness overtakes me. In the pitch black, I feel my face press hard against layers of spider webs. Unable to slow down in time, the webs wrap around my face. I swear I feel something creep down my shoulder.


    I shriek. With my hands outstretched, pressed against the walls for guidance, I bolt up the stairs and slam into the door. The old, scorched door frame obliterates with the sudden force. The door falls over flat and I crash down on top of it. I scratch at my face in a frenzy. I peel layers of sticky thread from my ears, my eyes, and my lips. I. Fucking. Hate. Spiders.


    The vibrations from my theatrics settle, and the dead silence returns. The air is frigid, even colder than the winter breeze outside. Dust drifts around me like curious little specters I''ve just awoken from a yearlong slumber. It covers the scorched d¨¦cor with a thin veil of gray. The smell of smoke permeates my senses, a reminder of the coffin I''ve just broken into.


    If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    I groan as I stand up. Pain vibrates up my shoulder. I can''t believe I broke through the door like that. You''re just jumpy because this house is warning you to stay out. I shake my head, silencing the invasive rationale. I brush the dust off my clothes and try to turn my flashlight back on. It flickers on for a moment, then dims into nothing. Click. Click. Nothing. What the hell? These batteries are brand new. I make a mental note to pack extra batteries from now on.


    Tap. Tap. Tap.


    A slow irregular dripping of water echoes through the house. I listen, unmoving, but its location eludes me. Then after only a few taps, it vanishes. Surely the water line was shut off by now. There must be a leak somewhere. Confused, I scan the dim interior.


    Nearly every window is boarded up, trapping me alone in shadow. Dead blue darkness resides in every corner. My breathing is shallow, and my throat tightens. The oppressive energy I felt outside the house is now suffocating. The hairs on my neck slowly lift as I inspect every dark corner, praying¡ªpleading that nothing is staring back at me.


    Tap. Tap. Tap.


    My senses are on overdrive, yet I can''t place these maddening drips. I''m at the center of the house, in the foyer. The stairs hug the wall and connect to the balcony overhead. I don''t dare look up. Near the entrance is an exposed doorway to the garage. The door is missing, and the frame is completely black. Char marks climb up the walls around it, blighting the once quaint home.


    I step over the fallen debris, remind myself to breathe, and peer into the garage. The black scorched walls vanish in the darkness, making the entire space resemble an endless void. I take out my phone and flip open the screen, then point the dim light out in front of me.


    The cars are still here, their frames like melted black bones. The plastic has bubbled and melted into solid puddles on the ground. The smell of gasoline assaults my nostrils as I enter. I wave my phone around, scanning the black room, but it''s useless. I can barely see anything further than a couple feet away.


    I open my phone''s camera. The bright flash from the picture blinds me for a moment. I take a couple more just in case. In the darkness, I stare down at the little screen. The stark white light reveals shades of bone and rust on the burned metal cars. The ceiling is completely burned away, revealing ashy black wooden beams struggling to support the roof.


    I flip to the next photo and my heart freezes. The dwindling air from my last shallow breath vanishes. In the center of the screen, sitting in the car, are two white eyes glaring at me. Two rotting eyeballs, nested in the obscure shape of a human head, gleam with hatred.


    "KEH-ACHK." A wheezing cough echoes through the garage.


    I jump back a step, barely keeping my phone in my hands. I shove back every urge to scream. I will my legs not to run, though every part of me wants to flee and my throat now has a heartbeat of its own.


    "Kid?" I breathe. "You in here?"


    The silence is not comforting, but it''s all the excuse I need to leave.


    "No? Cool."


    I enter the foyer once more and allow my tension to release. My phone beeps at me, warning me the battery is low. Sick.


    Tap. Tap. Tap.


    It''s definitely coming from another part of the house. I''m not sure why the sound of dripping water grips my attention. Its irregularity is nauseating. Perhaps it''s a welcome distraction from investigating whatever horrors await me upstairs.


    Quietly, I step through the hall toward the kitchen. This part of the house is preserved in time, unblemished by the flames. The kitchen, painted a faded yellow, is adorned with knickknacks, dishes, and handmade art projects. The living room at the opposing end has a TV, sofa, and family photos still hanging on the wall.


    I push back the heap of heartache that wells up in my chest as I look at the photos. Most of the pictures are of the mother and son together. The father is smiling in the background of a few, but even in the posed family photos, their son clings to his mom. They must have been close.


    I turn back to face the windows that look out toward the swing set, Thicket Grove looming in the background. The portal is still visible. I think it''s a bit shorter now. It will probably be gone by nightfall. My brows tighten as I look at it. Why is a portal outside if the family died in the house fire?


    Tap. Tap. Tap.


    I glare at the kitchen sink. I enter the kitchen and the foul smell of year-old meat invades my senses. I force down the bile that forms in my throat. I''m surprised extended family or someone hasn''t cleaned this place out by now. Greenfield might be in the middle of nowhere, but still. Why would they just leave this place like this? I pull my shirt collar over my nose and walk to the sink.


    The sink is covered with dust and dead bugs. Ants march in a line along the edge of the counter. Mold is festering on stacked dirty dishes. A cockroach crawls onto the plate and looks up at me, as if to examine the intruder. I twist the faucet handle using only the tip of my finger and thumb. A few drips fall from the nozzle, but the sound isn''t the same.


    Creeeeeak. The floor suddenly groans. My instincts spring to attention. I feel the air around me shift, as if something new fills the space. A cold breath brushes against my neck. Someone else is in this house. I can feel their eyes heating my skin. I slowly turn my head, using only my peripheral vision. I barely make out a black shadow, but it confirms my suspicions. I whip my face around to face the stalker.


    There''s nothing there. My eyes dart around the room, my hand tightly gripping a knife I pulled from the counter. I sigh with frustration and relax my shoulders. I don''t know what to trust anymore. I feel like this house is messing with me. Outside, I couldn''t quite place it. The house felt sad and helpless, which is expected for a fire. But inside, my mind swarms with... rage. Rage and heartbreak.


    A collage of childlike drawings adorns the fridge. There are coloring pages of dragons and medieval knights. Magnets hold up pictures of the mom and son playing with toy swords and costumes. My foot catches something on the floor. It''s a drawing of what seems to be a knight fighting a dragon. I pick it up and notice something written on the back. Mommy''s Royal Knight.


    Tap. Tap. Tap.


    The dripping, now obviously coming from upstairs¡ªif it''s even real, beckons me to fulfill my promise. That kid needs help. How hard could it be? I just need to convince a dead kid to leave his room and walk into an eerie portal. Easy.


    I return to the foyer and look up the scorched stairs. Every black step is covered with piles of debris from the bordering wall. The jagged railing is warped and cracked. Most of the balusters are missing or their bottoms have disintegrated into black splinters. It''s as if the fire walked up the stairs like a demon on a mission.


    I place my foot on the first step and carefully shift my weight. The wood wails in pain. I move closer to the wall, where the structure seems more stable. I don''t dare touch the handrail. If I begin to fall, that railing will likely crumble under my weight. I take every step slowly, afraid to even breathe.


    Suddenly, a loud SNAP explodes up my leg and the wood gives out from under my foot. Out of sheer survival instinct, I grab the charred railing at my peril. The handrail flakes away under my hand and broke into splinters. I recoil my hand, but not before sharp pain burns into my palm. I move my body to hug the wall and bolt up the stairs, caution be damned.


    I race to the top and drop to the floor, resting my back against the wall. Blood pools in my hand, mixing with the ash. A splinter the size of a snake fang is lodged into my palm. I pinch my skin and quickly pull it out and rub the bloody wound with my thumb. I sigh with relief, and a giggle sneaks out of my mouth. The sooner I leave this place the better. I lay my head against the wall and close my eyes. Then, the door to my right slowly creaks open.

 Chapter 3

    "If I''m bad at being a hero, does that make me the villain? It''s not like there are checks and balances for heroics. I never wanted these powers, and I sure as hell don''t deserve them."


    <hr>


    The door beside me is cracked open only a few inches. The blistered doorframe, marred with scorch marks, feels like it towers fifteen feet over me. The darkness creeps around the doorway and stretches out towards me. My vision blurs. I stand, bracing myself against the wall. My knees shake just holding my body up.


    There''s no way in hell I''m going in that room. There are two other rooms adjacent to it. The middle room looks to be a small bathroom. The room at the end of the hall must be the boy''s bedroom that faces the street. Which means the room beside me must be the master bedroom.


    I push my body from the wall and stumble down the hallway. My muscles are tired and weak. The floor feels like thick tar with every labored step. Is this hallway a hundred feet long? Finally, my hands grip the doorframe and I vault myself into the room.


    I press my fingers against my forehead and blink slowly. I shudder, as if to fling off the uneasiness, and slowly feel my energy return. It''s as I thought. This is the boy''s room. Half of the room is ravaged with the same black disease that infects the rest of the house. A rocking horse is warped and boiled. Toys on the ground are melted into little mounds of ooze. Debris from the ceiling is scattered around the room like gray confetti.


    "Hel-" My throat suddenly catches and tightens. I break into a fit of coughing and hacking. Something bulges in my throat and skulks into the back of my mouth. I spit it up onto the floor. Black. My spit is black, filled with ash. The longer I stay in this house, the less I believe I''m going to make it out.


    "Hello?" I say, now with a bit more urgency. I get no reply. I scout around the room a bit more. There''s clothing tossed in a pile in front of the closet. The closet door is wide open and a small blackened suitcase is melted beside it. What were you packing for?


    "Hello?" I try again. "Chiquito?" I close the closet door. A dressing mirror hangs on the other side of it. My reflection is a portrait of my emotional state. My messy hair is breaking free from the hair tie, springing in every direction. My black hoodie is covered in ash and dirt. The golden flakes in my eyes stand out against my dark ash-covered face. My backdrop, a scorched room from a childhood I never had. Then, I notice an additional face in this portrait.


    In the reflection I spot a small face peaking out from under the bed. My heart leaps into my throat, and my muscles stiffen.


    "Hey chiquito," I breathe. "I''m just here to help."


    Fear grips my body. Paranoia invades my mind, and every shadow now feels like a monster waiting to pounce. This isn''t my fear.


    "I know you''re scared," I say. I slowly raise my hands and begin to turn away from the mirror. I shift my eyes toward the bed and spot the little face looking up at me.


    "The dragon will get you," his tiny voice whispers in the back of my skull. He must think the house is still burning.


    "It''s okay, the fire is gone. You can come out now."


    "The fire is a lie," he mutters.


    "Th¡ª" I blink. What a weird statement. "That''s right. The fire is a lie." I slowly step toward the bed and kneel, my hands outstretched to show I mean no harm.


    His little face recoils under the bed. "The dragon got mommy."


    I notice the toy sword beside the bed. Maybe his imagination is the only thing he can understand right now. He probably doesn''t even realize he''s dead.


    "Are you¡ª" I clear my throat, attempting to tap into my best clich¨¦ heroic voice. "Are you the queen''s royal knight?" I ask, puffing my chest out. Those two empty eyes return from the darkness. "Your reinforcements have arrived," I say with a smile. "I''ve come to help you vanquish the dragon and return you to your queen."


    "I''m scared," he whispers from beside me. I flinch. The boy suddenly stands beside me now, as if he had always been there. His skin is a pale blue and his eyes are dark and sunken in, but he looks completely real. A small river of blood stains his forehead.


    "It''s okay," I reply. I stand back up and hold my hand out. "We''ll do it together."


    I feel his ice cold fingers wrap around my hand. His skin feels soft and delicate, like a real physical hand. He turns to face the door and bile starts to creep into my throat. The back of his skull drips blood down his back, staining his shirt. There is a hole in this boy''s head.


    I quickly look away, my eyes wide with hatred, fear, disgust, anguish. What the fuck happened here?


    "Don''t be scared," his haunting voice echoes between my ears. "I''ll protect you."


    I breathe. "Okay. Let''s go."


    We reach the doorway and I peer around the corner. The hallway is much shorter than I remember. My senses seem much more reliable now. The blackened hallway is dark and wraps around to the stairs. However, there is one crucial update. The master bedroom door is now wide open.


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    "You ready?" I offer. "Stay beside me."


    We carefully step down the hall, the wood creaking with every shift of my weight. I try not to look into the dark bedroom, but I keep glancing into it, praying that nothing is staring back. My heart thumps in my chest. That persistent uneasiness I feel through the house, its center is in this room. I just need to get past it.


    Tap.


    That damned dripping. My eyes peer into the bedroom. I can''t help it. The dripping is coming from inside the room.


    Tap.


    I freeze in front of the doorway. In the darkness, I make out the shape of a bed. A woman lays across it, her head hanging over the edge. Her eyes, filled with shock, stare blankly past me. Her neck is bruised and black. The top of her head is bored open, a hole so wide it cracks her head like an egg. Blood drips from her skull, filling a pool of dark crimson on the wood panel floor.


    TAP.


    I take a sharp breath and turn away from the room, but as I turn around a new face stands before me. A man''s rotten hate-filled eyes glare at me. His skin is boiled and black.


    Heat sears my skin as the house rages with crimson flames. A blazing fire consumes the entire house, crawling up the walls and flooding my vision with bright white heat. The cracking, snapping, biting flames surround me.


    I shriek and step backward into the bedroom. His charred body steps closer. The kid looks at me with desperation from behind him.


    "You," I stammer. "Killed them."


    He approaches closer, releasing a deep growl. Flaming debris falls from the ceiling like snow.


    "They wanted to leave, but you¡ª" I look at the boy as my back presses against the dresser at the end of the room. "You''re the dragon." My voice shudders, as my mind races. The boy didn''t die in the fire. He was shot outside first. "The fire was a lie."


    He releases a decrepit breath through his teeth. Then, with a sudden snarl he leaps toward me. I quickly duck past him, and bolt back to the boy. I grab his hand and yank him toward the stairs. I pause for a moment as the flames climb. It must be an illusion. It has to be, but the heat¡ªthe pain feels undoubtedly real. I take one step and I feel something coarse violently grab my arm.


    The man''s bony fingers clamp around my arm, digging into my skin. "YOU CANNOT LEAVE!" He roars through his broken jaw.


    "Let go of me!" I scream, and rip my arm from his grasp. My weight shifts back toward the stairs and my balance slips. I turn to grab the railing and brace myself, but it disintegrates under my hand. Time seems to slow for a moment as the boy looks at me in horror. The entire railing buckles under my weight.


    SSSNAP!


    The railing gives out. My ankle twists unnaturally and my body falls from the top of the stairs. My stomach leaps into my throat as I plummet through the air. My hands flail, reaching for anything, but find nothing.


    My back slams onto the pile of scorched debris on the ground. Searing pain screams across my body. My head swells with agony. I gasp for oxygen. My lungs desperate to regain the air that evacuated my body. My vision is blurred. I can barely piece together my surroundings.


    Then, his face, his wretched face hovers over me. He produces a toothy grin as his bony fingers wrap around my neck. An immense weight pushes down on my chest. I grab his arms and push, pull, and twist them, but he only squeezes harder. I need to breathe. I NEED to breathe. Then, I remember the powers I used on the door.


    I close my eyes and attempt to find the same mindset that unleashed my powers. The fog. Think about the fog. I extend my palms, but nothing happens. It''s not working. I slam my fist into his chest. His ribs snap and I feel my hand enter his slimy body. He fucking grins at me. I take my hands and scratch, scrape, pull, and gouge at his face. He growls and pushes harder into my neck.


    I''m going to die. Tears squeeze from my eyes. Darkness forms around my vision. My lungs are on fire, screaming for air. I desperately look around for something¡ªanything. I find the boy''s face floating towards me. His cold fingers wrap around my hand.


    "Don''t be scared." His little voice pierces through my forehead.


    Suddenly, I feel his presence vibrate through my body. I close my eyes. His desperation, his fear, and his anger floods my memories. I remember when his father first hit his mom. I remember his mother packing his clothing, he pleaded her not to. He didn''t understand. I remember his father taking him out back.


    Something foreign crawls through my body. It worms its way up my arm and hits every nerve on the way up. Panic floods my senses and I scream. I wail. I don''t know if any sound comes out, but I explode with fear.


    A wave of heat fills my skin. White flames erupt from my body with a deafening boom. The weight is suddenly lifted from my neck and I watch the scorched face disintegrate into a fine black mist. The persistent roar of the flames abruptly suffocates into silence, as if it was never there.


    The white energy slams into every wall in the house, then vanishes. The windows shatter. Debris falls from the ceiling and the house shudders. I hack and cough, clutching my throat. I twist my body to get away, to get anywhere but here.


    My hands clamber against the wall to hoist my body up. I stand, my arms extended out to defend myself from his next attack. I search the foyer for him, but I don''t see him.


    My vision clears. The flames are gone, the man is gone, and the boy is nowhere to be seen. The stairs are splintered and the railing hangs upside down. Even the energy, the heavy oppressive energy, is gone. What just happened?


    I stumble down the hall toward the kitchen, and look out the back window. The portal is gone. What have I done? I search around the house for any remnant of the boy, unsure if he was ever there to begin with. No. He was here. Did I kill him?


    Vomit begins to boil in my stomach. I race back down the hall to the guest bathroom. I throw my face into the dusty yellow sink, but I swallow it back down and take a deep breath. You''re fine. Just shock.


    I look up at the mirror above the sink. My eyes are black. I stumble back in horror. The whites of my eyes are a dark glossy oil. Webs of black veins spread from my eyes and slither down my cheek bones.


    I squeeze my eyes shut and rub my face, but the vision doesn''t pass. Slowly, the black webs retract and my eyes return to their natural brown. However, something about them feels unfamiliar. The golden flakes. Are there more of them now? No. It''s just shock. I''m clearly seeing things.


    I shake my head, as if to shake away the crazy. I walk back to the rear entrance, unlock it and step out. I feel like I just woke up from a dream. I know what I saw and felt. My back is killing me and my clothing is drenched in sweat, but the house looks completely normal.


    I step out through the crack in the fence, and into Thicket grove. Something catches my eye. There''s a girl standing far in the distance. Her face looks familiar, but I can''t quite place it.


    "Beware the cannibal."

 Chapter 4

    "Nothing remained. Nothing. I destroyed them both. The tender weight of the boy''s existence vanished like it was never there. And I''ll never forgive myself."


    <hr>


    My vision drifts into a thoughtless blur as I stand in the shower, unmoving. The cool water glides across my skin, caressing the bruises already forming on my back. My mind hides away somewhere I can''t find it, and I stand in the shower watching the dust from my skin swirl down the drain.


    How long have I been standing here? Did I wash my hair? I think so.


    I got home before my mom. Not much of a surprise there, but it gave me time to clean up and get out of my dirty clothes. I finish my shower and wrap my body in a fresh towel. I muster up a bit of bravery and take another look in the mirror.


    I pull at my cheeks, searching for any black veins, but I only find a new pimple. All normal, if normal even applies here anymore. Deep red handprints wrap around my neck, proof he was there. I need to cover them up somehow.


    The front door opens and shuts.


    "Mija?" Mom calls out.


    "I''m upstairs," I shout back, but I don''t wait for a reply. If you want to talk to me, you come talk to my face, an opinion my mother has made abundantly clear.


    I grab my dad''s old green hoodie. Hopefully, it covers the bruises on my neck enough to slip under mom''s nose. It drapes over my body just past my hips, and the sleeves hang over my fingertips. I slip my thumbs through the holes I cut in the sleeves, then bundle the fabric and press it into my face. It still smells like him, like cypress wood and lemon. I''ll never wash it.


    My throat still stings with bile, and my stomach isn''t very welcoming to the dry chicken and rice on my plate. Nevertheless, I force it down. I''d rather be sick than listen to another lecture on wasted food.


    "You didn''t wear that to school today, did you?" My mother asks, as if that''s a completely normal way to start a conversation. She looks up at me from the bundle of paperwork she''s been scribbling on between bites.


    "No." I stab the chicken. "It''s just comfortable."


    "I buy you nice clothes, and you never wear them," she says as her eyes drift back to her papers. "You''d make more friends if you didn''t dress like a boy."


    You mean the second-hand button ups and pink polos? I don''t bother to voice my rebuttal. I learned a long time ago to avoid her conversational land mines. If dad were here, he''d probably say something like, Boys can make friends too, you know. He never learned to avoid her attempts to pick a fight, but somehow he always disarmed her. I, however, do not have his ability. So, I stuff my face with a piece of dry chicken.


    "How was school?" She breaks the silence.


    "Fine."


    She clicks her tongue, reminding me how much she hates that answer. I give her the broad details, with the careful omission of skipping study hall to break into a crime scene.


    "Your grandmother called today asking about you," she says.


    "Granny?" I correct her. Mom never calls my dad''s mother by her preferred name ever since he died. She isn''t spiteful. I think she''s just distancing herself from his memory. She doesn''t even go by his last name anymore. Adelina Alvarado, Greenfield''s hardest working councilwoman. I''m not so willing to forget his memory.


    This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.


    "I want you to visit her tomorrow," she ignores my correction.


    "I was already planning to. Is she okay?"


    "Yes, but she''s lonely in that place. Dr. Ward is very kind to take her in, but we shouldn''t take his generosity for granted." She places her fork down on her empty plate, which means the lectures have begun. Luckily, I''m not far behind her.


    "Okay, I will." I scarf down the last bite, pick up my plate, and take it to the sink. "I''ve got homework," I say through a gulp. It isn''t a lie, and it will help me escape this conversation. I quickly exit the kitchen, but not before one last remark.


    "And mija," She pauses. Her shoulders tighten, then drop, as if she changed her mind about something. "Fix your nails. They look awful."


    Sanctuary washes over me as I cross the threshold of my bedroom. I close the door and fall flat on the bed. A long sigh escapes my lungs. I grab my stuffed sasquatch and squeeze it against my chest.


    My room is still. A book of cryptids lays on my nightstand. My computer desk is covered with my notes and books on hauntings and lore. The walls are a collage of horror movie posters, pictures of dad and me, and my sketches. I like to sketch some of the spirits I see. It feels like I''m bringing them back to life somehow.


    My mind goes back to the Davidson house. I hold my hand up, stretched toward the ceiling fan, imagining the explosion of energy. How did I even do that?


    Suddenly, a cool breeze brushes over my skin. My awareness shifts and my senses spring to alert. Then, the lamp on my desk begins to flicker, and my closet door slowly creaks open.


    "Maggie, not now," I huff.


    "Oh come on," Maggie''s dark silhouette appears from the shadow of my closet. "I get to be a ghost, and I''m stuck haunting you."


    "You could always go through your portal," I sit up and give her a forced smile.


    "Nah," she says as she floats across my room. Her features are less visible in the light. Only against the shadow can I make out her soft complexion, fog-white skin, and empty eyes. "You''d miss me too much."


    She floats closer to me. "Something feels off about you today," she says.


    "I broke into the Davidson house," I reply as I move to my computer.


    I feel her excitement as she races around the room. "TELL. ME. EVERYTHING." She demands like a cheerleader hearing fresh gossip. The lights in my room flicker wildly.


    "Maggie stop it," I attempt to hush her. I quickly turn on some music and turn up the volume. The last thing I need is my mom thinking I have someone in my room.


    Maggie is¡ªwas?¡ªmy age. She died about ten years ago. Then, my family moved in. For whatever reason, her portal hasn''t faded, and she haunts my room. Hearing about my days is the only way she experiences the world.


    "Did you talk to the kid?" She continues in soft excitement. "Where the parents still there?"


    "Sort of," I sigh. "And I killed them."


    "You wha..." Her mouth drops.


    I tell her every detail, though reimagining the burnt corpse choking me is painful. "I don''t know, I just... exploded."


    "You mean like your telekinetic burst?" She jabs her fists back and forth.


    "No, and I don''t have telekinesis. I''m not a superhero," I groan and open up my web blog.


    I don''t really have anyone living that understands what I go through everyday. So, I write my story under the name Spooks92. No one follows me, but it helps. Maybe someone else like me will read it... one day.


    "You can see spirits, and you have magic powers." Maggie prances around the room, lights flickering as she passes them. "You''re either a superhero or a witch. Ooooh. I like that better. You cast spells!"


    I ignore her excitement. "No, I just... suddenly felt every emotion. Like emotions that weren''t even mine. I felt all of them at once, fear, pain, rage... and I saw his memories." I look down at my hands. "I just panicked. I didn''t know what to do. Then boom. It was all gone in a white blaze. The kid too."


    "Woah." Maggie''s face drops into a visible stupor. "Like a spirit bomb!"


    I roll my eyes and begin my blog.


    "The fire was a lie,¡± I type. ¡°Now I know the real reason people don¡¯t talk about it, why no one ever claimed it. That house felt wrong from the beginning, but the boy needed help. Maybe he should have pleaded with someone else..."


    I finish it up and hit post. My eyes glaze over for a moment as I remember I actually do have homework. Suddenly, a little red dot appears on my inbox. My heart skips. I hover over it for a moment, afraid it''s just spam, then click it.


    There''s already a comment on my last post from a username I don''t recognize, HannaHex. Written beneath my post is one word.


    Autumn?

 Chapter 5

    "Everything changed so quickly. I could have lived in ignorant bliss. Then, I opened that damned book."


    <hr>


    "I hear you''re not taking your medicine again," I say with a smirk as I paint Granny''s nails jet black. Of course black wasn''t my first choice, but she requested it. She said she wanted to feel tough, and hopes it will spook the nurses. If I''m honest, I think I paint my nails black for the same reason. Nothing beats a little rebellion to start the day. So, we take turns applying war paint.


    She scoffs. "Is this Autumn, or her mother?"


    I look up at her, my face painted with surprise and offense. She smiles back at me. Her ornery smile reminds me of dad.


    "No," she continues, struggling to hold back a cough. "These people are trying to kill me."


    I can''t help but giggle a little. "No they''re not Granny."


    "This old place gives me the creeps," she retorts.


    "Well, I''ll gladly trade places with you. You live in a mansion. Have you even seen the library?" I really would too, Dr. Ward''s home is beautiful.


    His estate resides on the edge of town, overlooking Greenfield. Trees line the path leading up to the home, creating a tunnel of vibrant colors in the fall. The exterior feels like something out of a story book, featuring a faded red brick fa?ade, punctuated by white ornate trim around the windows. A small tower with a conical roof stands at the corner, inside it shelves if books spiral to the top.


    Light pours in from every window, reflecting against the wood panel flooring. Every room is tall and ornate. Dr. Ward lives alone, and has no use for the abundance of rooms, so he uses it to host a nursing home. Of course I''m always excited to visit Granny, but I never leave this place without visiting Dr. Ward''s library.


    "How''s school?" She asks after a pause, attempting to change the subject. "You''re not getting bullied again, are you? Your Granny isn''t afraid to knock out a few kids."


    "No," I smile. "That stuff doesn''t bother me."


    "Then what''s wrong dear?" She places her hand over mine. "You didn''t honestly think that silly tie around your neck would hide those bruises, did you?"


    My heart stops beating for a moment. I feel the color drain from my face. I never thought to come up with a lie, and even if I did Granny will see right through it.


    "I got into a fight." Not entirely a lie.


    "Did you start it?"


    "No." I look down at her nails, the last one''s a bit off, but they don''t look bad.


    "And now your mind is spinning with dark thoughts." I look up at her. "Your father used to get that face when he''d come home from work. He''d come home with bruises sometimes too, but his mind... he''d get lost in his own world sometimes."


    I''ve avoided thinking about the Davidson house, or the mysterious comment, or the girl in the woods, or the cannibal. I was just beginning to find some hint of normalcy in my life, and now everything feels upside down.


    "Whatever thoughts are plaguing your mind," Granny presses her warm fingers against my cheek. "You shouldn''t endure them alone."


    "Autumn?" A deep voice booms from the doorway behind me. "I thought I heard your voice." Dr. Ward smiles with a clipboard in his hand.


    His wide shoulders fill the doorway. Unlike the nurses, who wear colorful scrubs, he wears a black sweater that stretches over his muscles. His gray hair and bright smile contrasts his imposing figure.


    "Are you reminding your Granny to take her medicine?" He asks.


    "You can''t make me do anything, you life sucking vampire." She growls.


    I click my tongue at her. "Yes, Dr. Ward. She''s going to take her medicine from now on." I give Granny a scolding glare.


    "Well, when you''re ready, I have a gift for you in the library." He walks away and I can''t hide the excitement that warms my skin.


    "Go on dear," Granny smiles at me. "I''ll hold off those nurses on my own."


    I shake my head at her and kiss her cheek. "Love you, Granny."


    "I love you too, Spooks."


    The smell of old paper, leather, and binding glue graces my senses. I close my eyes and let the smell flood my mind. With a deep sigh, nothing outside this house exists, not the dead, nor Thicket Grove, nor anyone in Greenfield. For a small moment, this library is my entire world.


    An ornate wooden staircase spirals up the center, landing on narrow walkways that stretch around the room. Three floors of book shelves stack high over my head. Rays of sunlight spill in through the small circular windows, dancing across the colorful spines.


    The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    "You beat me here." Dr. Ward says from behind me.


    "I hope I''m not intruding," I reply with a smile. "I could live in this room."


    "You''re never intruding, Autumn." he steps past me.


    A nook is cut out of the opposing side of the tower with two leather chairs, a desk, and a tall wooden cabinet. He walks to the desk and places his hand on what looks like a large book wrapped in cloth. "Here. I found something I think you''ll enjoy."


    I step up to the desk. He carefully unravels the old cloth, and delicately places the book on top of it. I lean in to examine its artistry. The cover is made of aged leather, the spine bulges out with raised bands, and the uneven pages create a rough edge. Bestiarium Monstrorum is pressed in gold across the cover.


    "An old bestiary," I say. My chest is warm with excitement.


    "That''s right," he says, carefully opening the cover. "And it would seem it has been in my family for generations." He runs his finger over the list of signatures until it stops on Sir Arthur Ward. He slowly flips through the delicate pages. Each page is filled with old artwork of creatures, rich with color. "I know you have a particular interest in historical lore and creatures."


    I can''t even find words to reply. I''m too focused on the drawings on every page, trying to identify them. Banshee, Dybbuk, Gjenganger, Hellhound¡­ creatures not just from one section of the world, but across many cultures and countries. My attention snaps as he closes the book.


    "I take it you like it," he says.


    "Wait, are you giving this to me?" Dr. Ward has gifted me a few books in the past, especially after my father died, but nothing like this.


    "Well, sort of." He rubs the back of his head, scratching at his gray hairs. "You''re welcome to take it home," My cheeks flood with heat. "But," he interjects. "Please be careful with it. I do want it back once you''re finished with it."


    "Thank you, Dr. Ward," I say.


    "You know, you can call me Percy. I''ve known you since you were ten."


    "Nah," I smirk. "Dr. Ward is a way cooler name."


    He wraps it up in cloth and hands it to me.


    "Report back to me with your findings," he says as he adjusts his glasses. "And don''t run with it. It''s very delicate."


    I''ve never rushed home faster in my life.


    I shove everything aside on my desk to make room for my new book. I pull my lamp close and examine the details in unbridled wonder. It''s incredibly old. The leather is unraveling around the corners. The stitching is loose, and the book shifts and groans as I open it. The pages feel like they will crack if I''m anything but incredibly gentle with them.


    I tour through the book, searching for any clues of its origin. It''s written in a mix of Latin and English, with some handwritten notes on many pages. The notes seem to have been added much later, translating the text. There''s a stamp pressed into the final page of the book. An M and C are linked together with a skull in the center. An ornate border surrounds the letters, with the text Mortis Custodes.


    Suddenly, the lights in my room flicker and a cold shiver crawls down my spine.


    "Ooh," Maggie''s voice whispers through the air. "What''s that?"


    "It''s an old bestiary," I say without bothering to look up. "I think it might be from the medieval era."


    "Where''d you find it?" Maggie asks, floating closer. Her form disappears in the lamp light.


    "Dr. Ward gave it to me."


    "It feels gross." Maggie says with disgust.


    "Gross?" I look at her with confusion.


    "Yeah. It has a gross feel to it. I can''t really place it. Like you pulled it from a garbage dump."


    "Well," I try to think of a reason why she could feel that way. "I mean it is old."


    "I bet it''s cuz you got it from the nursing home. Lots of stinky old people." She floats around the room, seemingly bored.


    I lean in to sniff it. It just smells like old leather and paper.


    "Hey, are there a lot of spirits at the nursing home?" She asks. "That place must be super haunted, right?"


    My eyes dart around as I think. "No, actually. They must be passing peacefully."


    "That makes sense. By the time they die they must be ready to get out of here. Peace out Earth!" She darts around the room, sending some of the papers flying.


    I continue through the book, admiring the artwork. Each creature gets a simple description in beautiful calligraphy, some instructions for disposing of them, and pages of colorful artwork.


    Old monsters, cryptids, and lore have always brought me a certain amount of wonder. The first book of lore I ever read was from my dad, Anatomy of the Boogeyman. It still sits on my nightstand.


    Something about fantasy and imaginary monsters helps me escape the real monsters I see every day. Dragons, witches, and zombies are way more frightening than ghosts. If I can laugh at them, then the dead spirits aren''t so bad.


    Banshee. Found in Ireland and amongst the Northmen.


    The artwork depicts a crying woman, with long flowing hair, washing blood-stained armor. Near her are skeletons dressed like old warriors. I read the notes below to translate the old writing.


    To rid such a creature, one must undertake one of these sacred tasks:


    i. Pierce a nail, red with fire, through the crown of the apparition and cast it into a holy well.


    ii. Hold a feast to honor the departed spirit, with their Earthly trappings consigned to flame. Then entreat the wailing spirit to join the pyre.


    iii. Summon a reaper to dispatch with haste.


    "Weird," I mutter.


    "What?" Maggie asks. "It''s a weird book. You need to be specific." Maggie pretends to rest her arms on the desk, floating beside it.


    "A lot of these creatures mention the same solution to defeat them." I flip through the pages to find another creature.


    Myling. Found in Suecia.


    A ghoulish child with blue skin and a deformed face floats near screaming children in the illustrations below.


    To rid such a creature, one must undertake one of these sacred tasks:


    i. Bestow upon the child a name, with a whispered benediction from the mother or next of kin.


    ii. Summon a reaper to dispatch with haste.


    I turn from creature to creature. Nearly all of them end with the same solution: Summon a reaper. I flip through the pages. Surely, this book contains a reaper if it mentions it so often.


    Then, I find it. A thin blue ribbon marks the spot. I hadn''t even thought to look at the ribbon before. Reaper is written across the top in decorative text with a unique blue ink.


    Guardians of the veil, charged to safeguard the living and the dead. Their presence an omen of death, for the dead are always near.


    There are pages and pages of illustrations of these reapers, each from a different culture. The appearance varies slightly in each piece, featuring a bony figure robed in black, a warrior dressed in old armor, or a shadowy man on horseback. Nearly every version of the reaper wields a weapon.


    At first glance, the weapon looks like a scythe, much like the lore I''d expect from the grim reaper. However, upon closer inspection of the first piece, it isn''t a scythe at all. The first illustration features a cloaked figure wielding a sword, only it''s glowing. The artist mimicked this glow by painting an arc of light at the tip of the sword. Every artist afterward does the same, until the sword becomes a scythe.


    However, one thing unifies all of them. One detail is the same across every illustration, and every culture. The eyes. Their eyes are all black, shrouded in darkness. The first illustration shows a man with black eyes, and black veins branch across his cheek bones.

 Chapter 6

    "I made a habit of pushing people away. Life was just easier that way. But I never expected letting someone in would get them killed."


    <hr>


    I sit in physics class the next day, barely listening to a word my teacher says. His voice fades into muffled nonsense. My focus blinds me to everything but the drawing that now fills an entire page of my notebook. The graphite of my mechanical pencil scrapes across the paper as I carve shadows into the grim reaper''s face.


    Physics is a pointless class anyway. You can''t find the chemical properties of the spirit in any textbooks here. I have a few questions, actually. Why does the air suddenly turn cold when a haunt is near? Are the dead just consuming energy? The law of conservation of energy says energy can''t be created or destroyed. Does that mean some haunts are just the leftover energy of a soul? That would also imply that the energy of the soul can be harnessed and manipulated like electricity. Does the grim reaper have a soul?


    My face melts around the palm of my hand as I desperately try to distract myself from that damned book, and reapers. My eyes throb, clearly bloodshot from the lack of sleep. There has to be some explanation for why those illustrations looked so similar to what I saw in the mirror at the Davidson house. Black veins extending from my eyes flash in my mind. Obviously, it''s a coincidence. Besides, I was probably hallucinating from the trauma of that experience. My mind is just latching on to what it saw, real or not.


    I try to force myself to believe that explanation. My pencil presses hard into the paper. I have to believe it. Because if I don''t¡ªif I believe that reapers are real, not to mention every other creature in that book, then that makes me an omen of death. For the dead are always near. I''m a living curse. Kids are going missing. The Davidson house isn''t far from mine. Did I curse them? And Dad... The paper rips beneath my pen. My focus suddenly widens to the rest of the classroom.


    "You okay?" An unfamiliar voice speaks up from beside me. The boy who sits next to me at my lab table looks at me curiously. Lary? Luke? I''m pretty sure his name starts with an L. He needs a haircut. His long blonde hair is beginning to curl outward along the edges.


    "You''re really good at drawing," he says, his eyes scanning my notebook.


    I look down at the drawings of a madman. A dark detailed portrait of the grim reaper fills the page. Its haunting face stares back at me. The eyes are coated in black graphite, with distended veins spiderwebbing across its cheeks. My cheeks. This is a self-portrait.


    I quickly close the notebook. I probably look like a psychopath. Why is he even talking to me? Either he plans to insult me or pity me. He may not be the bully type, but I don''t need his pity.


    "Sorry," he continues. "I didn''t mean to pry."


    "No," I reply, forcing a smile. "I''m just a little tired."


    "That''s the first thing you''ve said to me all semester." He whispers under the teacher''s voice.


    "Yeah, well," I search for an explanation. "I say a lot in my head." I say a lot in my head? Nice, Autumn. Why don''t you tell him you see dead people too while you''re at it?


    "Must get busy in there," he smirks.


    "Liam!" The teacher barks from the front of the classroom. How the football coach got a second job as a physics teacher is a mystery to me. Coach Jackson always teaches in a polo shirt and joggers. I can only hope it isn''t the same clothing every day. He''s a pretty relaxed teacher, when you''re not on his bad side.


    "Don''t flirt with girls in my class," he continues. The class giggles and eyes suddenly shift in my direction. Heat flushes my skin.


    "N-no," Liam desperately tries to defend himself. "I wasn''t¡ª"


    "If my lips are moving, yours should be shut." Coach Jackson interrupts him.


    Liam shrivels into his seat. Poor kid. He had no idea he was talking to a living omen of death.


    I look away and find the featureless clock hanging on the wall. Class ends in ten minutes. The sooner I can get out, the better. I rub my cheek, probably red from propping it on my hand for an hour.


    My attention shifts to Jaqueline, sitting two lab tables ahead of me. Her stool is uncomfortably close to the guy next to her. Jaqueline slowly rotates back and forth in her stool with her legs crossed. Every so often, her shoe gently taps the boy''s leg. He makes no motion to reciprocate her affections. I roll my eyes. He must be her next heartbreak.


    Jaqueline has a habit of making her relationship status a public spectacle. When she''s in love, she clings to her victim every second of the day. And every breakup is accompanied by slamming locker doors and outbursts of dramatic sobbing. Honestly, I think she''d be a hit in drama club if she gave it a chance.


    "Alright everyone," Coach Jackson says as he sets his lesson plan down. "I''m assigning a bridge building challenge," he says as he walks around the class passing out assignment sheets. "You may use only popsicle sticks, glue, and string to hold 20 pounds."


    Please don''t be a group project.


    "Each of you will partner into groups of two."


    Fuck.


    The lunch bell rings as he finishes passing out assignment papers. Everyone erupts from their seats, rushing to claim their partners. I grab my books and leap from my seat. If I¡¯m lucky, maybe Coach Jackson will let me do a solo project.


    I start to walk to the front of the class when I meet eyes with the boy Jaqueline has been so fascinated with. He''s tall, and obviously some kind of athlete. Maybe he plays soccer. He doesn''t look like the normal football jock. But his moss green eyes are definitely looking at me.


    "Autumn, right?" His deep voice vibrates in my chest. Why the fuck is he talking to me?


    "You want to be partners?" He asks.


    This has to be some kind of trap. This is social suicide. He''s clearly Jaqueline''s partner. I look at Jaqueline, and her face says it all. She¡¯s fuming. Her eyes are wide with pure shock, which turns to seething rage. That is a face I can get used to. I don''t know what this is, but if Jaqueline hates it, I''m in.


    "Uh, sure."


    <hr>


    Before lunch I use the bathroom and check my face in the mirror. My eyes are still a bit swollen from the lack of sleep. My hair is a mess, which isn''t anything new, but I attempt to tame it with a few quick brushes. The bruises on my neck have already begun to fade. Some concealer and my black hoodie hide what''s left of it.


    This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    Every time I look at the mirror, I feel the hairs on my arms rise, afraid I might see black eyes staring back at me. Instead, I see my own brown eyes. Flecks of gold dot the edges of my iris. I swear there are more specks than there used to be.


    A sheet of paper taped to the wall catches my attention. The missing poster for the two kids. Whoever made this used the kids¡¯ school pictures from last year. They look so posed. The photo on the left is of a boy with short brown hair. Trevor Mason is printed in fat letters below his photo. He has a wide nose and soft round cheeks. He honestly looks happy to get his picture taken. He¡¯s dressed nice with his button up shirt and a wide smile that squeezes his cheeks. I don''t think I''ve ever seen him in the halls, not that I try to get to know anyone here.


    But the photo of the girl on the right makes my skin turn cold. It''s the girl from the woods. Beware the cannibal. Her scratchy voice echoes in my head. I knew she looked familiar. I feel the bile in my stomach bubble up. The girl is dead. And I''m the only one who knows. She''s dead.


    She''s pretty. The kind of pretty that never gets into trouble and probably helps old ladies cross the street. Mallory White. Her wavy blonde hair perfectly frames her small face. She probably never stood a chance against whatever killed her. What was she doing in the woods anyways?


    Two other girls burst into the bathroom, giggling between each other. I shake the anxiety off and exit behind them. My stomach groans for food.


    <hr>


    "I''ll be home late tomorrow night. I packed leftovers for your lunch tomorrow." I remember my mom''s words from last night. I, however, forgot to grab said lunch this morning. So, cafeteria food it is.


    I bite into a dry burger with some lettuce, tomato, and cheese to add some semblance of flavor. The cafeteria is just large enough for me to find a table where I can eat in solitude. I pick a corner of the room where I can just eat and people watch.


    Suddenly, Mallory''s face flashes in my mind. I see her standing at the other end of the cafeteria. Her wet clothing drips onto the tile floor. Her blonde hair falls flat across the sides of her face. Pink butterfly clips dangle from her wet hair. Her skin is a pale corpse blue. People walk around her without noticing as she stands in the center of the hall, but her white lifeless eyes stare directly at me, unmoving.


    "Hey, Spooks92." An unfamiliar voice breaks my focus.


    I jerk my attention to the source. My eyes lock on two strangers standing across the table. The source of the voice was a short girl who fits squarely in the goth category. Her black lips curl upward with confidence. A long strip of pink hair covers the right side of her face, contrasting the rest of her dark brown hair. The skull of a cat is printed on her over-sized black shirt, paired with a pink and black plaid skirt. I''m surprised I missed the sound of her black boots approaching.


    Standing close behind her is a stick of a boy. His brown hair is perfectly combed back and cemented in place with gel, shining in the cafeteria''s florescent lighting. His white polo shirt is tucked neatly into his pants. He doesn''t share her confidence. His face seems to be in a permanent state of anxiety as his eyes dart between her and I.


    "I knew it," she continues. "There''s no hiding it now." She sits down across from me and sets her lunch tray down. The boy quickly does the same. "Besides, I already know everything."


    "Do I," I begin, swallowing my last bite. "Know you?"


    "Well no," she replies with a mischievous smile. "But I left you a message on your blog."


    HannaHex.


    "I''m Hannah," she says then points her thumb at the nervous boy. "And this is JJ." JJ nods his head and gives a small awkward smile.


    I lean my head slightly to look past Hannah and see if Mallory is still there. She''s gone, as if she was never there to begin with.


    Hannah quickly follows my gaze and looks behind her.


    "You see a ghost?" Hannah whispers. "Is the school haunted?"


    "What? No." I say.


    "Anyways, you ruined our hunt." Hannah says as she bites into a chicken finger.


    "What are you talking about?" I don''t bother to hide my confusion.


    "Okay." Hannah rolls her eyes. "You don''t have to hide it from me. I read your blog, and I don''t think you¡¯re crazy." My eyes narrow. I''m so thrown off by her, I don''t even know how to reply. "I saw you break into the Davidson house," she says leaning in close. "Which was totally badass by the way."


    "But," JJ speaks up. "Activity was completely dead after you left. There was nothing left for us to study."


    "Okay," I shake my head. "Back up. How did you find my blog?"


    "Oh that was just dumb luck." Hannah takes another bite of her chicken. "I follow a lot of spooky ghost blogs. I thought yours was just a creepy fiction story. Then the details started to feel a bit too familiar. When I saw you break into the Davidson house, I knew."


    "How do your powers work?" JJ blurts out.


    I take a moment to think about my answer. She''s read the blog, so she knows a lot. But I haven''t written anything about the book, or Maggie. Why are they so interested anyway? Am I some sort of science experiment to them?


    "Why would you just come out with a question like that?" Hannah smacks JJ''s arm.


    "Is there something I can help you with? It''s just a blog." I say, and stuff my mouth with another bite of my burger. The less I say, the better.


    "Look," Hannah straightens her shoulders. "I''ve studied ghosts my entire life. I read every paranormal journal I can get my hands on. And I want¨Cwill be the one to prove their existence."


    I pick at the paint on my fingernails. This is insane.


    "Something weird is clearly going on in Greenfield, and I know you feel it too," Hannah pleads. "We just want you to join us on some hunts."


    "You would be a crucial asset on our team." JJ says.


    I pinch the bridge of my nose and sigh. But when I look back at Hannah, my heart drops to my stomach.


    Behind her stands a familiar face.


    "Autumn?" My new physics partner asks. Those moss green eyes meet mine. Wait. What''s his name again? Did I even ask his name? I totally left class without even asking his name.


    "Um, hi." Hannah pipes up. "Yeah, your table is over there," she says pointing to a table filled with athletes and cheerleaders.


    He''s surprised by Hannah''s frankness. So am I, honestly. Who is this girl? He turns and looks at the other table and smiles. "Yeah, I think they have enough testosterone already," he says.


    "And you think we need yours?" Hannah barks.


    He looks at her and blinks, then walks around the table to sit next to me.


    "I never got a chance to introduce myself before you disappeared," he says with a smirk. "I''m Ethan."


    Okay, I''m so done with all these surprise interactions today. I really need to know what''s going on.


    "Why didn''t you partner with Jaqueline?" I ask, probably a bit too pointedly. "She hates me enough already."


    "Yeah, sorry about that." He grimaces. "I really need a B on this project, and Jaqueline seems like the type to make me do all of the work." Points for accuracy. "And since everyone''s kind of scared of you, I figured you needed a partner." Aaaand you lose some points. "So, I told her I was partnering with you."


    I purse my lips, a bit frustrated with this entire day.


    "Fine, but I''m not doing the whole project for you either," I say.


    "Of course not," He smiles. "I''ll see you tomorrow?"


    "Sure," I quickly grab a pen and write my number on a napkin. "Text me. I don''t have unlimited minutes."


    The bell rings to end lunch. Chatter fills the air as everyone erupts from their seats.


    "People may be scared of her, but I''m her bodyguard," Hannah says. "If you hurt her, I hurt you."


    Ethan narrows his eyes. I roll mine.


    "I don''t know them," I say to Ethan. "I don''t know you," I repeat to Hannah.


    <hr>


    When school ends, light rain covers the town. The cool air fills my nose as the sound of raindrops clatter against the pavement. I pull my hood up and start my journey home.


    I''m emotionally exhausted from the day. Frankly, this whole week has been a blur. I know Maggie will want to hear everything, and I''m not sure I even have the energy to explain it to her. But she will freak when she hears about Ethan. She loves drama.


    I smile at the thought. For once, the crazy part of my day wasn''t creepy faces, dead people, or old houses. It''s just everyday school drama. Warmth flushes my face. I feel human.


    The more I think about it, the more I want to tell Maggie. My pace quickens. I watch my breath freeze into little clouds as I walk. I reach an intersection near the edge of the woods, and a red truck sits at the stop sign. White fog bellows from the old truck as it slowly turns right, crossing my view.


    The truck disappears down the road and my body freezes. A girl stands in the middle of the street, soaking wet. Her silhouette is so pale, my eyes can''t decide if she''s really there or just a shadow in the road. But a single pink butterfly clip hanging from her hair makes it clear.


    "Come see," Mallory says without moving her lips.


    Her empty black eyes turn to face the woods at the end of the road, and she begins to walk.

 Chapter 7

    "She was trying to warn me. There are monsters in Greenfield."


    <hr>


    Thicket Grove stinks. The rain masks much of the smell with a fresh musk of cedarwood and winter wind. But I smell the stagnant water and decaying plants with every step deeper into the wetland. It smells like a musty old fish tank.


    My heart thumps slowly against my chest as I walk behind Mallory. Am I following a dead girl to her body? Why was she in these woods anyway? I know some kids sneak out here to drink, smoke, and lose their virginity. But I''ve heard the strange howls and coos that come out of these woods. Alligators aren''t the only predators out here.


    I watch her nearly invisible legs take step after step without ever disturbing the ground beneath her. Meanwhile, mud covers the edges of my checkered shoes as every step presses into the soft ground.


    Shadows leap between the trees as the sunlight begins to die. Their pale gray bark obscures Mallory''s silhouette. Keeping track of her takes effort, partly because I can''t stop checking my back. I can''t shake the feeling that I''m being watched.


    Fortunately, I don''t see any wildlife, but I feel like I can hear their whispers in the trees. The hair on my skin rises. Maybe those whispers aren''t in my head.


    I freeze for a moment and try to listen. Suddenly, I hear a footstep behind me stumble as if I caught someone off guard. I quickly hide behind a tree and look for the source. Someone is definitely following me.


    I can feel my racing heartbeat in my throat. Slowly, I pull my backpack off my shoulder. I carefully unzip the top and grab my flashlight. It isn''t exactly a weapon, but it''s heavy and bright as hell. I flick the light on and shine it into the bushes.


    "Who''s there?"


    Nothing responds.


    "I know you''re following me."


    Suddenly, two hands extend from behind the bush. Then, two more.


    "Alright, alright. You don''t need to blind us." Hannah steps into view, shielding her eyes, with JJ in tow.


    What the hell?


    "Are you following me?" I ask. All of my anxiety and fear fall away, leaving only frustration.


    "Not originally," JJ says.


    "I just wanted to talk to you," Hannah explains. "Then you walked off like you were following something." She steps forward. "It''s a spirit, isn''t it? That''s what you''re following?"


    I huff, but I don''t have the energy to deny her or think up a lie. Hannah is clever. I look behind me to search for Mallory, but she''s gone. Damnit. "Not anymore. Looks like I lost her."


    "Where did you see the spirit last?" JJ steps forward and pulls out a small black device. It beeps. Then, a row of green and red LEDs light up. It''s an EMF detector. I''ve heard of them but never considered using one. I''ve never needed help finding ghosts. "This will light up when an electromagnetic field is close." The first two green lights glow as he steps forward.


    "She was right over there," I say, pointing between two trees.


    A third LED flickers as JJ passes me, and he stops. He looks at me curiously and pushes the device closer to me. The third LED glows bright, lighting my face.


    JJ retracts the device. "Autumn, do you have any magnets in your pockets?"


    "No..."


    "Hmm." Two lines form between his eyebrows, as if I just solved a riddle for him. "Well, could you stand back, please?"


    I oblige and stand back beside Hannah. JJ walks ahead toward the two trees, then a bit further. He turns to the right and stops. "This way," he says.


    Am I really including these two in this? Hannah walks ahead and doesn''t even look back to check if I''m following. This is now their hunt, whether I''m involved or not. I follow Hannah and stop at a small clearing in the trees.


    "You see anything?" Hannah asks.


    Mallory''s empty black eye sockets stare at me from the center of the clearing. She stands behind a small bush. Water rushes through a narrow creek beside it. I step toward her. She doesn''t move. She only looks down at her feet.


    "I''ll take that as a yes," Hannah grumbles.


    I hold my breath, fearing what I might find behind the bush. Mallory''s somber face doesn''t help. A spot of dark red graces the edge of my vision as I pass the bush.


    I look down and find a damp red blanket about to wash away in the running water. A picnic blanket. Actually, this little clearing would make for a pretty spot in the daylight. They were on a date.


    But a heavy weight suddenly presses on my chest. The same weight I felt at the Davidson house. It feels like a blanket of sheer panic.


    "Someone died here," I say as Hannah and JJ catch up. They both kneel and investigate the area.


    "Autumn," Hannah says, holding the blanket up. A dark brown stain is splattered across it. Blood.


    "Trevor," Mallory whispers in my head. I quickly look at her.


    "Where is he?" I ask.


    "Who are you talking to?" JJ asks.


    "Is it the victim?" Hannah asks immediately after.


    "No. It''s Mallory."


    "The missing girl?!" Hannah''s eyes open wide with shock.


    "Yeah." My voice breaks as I stare at Mallory''s sad expression. I reach my hand out to touch her arm. I can feel her soft, cold skin. Her pain radiates in my mind¡ªutter sorrow. Mallory''s soft breath catches with a whimpered cry. "She saw Trevor die."


    "Oh my god." Hannah covers her mouth.


    "Mallory, where is he?" I ask again.


    "Eaten."


    A shudder crawls down my spine.


    "No. Where is his spirit?"


    "...Eaten."


    What the hell can eat a spirit? Can a poltergeist do that? My mind swirls with dozens of questions. None of which I want answers to.


    "Hey guys," JJ shouts. "I found something."


    I step away from Mallory to join JJ on the other side of the creek. He walks beside a shallow divot in the ground. Tall leaves of grass lie flat as if something heavy was dragged over them. The divot creates a path that snakes deeper into the woods.


    "We should stop," I say. "It''s getting dark, and we don''t know what''s out here."


    "Are you kidding?" Hannah replies as JJ tosses her a flashlight. "Forget ghost hunting. Let''s solve a murder." She and JJ both turn on their flashlights and follow the path.


    <hr>


    Finally, the rain relents after a few minutes of walking through the tall grass. My hoodie is drenched. I pull down the hood and shake out my hair. The silence is suddenly overwhelming. No crickets, nor locusts, nor any creature for that matter makes a sound. Only the brush of grass as we walk through the night.


    "Is Mallory still here?" Hannah asks, sweeping her flashlight across the trees.


    "Yeah." Mallory grips my arm as we walk.


    "Ask her how she died."


    I look at Mallory. The fear in her eyes tells me I shouldn''t expect to get much out of her.


    "A cannibal," I reply.


    "What?" Hannah stops and turns to face me.


    "That''s all she told me."


    "Fucking awesome." Hannah laughs and turns back around.


    "But I don''t think it was human," I admit.


    "Why not?"


    Why did I even say that? I just read an old bestiary on creepy monsters that may or may not actually fucking exist, and now a spirit just told me her boyfriend''s soul was eaten. So, suddenly, monsters don''t seem so far-fetched.


    Before I can answer, a searing hot pain wraps around my ankle. I shriek and kneel down.


    "Autumn?" Hannah shouts. The two of them run back to me.


    "I''m fine." I pull my pant leg up. "Some thorns grabbed my leg." Warm blood drips down into my socks. Then I spot something near my foot. A bone.


    I pull the bone out of the ground to examine it. It''s a piece of a jawbone¡ªdeer, maybe. Whatever killed it snapped its jaw into pieces.


    "Hannah, please," JJ begs.


    "Okay, okay." Hannah drops her shoulders. "We can go home. I lost the trail a few feet back anyway." She covers her nose with her arm. "God, this place reeks. Next time, we''re bringing masks."


    The smell has gotten much worse since the rain died down. The putrid smell makes me wonder if the swamp is filled with vomit.


    "He''s coming," Mallory whimpers. Her panic floods my emotions. A shiver spider-crawls down my back.


    "Hide," I say, grabbing Hannah''s arm. "Someone is coming. Hurry."


    The four of us bolt through the tall grass. We weave between the trees and crouch behind a thick patch of bushes. My heart pounds against my chest. We switch our flashlights off and lay on our stomachs. I don''t even want to breathe. Whoever¡ªwhatever is coming killed Mallory and Trevor. Silence washes over us. Then, footsteps approach.


    Quietly, I pry through the bushes. The moonlight casts a blanket of dim white light over everything. It''s just enough light to make out rough silhouettes, painting everything in shades of gray.


    Hannah''s face scrunches. The acrid smell suddenly floods my senses. There must be a dead animal nearby. A raccoon died under our house once. Our house smelled for a week, even after Dad got rid of it. This, however, smells like a family of raccoons died.


    "Hey!" A raspy raven-like voice echoes in the distance. My heart feels like it stops for two beats.


    I peer through the bush, angling my head to see anything. Then, I spot the silhouette of a doe. The moonlight reflects off the damp fur on its back. Her eyes glisten in the light as they stare in our direction.


    Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    "PFFF!" The doe snorts, filling the air with white vapor. It will give away our position to whoever else is out here.


    "It sees us," JJ whispers. "Be still, and maybe it will go away."


    The doe stomps the ground and snorts again. Then, something else catches its attention. It leaps into the air and disappears from view. Each of us let out a small sigh of relief.


    Then, a guttural squeal pierces the air. The shriek of pain echoes through the woods. A split second later, it''s silenced by bone snapping.


    I squeeze my face through the bushes, trying to find the doe again. I see nothing. Then, a towering figure lumbers into view. Bones protrude from its silhouette. Its long, skinny fingers drag the doe across the grass. Icy fear overtakes my body, and a cold void fills my chest.


    This isn''t some bear. It isn''t an animal at all. Is it some kind of poltergeist? Demon? My eyes widen. Somehow, I have to explain this to Hannah and JJ. I doubt they can even see this... thing.


    It stops in the center of the clearing and hunches over the limp carcass. It pulls at the doe''s leg. The entire leg rips off with a wet shluck. I quickly look away before the image sears into my mind.


    "Don''t move," I whisper to Hannah and JJ. "There''s a¡ª"


    "I can see it," Hannah breathes¡ªher eyes wide with terror. Wait. They can see it. JJ''s face turns pale. If they can see it, it can see them. It can touch them.


    Reapers... That passage replays in my mind. Their presence is an omen of death.


    "We need to get out of here," I whisper.


    "Hello?" That raven-like voice speaks again. All of us freeze in place.


    "This way," Mallory whispers in my head. She crouches low and moves deeper into the woods with unnatural grace. Slowly, I follow her, leading the others.


    We don''t say a word. I can barely see the surface below my feet in the cold dark. Every step is a slow and methodical prayer. Mallory leads us to a small cliff that leads into a shallow creek bed. Rainwater rushes over fallen branches and large stones.


    The edge of the cliff is wet with mud. I sit on my butt and drop my legs over. Slowly, I step down onto the first stone I can feel. I test my weight on it, and it holds. I lower myself further onto the muddy surface and drop. I slide down onto a large rock and catch myself. I can only hope the sound of the water masks my footfalls.


    JJ comes down next. He finds a similar path. I grab his hand to help him down, and he reaches the bottom safely. Then, we move to help Hannah. But her foot slips on the mud. Her body slides off the edge. She lets out a short scream, and her body smacks the wet ground.


    "Hey!" That raspy voice barks in the distance.


    "Run," Mallory whispers.


    "Run!" I repeat.


    <hr>


    I pull Hannah to her feet. We charge down the creek bed. Every step splashes muddy water into the air. Cold air scratches at my lungs as I race through the mud.


    "Hello?" The voice is closer. I hear its footfalls approaching. Branches snap behind us. We race through the creekbed until it opens up to a large clearing.


    The giant orange moon shines down like a spotlight. A small, dilapidated shack sits at the center of the clearing. Beside it, light reflects off murky swamp water dotted with water lilies. A still gray mist floats just above the swamp.


    "Come." Mallory beckons.


    We quietly run across the grassy field toward the shack. It isn''t large enough to live in. Storage maybe. The simple structure is built from old planks of wood, clearly worn from the elements. A dock wraps around it. Planks are splintered or missing, and a small metal boat softly knocks against the wood.


    We circle the shack to find the only door. But I stop. A pier extends out into the swamp. At the end, five feet from the edge, is a thin translucent thread hovering above the water¡ªa portal.


    I look at Mallory. "This is why you brought me here."


    "I''m scared," she says.


    "Dammit!" Hannah grunts. "The door is locked."


    A bright silver padlock adorns the door. Hannah slams her shoulder into the door, but the lock holds.


    "Keep trying," I say. "I need to help Mallory." I set my backpack down against the wall of the shack.


    "What are you talking about?" Hannah asks.


    "What if that thing is hunting her? If I help her cross over, maybe it will leave us alone."


    "What are you going to do, read her last rites?" she huffs.


    "Just trust me."


    I grab Mallory''s hand and quickly walk down the pier. Wooden panels in the center of the walkway have broken away, splitting it in two. We have to jump a three-foot gap to continue. God, I hope the wood doesn''t snap when I land on it. The water is cloudy, green, and reeks of decay. The smell has almost burned away my senses. I take a calculated leap. The wood snaps, and my heart drops. But it holds.


    "Come on," I wave Mallory over. "Can''t you float or something?"


    "How do I float?"


    Fair enough. I can''t expect someone to float after a life of walking. I guess some myths aren''t true.


    "Just jump. I''ll catch you."


    "Hey!" That scratchy voice shouts in the distance. The trees at the border of the clearing shake. Hannah still struggles to open the door as JJ keeps lookout.


    "Come on, hurry," I plead.


    She leaps over the gap. I wrap my arms around her and pull her close. Her cold skin chills my body. She doesn''t have eyes, but I can imagine them¡ªfrightened. There''s panic on her face. She''s been alone out here for a month.


    We reach the end of the pier, but the portal is too far out to reach. I can''t throw her that far. Despite her state, she does have weight.


    "You''re going to have to swim."


    "N¡ªno. No. NO!" She shakes her head in a fit. But this isn''t a fit of disgust, which I wouldn''t blame her for. She''s terrified. Maybe she can''t swim. Shit.


    "I''ll go with you."


    I pull my hoodie off, slip out of my shoes and socks, and then toss them in a pile behind me. I sit down and drop my legs over the edge. The cold water feels like an ice bath. And it''s slimy. So slimy.


    I cringe, working up the courage, then shove myself into the water. Strings of soggy grass creep up my pant legs. The water is much deeper than I expected. My face barely sits above the water as I bounce my toes on the milky mud below.


    "Come on." I reach my hand up. "I''ll hold you the whole way."


    Reluctantly, she sits and grabs my hand, then drops into the water. The water doesn''t even ripple. She flails her arms in a panic, searching for me.


    "It''s okay." I wrap my arm around her waist, struggling to calm her. "Just breathe. You can''t drown, remember? You''re already dead." Her flailing starts to slow. Her face bobs above the water with me, and she cracks a smile at the corner of her mouth. "See?" I smile. "Let''s get you home."


    I hold her with one arm and swim with the other. Sludge, vines, and unknown muck squeeze through my toes as I swim. Luckily, the portal isn''t too far. The thin thread of light dimly flickers as I approach.


    "Okay," I look at her face, barely breaking the surface of the black water. The moonlight dances on ripples around us. "All you, Mallory."


    She looks up at the thread for a moment, then at me. "Thank you. Please help the others."


    The others? My heart shudders as a new emotion rushes in. Hope. Mallory reaches her arm up to touch the thread. Then, she vanishes. The weight on my arm instantly lifts. Goodbye, Mallory.


    I look up at where the portal once was. A tiny cloud of glittering dust begins to fall over me. I reach my hand up to touch it. Like a magnet, the dust flows into my hand. Warmth fills my arm and rushes through my body. Then, it dissipates, and I''m left alone in the darkness.


    I swim back to the pier and peek my head up. Hannah and JJ are gone. The door is still closed. Then, I spot them on the left side of the shack. They press their backs against the wall. Hannah holds her palm out, urging me to stop, then points to the other side of the shack.


    "Hello?" That voice echoes over the swamp. The dark creature stands in the shadow on the other side. It stands taller than the shack, even hunched over in its unnatural stance. Its long face scans the water, revealing two jagged antlers protruding from its skull.


    I dip my head down. My muscles tighten. My stomach convulses. I can feel my blood vessels throb in my neck. Slowly, I slide to the left, hiding behind the pier. If I use the dock as cover, I can swim back to shore.


    My hands grip the wooden planks. Little by little, I pull myself along the edge of the pier.


    "Help!" The creature bellows a cry in a thorny voice. It sounds human but distorted. Like an old record.


    I freeze for a moment. I peek just over the wood. The beast sniffs the air. It releases a frustrated grunt, then looks away. I need my shoes. I reach my arm over the top, feeling around for anything. I find nothing.


    "Somebody!" It shrills.


    Come on. Where are they? I keep my eyes on the beast and wave my hand over the top of the dock. Then, I feel the cloth. I just need the shoes. Sorry hoodie. I grab them and duck out of view.


    I reach the gap in the pier. I wait until the creature looks away, then glide to the other side. I reach out to grab the edge, and my heart stops. A face stares at me from under the dock. A dead, decayed human face.


    It takes everything in me to keep from vomiting. Bile climbs up my throat and my mind splinters. The bloated face bobs in the water with a wax-like sheen. A pink butterfly clip hangs from her hair.


    Hannah''s muffled squeal echoes to my left. When I look, the beast is standing directly beside the shack. Its long neck peaks over the roof. Its long fingers pick at the splintered wood.


    If I get any closer, it will see me. It''s only a matter of time before it sees Hannah and JJ.


    "Hello?" It asks. Though I doubt it expects an answer, twisting its neck around the corner of the shack. It stoops low and steps in front of the door. The moonlight reflects off its blood-red eyes. Hannah presses her hand against her mouth. It''s going to kill them.


    "I''m so sorry, Mallory," I mutter, then kick her corpse hard. The soft skin breaks under my weight, and her body rockets out from under the pier. With a loud splash, her bloated body parts float just above the surface of the water.


    The beast jerks its head toward her. It squawks like a vulture and charges into the water. I hoist my body up onto the pier. I don''t dare look back. I just run. I charge across the dock. Fear burns in my blood. I barrel into Hannah and JJ and fall to the ground.


    "We need to go," I whimper. I don''t even want to think about what the fuck I just did. But the sound of crunching and chewing behind me confirms it. I spot a large tree near the edge of the woods. It''s the only cover between the shack and the woods.


    "Wait here," I whisper. "Wait for my signal, then run to me." I quickly slip on my shoes. No socks.


    I peek my face around the corner. The beast splashes in the water, already headed back to shore. I turn and quickly walk toward the tree. I reach the tree, press my back against it, and hide in the shadow.


    "Hello?" The beast stretches its neck over the top of the cabin. I pull back behind the tree. That voice¡ªit sounded like¡ªwas that Mallory?


    I wait a moment, then peek my face over. It steps beside the shack, sniffing the air. I hold my palm out, telling them to wait. Then, it twists its neck away, distracted by a howl in the distance.


    "Come on," I mouth without a sound and wave my hand.


    Hannah leaves first, with JJ close behind. They quietly bolt through the tall grass. They reach the halfway point and JJ squeals. His foot plunges deep into loose mud. His body slams into the ground with a loud smack.


    The beast squawks and twists its head. Hannah pulls JJ to his feet, but they''re too slow. It already sees them. They have no time. They''re going to die, and it''s my fault.


    Its long legs bound over the grass. It shrieks like a giddy dog after a toy. Hannah looks at me. Terror in her eyes. She screams. But my body is moving before I can stop it. I will not be an omen of death.


    I charge across the grass. My heart slams against my chest.


    "RUN!" My voice cracks as I scream.


    I reach the space between the beast and my new friends, then extend my arms. The beast opens its jaw wide. Hundreds of jagged teeth line its mouth. Maybe my death will give them enough time to escape. But they will not die because of me. I close my eyes.


    <hr>


    WHAM!


    A sharp force slams into my chest, but it doesn''t kill me. Wait. I''m still standing. I open my eyes. A cloud of glittering light separates me from the creature whimpering on the ground. Gold and white dust swirls around me. That warmth. The same warmth I felt when Mallory left cascades through my body.


    "Autumn," Hannah mutters. I turn to look back at them. They''re alive. They didn''t die.


    "Your eyes," JJ says, dumbfounded. I can feel the blood vessels on my cheeks pulse. My eyes must be black.


    "Run!" I shout. I don''t know how I did this, but I doubt I can hold it long. I can feel the warmth subsiding. "Go!"


    The two of them stumble to their feet and bolt into the woods. I watch them disappear into the darkness. They''re safe. I didn''t kill them.


    I turn back to face the beast. Iridescent glitter swirls in a semi-circle in front of me. The light shines across the creature''s decrepit face. Its lips have been ripped away, revealing black and yellow teeth. Rotten skin is pulled tight against its bones.


    It reaches up its arm and slams it into the barrier of light. Again, I feel the jolt of force slam against my chest. Sharp pain crawls up my spine. This shield is about to break. I have to think of something. I have nothing. I left my backpack on the dock. If I can get to my flashlight¡ª


    CRRRACK!


    Long fingers tear through the barrier. Searing pain explodes down my arm as two claws rip into my skin. I fall to the ground and scream. No time to think. Just go.


    I stand and bolt around the shack. The beast slams into the wall, chasing me around the corner. The dock shifts and snaps under its weight. I grab my backpack and swing around the corner.


    A loud shrill fills the air. I can hear the footfalls slam into the ground behind me. I dig into my backpack mid-run. I''m near the edge of the woods. The creature is close. I feel my flashlight, grab it, and turn.


    Blinding white light slams into those red eyes. The beast yelps and ducks its head. I turn off the light and dip into the woods.


    My lungs heave as I duck between trees. Pain stabs at my heels with every step. Warm blood drips down my arm. I feel my energy waning. I have to keep running. I will not die tonight.


    Suddenly, pain rips across my leg. My shoulder slams into the mud. A vine of thorns wraps around my ankle, piercing my skin.


    "Help!" That raven-like voice shouts in the distance.


    A shallow pool of swamp water sits beside me. Tall grass protrudes from the water. I roll my body into the swamp. The ice-cold water shocks my senses. I wiggle my back, pushing myself deeper into the mud, and use the tall grass as cover.


    I can''t control my breathing. My chest contorts with short, useless breaths. My heartbeat races. I can''t slow it down. I have to be quiet.


    "Hello?" That voice. I know that voice. Was that Dad''s voice?


    Heavy footsteps land nearby. I pinch my nose and dunk my face under the shallow water.


    "Hey!" I hear the muffled voice from under the water. I can make out the distorted silhouette of the creature standing beside me. Pain stretches against my lungs. My body shakes, begging for air. The creature sniffs the air. Leave. Please leave. Please.


    Something else distracts it, and it leaps away. I pull my head out of the water and gasp for air. My head throbs. Short breaths stab my rib cage. I heave and heave, then vomit into the grass. I can''t stop shaking. Tears pool at the corners of my eyes.


    I don''t want to do this. I don''t want this life. I don''t want to be me anymore. Please. Take it all away.


    "Daddy," I sob. "Come back."


    My fingertips begin to tingle like little ants crawling inside them. Pain pulses in my arm with every heartbeat, and blood pools around it. I lie in the mud until the shivers begin to slow. I feel the blood drain from my face. An hour passes. Or is it two? Did I fall asleep? I don''t think so.


    "Autumn?" Hannah''s voice jolts my body.


    Is that really her? What if it isn''t? Did the beast get Hannah? The thought is maddening. Then, a figure comes into view, obscured by the tears in my eyes.


    "Autumn!" Hannah runs to me. "She''s over here!" She kneels beside me and lifts my head. My body shakes uncontrollably. "It''s okay, we brought help."


    I look up at a familiar face. A black raincoat covers his broad shoulders.


    "Doc¡ªtor Ward?"

 Chapter 8

    ¡°Were you aware of what Dr. Ward was at the time?¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    <hr>


    "Tienes fiebre." Mom clicks her tongue, staring at the thermometer. Every time she speaks Spanish, it feels like she''s disappointed that I''m not as fluent as I should be. She sits at the edge of my bed, dressed for work. My pajama shirt hides the bandages Dr. Ward wrapped around my arm. Nevertheless, I can''t help but cocoon my body in bedsheets. Mom will explode and open up a state-wide investigation if she sees my injuries.


    I don''t know how long I slept last night, but this is the seventh time I''ve woken up. My arm still burns with pain, my eyes feel swollen from crying, and my bed is damp with sweat. I must look like some kind of¡ªactually, I don''t want to think about dead bodies right now.


    "Where were you last night?" She stands up and places her hand on her hip. "I come home, and your muddy footsteps are all over the house."


    "Nowhere, I¡ª"


    "C¨®mo que Nowhere?" She scoffs at my poor excuse of a lie. "Were you out drinking?"


    "No, Mam¨¢," I groan. "I took a trail through the woods," I force my brain to work up a half-truth. "And I got lost."


    "You know how I feel about those woods, mija!" I avoid looking at her disappointed scowl. I can feel the heat radiate from her face. "There is no reason for you to be out there. No wonder you''re sick." She looks at her watch and huffs, then walks to my door and pauses. "I''ll let the school know you''re sick, but this house will be spotless when I get home. Yes?" It isn''t a request.


    "Yes," I sigh, staring at the ceiling.


    The door closes. The soft pitter-patter of rain against my window quiets my mind. Before I know it, my eyes are closed.


    "Autumn?!"


    "She''s bleeding."


    "It''s a deep cut, but she''ll heal."


    "Why... Ward... here?"


    "Hold her. This is going to hurt."


    "Autumn!"


    "We''ll get her home."


    "Be careful."


    "HEY!"


    Air rushes into my lungs. I sit up straight. My eyes struggle to focus. I desperately try to place myself. My heart rattles against my chest at an unsteady pace.


    But I''m in my room. I''m still in bed.


    "Autumn?" An anxious whisper creeps into my mind. Maggie''s empty black eyes stare at me from the closet.


    I close my eyes for a moment and take a deep breath. Slowly, I place my feet¡ªblistered and sore¡ªon the carpet, and stand. My oversized shirt drops just below my hips, exposing the cuts and bruises that cover my legs.


    "Are you okay?" Maggie asks.


    I need to clean my room. I pick up the socks and shirts that litter the floor. I peer into my bathroom. My bloody clothes are piled in the corner of the shower. I must have undressed while showering. I should just throw them away.


    "Come on, Autumn, don''t shut me out,"


    "Go away, Maggie," I mutter.


    "Autumn, what happened?"


    "Why do you care?!" I snap.


    "Uh, hello. I''m your friend, remember?"


    "Yeah," I flutter air between my lips. "I have friends."


    "Autumn, stop it."


    "What friends do I have, Maggie?!" I drop the pile of clothes. "I''m just a science experiment for Hannah and JJ. I''m a nuisance to Mom. And I don''t even know why you''re still here." I march to the window and point at the portal floating beside the swing set. "Your portal is right fucking there." Heat flushes my face.


    "I just want to hel¡ª"


    "My life is fucked up enough already. The last thing I need right now is to talk to a suicidal dead girl!" The sound of my voice reverberates off the walls. Then, the silence is overwhelming. My vision blurs as tears pool at the edges of my eyes.


    And she vanishes.


    My breath shudders, and my fists shake. I slide down the edge of my bed and hide my face between my knees. The taste of a tear hits my lips.


    Suddenly, something falls from my bookshelf and lands beside me. It''s a photo of Mom and Dad holding me up in front of the house. We took the picture when we first moved in. I must have been six or seven. Dad''s blue eyes glisten with his wide, goofy smile.


    "I''m in that picture too, you know," Maggie says from beside the bookshelf. My heart skips when I see her. "See?" She points to a smudge of white at the corner of the house. "Right there."


    A little laugh snorts through my wet nose. At first glance, it looks like some kind of film anomaly. But the closer I look, I can make out the shape of her face.


    "Your dad was cool," she says softly. "I wished he was my dad. I used to wonder if he could see me."


    "What?" I smile.


    "Yeah," She smiles back. "I swear sometimes he''d look right at me. You remember when your boyfriend broke up with you?"


    "The one who told everyone I was a crazy witch girl?" My eyes narrow just thinking about him.


    "You hid in your room and cried all day. My God, he was not worth the drama, Autumn." We both laugh a little. "Do you remember what your dad said?"


    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    "No."


    "He hugged you tight and said, ''Be strong, Spooks. And when you can''t be strong anymore, find someone you can be weak with.''" Maggie pauses. "He looked at me... right in my eyes when he said that."


    She kneels beside me. A lump swells in my throat, making it difficult to swallow.


    "I''ve been with you the whole time. I''m not going anywhere, Autumn."


    My lips stick together. I struggle to squeeze a single word through the lump in my throat.


    "I¡ªI don''t want to be strong anymore," I whimper through tears. She wraps her arms around me. Her cold embrace feels like a pile of snow is hugging me, and it''s everything.


    "I''m so sorry, Maggie." I press my face into her neck.


    "I told you. You''d miss me too much if I ever left." She releases me with a smile. "Now, who are Hannah and JJ?"


    <hr>


    "You made a force field?!" Maggie''s excitement makes the bathroom lights flicker, and my blow-dryer shorts out.


    I click my tongue. "Really, Maggie?" I liked that blow dryer. My hair is still a mess, but whatever. I''m now painfully aware of how long I slept after Mom left. It''s already three o''clock. I have three hours to clean the house. Every inch of my body still aches, but I think the fever is gone. So, house cleaning it is.


    "Sorry. How am I supposed to react? We just learned a new superpower!" Maggie stands behind me in the mirror, combing her fingers through her long red hair. Sometimes, it doesn''t feel like she''s dead. Ordinarily, seeing a dead girl in the mirror would creep me out. But with Maggie, it''s like having a sister.


    "I just told you monsters are real, and that''s what you got out of it?" I smirk. I pull my dad''s hoodie from the closet and throw it over me, then grab some jeans. "I told you, I''m not one of your comic book superheroes. I''m a¡ª" Reaper echoes in my head. "...something else."


    "Well, how did you do it?" Maggie asks.


    "I don''t know, as usual." The moment flashes in my mind. Swirling light flowing from my hands. The rotten bony jaw snapping at me. I could feel the energy like an extension of my body¡ªlike an arm that''s fallen asleep.


    "You need a teacher. What about Hannah and JJ?" Maggie sits on top of my desk, swinging her legs back and forth.


    "Huh? What could they teach me?"


    "Maybe their little ghost hunts could be good practice for you."


    "No way." I scoff. Like hell. I''m not going on any more adventures with those two. "Look where their last escapade got me. I don''t want anything to do with them."


    I grab my hamper and carefully walk down the stairs. Maggie slides down the railing behind me.


    "Well," she snickers. "They may have something to say about that."


    "Wha¡ª"


    The doorbell rings.


    I open the door to find Hannah and JJ standing outside. Hannah holds out a paper grocery bag. "We brought you snacks."


    <hr>


    It isn''t hard to convince Hannah and JJ to help me pick up the house. They''re eager to make up for last night. They''re quiet as they help. Even Hannah looks tense. But the extra help pays off, and the house is clean in less than an hour.


    "Did you draw these?" Hannah points to the sketches on my bedroom wall.


    "Uh, yeah, I doodle a little," I say, eyeing Maggie as she inspects Hannah. She investigates Hannah and JJ like she''s never seen another human before. Her face is painted with judgment and suspicion. I know they can''t see her, but I can''t help but feel anxious about her walking around so close to them.


    "You draw the ghosts you see?" Hannah asks. Maggie accidentally touches her shoulder, and Hannah shivers.


    "Some of them, yeah." I give Maggie a scornful look as subtly as I can. She grimaces back at me in apology.


    JJ picks up the book on my nightstand, A Cryptid History. "You study cryptids?" he asks.


    "My dad gave it to me." I sit at my desk and open a bag of cheese puffs. Mom never brings home snacks this unhealthy, and I''m not passing up the opportunity.


    "How are you feeling?" He asks.


    "Like shit," I say, burying my hand in the cheese puffs. "But I could be worse. I guess Dr. Ward really is a good doctor." I pause a moment and furrow my brows. "What was Dr. Ward doing in the woods anyway? My memory is still fuzzy."


    JJ glances at Hannah. Hannah anxiously exhales through her nose. "You''ll have to ask him," she says. "We ran into him not long after we bolted."


    "Something''s off," Maggie says.


    "Is this Mallory?" Hannah pulls down the most recent drawing from my wall. Mallory''s fear-stricken face flashes in my mind.


    "Yeah," I reply.


    "She looks sad," Hannah says.


    "The dead often do," I sigh into the bag of cheese puffs.


    "Someone''s a bit dramatic." Maggie pokes her head through the bag. Her creepy face, surrounded by cheese puffs, immediately ruins my appetite. I jerk my head up.


    "You okay?" Hannah asks.


    "Yeah," I narrow my eyes at Maggie. "It''s just cold in here."


    It''s awkwardly quiet for a moment. I''ve never been great at small talk. JJ pulls some comic books off my bookshelf. I used to collect Maggie''s favorites when we were younger. But lately, she seems more focused on turning me into a superhero than reading about them.


    "This is an old series," JJ says.


    "It''s not that old," Maggie scoffs.


    "I got them from a friend," I reply with a smirk.


    "Last night," Hannah interjects. She''s sitting on my bed with Mallory''s picture in her hand. "You said you had to help Mallory cross over. What did you mean by that?" JJ turns to me, immediately interested in my answer.


    "Oh, that was nothing." I try to dismiss it. What is wrong with me? It''s sad that I automatically assume everyone just thinks I''m crazy. This is the first time anyone has seemed genuinely interested. But for some reason, I can''t wait for them to leave.


    JJ pulls a small recorder from his backpack, but before he can start recording, Maggie wraps her hand around it. Her mischievous grin tells me she drained the battery.


    "Are you recording me?" I ask.


    "It''s just for notes," JJ smacks the recorder against his palm. "But it''s dead anyway."


    "Heh," Maggie chuckles with pride.


    "Autumn, please," Hannah begs. "Greenfield library doesn''t exactly stock guides for ghost hunting, let alone monster hunting." Her face tenses with a bit of panic. "So, you''re our only source for figuring out what''s going on."


    "You''re right," I drop my shoulders. "I''m just not used to anyone caring." I take a deep breath. "I led Mallory to her portal."


    "Portal?" Hannah asks. "Like a big glowing door?"


    "It''s more like a thread," I say.


    "To you, maybe," Maggie heckles.


    "When you die, a portal appears near the site of your death."


    "Why doesn''t every ghost just walk through it?" Hannah asks, both of them now a captive audience.


    "Because it''s brighter than the freaking sun," Maggie says. "Walk toward the light, Maggie. Walk toward the big, bright, creepy light."


    "Why does anyone do anything?" I reply, restraining myself from laughing at Maggie''s antics. "They get scared or lost, or another spirit blocks them."


    "Evil spirits?" JJ asks, his hand furiously scribbling in a small notebook.


    "Sort of," I reply. "After about a year, their portal fades if they don''t enter it. Then, they''re just stuck here forever. A lot of them fall into madness or become something else."


    "Is that what attacked us last night?" Hannah asks. Both of them seem desperate for my answer.


    That horrifying creature appears in my mind. The rotten smell. The snapping jaws. The decayed flesh. The voices. Those damned voices. Suddenly, I remember Dad''s voice. Why did I hear his voice?


    "Autumn?" JJ breaks me from my spiral.


    "No," I say. "I don''t know what that was."


    Hannah and JJ''s faces sink with disappointment as if more was riding on my answer than just self-comfort.


    "They''re hiding something," Maggie says. She stands behind JJ and peeks at his notebook.


    "What is going on?" I narrow my eyes and tilt my head. "What aren''t you telling me?"


    "Hannah, she deserves to know. She''ll find out eventually," JJ says.


    "Find out what?"


    Hannah takes a long breath. "A witness saw Dr. Ward leaving the woods last night covered in blood." Instantly, my heart dives into my stomach. "The police have declared him a person of interest for Mallory and Trevor."


    "What?" My voice echoes off the walls. "That''s ridiculous. That was my blood. He was helping me." This is all my fault.


    "Well, the police thought it was pretty suspicious," Hannah says, picking up my stuffed sasquatch.


    "My dad says it''s their strongest lead," JJ adds.


    "Ah," Maggie says, pinching her chin. "That explains the preppy getup. Your dad''s a cop."


    "We have to tell them," I say. I can feel my hot blood pumping through my arm.


    "Tell them what?" Hannah argues. "That it was actually a giant scary monster? I''m sure that will go over well. We don''t even know what that thing is."


    I sink into my seat. She''s right. "We know where Mallory''s body is¡ª"


    "Was," She interrupts. "That thing gobbled her up, remember?"


    It was definitely something I wanted to forget.


    "Well, what do we do?" I ask.


    "We go monster hunting," she says.

 Chapter 9.1

    Fear is a cold, bony hand that wraps around your lungs and squeezes. It never gets easier. You just learn to take shorter breaths or suffocate.


    <hr>


    The following morning, I take the long way to school. My usual trek borders Thicket Grove, and those tall, twisted branches just don''t feel the same anymore. Even the subtle smell of the cedar and dew feels wrong somehow. Like lighting a scented candle in a morgue.


    It''s cold outside. I stuff my hands in the pockets of my black coat. Dad got me this coat two years ago, just before he died. The straps pull the fabric snugly around my waist, and the extra pocket space is appreciated. The big pointy hood doesn''t help with the witch rumors, but I don''t care. Dad got it for me, and it''s perfect.


    I enter the school rotunda, and everything feels so unnervingly typical. No one even knows two kids are dead or that a monster is hunting them. I could tell them. Warn them all. I''d confirm all of their suspicions that I really am crazy. Perhaps I am. Ignorance really is bliss, because the truth is devastatingly lonely.


    I feel the weight of some of their stares, but it doesn''t sting as much anymore. Mallory and Trevor passed me in these halls and I never recognized their faces. I never knew either of them, but I can''t shake the weight of their loss. Would I have helped Mallory if she had treated me like everyone else does?


    "You get kicked out of your coven, Autumn?" Brennen, the dork with an ego, snickers from behind me. His little posse of pocket protectors stands beside him. I bet he''d run away if I just gave him a dirty look. His insults don''t bother me, but maybe today I let it bother me. Maybe today I shut him up.


    "Hey, Brennen," A familiar voice speaks up from beside me. "Your mom dressed you up nice today. Did you tell her it was picture day?" I turn to see Liam, the boy who sits next to me in physics class. His long blonde hair fits over his head like a helmet.


    Liam walks beside me and grins. I''m not sure how to react. It''s a nice gesture, Autumn. You thank people when they''re nice to you.


    "Thanks, I guess," I say.


    You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    "I''m pretty sure he practices those insults in the mirror," Liam replies.


    "I bet he does." I grin. He stays beside me as I head to class. "Are you walking me to class now?" I ask.


    "No," he shrugs. "We''re just headed to the same class. I mean, unless you want me to go a different speed."


    "You''re in my history class?" I''ve never really made it a point to get to know anyone in my classes.


    "I am. Thank you for noticing," He replies sarcastically.


    "I didn''t, actually." Sorry, Liam. You''ll need to try harder than that to woo me.


    "I was¡ª" Liam looks at me confused. "I''m sorry. You''re really hard to read. Was that a joke?" He searches my face, shadowed under my hood. I can''t restrain my smug grin. "It was, wasn''t it?"


    I speed up.


    "Hood off, Miss Everly," Mr. Martin groans.


    Class proceeds as dull as usual. I spend most of my time attempting to draw the creature I saw in the woods. I draw it differently every time. The details of my memory shift. It was a dark night, rainy, and my adrenaline was on overdrive. I can''t remember if it had skin or fur, fangs or teeth, horns or antlers¡ªor were those just bones poking out of it? I''m uncertain of everything I saw that night.


    "Autumn," Mr. Martin calls from the front of the class. I jerk my head up. "Can you tell the class what happened to Roanoke?" He points to an old colonial map of North America. Shit. When did we jump to colonial America?


    "Um," I stammer. "They vanished, didn''t they?"


    "Yes, they did," he replies. "Glad to see you''re paying attention instead of drawing in my classroom." The class snickers.


    "Their sudden exodus has become a timeless mystery," he continues. "Great for scary stories and conspiracy theories. But civilizations suddenly disappearing isn''t as rare as you may think. Who can name another?"


    "The Mayans," Liam answers.


    "That''s right. But some of you may be surprised that another colony very close to home vanished, much like the people of Roanoke." Mr. Martin slides an old illustration onto the projector. It''s an old town bordering a large forest. "Greenfield was built on top of a town abandoned over a hundred years ago. You may even find remnants of their homes in the woods." The class gawks at the sudden revelation. But one part of the picture stands out to me. At the edge of the town sits a large ornate building with a tower attached to one corner. Dr. Ward''s home.

 Chapter 9.2

    Lunch is a blur. I stare off into space, considering every possibility of why Dr. Ward''s estate is in a picture of an old, abandoned town. I knew the house was old, but I didn''t think it was that old. I wonder who the previous owner was.


    "Hey, loser," Hannah says as she and JJ sit across from me. She tosses a french fry in her mouth and smirks. "JJ and I are headed to the library after school. Wanna come?"


    I pause a moment, coming out of my deep thought. "Did you know Greenfield was built on an old, abandoned town?" I ask.


    "Cedar Hollow?" JJ replies.


    Hannah and I stare at him, awaiting any further explanation.


    "Uh," JJ stammers, uncomfortable with the sudden attention his comment has granted. "Yeah, some of the old houses here are super old. There isn''t much record of who exactly lived there or why they left, but the ruins are here. So, obviously, someone did."


    "That''s cool," Hannah says. "But what does that have to do with anything? You think the old town has something to do with the monster?"


    "Are we calling it a monster now?" JJ groans.


    "It''s a giant creepy thing that eats people, and we have no idea what it is," Hannah exclaims, waving another french fry around. "I think monster is an appropriate title."


    "I''m not quite sure what I''m thinking yet," I reply. "But it might be related."


    "Hey, Autumn." Ethan, my new partner from physics, stands beside our table. Immediately, Hannah murders him with her eyes. She clearly finds his popularity repulsive.


    "Oh, hey," I answer.


    "We should get started on our physics project. Do you want to meet up this weekend? You can come over." He offers a confident smile, though his subtle fear of Hannah is visible. His green eyes and low, soothing voice make it hard to find my breath for a moment. I still don''t understand why he chose me as his partner. Jaqueline''s annoying, but she''s pretty at least.


    "Uh, yeah." My voice breaks a little. "But my mom would never allow it." I dread the thought of even asking her if I can go over to some boy''s house. "Why don''t you come over to my place instead?" Mom will probably eat him alive, but better him than me.


    "Sounds great. See you tomorrow?"


    "Sure, I''ll call you," I offer. Then he walks away.


    "You''re gross." Hannah glares at me with disgust.


    "What?" I furrow my brows.


    "Whatever. You coming to the library or not?" She says with her mouth full.


    "No," I reply, looking down at my untouched lunch. "I want to talk to Dr. Ward."


    "Well, be careful," Hannah says. "Cops might consider you an accomplice."


    "I''ll be fine. JJ, see what else you can find on Cedar Hollow," I request.


    "You got it." JJ nods.


    <hr>


    Dr. Ward''s large house sits on a small hill gated off from the rest of the town. A large elegant W is framed in the center of the iron gate. Has his family owned this place all these years? If so, he must know about Cedar Hollow.


    Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    Just as I''m about to cross the threshold of the iron gate, a reflection catches my attention. A fancy black car sits near the entrance, obscured under overhanging trees. The windows are tinted so dark I can barely make out the driver''s silhouette. Are cops really this bad at hiding now? They might as well park a police cruiser out front with a big sign that says murderer lives here!


    I change my course and head toward the black car. Dr. Ward did nothing wrong, and I''m handling this myself. I reach the car and stand beside the passenger door. Before I can knock on the tinted window, it rolls down. Inside is a lone man dressed in a fine black suit. Dark sunglasses cover his eyes. His dirty blonde hair is combed back on top, and the sides of his head are buzzed short.


    "Hey!" I say, doing my best to hide my trepidation.


    "Hey yourself," he replies calmly.


    "You know everyone can see you, right?" I narrow my eyes.


    "Is that so?" He smirks.


    "Yeah. Dr. Ward is innocent, and I''ll prove it."


    "Well, you seem confident." He lifts an eyebrow like I''m some dumb kid. Fuck him.


    "So, kindly fuck off." I sneer condescendingly.


    "And what if I don''t?" He pulls his sunglasses down to reveal pale blue eyes.


    "I''ll¡ª" What will I do? "Just do your job and check the woods."


    "Yes, ma''am." He resets his glasses and turns the key. The car rumbles with a soft purr and slowly coasts away.


    That went well, right? Was that stupid? Fuck it.


    I head back to the estate and enter the home through its large wooden door.


    "Hi, Autumn," one of the nurses greets me. "Your grandmother is in the kitchen."


    "Thanks," I reply.


    I find Granny in a kitchen of disarray. She''s opening and slamming cabinet doors and digging through old kitchenware.


    "What are you doing, Granny?" I ask with a smirk.


    "Oh." Startled, she turns to find me. "Autumn! My dear, I am trying to make myself a decent meal. The staff here use that microwave so much; the stove may as well be a museum exhibit."


    "What ya making?" I ask.


    "I found some potatoes and chicken." She begins chopping the potatoes on the cutting board she pulled from one of the cabinets. "Grab that asparagus out of the freezer, dear."


    The freezer is packed wall to wall with frozen microwavable meals. But in the back is a bulk bag of asparagus.


    "You taking your meds, Granny?" I ask.


    "No. You staying out of trouble?" She snaps back.


    "No." I smile.


    "That''s my girl." She drops some potatoes into a pot and turns on the stove. "How''s your mother?"


    I''m quiet for a moment. "Busy," I finally say.


    She looks up at me. "You two get into a fight?"


    "No," I sigh. "She just doesn''t understand me."


    "She understands you more than you think, Autumn."


    "I doubt that," I say, gathering the asparagus on a cookie sheet.


    "She''s rough on the outside, sure, but put yourself in her shoes," Granny says in a serious tone. "Her husband just died." Her breath huffs, and she struggles to get that last word out. I place my hand over hers. "She''s just afraid of losing you too."


    Granny sets the knife down and turns to face me. "You know," she continues. "My son and your mother were best friends. They never fought."


    "Yes, they so did!" I retort.


    "Oh no," she waves her finger. "She spoke Spanish, and he shut up."


    I giggle a little. It''s been a while since Granny''s talked about Dad.


    "They adored each other." She looks past me as if Mom and Dad are standing at the other end of the kitchen. "He may have been a hunter, but you know, he was such a softy." Her eyes shift toward mine. "Your mother has always been the strong one."


    "Yeah," I say. "I know."


    "She puts on a tough face and endures hateful people, ridicule, racism, and did you ever meet her mother?" She raises her eyebrows. "I swear that woman could shoot fire from her eyes." She pauses a moment. "Point is, I''d love to tell you I see your father in you, and I do. Your bright, loving smile. That''s his. But your strength. That armor you lug around everywhere. That belongs to your mother."


    I press my lips together and hug her. "Thanks, Granny."


    "Now, Dr. Ward is in his library," she says. "I know he''s more interesting than me."


    "I love you, Granny."


    "Love you too, Spooks."

 Chapter 9.3

    I walk the halls of the old wooden home. Every door is adorned with decorative framing. The large paintings that hang on the walls are old. They feature beautiful forests, old cabins, and charming wild animals. I wander along until I reach the library.


    Dr. Ward sits at the large wooden desk at the other end of the tower. The window behind the desk casts a soft white glow into the otherwise dark room lit only by a few candles. He doesn¡¯t notice me enter, as his focus remains on the large book open on his desk. He takes notes in a small notebook beside it.


    I use the moment to look around and admire the beautiful library. I would live in this tower if I could. Three stories of mysterious old books. I graze my hand over the leather spines stacked neatly beside one another. I close my eyes and take in the smell of the paper and glue.


    ¡°Autumn,¡± Dr. Ward says. ¡°Good to see you''re up and about.¡± He closes the book and places it in the cabinet behind him, then locks the cabinet door.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± I reply. ¡°Just a little scratch.¡±


    ¡°That was no scratch.¡± He stands and leans against the desk. ¡°Swap the bandages out tonight, got it?¡±


    ¡°I know.¡± I look around, struggling to find the right words.


    ¡°Is something else bothering you?¡± He asks.


    Gee, where do I start? I got attacked by a monster, the police think you¡¯re a killer, and you gave me a book that has me wondering if I¡¯m the Grim Reaper.


    ¡°Do you know about Cedar Grove?¡± I ask. I''ll start with a more mundane topic.


    ¡°Oh.¡± He thinks for a moment. ¡°No real mystery there.¡± He walks over to an old map of Greenfield hanging on the wall. Much of the town isn¡¯t on it yet, just the town hall, the school, and a collection of other buildings. ¡°They built a highway.¡± He points to a thick line that sits near the edge of the map. ¡°It skipped the town. So, no one visited and everyone else left.¡±


    ¡°But your family stayed?¡± I ask. It¡¯s a hunch, but it would explain the W on the gate out front.


    ¡°My grandfather stayed,¡± He confirms.


    I pause a moment, then look at him. His gray hair is slightly disheveled, like he''s been running his fingers through it.


    ¡°Why were you in the woods that night?¡± I ask.


    He lets out a small chuckle, but I can feel his anxiety. ¡°It¡¯s a good thing I was. You could have died out there in the cold. You should be more careful.¡±


    ¡°Right.¡± I narrow my eyes. ¡°But what were you doing out there?¡±


    He crosses his arms and studies me for a moment. His eyes narrow as he scans my face, as if he¡¯s deciding whether I deserve an answer. Am I prying too much?


    ¡°Did you read the book I gave you?¡± He asks, finally.


    ¡°I did,¡± I say with slow curiosity, and silently note the weird subject change.


    ¡°Anything interesting in it?¡± Dr. Ward raises an eyebrow as if his question is more of a quiz than mere curiosity. The book¡¯s reaper illustrations have kept my mind spinning for days, but there¡¯s no way he¡¯d know that. Right?


    ¡°Sure,¡± I begin, meandering around the library. ¡°Old myths, spooky monsters¡­¡± I want to see if he knows something about reapers, but I can¡¯t sound like I might actually believe in them. ¡°Whoever wrote it really liked the Grim Reaper.¡± I search his eyes for any hint of recognition. He smirks a little.


    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    ¡°Protectors of the veil,¡± He says. ¡°Defenders of both the living and the dead. Omens of death.¡± He recites the words like a collection of phrases he¡¯s heard many times before. He stands in front of the window, and shadow floods the library.


    ¡°Yeah.¡± I cautiously check my distance to the door. ¡°Weird stuff.¡±


    ¡°Indeed,¡± he chuckles softly. ¡°You¡¯ve always had an interest in the weird and macabre. Have you ever seen anything you couldn¡¯t explain? Shadows? Unseen voices? Ghosts?¡±


    What the hell? There¡¯s no way he could know that. It¡¯s not like Dr. Ward has any interest in high school gossip.


    ¡°No,¡± I shudder. ¡°My dad and I just used to watch scary movies together.¡±


    ¡°Autumn.¡± His voice deepens. ¡°Can I trust you?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± My reply sounds more like a question.


    ¡°Then don¡¯t lie to me.¡± The fuck? ¡°I believe in ghosts.¡± His eyes darken under the shadow of his brows. No. His eyes are black. ¡°I believe you do too.¡± The candles in the room suddenly extinguish all at once. ¡°Don¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°Dr. Ward¡ª¡± My back presses against the wall of books. Books which once offered an escape now seem to prevent it.


    He slowly steps forward, then holds out his hand with his palm facing up. I can¡¯t look away from his eyes¡ªentirely black. Spiderwebs of thin black veins stretch around his cheeks. Just like mine.


    ¡°You know what you are, Autumn,¡± He says.


    ¡°No,¡± I whimper. Don¡¯t say it. I am not an omen of death.


    ¡°You are a guardian of the veil.¡± His voice echoes through the room.


    The only door in or out slams shut. Then, out of thin air, tiny particles of dust begin to glow around the room. The twinkling particles extend up to the top of the tower, shedding dim iridescent light into every corner. Suddenly, I¡¯m surrounded by a sea of stars.


    ¡°Your father wanted to keep you from this life until you were ready,¡± Dr. Ward says softly. The lights gently spin around the circular room.


    ¡°My dad was¡ª¡±


    ¡°Was a reaper,¡± he finishes my sentence. A sentence I can¡¯t believe. ¡°Much like myself.¡± My head is spinning with disbelief, doubt, fear, everything, all at once. My dad was a good guy. A dorky guy. He hunted deer and hogs. He liked to fish. He didn¡¯t kill monsters and talk to the dead. He wasn¡¯t weird like me.


    ¡°Much like you, Autumn.¡± Dr. Ward¡¯s words mix my thoughts like a blender.


    Then, all of the lights vanish. Dr. Ward¡¯s eyes return to their normal, comforting state. The cool winter light blankets the room as if nothing has changed. But everything has changed.


    ¡°The creature that attacked you,¡± he begins.


    ¡°You were hunting it,¡± I finish his sentence. The words exit my mouth without a second thought.


    As much as I hate it, this new truth makes sense. Of course Dr. Ward has looked after me after Dad passed. Of course he gave me a book about reapers. Of course he was in the woods. Dr. Ward is a mythical being who sees ghosts and hunts monsters¡ªand so am I.


    His eyes light with recognition and he offers a soft smile. ¡°And I could use your help,¡± he says.


    Images of the dark tangled trees of Thicket Grove flash in my mind. Mallory¡¯s bloated corpse. The monster''s rotten jaw snapping at me. The cold, crippling fear. All of it floods my memory.


    I pull away from him. No way. Fuck this. ¡°No,¡± I say. ¡°I¡¯m not going back into those woods.¡± I turn and walk toward the door.


    ¡°I can¡¯t defeat it alone, Autumn.¡± He says. ¡°More people will die if we don¡¯t kill it.¡± His voice is now a shout.


    I open the door and stop.


    ¡°Their blood is on my hands,¡± He continues. ¡°But I can teach you, Autumn, and prevent more deaths.¡±


    I walk out the door. My head is spinning with anger. Or maybe it¡¯s fear. I don¡¯t even know what to think, but I can¡¯t breathe. My heart thumps in my chest at an unsteady pace. A wave of panic overtakes my body.


    I burst out the front door of the mansion onto the front lawn. I wrap my arms around my waist and try to slow my breathing. As the panic calms I stand up straight and look out across the town.


    I¡¯ve seen this view more times than I can count. It¡¯s always given me some level of peace. Now, as I look out into the dark tangled trees of Thicket Grove, I know something is looking back.

 Chapter 10

    There¡¯s a reason the spirits call to me. There¡¯s a reason I never feel alone in darkness. I can feel the desperate memories of those long forgotten. I am a reaper. But am I still human?


    <hr>


    I tell Maggie about Dr. Ward, Dad, and¡ªwell, me. Her reaction is far removed from my own.


    ¡°You¡¯re an angel of death!¡± Maggie shouts. The bathroom light flickers as I spit toothpaste into the sink. ¡°That¡¯s wicked cool!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m glad you¡¯re excited.¡± I dry off my face and walk back to my computer. ¡°He wants me to train and help him hunt that thing in the woods.¡±


    ¡°Oh my god. This is your training montage!¡± Maggie stands beside me, radiating with joy. If she had any eyes, her giant smile would still creep me out. ¡°This is the part where the hero, you, trains to be a total badass.¡±


    ¡°No, this is the part where I stop seeing Dr. Ward.¡± I¡¯m not sure if I really mean that, but today was a lot. I don¡¯t even know where to begin on my blog. I should write about the monster in the woods, but I¡¯m leaving out the whole reaper part.


    ¡°Oh come on,¡± Maggie whines. ¡°You told Hannah and JJ you¡¯d help them hunt it. What changed?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I meant I''d hunt it to gather evidence for the authorities.¡± Maybe I was a bit more excited when Hannah first suggested it, but with all this new magic, and omens, and shit, I¡¯m out. ¡°That thing eats people, Maggie. I saw it rip a doe in half. That¡¯s a job for the FBI or the military, not me. I still get nervous around boys, let alone monsters.¡±


    I remember I told Ethan he could come over tomorrow. I wonder if I should at least try and look nice. The small mirror on my desk mercilessly reveals the bags under my eyes.


    ¡°There¡¯s a boy?¡± Maggie slides her face into view, wearing a mischievous grin.


    ¡°Wha¡ªno.¡±


    ¡°Who is he?¡± Maggie persists.


    ¡°Ethan is coming over tomorrow.¡± I roll my eyes.


    ¡°I thought you said he was dating Jaqueline.¡± Maggie narrows her eye-sockets.


    ¡°Well, no.¡± I think I preferred the earlier conversation. ¡°They¡¯re not dating, per se.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re totally stealing Jaqueline¡¯s boyfriend,¡± Maggie says with a cocky smirk.


    ¡°Will you stop it?¡± I almost shout. ¡°I am not. It¡¯s just for a project. He¡¯s probably doing it on a dare or something.¡±


    ¡°Collector of souls.¡± Maggie begins counting on her fingers. ¡°Omen of death. Stealer of boyfriends.¡±


    ¡°Maggie, I swear, I¡¯m gonna kill you.¡±


    ¡°Too late. Beat ya to it.¡±


    <hr>


    ¡°Beware the cannibal.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s coming.¡±


    ¡°Run!¡±


    ¡°Please, help the others.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m so sorry, Mallory.¡±


    CRUNCH


    I impale a chunk of meat with my fork. Mom pulled leftover carnitas from the freezer to cook for Ethan and I. I honestly can¡¯t remember when Mom even made carnitas, but Ethan seems to enjoy it. His curly brown hair bobs up and down as he chews merrily.


    The three of us eat in silence around the small dining table. I normally prefer to eat lunch in my room, but Mom insisted we eat at the table.


    ¡°What do your parents do, Ethan?¡± Mom asks. Here we go.


    ¡°Oh¡ª¡± He quickly swallows. ¡°My mom works at the vet on Henderson, and my dad¡¯s a paramedic.¡±


    ¡°Your parents must be very caring people,¡± Mom says, almost sounding genuine. It¡¯s hard to tell these days, but I know she¡¯s just putting on a polite face.


    ¡°Yeah, I guess so.¡± He returns a smile. ¡°I don¡¯t see them much, busy schedules and all.¡±


    ¡°So you¡¯re home alone all day?¡± She asks.


    ¡°Not all day. Plus, I have my little brother to look after.¡±


    ¡°You take care of your brother while your parents are away?¡± Mom glances at me.


    ¡°Yeah, he¡¯s easy to take care of though.¡± Ethan takes another bite.


    ¡°That¡¯s very responsible of you.¡± Which translates to, I wish my daughter was responsible like that. I don¡¯t give her the benefit of rolling my eyes.


    My blood begins to boil when I remember what Dr. Ward told me. Dad was a reaper, just like me. Has Mom known this whole time? Why would she keep that from me? Mom and Ethan¡¯s small talk fades into the back of my mind as I imagine how my life could have been different had I just known the truth. That I wasn¡¯t crazy. That Dad could see those same faces that stare back at me in the shadows.


    ¡°We have a lot of work to do Mom,¡± I say, placing my fork on my empty plate. I stand and set my plate in the sink.


    ¡°The meal was delicious, Miss. Everly.¡± Ethan offers a kind compliment. I''m not sure if he''s just being polite or if he''s never had carnitas before.


    ¡°Where are you going?¡± Mom asks.


    ¡°To my room,¡± I reply. ¡°We need to work on our project.¡±


    ¡°Leave your door open, mija,¡± she demands.


    ¡°I know,¡± I groan.


    I walk Ethan upstairs to my room, then leave the door open about six inches. My room immediately feels dirty and I start finding little things to tidy up.


    ¡°Your mom seems nice,¡± Ethan says, touring the room.


    I raise an eyebrow. He has no idea how wrong he is. Suddenly, my heart drops, and a chill crawls across my skin. Long, thorny antlers twist in the shadow behind Ethan and climb high to the ceiling. The monster. It can''t be. How the hell did that thing get in my room? The blood drains from my face.


    Then, in a blink, it¡¯s gone. No. It was just the shadow of my dying plant hanging on the wall. I catch my breath before Ethan notices. I toss the vines around, just for good measure, to ensure the shadow doesn''t return.


    ¡°Cool room,¡± Ethan stares at my wall of horror movie posters. ¡°I haven¡¯t even heard of some of these.¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± I sigh. ¡°Look, I know you¡¯re just going to tell all your friends what it was like to partner with the weird witch girl, so you can drop the act.¡±


    ¡°Woah,¡± he lifts his hands in defense. ¡°It¡¯s not like that. I just needed a good partner.¡±


    ¡°Then, of all the people, why would you intentionally pick me?¡± Did I actually just say that out loud? I am really on edge today.


    ¡°Man, you really don¡¯t like yourself, do you?¡± He asks softly.


    ¡°What¡¯s to like?¡± I mutter. Get a hold of yourself, Autumn. ¡°Sorry,¡± I say. ¡°It¡¯s been a difficult week. Let¡¯s do this. Did you bring the sticks?¡±


    ¡°Uh, yeah.¡± Ethan drops his backpack on my bed and unzips it. ¡°Right here.¡±


    ¡°Great.¡±


    I know he said he needs a good grade on this project, but I really suck at physics. He may have been better off with Jaqueline.


    ¡°So, any ideas?¡± He asks.


    I shrug. I grab a few popsicle sticks and press them against each other to build one large column. ¡°Can¡¯t we just glue a bunch of sticks together for supports? How complex does it really need to be?¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± He takes the sticks from my hand and arranges them into a triangle. ¡°I know supports need support. Three is better than one. That way they can share the load.¡±


    If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    I can¡¯t help but think about Hannah and JJ. Getting them involved in this mess could get them killed. Every haunted building I¡¯ve ever entered, every ghost I¡¯ve ever faced, I¡¯ve done it alone. Now, I have two spectators who could end up like Mallory and Trevor.


    ¡°Well, what if alone is easier?¡± I ask, grabbing the sticks back. ¡°Relying on others is how you get let down.¡±


    ¡°I mean, structurally speaking,¡± He narrows his eyes. ¡°I¡¯m not sure that would work¡ªoh, we¡¯re not talking about bridges are we?¡±


    ¡°Sorry,¡± I sigh. ¡°You¡¯re right, let¡¯s use triangles.¡±


    ¡°You seem like you have a lot on your mind.¡± He sits on my bed. ¡°How about this. You tell me yours and I¡¯ll tell you mine. Deal?¡±


    ¡°No, I¡ª¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m worried about my little brother.¡± He interrupts me.


    I pause a moment, a bit stunned, then ask, ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°He tries so hard to be like me.¡± He grabs another stick and fiddles with it.


    ¡°And that¡¯s bad?¡± I sit on the bed beside him.


    ¡°No, it¡¯s just¡ª¡± He pauses. ¡°I have no idea what I¡¯m doing.¡± He looks at me. His soft green eyes dart back and forth between mine. ¡°What if I make the wrong choice? And I set him on a course for failure?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not responsible for your brother¡¯s future, Ethan.¡±


    ¡°Aren¡¯t I though?¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± I think for a moment. ¡°My dad had a lot of things he struggled with. I wanted to be just like him. But he kept a lot from me. He never told me that he¡­ had issues.¡± Now¡¯s not the time to unpack the whole reaper conundrum. So, issues it is. ¡°It would have been nice if he had just told me what he was struggling with so I could help or at least make my own decisions.¡±


    ¡°So if I just told him how much of my life baseball consumes,¡± he says. ¡°Maybe then he¡¯d consider if it''s actually what he wants.¡±


    ¡°Ah,¡± So that¡¯s what he plays. ¡°You play baseball.¡±


    ¡°Yeah. You didn¡¯t know that?¡±


    ¡°I knew you played something, ¡®cause you look¡ª¡± I stop myself. ¡°Like you play baseball.¡± I pat his shoulder. It¡¯s as firm as it looks.


    He smiles and shakes his head. ¡°Your turn.¡±


    I look out the window. The light rain outside resembles TV static over the view of Thicket Grove¡¯s twisted trees. I know it lurks out there, hiding in the shadows. Someone could be wandering those woods right now without a clue of the danger they¡¯re in. And, somehow, I¡¯m supposed to be their savior.


    ¡°How do you be brave?¡± I finally ask.


    Ethan chuffs and looks down for a moment. ¡°Wow, that¡¯s a big one.¡±


    I press my lips together in an apologetic smile.


    ¡°Well,¡± he continues. ¡°When I was fifteen, I confronted my dad about smoking.¡±


    ¡°Does he smoke a lot?¡± I ask.


    ¡°Less now, but it was like three packs a day.¡± He stands up and paces around my room. ¡°I was so scared to say anything. I was terrified of how he might react. But I knew if I didn¡¯t say something, no one else would. I knew I¡¯d hate myself later for not doing something when I could. So, I just¡­ did it scared.¡± He stops and looks at me. ¡°So, maybe, don¡¯t be brave. Just do it scared.¡±


    The room falls quiet for a moment.


    ¡°He¡¯s cute. I like him.¡± Maggie¡¯s voice sends a shiver down my spine.


    <hr>


    Ethan leaves after the rain dies down. Our popsicle stick bridge isn¡¯t winning any awards, but it¡¯s a good start. I wash the dishes while Mom sits in front of the TV with her laptop, sending email after email. I want to ask her about Dad. I want to know what other secrets she¡¯s kept from me, but I don¡¯t even know how to start that conversation.


    I finish the dishes and head back toward the stairs. I pass by my parents¡¯ room and notice the door cracked open. Mom can¡¯t see me as she furiously types up her next email. Maybe I can find some answers myself.


    I press the door open slowly. The TV chatter dampens the subtle creak of the hinges. The lights are turned off, but the windows fill the room with a soft gray-blue hue. Their bed sits in the center of the room, flanked by two small nightstands, both backlit by windows. Mom¡¯s side is obvious. Her nightstand is cluttered with tissues, jewelry, and junk. Dad¡¯s is almost empty. A layer of dust covers his watch, a beanie, and a notebook.


    I pick up the notebook and flip through the pages. His handwriting makes my heart shudder. It¡¯s just a calendar book. He was terrible at remembering dates. This little book probably helped him. On October 31st, Halloween is crossed out. Under it, ¡®Spooks¡¯ B-Day!¡¯ is written in big letters.


    I smile and gently put the notebook back where it was. I open the closet to find it packed wall to wall clothes. Mom should really get rid of some of these. She barely has room for her own outfits. I dig through the pile of shoes and clutter on the floor, but find nothing.


    Mom could come back here any minute. This search may be useless. I don¡¯t even know what I¡¯m looking for. Where would Dad hide something if he didn¡¯t want Mom or I to find it? I return to the nightstand. I¡¯m not sure I want to know what¡¯s in the drawer, and I imagine Mom would share my discomfort.


    I slowly pull open the drawer. On top are a few hunting magazines. I remove them and set them on the bed. Beneath them are a flashlight, a handgun, and a large rectangular box that fills up most of the drawer. ¡®Autumn¡¯ is written across the top of the box in Dad¡¯s handwriting.


    Without a second thought, I grab the box, put the magazines back, and leave the room. I peer over into the living room. Mom is still buried in her work. I quickly take the box upstairs and close the bedroom door.


    ¡°Well, Ethan was fun,¡± Maggie says.


    I ignore her and lay the box on my bed. It¡¯s about nine inches long, six inches wide, and a couple inches tall. And my name is written across the top. My name. In Dad¡¯s handwriting.


    ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± Maggie asks.


    ¡°I got it from my Dad¡¯s nightstand.¡± I say, staring at it.


    ¡°Ew. Why would you go digging in there?¡±


    ¡°Wait.¡± A thought suddenly crosses my mind. ¡°You¡¯re always home. You¡¯ve never heard Mom and Dad mention anything about reapers?¡±


    ¡°Not that I can think of.¡± She pauses to think for a moment. ¡°I mean I wasn¡¯t really looking out for it. I never went sneaking around your parent¡¯s room. What they got up to was their business.¡±


    ¡°Ew.¡± I close my eyes.


    ¡°You asked.¡± Maggie shrugs. ¡°So, what¡¯s in the box?¡±


    ¡°No idea,¡± I say, unmoving.


    ¡°Well, I''d help you open it, but¡­¡± Maggie passes her hand through the box a few times, only slightly moving it.


    I take a deep breath and slowly remove the lid. On top is an envelope with ¡®Happy Birthday!¡¯ written across it. My hands shake and I feel my eyes begin to swell. I bite my lip and pick up the envelope. Inside is a horror-themed birthday card with a masked man holding a knife. ¡®Want a slice?¡¯ is typed out across the front in big, bloody letters.


    I open the card and horror music suddenly starts playing, echoing off the walls of my bedroom. I slam the card shut and a note falls out. I pick it up slowly, knowing it''s a note just for me. I sit on the bed and unfold it.


    ¡®Happy birthday, Spooks!


    I know this is a weird gift, but it will make sense later. Hopefully, you¡¯ll never need it, but it¡¯s time I taught you a few things. I know life hasn¡¯t always been easy. You see things no kid should ever have to see. I spent a long time deciding whether or not to tell you the truth. Too long. And you¡¯ve had to endure it all alone.


    I¡¯m sorry for that. I should have told you sooner. I''ll probably trip over my words explaining this in person. So, here goes nothing.


    You and I can see ghosts. Yes, I know about Maggie. I¡¯m glad you have her actually. She¡¯ll take care of you. But she won¡¯t be around forever. Every spirit must move on eventually.


    That is where we come in. You are a guide for spirits into the next life. I¡¯ve filled this box with everything you¡¯ll need to get started. Your training starts today.


    Love,


    Dad


    P.S. keep this between us weirdos. Your mom will kill me if she knows I gave you a weapon.¡¯


    Tears stream down my cheeks. My breath shudders, and I put the card down. I wipe my eyes with the sleeve of my shirt.


    ¡°He really could see me,¡± Maggie says softly.


    I laugh through my tears. ¡°Yeah.¡±


    I look down at the box to see what weapon would have made my mom so mad. Inside is an assortment of random knick knacks. Three thick iron nails longer than my hand, a container of salt, a silver ring, a notebook, and a long metal rod coated in gold.


    I take out the gold-plated rod. It¡¯s heavier than it looks. Ornate engravings wrap around the sides, creating hypnotic geometric patterns. On either end are reliefs of human skulls. It¡¯s beautiful, whatever it is. It¡¯s about eight inches long, and fits comfortably in the palm of my hand.


    ¡°That looks kind of like a hilt,¡± Maggie says. ¡°Like from a sword.¡±


    I pick up the notebook and flip through it. It¡¯s filled with old notes from my dad, like a how-to guide. I find the page labeled ¡®Hilt¡¯.


    ¡®I had the hilt made special for you. It¡¯s a focus. It¡¯s incredibly dangerous if not handled with care. I know you skipped all of the other pages to read this. Go back and read the other pages first.¡¯


    I skip through the lecture until I find what I¡¯m looking for.


    ¡­connect with your last reaping. Weaving is like a waltz. You both need to be in step. Feel their emotions¡­


    I stand in the center of my room and hold the hilt out in front of me. My last reaping, whatever that means, must have been Mallory. I close my eyes and imagine her. Her pink butterfly clips stand out in my mind. I could feel her fear when she was close to me. She was desperate for any help. But in the end, just as she crossed over, I felt hope.


    Suddenly, static ripples over my skin. I feel the blood vessels around my eyes swell. Warmth floods my body and rushes toward the hilt. A bolt of white-hot static fires from the hilt, bursting the lightbulb above me. Tiny lightning bolts smack around my room. Shit. I really should have done this outside. Then, the hilt bursts with glittering light. Particles of glowing dust swarm around the hilt and link together, forming a long silver blade. A large shimmering butterfly opens its wings over my hand like a guard.


    Then, after only a second, the light flickers and vanishes. The hilt returns to its original harmless state and loses its warmth. I immediately notice something inside me feels different. Like a part of me is somehow missing now.


    ¡°That,¡± Maggie comes out of hiding. ¡°Is a lightsab¡ª¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t fucking say it.¡± I stop her.


    ¡°Autumn?¡± My mom calls from downstairs. ¡°What was that?¡±


    ¡°Nothing, Mom.¡± I try to sound as calm as possible, ignoring the busted lightbulb and scarring on the walls. ¡°My books just fell over.¡±


    I look back at Maggie. We both giggle with excitement. This feeling, is it hope? Joy? Maybe it¡¯s just something other than helplessness. I pick up the notebook.


    ¡°Thanks, Dad.¡± I look out the window. ¡°Time to become a superhero.¡±


    ¡°Fuck yes!¡± Maggie shouts.

 Chapter 11

    ¡°You activated the focus on your first try?¡±


    ¡°Lot of good it did me. It stopped working after that.¡±


    <hr>


    I grip the cold metal hilt in my right hand, my flashlight in the other, as I stalk through the woods. My flashlight cuts through the pitch-black night. The blinding white light creates long, dark shadows crawling along the wetland floor. The wild of the night crawls, croaks, and chirps around me, snickering as I wander these crooked woods.


    ¡°HEY!¡± That wretched voice squawks like a scratched record. Its lifeless tone squirms in my ears and wriggles into my skull.


    The shadows blur as I spin to face the voice, but my flashlight flickers away and dies. The cold, dead emptiness overtakes everything. Everything but two glowing red eyes that tower above me.


    The rancid smell of decay floods my nostrils, and my heart shudders. But I remember Dad¡¯s notes. I feel my eyes turn oily and black as they swell with heat. I focus on Mallory. Her fear. Her hope. Then, I direct it into the hilt and unleash my power.


    But nothing happens. Nothing. The cold, useless piece of metal does nothing but grow heavier in my hand. I try again and again, only to yield the same unfortunate result. The glowing red eyes dip low, glaring at me with hunger.


    I stumble backward, twist my body away from those wretched eyes, and charge through the night. The cold air scratches at my lungs. I can¡¯t see a thing. I bounce between unseen branches and trees, ripping at my clothing. Then, I fall.


    My body plummets into ice-cold water. The freezing water squeezes my lungs tight, and the dizzying shock scrambles my brain. Am I upside down? Which way is up? To my relief, I spot the faint glow of moonlight rippling over the surface of the water. I swim up toward a small log floating in the center of the circle of light.


    I heave my arms over the log and burst from the water. But the moonlight is unkind. It reveals a new horror. My arms are not wrapped around a log, but Mallory¡¯s bloated corpse. Her waxy skin glistens in the light like the hogs my dad used to cook.


    I scream as her body disintegrates under my weight like a bundle of wet blankets. Then, long bony fingers wrap around my chest and lift me into the air. I flail my limbs around, screaming in terror, but no sound exits my mouth. I screech, panic, and cry in silence as the red-eyed monster dangles me over its open mouth.


    Slowly, it reaches up, wraps its other hand around my waist, and begins to twist my body. Pain splits across my back as my muscles rip open. Hot blood drips from my body. He twists, and twists, and twists until¡ª


    CRRRACK!


    <hr>


    ¡°Death is our final frontier. A frontier where there is no return,¡± Father Normand delivers his sermon from a small wooden pulpit. I sit beside Mom on the second row. My eyes burn from the lack of sleep. I was up all night reading Dad¡¯s notebook. Only half of it made any sense. So I read it over and over, trying to piece together his scattered thoughts.


    The worst of it, however, was the hilt. No matter what I did, I couldn¡¯t get it to ignite again. Dad called it a weaving focus to channel spiritual energy into a weapon, but apparently I¡¯m too weak to do even the simplest incantations.


    ¡°But life is our field to tend. In the end, what we seed it with will either grow plentiful and bear food for our spirit or turn to rot and decay,¡± the priest continues in the dim, warm light of the small church.


    Mom sits up tall, giving the priest her full, undivided attention. She sits at the end of the pew, near the aisle, positioned just so everyone can see her. ¡°Elections are coming up,¡± she said to me this morning. ¡°I can¡¯t have my daughter appearing in church like some kind of criminal.¡± Ripped jeans and an oversized sweatshirt just won¡¯t cut it in God¡¯s house. My black skirt and top made her roll her eyes, but I¡¯m not wearing a damned dress.


    I¡¯ve never liked the bright colors and styles every other girl scrambles to show off. Black is more me. It gives nothing away, it doesn¡¯t lie about who I am with frills and glitter, and it matches everything. It isn¡¯t fake, like Mom, who postures tall and proud. Who lied about Dad. Who let me suffer in silence and convinced me it was all in my head as I saw specters of the dead growing up.


    CRRRACK!


    I flinch as the boy behind me cracks his knuckles. I put my hand over my chest to calm my pounding heart. I look back at the boy. He lifts his eyebrow as if I¡¯m overreacting. Who pops their knuckles that loud in a church? I snarl back at him and turn back to face the priest.


    ¡°A heart at peace gives life to the flesh,¡± Father Normand reads Psalms from the large Bible before him. He smiles as he reads, as if his words are some kind of gift to us. ¡°But envy makes the bones rot.¡±


    I pick at my nails as Dad¡¯s notes swirl in my head. Much of it made little sense, but it matched what Dr. Ward told me. I am a reaper, an ancient and rare bloodline destined to walk between the veil of life and death. His notebook doesn¡¯t explain much, other than that reapers vary in abilities. Some are more powerful than others, and Dad was one of the others. More proof I¡¯ll just be useless to Dr. Ward.


    What sets reapers apart from mediums or psychics is our power - weaving. We can siphon the energy that remains after death, then bend it to our will. Dad¡¯s notebook is full of weaving patterns and structures of varying strengths. It¡¯s also filled with jokes and tips on handling my emotions. The book is a headache to follow, jumping from one topic to another.


    ¡°Luke also tells us that life does not exist in abundance,¡± Father Normand continues. ¡°Greed is a rot that consumes life. It eats and eats until nothing remains. But how do we combat greed? With generosity. With sacrifice¡­¡±


    He drones on as my mind wanders. I notice the candles behind him flicker near the altar. My shoulder twitches as a cold breeze passes through me. Suddenly, the Bible before Father Normand turns a page without his consent. He quickly flips the page back, no doubt chalking it up as a rogue breeze.


    The faint smell of incense hits my nose, only no incense is burning. It¡¯s a feeling I¡¯ve been expecting. This little church is full of old haunts. Moments of its past that stick around and replay like an old movie. Sometimes it¡¯s a woman crying, or whispered prayers. The wood paneling creaks in the aisle. I peer over and spot a distorted reflection in the polished wood. Six dark figures, obscured by the warped wood paneling, slowly step down the aisle. Their gait is short and rhythmic as they carry a long black coffin. Today¡¯s haunt: a funeral.


    Residual spirits, or as Dad¡¯s notebook calls them, echoes, aren¡¯t spirits at all. They¡¯re memories of lives passed. Just temporal imprints repeating over and over like an image burned into a TV screen, or a toy that spasms after the batteries are removed.


    ¡°Echoes take many forms,¡± My dad wrote. ¡°It could be a piano playing, lights flickering, strange smells, or even visions. But they¡¯re mostly harmless. They can¡¯t see you or hear you. You¡¯ve simply tapped into an old radio station playing its top hits.¡±


    The wood groans some more as the pallbearers step past the pew. The sermon continues as if nothing is wrong. The priest gives his loving benediction as he stands over the reflection of a coffin. I kneel, stand, and trace a cross over my chest as a woman weeps in the pew beside me.


    <hr>


    Mom hovers near the church entrance, talking with Father Normand about the upcoming elections. I¡¯m sure it helps to have the town priest in your pocket. I, however, would rather be anywhere but here.


    Snow floats from the sky, and a thick fog blankets the town in white. I look out toward the neighboring graveyard. Gravestones of varying shapes and sizes stand in neat rows that disappear into the fog.


    The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to see Dad,¡± I say to Mom.


    ¡°Okay, mija.¡¯ Her face tenses with concern. Or maybe it¡¯s anxiety. She visits Dad sometimes, but never with me. So, this will buy me some time alone. ¡°Don¡¯t stay too long. You¡¯ll catch a cold again.¡±


    I pass by old trees scattered throughout the graveyard. Their branches stretch wide overhead, happy to fill the space other trees once filled long ago. Light snow sprinkles over the well-tended grass. New gravestones emerge from the fog as I walk. Some are modest and small; others are grand statues of angels offering their hands. Few have flowers, candles, coins, and photos of loved ones. Most have nothing.


    Guilt weighs heavy on my gut as I imagine graves for Mallory and Trevor. No one else knows the truth. Their friends and family still likely hold onto hope that they¡¯re just lost somewhere. I quickly shove the thought away of telling them myself. I¡¯d only add to their pain. Besides, I have no proof.


    How sure am I that I¡¯m not just imagining all of it? The cut on my arm has almost completely healed, though it might scar. But what if it was just a bear in the woods? Maybe I cut my arm on some thorns. What if Dr. Ward is just playing with my emotions? What if I¡¯m really losing my mind? No. I didn¡¯t imagine Dad¡¯s letter. Those were his words.


    As I walk toward his grave, a figure comes into view. Hannah sits on top of a grave mound with her legs crossed. Her striped socks, silver chains, and bright pink hair stand out against the fog. She turns to me when I approach.


    ¡°You dyed your hair,¡± I say.


    ¡°Yeah.¡± She runs her fingers through it. ¡°The single strip just wasn¡¯t enough.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯d your parents say?¡±


    ¡°Please.¡± She rolls her eyes. ¡°My parents barely paid attention to me before Hailey died. They don¡¯t give a shit.¡±


    I look at the gravestone. Hailey Harrow is engraved across the top. ¡°Your sister?¡± I ask.


    ¡°Today¡¯s her birthday,¡± Hannah replies solemnly.


    I know better than to offer my apologies. I¡¯ve never liked when people offer their condolences. It always feels like a way to escape the conversation and offer nothing real in return. I imagine Hannah feels the same.


    ¡°Happy birthday, Hailey,¡± I say with a soft smile.


    Hannah smiles and rubs her arm. Her eyes well up for a moment, but she wipes the tears away before they fall. Looking at the dates, Hailey would be twenty today. She died when she was fifteen.


    ¡°She was your older sister?¡± I ask, knowing the answer, just to give her a new topic.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± she replies. ¡°She¡¯d be twenty today.¡±


    ¡°Can I ask¡ª¡± I begin.


    ¡°Pills.¡± Hannah already knew what I was about to ask. I immediately regret asking.


    ¡°Where is your dad buried,¡± she offers me the same escape.


    ¡°A few rows that way.¡± I point into the dense fog.


    ¡°You ever talk to him?¡± She asks.


    I¡¯m confused by her question. She must think I can see all of the dead. ¡°Hannah, it doesn¡¯t work like that.¡±


    ¡°No, I know.¡± She smiles. She pulls a recording device from her bag with earbuds wrapped around it. ¡°I like to come out here and just talk to her. Sometimes, other voices come through on the recording. They¡¯re probably not her, but¡ª I don¡¯t know. It helps.¡±


    She hands the recorder to me. As I go to take it, I notice rows of thin scars on her wrist. Fresh cuts layer over old scars and crawl up her wrist, disappearing under her sleeve. She quickly retracts her hand after I take the recorder and fixes her sleeve.


    ¡°Just hit the record button.¡± She breaks the silence. ¡°Then, when you¡¯re done, just hit rewind and play.¡±


    ¡°Um, thanks,¡± I reply.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be right here if you need me.¡± She smiles back.


    I take a few steps, then pause. ¡°Hannah.¡±


    ¡°Yeah?¡±


    ¡°Why do you want to prove ghosts exist?¡± I can¡¯t help but ask.


    ¡°I have my reasons.¡± She replies with a proud grin. ¡°Now go. Talk to your dad.¡±


    I give up on my prying and head deeper into the fog to Dad¡¯s grave. His headstone isn''t anything fancy, not that we could afford it. I brush the snow off the top, then run my fingers across the engraving. I recognize every letter on the cold granite. August Raven Everly.


    I unwrap the earbuds from the recorder and hit the record button, then set it on top of his headstone. I step back, standing before his grave, and take a deep, unsteady breath.


    ¡°Hey Dad,¡± I begin. ¡°I know¡ªThis is so stupid.¡± I try to shake the anxiety out of my hands.


    ¡°I know you can¡¯t hear me, but Hannah says this helps. Oh yeah, I made some friends, I think. Real, living ones this time. I think you¡¯d like them.¡±


    I pick at my fingernails, struggling to find a single word that could begin to convey my feelings. Every sound I make is a disappointment. Like the pages of my brain¡¯s dictionary are glued together.


    ¡°I found your gift. I love it. I liked the card.¡± I force a laugh to hide my shuddering breath. I bite my lip, shoving down my feelings.


    ¡°You could have told me, you know. God, I want to hate you. I want to hate you and Mom both. You could have just told me! But right now¡­ Right now, I just miss you. Mom misses you.¡±


    I pat my eyes with my sleeve and mutter, ¡°This is stupid¡±. I stop the recorder and rewind it. A cold emptiness brushes my shoulder as I hover my finger over the play button. The same subtle dread I feel when an echo is near, like I¡¯m standing in a crime scene.


    There¡¯s no way my dad could be here, right? It¡¯s just another echo. I plug the earbuds in and hit the play button. A wave of heavy dread shoves my stomach into my throat.


    The recording begins with a loud CLICK. Soft static plays on repeat as I stare into the empty fog. A shadow darts across the fog and out of view. The static continues, repeating again and again. I look down at the recorder, and it stops.


    Only a few seconds were recorded. Maybe I didn¡¯t rewind it enough. I hit the rewind button again, then play. Again, the same noise repeats over and over. But it isn¡¯t noise. I turn the volume up and play it again.


    ¡°Curse you¡­ cannibal,¡± a voice whispers through the static.


    I feel a cold breeze crawl down my spine.


    ¡°Somebody!¡± A woman shrills behind me.


    I turn to find a woman backing away from me. Suddenly, the sky darkens, and the trees feel taller, looming over me. My vision narrows on this woman.


    ¡°Help me!¡± The woman backs away from me in fear.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± I offer. She must be some lost spirit. ¡°I won¡¯t hurt you.¡±


    I step toward her. The woman flinches and stumbles backward. I reach out to grab her, but my hand slips through her. She crumbles to the floor and stares back at me. Her empty black eyesockets are filled with terror¡ªno, that''s rage.


    ¡°Curse you.¡± She spits hot red blood on my face.


    ¡°I can help you,¡± I mutter and rush toward her.


    Then, her head peels backwards, revealing the pink and red muscle of her neck. Her head swings back, releasing a torrent of blood, and her body crumples into a bed of crimson snow.


    I step back but trip over something and slam my back into a tree. Below my feet is another body, a young boy with his skin pulled tight against his face. As I look around, there are more bodies scattered around me. Each one, lifeless and cold.


    I shuffle backwards and press my full weight into the tree. Their blood is everywhere. It¡¯s all over my hands. It won¡¯t come off. I wipe it on my pants, but it just spreads everywhere I wipe it.


    This isn¡¯t fair. I don¡¯t know what to do. I close my eyes and start to sob. I don¡¯t understand. I don¡¯t want to do this anymore.


    ¡°Autumn!¡± A voice shouts.


    ¡°Autumn, it¡¯s okay.¡± Soft hands embrace me, but I can¡¯t open my eyes. I won¡¯t.


    ¡°It¡¯s alright, you¡¯re not alone.¡± I hear Hannah¡¯s voice as she rips the earbuds away from me. ¡°Just focus on my voice. You¡¯re not alone.¡± She grabs my hand and places it on her face. ¡°I¡¯m real, just focus on me.¡±


    My breathing slows as a wave of calmness washes over me. I open my eyes. I¡¯m in the graveyard, pushed up against my dad¡¯s gravestone. My hand is pressed against Hannah¡¯s face. She smiles at me with reassurance.


    She steps away to give me some space and I take a deep breath. I wipe my tears and look around. No bodies. No blood. I sit in silence for a moment, sick with embarrassment.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± I say.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be sorry, weirdo,¡± she teases.


    ¡°I heard a voice.¡± I grab the recorder and hand it to her.


    ¡°You¡¯re kidding,¡± she smiles with glee and grabs it. She plugs in the earbuds and hits play. After a moment, her eyes narrow. ¡°This is just static.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± The blood drains from my face. ¡°No, turn it up.¡±


    She tries again. ¡°I don¡¯t know. Maybe JJ can mess with it.¡± Hannah smiles with pity. ¡°Come on.¡± She steps toward me and offers a hand. ¡°Let¡¯s get you on your feet.¡±


    I take her hand and stand up, brushing the dirt and snow off my legs¡ªchecking for more blood.


    ¡°How did you do that?¡± I ask. ¡°You knew exactly what to say to calm me down.¡±


    ¡°Hailey,¡± she replied solemnly. ¡°She used to have panic attacks. She¡¯d see things sometimes too. Sometimes it was stress. Sometimes it was the medication. Sometimes it was faces in the dark.¡±


    ¡°Is that why you believe in ghosts?¡± I ask.


    ¡°No, she knew what she was seeing wasn¡¯t real. But she did feel a connection to something. She used to say Greenfield was cursed and that the dead were angry.¡± She pauses for a moment. ¡°The day she died, we had an argument. I was pissed at her for wandering into the woods. I had to drag her back home. Mom and Dad were so angry. She told me the spirits were crying for help.¡± Hannah bites her bottom lip. ¡°I told her she was crazy. And that she needed to take her crazy pills and shut up.¡±


    My heart drops. I lock my arm with hers and pull her close.


    ¡°You can¡¯t blame yourself, Hannah,¡± I say.


    ¡°Of course not. I¡¯m not that pitiful.¡± She forces a laugh. ¡°But I can make it up to her.¡±


    The fog begins to lift, and the town reveals itself under the sunlight. I think for a moment, then smile.


    ¡°I think there¡¯s someone you should meet,¡± I say.

 Chapter 12

    "I''ve never had anyone to guide me, but that''s never stopped me. One day, I just got tired of avoiding the empty stares from the shadows, and I started to stare back. I looked into their dead eyes and said, ''Hello?''. That isn''t an experience I ever thought I''d share with anyone."


    <hr>


    The ride home with Mom is quiet. The topic of Dad is still tough for either of us to discuss. Besides, it''s hard to talk to her when all I want to do is scream at her for hiding so much from me. It isn''t until I tell her Hannah and JJ are coming over that her face brightens. Hannah invited JJ so we can catch up on what they found at the library. Maggie will be so excited to talk to someone other than me.


    Once we''re home, I rush upstairs to my room to get ready before they get here. It''s quiet in my room, but I can feel Maggie near.


    "Maggie?" I ask.


    I get no reply. I change out of my stiff church clothes and into a baggy sweatshirt. I check myself in the standing mirror and spot Maggie''s cold face behind me. A shiver runs down my spine, and I jump in shock.


    "Maggie!" I shout with frustration.


    "Got you!" Her eerie giggle echoes in my skull. "I knew I''d get you eventually."


    "Fine." I smirk. "I guess you don''t want to talk to Hannah and JJ."


    "What?" Maggie straightens. Her face is painted with anticipation.


    "Yeah, Hannah and JJ are coming over." I cross my arms with a cocky smile. "I may have mentioned something about meeting you."


    "Oh my God!" Maggie hops with excitement. She pushes through me to stand in front of the mirror and brushes her fingers through her hair. "Is my hair okay? How do I look?"


    I chuckle. "Dead."


    She turns and looks at me with exasperation, but it fades to excitement, and she wraps her cold arms around me. "You''re the best!"


    The doorbell rings, and I head back downstairs to answer it, but Mom beats me to the door.


    "Oh, hi, Mrs. Everly," Hannah says. "We''re here to see Autumn. I''m Hannah, and this is JJ."


    "It''s nice to meet you both," Mom says, waving them in. "Do your parents know you''re here?"


    "Yes, I stopped by the house first, and JJ picked me up," Hannah answers, gesturing to a beat-up old van painted a vomit-brown gold.


    "Is that your van?" I ask. I can''t hide my grin.


    "It''s a hand-me-down," JJ grumbles.


    "We''re just going to be upstairs," I say, grabbing Hannah''s hand.


    "I''ll heat up some pizza," Mom says.


    "Thank you, Mrs. Everly," Hannah says politely as I drag her upstairs.


    I quietly close my door, leaving only a few inches open to follow the no-closed-doors rule. Maggie is sitting on my bed. An anxious smile is stretched across her face, but her nerves are undeniable. I''ve never seen her this shy before.


    "I never put it together that your Mom was the Mrs. Everly," Hannah says. "I see her campaign signs all over town. That must be tough to live with."


    "Yeah, she''s a real treat," I reply. "But that''s not what I want to show you."


    "Is someone else coming over?" JJ asks.


    "No." I smile. "Because she''s already here." Maggie stands beside me. "This is Maggie." I stand in silence, pointing to Maggie with excitement.


    Their eyes narrow with confusion.


    "I don''t get it," Hannah says.


    "Right." My shoulders drop as I realize what an idiot I am.


    JJ doesn''t say anything. He drops his backpack and pulls out his EMF reader. He flips it on, and an array of lights flickers across the screen. Maggie steps forward and places her hand on the reader. Immediately, the red lights begin to flash, and loud beeps fill the room.


    "Autumn, is your room haunted?" Hannah asks.


    "Yeah, I guess you could say that." I smirk. "Maggie''s been with me since we first moved here. She''s been the only friend I could count on since I was little."


    "You''re BFFs with a ghost, and you never thought to mention that?" Hannah scoffs, her voice is laced with astonishment.


    "Yeah, well, most people would think I''m crazy." I pick at my fingernails.


    "Ew, do we look like most people? JJ, get the camcorder out." JJ scrambles to set up the camcorder and starts recording. Hannah looks around the room, expecting to see some sort of apparition. "Hi, Maggie. I''m Hannah, and this is JJ." She speaks slowly, as if talking to a scared puppy.


    "I''m right here, silly," Maggie giggles. I smile at her.


    "What did she say?" Hannah demands.


    "She''s standing right in front of you." I point to Maggie''s position a few feet in front of Hannah.


    "Right here?" Hannah slowly reaches out her hand toward Maggie.


    Maggie reaches out her hand and gently touches Hannah''s.


    "JJ, feel right here. It''s so cold!" Both of them reach out their hands.


    Maggie giggles as they wave their hands through her body. "It''s nice to meet you too!"


    "Okay, let''s ask some questions and try to get a response." Hannah steps back and pulls out her recorder. "Maggie, can you hear me?"


    "Yep."


    "She says yes," I repeat.


    "How old are you?" Hannah continues.


    "Well, I died when I was sixteen, so technically I''m twenty-six."


    Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.


    "She died when she was sixteen, but that was ten years ago."


    "Hmm." Hannah stops the recorder with disappointment. "No skeptic will take this as proof. They''ll just say Autumn is answering my questions."


    "Maggie," JJ speaks up. "Can you move something in the room?"


    "I can try." Maggie fades until her figure completely disappears.


    "She said she''s going to try."


    We wait. A moment passes. Then another. Maggie reappears with a frustrated face.


    "It''s not working," she finally says.


    "You''ve done it before," I reply.


    "Yeah, but that''s just when I''m excited or really mad."


    "What''s happening?" Hannah asks.


    "I think she can only move things when her emotions spike," I say.


    JJ thinks for a moment, then steps toward my bookshelf and pulls a comic from the shelf. "These are her comics, aren''t they?"


    "Sort of," I explain. "I buy them for her. She loves Miss Mystic."


    A slight grin grows on JJ''s face. "In the shadows of Hell, I stand illuminated¡ª"


    "I am the beacon in the dark," Maggie joins JJ, repeating her favorite line from the comic. My heart thumps in my chest as I feel her excitement rise. "The voice of the forsaken. I am the guardian of the unseen, champion for the silenced. Fear will know my name. For I am the queen of souls."


    JJ and Hannah look around the room as my lights glow brighter and brighter, buzzing with energy. Maggie looks at her hands as light floods the room and slowly dims.


    "Well, that will work," Hannah smiles. "Wait, I have another idea." She pulls out some headphones and plugs them into my radio. "Here, put these on." She doesn''t wait for my response and places them over my ears with a confident grin.


    Immediately, the memory of what happened in the graveyard flashes into my mind. I''m not eager to listen to static again after the horrifying vision I had. Was that a vision? That woman was so scared of me. I thought echoes couldn''t see me.


    "What do you want me to do?" I ask nervously.


    "Just listen to some music and turn it up so you can''t hear us," Hannah says.


    I do as she says. The local station overpowers every other sound, muting Hannah''s voice. I can see her mouth moving but hear nothing. I look at Maggie and notice her talking, too, but I can''t hear her.


    "I can''t¡ª" I catch myself talking too loud and lift the headphones from my head. "I can''t hear Maggie now," I say.


    "What if Maggie touches you?" JJ asks. "Maybe there''s some kind of connection."


    I put the headphones back on, and all sound drowns out again. Maggie steps beside me and laces her fingers between mine.


    "Can you hear me?" Her voice lays on top of everything, like another station interfering.


    I nod my head, "I can hear her."


    "Thanks for doing this, sis," she says.


    I feel my cheeks flush with warmth. I''m not sure she even noticed what she called me. Hannah runs around my room, reorganizing it and preparing it for television. She closes my blinds to dim the lighting and kneels in the center of the room. I feel the weight of JJ''s camera pointed at me. Nervously, I try to fix myself up a little. I never really considered I''d be the one on camera.


    "Hannah says just to repeat my answers exactly," Maggie''s voice crackles through the radio.


    "Okay," I reply. I close my eyes to focus only on her voice.


    "Maggie May," she says.


    I repeat Maggie''s name. I guess Hannah is just getting the basics down to establish the identity of the person she''s talking to.


    "Oh, I have red hair, green eyes, and lots of freckles. I''m five feet three inches, and I love comic books."


    I relay her answer to Hannah. It''s hard for me to imagine Maggie with green eyes. Like every other specter I see, her eyes are hollowed out and black.


    "Tell her I love her hair," Maggie says.


    "Tell her I love her hair," I repeat exactly.


    "Smart ass!"


    "Smart ass!"


    I open my eyes, giggling. Hannah doesn''t seem as impressed.


    "Sorry," I say and close my eyes again.


    "I died outside on the swing set," Maggie says.


    I guess asking how a ghost died is the obvious question for most people. It was one of my first questions when I met Maggie.


    "No, I hung myself."


    I wait a moment before repeating that last answer and look at Hannah.


    "I hung myself," I say.


    Hannah''s face sinks solemnly. This was a bad idea. Hannah was just mourning her sister. Why would talking to another girl who killed herself ever be a good idea? I don''t have to hear Hannah. I can read her lips as the words come out. "Why did you do it?"


    "I just thought I was doing the world a favor."


    Maggie''s painful words come so easily to her, but I can''t bear to repeat them. I take off the headphones.


    "We should stop, Hannah," I plea.


    "What did she say, Autumn?" Hannah demands, her eyes already beginning to swell.


    "Maybe some other time," I stammer. "There''s a lot we need to discuss, anyway."


    "Autumn." Hannah''s voice now a soft beg.


    I look at Maggie. Her face is painted with guilt, but she nods with confidence. "The truth isn''t always comfortable."


    "She thought she was doing the world a favor," I say solemnly.


    "That''s ridiculous!" Hannah shouts. I quickly try to hush her before Mom hears. "You had people who loved you."


    "I did," Maggie says coldly.


    Hannah continues before I can repeat Maggie''s answer. "You could have reached out to someone for help." Hannah''s frustration overtakes her. "You robbed someone of a friend¡ªof a sister!"


    "I did."


    I grab Hannah''s shoulders. Her eyes meet mine, and I can see the pain boiling inside her.


    "Hannah, stop," I demand.


    She huffs and stammers to find the words but eventually gives up.


    "I''m sorry," she whimpers. "I just¡ª"


    "I know," I say.


    Hannah takes a deep breath, and her anxiety washes away. I step back and suddenly hear beeping. I look down and notice I''m standing over JJ''s EMF reader.


    "Interesting," JJ says.


    "What?" I ask. "It''s probably just freaking out because I''m next to it."


    "Perhaps," JJ says, picking up the reader and holding it close to me. "But humans don''t have this high of an electromagnetic field." The meter beeps again. Red and yellow lights blink on and off.


    "I think I can explain that, actually." I walk to my bed and grab Dad''s box from under it. "I''m not exactly human," I say nervously.


    "What?" Hannah laughs with disbelief.


    "Well, I went to see Dr. Ward to ask why he was in the woods that night."


    "What did he say?" Hannah narrows her eyes.


    "He was hunting the monster."


    "Hunting it?" She scoffs. "That thing was like three stories tall!"


    "He''s a reaper, like me," I say, anxiously looking at Maggie for any sign that I should stop talking.


    "Like the bony dude with the scythe and the black cloak?" Hannah mocks.


    "Well, it''s not actually a scythe." I open the box and pull out the gold-plated hilt. Its ornate engravings shimmer in the light. "My dad gave me this. It''s a focus to channel the energy of the dead."


    "You have a magic sword?" Hannah gawks.


    "I guess, but I can''t get it to work," I admit.


    Hannah looks in the box to see the other strange items it contains.


    "Salt, iron, silver¡­ Was your dad some kind of monster hunter?" Hannah snickers.


    I don''t say anything.


    "Holy shit, he totally was." Hannah''s disbelief is now laced with excitement.


    "Technically, we''re supposed to help the dead cross over," I correct her. "But, apparently, we also protect the world from monsters sometimes."


    "You''re a badass," Maggie says.


    "So you''re saying you might be able to kill that thing," Hannah says.


    "I¡ª" I grasp for words.


    "She needs to train first," JJ interrupts. "You said you can''t get the sword to work. We can''t go up against the creature until we understand how your powers work." JJ pulls out his notebook and flips through it. "You created a light shield in the woods when you rescued us. Have you been able to do that again?"


    "I¡ª" I haven''t even thought about that. "No. I haven''t."


    "I wonder if your emotions are connected to your powers, much like Maggie." JJ pulls out a bundle of papers from his backpack. Printed on them are scans of old illustrations of Cedar Hollow, the town that Greenfield is supposedly built over. "We didn''t find much on Cedar Hollow at the library, but from the pictures, it looks like much of the old town follows the swamp. So, most of the ruins are likely deep in Thicket Grove."


    "Guarded by a giant creepy monster," Hannah sighs.


    "But there are plenty of old houses right here in Greenfield that are rumored to be haunted," JJ continues. "You could come with us on some ghost hunts to try and activate your powers."


    "Do I hear a training montage?" Maggie sings.


    "Yeah," Hannah adds. "You''ll be a lot safer than in the woods, and your powers might even bring out more haunts."


    "Wait," I hold up my hands. This is getting ridiculous. "Spirits sometimes get violent around me. It''s like my presence amplifies their powers or something."


    "It likely does," JJ replies. "It''s believed that spirits feed on energy. You emit a high electromagnetic field. They could be pulling from it somehow."


    "Listen," I try to stop them before they get too excited. "Getting you two involved in this could get you killed. What if I can''t protect you?"


    "Don''t worry, he''ll protect me," Hannah jabs JJ.


    "Guys, I''m serious," I reply.


    "Reaper or not, you''re not doing this alone," Hannah says. "You''re stuck with us now, Spooks."


    "Mija," Mom calls from downstairs. "Pizza''s ready."

 Chapter 13

    ¡°I knew embracing the truth of who¡ªwhat¡ªI am would change my life forever. Either I¡¯d love this new version of myself, or spiral into madness. But doing nothing felt like it would kill me.¡±


    <hr>


    My whole life I¡¯ve wondered if I was broken. I walk a tightrope of sanity, careful not to veer off. At first I taught myself to ignore the faces that stare at me as I walk to and from school. Eventually, my curiosity got the better of me. I hoped that maybe I¡¯d feel better if I got to know my demons, rather than let them fester.


    Tommy, for example. A little boy riding his tricycle used to frighten me when I¡¯d walk to school. But one day I decided to say hi. I didn¡¯t treat him like some kind of monster, though the black blood dripping down his pale face made that difficult. He just said hi back, and I never saw him again. I later found out Tommy had ridden too far from home at night and was struck by a car. I think he just wanted someone to talk to.


    Even if I am crazy and he was just some kind of hallucination, it didn¡¯t seem harmful to learn about him. Thicket Grove, however, I have yet to truly investigate. I avoid looking into those woods if I can help it. Sad, hungry faces often stare back, obscured by the shadows of those twisted branches. I feel their empty black eyes watching me, judging me for ignoring them. Following that brand of crazy might send me tumbling from my tightrope.


    But now, I¡¯m sharing my curse with Hannah and JJ, I found an actual dead body in the swamp which is surely doing wonders for my sanity, a middle-aged doctor in an old mansion told me I¡¯m some kind of ancient being, not to mention monsters are real, and yet for the first time I feel like I¡¯m on the right path. Yep, I¡¯ve dive bombed from my comfy little tightrope. But Dad always told me if you¡¯re going to fail, fail spectacularly. So, I¡¯m standing in front of a door preparing to speak to the man who could teach me to fly.


    I need to talk to Dr. Ward. It¡¯s all I¡¯ve been able to think about all day. I barely even interacted with anyone at school. Even with my dad¡¯s notebook and Hannah and JJ¡¯s help, I need a guide. The large wooden door to the library is cracked open and I know once I step into this room, I¡¯m giving up on any hope of normalcy. I¡¯m embracing my truth and accepting whatever consequences come. I¡¯m done ignoring my demons. I¡¯m done pretending I¡¯m normal.


    ¡°Why do I keep coming back here, Ward?¡± A muffled voice echoes through the door.


    I slowly push the door open just enough to peek my head in. Two men stand in front of Dr. Ward, hiding his face. The first man wears a brown blazer and his messy blonde hair is thinning. The second man wears a gray button up and a visible gun holster on his belt. They must be detectives.


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t dream of knowing, Hart,¡± Dr. Ward replies.


    ¡°Every time something awful happens in those woods, your name eventually comes up,¡± the man in the brown blazer says. ¡°Every other month I¡¯ve got the same case. A fisherman, a hunter, or a kid missing or dead.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re dangerous woods,¡± Dr. Ward¡¯s voice grows more pointed. ¡°Maybe if your department did a better job of keeping people out, your days would be easier.¡±


    ¡°Then tell me what you were doing in those woods Friday night,¡± the blonde detective demands.


    Dr. Ward releases a frustrated and tired sigh. ¡°Can a man not go for a walk?¡± He finally asks.


    He seems smug, like he''s had these conversations before. He probably has. People get lost and die in those woods all the time, and if Dr. Ward is a constant suspect then he must be used to it.


    That said, I can¡¯t think of any way Dr. Ward could get himself out of this. He can¡¯t just say he¡¯s a reaper hunting a monster. They¡¯ll brand him as a psycho and probably take away his medical license. They¡¯re going to find a way to pin those deaths on him and lock him away. Dr. Ward has always been there for me since my dad died, I have to do something.


    ¡°And did you incur any injuries on this walk?¡± The man in the gray button up asks with a younger more professional tone.


    ¡°What makes you think that?¡± Dr. Ward replies.


    ¡°You were seen leaving the woods covered in blood,¡± the blonde detective barks. ¡°Am I going to get another missing kid report on my desk, Ward?¡±


    I push the door a bit more to get a better look at their faces. The door creaks slightly. My eyes suddenly lock with Dr. Ward¡¯s. His face shifts with concern. The blonde detective follows his line of sight and finds my face peering into the room.


    ¡°Grooming your next victim?¡± the blonde detective asks.


    ¡°Careful, Hart.¡± Dr. Ward¡¯s face turns red. ¡°You walk a thin line. It¡¯s a very long way down.¡±


    ¡°Is that a threat?¡± Hart asks, staring up at Dr. Ward with his teeth clenched.


    Dr. Ward relaxes and replies, ¡°Merely a doctor''s advice, detective.¡±


    The man in the gray button up places his hand on Hart¡¯s shoulder, preventing him from taking the conversation further. They both turn towards the door, and me, and begin their leave. I step into the room to get out of their way when a sudden edge of bravery overtakes me.


    ¡°I know why he was covered in blood,¡± I say.


    The color in Dr. Ward¡¯s face drains. Hart stops and smirks. His face is rough, with a prickly stubble that covers most of it. His piercing green eyes look to me with anticipation.


    ¡°Is that so?¡± He asks.


    I lift my hoodie over my head to pull my arm out from under it. It¡¯s still covered with the bandages I wrapped this morning. The wound is slightly healed already, but my skin is covered with yellow and purple bruises, and the wrap covers most of my arm so it looks worse than it is.


    ¡°He found me in the woods and stitched my arm.¡± I¡¯m careful with every word. ¡°I was bleeding everywhere, so it was probably my blood.¡±


    Detective Hart¡¯s face shifts to disappointment. ¡°And why did your arm need stitches?¡± He asks.


    I look to Dr. Ward, whose face is only slightly relieved. I can feel him begging me not to mention reapers, monsters, cryptids, or anything of the sort. I could say a bear, but it¡¯s the middle of winter. What animal would be out right now?


    ¡°I saw this deer in the woods,¡± I finally say. Dad used to warn never to pet a hungry deer in the winter. They aren¡¯t always as nice as they look. ¡°It had huge horns, but it got spooked and jabbed my arm.¡± It¡¯s a vicious lie. To an officer, no less.


    Detective Hart scans my face for what feels like an hour. Then, he finally straightens and looks to Dr. Ward.


    ¡°Ever the good samaritan, aren¡¯t you?¡± The detective groans.


    Dr. Ward smirks. ¡°As charged.¡±


    ¡°And what did you say your name was, sweetheart?¡± the detective asks.


    Shit. He¡¯ll tell Mom. Mom will lock me up in my room permanently, and probably blame Dr. Ward.


    ¡°She didn¡¯t,¡± Dr. Ward replies for me. ¡°If you¡¯ll excuse us. As you can see, I have an appointment.¡± He gestures to me with a canny smile. ¡°Be careful in those woods, detective, people keep going missing.¡±


    The blonde detective growls and charges out the door with his partner, who gives me a courteous nod as he leaves. I watch the two of them march down the hall muttering between each other, then I close the door and look back to Dr. Ward. He exhales with relief then looks at me and shakes his head.


    ¡°That was very foolish of you, Autumn,¡± he scolds. ¡°But I¡¯m thankful. Maybe now they¡¯ll give me some space.¡±


    ¡°How have they not seen the monster out there?¡± I ask. ¡°Haven¡¯t they searched those woods?¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± he pauses, thrown off by my line of questioning. ¡°The creature seems to prefer the dark. They search in the morning, and often with at least ten men to sweep the area. Any animal would avoid that, monster or no.¡±


    He combs his fingers through his disheveled gray hair, then rolls up his sleeves and pours himself a glass of whiskey from a decanter. Dr. Ward towers over me. His thick arms and broad shoulders consume the width of the staircase as he begins to climb the spiral steps.


    ¡°Coming?¡± He asks without looking back.


    I bite my lip and smile. I¡¯ve never dared climb the stairs. I always figured his more private collections were up there. I quickly follow his shadow up the steps.


    ¡°You sure know a lot about their search parties,¡± I note.


    ¡°Well I ought to shouldn¡¯t I?¡± His voice echoes through the tower as he replies. ¡°My prey is in those woods, I should know who enters them and when. That is your first lesson, Autumn, master your domain. That is¡­¡± He turns to face me at the top of the stairs, blocking me from entering or even seeing much of the room behind him. ¡°If you¡¯ve come to embrace who you are.¡±


    I pause for a moment. There was a part of me that wondered if my last meeting with him was a dream. The magic of it all felt so unreal.


    ¡°I have,¡± I finally say.


    ¡°And what are you, Autumn Everly?¡±


    ¡°I am a reaper.¡± The words make my spine tingle, like I¡¯m taking my first step toward a life of my own making.


    Dr. Ward smiles and turns back toward the center of the room. The second floor isn¡¯t what I expected. There are books, of course, but so much more than that. On the wall are swords, rifles, pistols, daggers, and stakes. On the shelves are vials of salt, sulfur, oils, and liquids. In the center of the room are displays holding old artifacts encased in glass. I wander from display to display, trying to understand their importance. Most of the items are small and seemingly unrelated. A stopwatch, an old dagger, a small finger bone, a tattered doll, a jewelry box, each labeled only with a different person¡¯s name.


    ¡°What are these?¡± I finally ask.


    ¡°Attachments,¡± he answers. ¡°Human beings are material creatures. They associate such importance to objects in life, and in some cases, after death. Spirits can attach themselves to these objects allowing them to travel with the item, plus they make for great hiding spots.¡± Dr. Ward opens the case and takes out the small jewelry box. ¡°This was from an old house not far from here. After six unrelated people committed suicide in the home at different times, I decided to investigate. Turns out, a spiteful phantom was invading the minds of any who entered her domain. She would show them their deepest regrets, fears, and sorrows until they couldn''t take it anymore.¡±


    ¡°What did you do?¡± I ask.


    ¡°I destroyed her,¡± He replies, admiring the box.


    ¡°So these are more like trophies then.¡± I raise an eyebrow.


    ¡°I guess you could say that,¡± he replies and places the box back in its display.


    ¡°So she was too scared to enter her portal, then turned into an evil life-sucking ghost,¡± I conclude. ¡°That sounds about right.¡±


    ¡°Portal?¡± He asks curiously.


    ¡°Yeah.¡± I realize there''s an entire vocabulary of terms I invented on my own. I really need a book of reaper terms. I¡¯ve always named everything myself as I discovered it. ¡°The thin glowing thing that appears when someone dies.¡±


    ¡°Ah,¡± he nods with amusement. ¡°Rifts. When a life has ended, the veil opens up, spilling energy into our world to beckon the soul to the next plane.¡±


    I drop my backpack while he answers, and dig for a notebook and pen. I flip through to find a blank page and start filling it with notes.


    ¡°So is the veil dangerous? Why don¡¯t they all enter it? Are they just scared?¡± I fire one question after another.


    Dr. Ward smiles and sets his whiskey down on a long wooden table. ¡°Many of us fear death, not just because of the sudden absence of life, but for the fear of what comes after. We go through life faced with decision after decision. Some of those decisions we come to regret later in life.¡± He wheels a ladder across the wall of bookshelves. ¡°Regret is a powerful curse. It can redirect your entire life¡¯s trajectory into ruin.¡± He climbs the ladder and pulls out a long leather tube covered in dust. ¡°But our true fears are the regrets that come far later in life, when it¡¯s too late to make amends. Worse yet, the regrets we discover after our lives have ended, when we look back at the whole of our lives and are displeased. Those regrets are the monsters that await us on the other side of death¡¯s door. And that is a door none of us are eager to open.¡± He opens the leather tube and carefully pulls out a rolled up canvas. ¡°But as a reaper, you will walk between the lines of life and death every day. You will face the regrets of every soul who looks upon you, and you will face their monsters. That is your charge until your time comes to open your own door.¡±


    Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    Dr. Ward sets the scroll on the table, places paperweights over the corners and unrolls a beautiful hand painted art piece. The painting is old and worn. The colors have faded behind a layer of brown varnish and cracks splinter across the surface, but it is undeniably both beautiful and haunting.


    Three ominous figures stand at the center of the composition, adorned with long hooded cloaks. Their white skeletal faces are devoid of any emotion. Deep black eyes are painted darker than any paint I¡¯ve ever seen. The left figure is cloaked in a rust brown cloth, and his face is directed down toward the bottom of the painting. The figure on the right mirrors the left, looking up and wearing a dusty gray cloak. The center figure stares back at me, its empty black eyes nearly following me as I move. It wears a cloak coated with gold leafing. At the bottom, though much of it has faded, I can make out the shapes of hands reaching up from the bottom of the painting, grasping at the feet of the three figures.


    ¡°The grim trinity,¡± Dr. Ward says.


    ¡°They¡¯re reapers?¡± I ask.


    ¡°Some claim they were the first,¡± he continues. ¡°They represent the three tiers of reapers that exist.¡±


    Dad¡¯s notes mentioned that reapers come in different kinds. This must be what he was talking about.


    ¡°What are the tiers?¡± I ask.


    He points his finger at the reaper with the brown cloak. ¡°The tell¨²rii is the most common reaper. They are connected to the energy that surrounds us, able to tap into the echoes of the past. They can reap these echoes to channel their weaving.¡±


    ¡°Weaving?¡± I ask. I¡¯ve seen that word a few times in Dad¡¯s notebook. I think it¡¯s what they call the magic powers like creating a shield or sword.


    ¡°Have you ever considered what a soul is made of?¡± He takes a sip from his whiskey.


    ¡°Energy?¡± I reply, unsure of my vague answer.


    ¡°Threads of energy.¡± He sets his whiskey glass down and pulls at a loose thread on his sleeve. ¡°Reapers are sometimes called soul weavers. We extract those threads.¡± He pulls the thread further and further, twisting it around his fingers. ¡°Then weave them into new creations of our own.¡±


    ¡°Like a sword,¡± I conclude. It¡¯s beginning to make sense I think, or I''ve completely lost my mind.


    ¡°Precisely,¡± he says with a smile. ¡°tell¨²rii can only siphon the loose threads of energy that surround us. This energy often accumulates in active areas and projects visions of the past. We call these¡ª¡±


    ¡°Echoes,¡± I interrupt him.


    He nods his head. ¡°Your father was a tell¨²rii,¡± he says softly.


    My chest stiffens and goes cold.


    ¡°And a damn good one at that.¡± He snorts. ¡°He could flip through moments of the past like a book. He could even push more energy toward a rift, allowing a spirit to spend a little more time in the living world before its door closes.¡±


    It takes everything in me to stifle my tears, hearing stories about a side of Dad I never knew. Dr. Ward reads my face and decides to move on. He places his finger over the gray cloaked reaper.


    ¡°Lun¨¢rii,¡± he says. ¡°They can reap echoes much like the tell¨²rii, though they can¡¯t weave them with the same finesse. However, they have access to a far more potent source of power.¡± He gestures his hand back toward the display cases. ¡°They can reap spirits.¡±


    ¡°They can siphon ghosts?¡± I ask, partly in shock. A shiver runs down my spine just thinking of allowing another spirit to enter my body.


    ¡°Yes,¡± he crosses his arms and walks toward the window, casting white light around his broad silhouette. ¡°A lun¨¢rii, like myself, is like a carnivorous plant, luring unsavory spirits in and consuming them. It allows me to power my weaving for long periods of time. Lun¨¢rii were often used as divine soldiers in the dark ages.¡±


    ¡°So, there are other reapers then.¡± Excitement builds in my chest with the thought that there could be others like me.


    ¡°You walk a lonely path, Autumn,¡± he says with a stern glare and my heart drops. ¡°Few of us remain.¡±


    I look back down at the painting. ¡°What about the golden one?¡±


    Dr. Ward walks back toward me. ¡°That is a sol¨¢rii. They don¡¯t exist anymore.¡± He shrugs. ¡°Or if they do, no one is willing to find out.¡±


    ¡°Why not?¡± I ask, staring at the two black eyes in the center of the painting. What could possibly be more powerful than consuming a spirit?


    ¡°They all got themselves killed,¡± he sighs. ¡°Or were hunted down by power hungry zealots.¡± He rolls up the painting and stuffs it back in the leather tube. ¡°That bloodline died out a long time ago.¡±


    ¡°So, which one am I then?¡± I ask. I assume I''m tell¨²rii like Dad. I hope I am, at least. Eating ghosts is not on my bucket list.


    ¡°That is what we need to find out,¡± he says with a flicker of enthusiasm. He grabs a coat from the rack and an old leather mailbag, then heads toward the stairs. ¡°Come with me.¡±


    I follow Dr. Ward down the stairs and out the library. We walk through the back of the large house, passing by room after room. He nods and smiles at residents and nurses as we pass them. Then we exit the house through the back door and into the garden.


    The garden is decently kept, though most of the color has faded under the snow. On warmer days the flower beds are rich with happy yellows, blues, and pinks, and residents can be found gently rocking in the swing under the tree. But today, as the winter air chills in the afternoon and the fog settles over the treetops, all is still and quiet.


    ¡°Where are we going?¡± I ask, stifling my concern as we walk towards the woods.


    Thicket Grove borders the home, much like my own house does. Dr. Ward¡¯s estate has direct access to the one place I have no intention of entering.


    ¡°Somewhere unpleasant,¡± he replies without looking back.


    My steps slow, and I stumble a bit as his words crawl into my head. He isn¡¯t normally this cryptic. I remind myself this is the same man who gave me the best gifts at every birthday, who cried with me when Dad died, plus he¡¯s the only one who can teach me how to use my powers.


    We reach the border of the woods and Dr. Ward doesn¡¯t hesitate as he enters the shadowy threshold. The sour smell of stale stagnant water, algae, and wet earth squirms into my nostrils. I stop just at the edge.


    My body refuses to move, like I¡¯ve hit an invisible wall. I look to Dr. Ward, who continues walking deeper and deeper into the dark woods. I look back at the house. The fog has already begun to consume it, and I feel as if another step would take me away from this world.


    ¡°It¡¯s time to face the darkness, Autumn.¡± I look back into the woods to search for Dr. Ward. I barely make out his silhouette standing in the distance. ¡°You can no longer observe from the light. Are you a reaper, or aren¡¯t you?¡±


    I feel panic begin to pulse through my veins like ants crawling across my skin. My breath quickens and my heartbeat thumps against my throat. I look into the woods, searching the shadows. Every twisted branch feels like a spindly arm waiting to grab me. I feel a thousand eyes glaring at me, waiting for me to turn away and run.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be brave,¡± Ethan¡¯s words echo in my head. ¡°Do it scared.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s alright, you¡¯re not alone,¡± Hannah¡¯s words join his.


    I close my eyes and inhale. Then, as I release my breath, I take a blind step forward. I open my eyes and march deeper into the woods to catch up with Dr. Ward. Together, we walk through the woods on a path that looks to be traveled often. The grass is pushed down and the dirt is compacted, snaking between the brush and mud.


    ¡°People see things in these woods,¡± Dr. Ward says, clearly noticing my eyes darting around. ¡°They get turned around and lose track of time.¡±


    I think back to when Hannah kept wanting to explore these woods well into the dark. I remember it got dark fast. How long had we been out here?


    ¡°Yeah, and it smells like a gas station bathroom,¡± I joke to hide my discomfort.


    He offers me a gentle smile, then looks ahead with some delight. ¡°Ah, here it is.¡±


    As we pass under some hanging moss, an old abandoned building comes into view. It¡¯s small and rectangular, with one corner dipping into the swamp water. Moss and vines wrap around the entire structure like Thicket Grove is consuming it, pulling it into the earth. Its ridged square structure is built from thick stone blocks, giving it a castle-like feel, and rusted iron bars cover every window.


    When I pass a house in Greenfield that is haunted, I feel a weight. It pulls on my eyes, my jaw, my shoulders, and my lungs like a blanket of dread. That weight hits like a wall every time I enter Thicket Grove, and the deeper I walk into it the heavier it gets. Whatever this building is, it feels like a barrier of pure hatred.


    ¡°Cedar Hollow Jail,¡± Dr. Ward says, standing beside me.


    ¡°Woah,¡± I reply. An old abandoned jail in the middle of a swamp is kind of cool, in a macabre kind of way, but I can¡¯t shake the tickle in my spine begging me to turn around. ¡°Why are we here?¡± I ask.


    Dr. Ward steps forward over the tall brush without replying. I purse my lips and reluctantly follow behind him. As my feet press into the snow, I can feel the texture change from soft grass and mud to packed stone and dirt. This must be the edge of the Cedar Hollow ruins. I look into the woods to see if any other buildings are near. The brush and moss are thick. If there are any other buildings around, they¡¯re heavily obscured, though I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if the jail was built some distance from the rest of the town like Greenfield¡¯s prison. No one likes living near criminals nor the cage we lock them in.


    The entrance to the abandoned jail is a narrow archway with a single thick wooden door. Surprisingly, the door still stands strong, though it has lost much of its color and decay has begun to eat away at the base. Dr. Ward pulls out a shining machete from his leather mailbag. I step back at the sight of Dr. Ward holding such a blade. It¡¯s just not an image I ever expected from such a gentle giant. He chops at the vines that cover the door, then pulls the heavy door open.


    As the door groans, its echo flies through the stone building like a flock of birds. I half expect some actual birds or some sort of animal to fly out, but none do. Come to think of it, I don¡¯t see a single living creature around. No squirrels, birds, rabbits, not even a cricket. It¡¯s quiet.


    ¡°Do you feel that?¡± He finally asks, his voice echoing from within the door.


    ¡°Soul-crushing anxiety? Yeah,¡± I reply.


    He smirks slightly then walks deeper into the jail. ¡°Come inside,¡± he says.


    Cautiously, I oblige. The backside of the door is fitted with rusted iron brackets and a large locking mechanism. It¡¯s old, practically medieval. Inside is overwhelmingly dark, like all of the light is consumed just as it enters through the small barred windows. The damp air is sweet and earthy. Vines climb the walls on the inside and rust flakes off of every metal bar.


    ¡°Energy concentrates in places like this,¡± he continues.


    I look up at the noose hanging in the room beside me. The rope has turned black with age. It isn¡¯t an improvised noose of any kind. No. It¡¯s an execution room. I forgot how medieval the world really was in the 1800¡¯s.


    ¡°Gee, I wonder why,¡± I say.


    Dr. Ward sighs. ¡°Your sarcasm won¡¯t protect you, Autumn. You must learn to embrace your new reality. Come.¡±


    He continues into the darkness. The earthy musk grows stronger. It floods my nostrils as my vision strains to make out the shapes around me. There¡¯s another smell though, something sour. I know that smell. Or I think I do.


    ¡°Echoes are unpleasant,¡± He says, his voice ringing against the iron cell doors. ¡°Not because of what they are, but because of what they represent. They never lie. They are photographs of our greatest triumphs and our darkest sins.¡±


    ¡°But how do I reap them?¡± I work up the courage to ask the question that¡¯s been plaguing me. ¡°I tried in the cemetery. There was this woman, but when I touched her¡ª¡± A shiver crawls across my scalp as I think of my hands covered in blood.


    ¡°You resisted,¡± he says.


    Dr. Ward pulls open the iron bar door of one of the cells and steps inside. The ground is covered with mud and moss. Vines spiderweb across the wall and converge on a central point, where a ragged human skeleton slumps against the wall. Its skull is black and tan, hanging at an unnatural angle. I now recognize the sour smell as death.


    ¡°What the fuck is that?¡± I back away from the cell. My back slams against another cell door.


    ¡°A corpse,¡± he replies bluntly.


    ¡°Yes, I can see that, but why the fuck is it here?¡± No, I don¡¯t care about that. ¡°Why am I here?¡±


    ¡°To reap, Autumn. Death is all around you.¡± He gestures his hand to the cell behind me.


    Slowly, I turn around and spot another bundle of bones in the corner of the cell. Bile rises into my throat. It takes everything in me to push it back down. I ball my hands into white-knuckle fists and exhale. I want to shout and leave this wretched place, but I remember my dad¡¯s notes said I need to connect with an echo to reap it.


    ¡°Who are they?¡± I finally ask.


    ¡°Souls long forgotten,¡± Dr. Ward says solemnly. ¡°Murderers, rapists, thieves, or perhaps falsely accused. But I suspect they still have a story to tell.¡± He steps out of the cell and extends a hand.


    Reluctantly, I place my hand in his. He gently pulls my hand and walks me into the cell. My eyes dart around the room, desperately trying to avoid looking at the bones that sit against the wall.


    ¡°Close your eyes,¡± he says softly.


    ¡°I¡¯m good,¡± I reply.


    He looks at me with disappointment. I take a deep breath, and close my eyes. Nothing happens. But I shut out the urge to say anything. I just breathe. A moment passes, and the utter silence of the room begins to feel like I¡¯m in a much smaller room like my closet, enclosed in a four by four space. I¡¯m not claustrophobic. In fact, I used to hide in my closet as a kid. Not to escape ghosts, but to escape the world. In my little safe space I can shut out the world. For a moment, this feels like that.


    ¡°You¡¯ve spent your entire life at a safe distance,¡± Dr. Ward says. ¡°But there is no such thing for a reaper.¡±


    Dr. Ward releases my hand. The silence of the room begins to amplify. Somewhere, buried deep under that silence, is another sound. A ragged unsteady breath. But it isn¡¯t mine nor Dr. Ward¡¯s.


    ¡°You are a lamp in a dark forest. Like mosquitos, the dead are drawn to you.¡±


    The breathing grows louder. I can hear the air scratch against their dry throat.


    ¡°All your life, you have tried to hide this light to protect your soul.¡± Dr. Ward¡¯s voice falls into the distance as the breathing grows louder. ¡°But what you don¡¯t realize, Autumn, is your soul is a blazing fire.¡±


    ¡°Hhhhel-p.¡± the breath turns into a desperate whisper.


    ¡°So let them in, reaper. Let them burn.¡±


    My silence is shattered as the sound of scraping metal vibrates the walls around me. The cell gate slams with a deafening bang, and Dr. Ward locks it shut.

 Chapter 14

    ¡°In that darkness, I discovered a part of myself that was both unfamiliar and intrinsic, as if I¡¯d always known it was there, just waiting to say hello.¡±


    <hr>


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± I shout, wrapping my fingers around the rusty iron bars.


    ¡°The sun sets in an hour,¡± Dr. Ward replies impassively. ¡°You should be quiet, or it will hear you.¡±


    ¡°What¡ª¡± I stop myself when I realize what could hear me. The creature is out here somewhere, likely watching us. ¡°Why are you doing this?¡± I softly whimper.


    ¡°Do you know how much energy is in a human soul?¡± He asks.


    ¡°I¡ª¡± I struggle to form a reply. What kind of question is that?


    ¡°How much heat can hatred generate?¡± He continues.


    ¡°What are you talking about?¡± I rattle the gate again, searching for any weak points in the rusted metal.


    He turns toward the only exit and walks down the dark corridor. ¡°Echoes can¡¯t see you, but I wouldn¡¯t stick around too long. Overexposure can mess with your head.¡± He taps his finger to his temple.


    ¡°Let me out of here!¡± I scream. My voice rings against the metal bars.


    He opens the thick wooden door and looks at me with his finger over his lips. Then, he leaves and shuts the door behind him. I hear the soft click of a lock on the other side.


    And all at once, the darkness looks at me.


    This is a joke, right? This isn¡¯t the Dr. Ward I know. He would never lock me in a prison cell. I grab the bars and violently shake them. The old metal clangs and croaks, but doesn¡¯t open. I reach my arm through to grab the padlock Dr. Ward added. The shiny metal contrasts against the brown rust. I yank the lock and slam it against the metal, but it holds firm.


    I take a step back to look at the gate, but the darkness makes it difficult to make out any details. The barred window near the ceiling lets out only a sliver of gray light into the cell. I walk to the window and stand as tall as I can on the tips of my toes to reach the iron bars. I pull hard against them, but they don¡¯t budge.


    I drop my backpack on the damp stone floor and unzip it. The sound of the zipper echoes through the room just enough to mask my panicked breaths. I plunge my hand into the bag and grab my flashlight. I flick it on, and the sudden change in light nearly blinds me as if I just opened the Ark of the Covenant.


    I squint and blink my eyes until they adjust, then examine my new cage. The paint and rust flake off the iron bars like crystals. After years of moisture has collected on the floor, the bars have begun to erode at the base. The stone walls are cracked and covered in vines. Everything is old and weak with age, but I¡¯d still need the force of a small car to break any of it.


    Thump!


    A low knock bounces through the room. My body freezes and my muscles tighten with fear. My eyes slowly scan the room, searching for the source.


    Thump!


    My flashlight flickers and dies. Goosebumps crawl up my arms.


    ¡°Shit,¡± I mutter, slamming the flashlight against my palm.


    I reach into my backpack to grab another set of batteries.


    THUMP!


    In my panic, I drop one of the batteries. It merrily rolls away and disappears into the black void. Shit, shit, SHIT! I drop to my knees and pat my hands on the damp, grimy stone. A mucus-like concoction of dust, mud, and dew clumps between my fingers as I helplessly search for the battery in the merciless darkness. Glow sticks have officially been added to my future packing list. I just pray my hands don¡¯t discover something more organic on the ground.


    THUMP!


    The knocking is now much louder. I spread my arms out wide, hopelessly searching. Suddenly, I feel the cold metal of the battery against my finger. A wave of relief washes over me. I grab the battery, shove it into the flashlight, and slam the switch into the on position.


    Every ounce of blood in my body drains into my gut as my light reveals a man¡¯s pale shriveled skin pulled tightly against his face. His cheekbones nearly puncture his cracked and bruised tissue.


    THUMP!


    The man slams the back of his head against the stone wall. Every muscle in my body convulses and a shriek escapes my lungs. I stumble backward and slam my back into the opposing wall. Pain stabs into my spine.


    In a trance, the corpse stares blankly into the darkness with empty black eye sockets, gently moving his cracked lips. Dark bruises have formed on his legs, elbows, and beneath his eye sockets. Thin tissue pulls tight against his face and hangs loosely from his twig-like arms.


    My eyes dart around the room, afraid to look at him. Tears begin to pool in my eyes as the prison cell suddenly feels so incredibly small.


    ¡°H-hel,¡± a desperate voice gasps. The p falls away like they ran out of breath. But that sound came from somewhere else.


    I point the light at the iron gate. My light shines through the bars and into the cell across from it. The shadow of another dark figure is outlined in the light against the wall. A man, equally as emaciated, stands slumped against the iron bars. His arms strain to hold him up.


    ¡°Ge¡ª ou-t.¡± His whispered breath drags through the air.


    Ironically, this is the first time a ghost has ever told me to get out, and it¡¯s when I¡¯m locked inside a prison cell. Still, it confuses me slightly. Echoes can¡¯t see me. They¡¯re merely remnants of moments in the past repeating over and over. So who is he telling to get out? Unless this is a vision, like in the cemetery. But in that vision, the cemetery became a forest as if I had gone back in time. My surroundings haven¡¯t changed here. Unfortunately, the hell hole I now find myself in is very real.


    Thump!


    I flinch as my cellmate slams his head against the wall again. I glance at him and notice the bright red blood dripping from the back of his head. I close my eyes and whimper.


    I grab my cell phone from my pocket and flip it open. Maybe I can call Mom, or Hannah, or the police even. Of the three, Hannah brings me the most comfort. But she could get hurt. What if the creature is out here waiting? I stop myself. Why the hell would Dr. Ward lock me in here? I let out a shuddered breath and think. Maybe this is some kind of test. I return my phone to my pocket and stand back up. I can get myself out of this.


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t stick around too long,¡± Dr. Ward¡¯s words float in my head. Why would he say that? I¡¯m locked in here. He must expect me to get out somehow. I scan my flashlight around the room to search for weak points.


    Again, the result is the same. There are cracks in the stone, rusty hinges, and a crumbling ceiling, but nothing I can break without a tool or a ton of pressure. Old or not, this is a prison. However, the latch on the door is a simple sliding bolt lock. A fat iron bolt is slid into a metal catch, neither of which I have any hope of breaking, regardless of the rust. The padlock is attached to a rusty loop that passes through a thin metal tab, locking everything in place. That tab has warped and thinned from age. With a little heat, it will hopefully break.


    I return to my backpack and grab the new box I added this morning. I open my dad¡¯s box and find all of its contents neatly organized inside, including my hilt. The shimmering gold metal glistens from the light of my flashlight, painting the room in rays of bright yellow.


    Softly, I wrap my fingers around the cold metal, feeling the intricate engravings beneath my fingers. I haven''t been able to get it to ignite since the first time, but I guess it¡¯s now or never. I grip it tightly and hold it out in front of me, then close my eyes. Dad''s notebook said to connect with my last reaping. I take a deep breath and think of Mallory. The dread of her death floods my emotions. But something just feels missing. Where Mallory¡¯s living emotions once flowed through my veins, only sad memories remain.


    THUMP!


    Another crack against the wall. Shiny red blood splatters against the stone. The man then mumbles something under his breath again and stares into space.


    I look down at the hilt. It isn''t any warmer than my hand. A harsh reality sets in, and I know why the hilt won''t light. Mallory is gone. Whatever energy I had borrowed from her rift has depleted. I''m merely channeling an empty memory. I need to reap another.


    I look at the man leaning against the wall. His jaw twitches as he silently mouths words I can¡¯t make out. I grab Dad''s notebook and flip through the pages, searching for anything about reaping. I didn''t see anything before, but his writing is so scatterbrained. Maybe I missed it. The only section marked as reaping goes on some tangent about meditation and connecting with the Earth.


    ¡®Connect with the world around you. You know, when I always heard about meditation, I thought the goal was to empty your mind into a blissful silence. Sounds great don¡¯t it? But it isn¡¯t that at all.


    The point is to listen. So I just close my eyes and get into a comfy space. Then, I just listen to my body, my soul. Your mother will tell you, my soul has a lot to say. But I let my mind wander and touch the energy around me. We humans filter out much of the world to protect ourselves. But true power comes when you knock on the Earth and listen. Then, you let it in.¡¯


    That last sentence reminds me of what Dr. Ward had said, ¡°Let them in, reaper.¡±


    I look at the bony man slumped against the wall. Once more, he slams his head hard against the stone and mumbles something quietly. His lips don¡¯t move enough to make out the words. His breathing is soft and labored, and his ragged clothing hangs loosely over his body. The man in the cell across from mine is in a similar state. They must have starved to death in here. But how could that happen? The police wouldn¡¯t just leave them here to die, would they?


    I sigh. I guess I need to listen and find out. I¡¯d rather dig a hole through these stone walls with my fingernails than listen to their croaking breaths. My mind trembles at the thought of what they must have done to deserve such a heartless death. But I need to connect with one. I need to show Dr. Ward that I can do this.


    I sit down in the middle of the room with my legs crossed and place my hilt beside me. The damp floor seeps into my pants. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. My shoulders slowly drop, I unclench my jaw, and I stop picking at my nails.


    The earthy cocktail of rust, mud, mold, and decay crawls into my nostrils. I feel the cold mud that clumps on my clothing. The muscles in my back still ache from hitting it against the wall. I¡¯m surprised the stitches in my arm don¡¯t hurt today. Just a slight itch. I take in another breath. The cool, damp air fills my lungs. It has a subtle sour taste.


    Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!


    Soon, raspy breaths echo into my head like a long-legged spider crawling into my ear. My body cringes, but I keep my eyes closed. I wait in silence, listening for any words to come from those awful breaths.


    THUMP!


    Suddenly, the crack of bone against the wall lights up my senses. In the darkness, beneath my eyelids, a gray light glows in the corner of my vision. I turn my head to follow the glow.


    Strands of silver vines crawl across the room, gently blowing in an invisible draft, all connecting to the dark silhouette of the man slumped against the wall. The light is dull, like when I turn off my bedroom lamp and the inverse shapes of my room linger in the darkness.


    I feel warm blood pump into my cheeks as the tiny vessels around my eyes swell. I open my eyes, and what I see stops my breathing. I can still see the strands of silver stretching around the room, though their color is more thin and translucent. Cautiously, I reach my hand up toward one. It feels as light as a single hair, but a rush of loneliness suddenly weighs on my chest.


    Loneliness is a familiar poison. It''s slow and calm. It¡¯s an invasive reminder of everything I don''t have. It pokes at the front of my brain again and again. It''s a cold hunger deep in my gut to scream. A desire to be heard and to be held. But there''s no one to scream at, no one who would understand or care enough to try, no one who wouldn''t try some mundane attempt at sympathy, telling me that I''m just stressed or that it''s normal to feel this way. Yeah, I know this feeling well.


    I keep my hand pressed against the strand of light, and I narrow my vision on the man¡¯s lips. As he begins to move his jaw I close my eyes once more and listen.


    ¡°Forgo-ten. Ffor-sa-ken.¡± Soft, raspy breaths barely touch my ears. ¡°They run. They scream. They fall. I sit. I decay.¡±


    THUMP! He smacks his skull against the stone.


    ¡°No more screams,¡± he cries.


    Suddenly, a shrieking woman¡¯s cry echoes from outside the cell window. Slowly, I open my eyes and look toward the window, terrified of what I might see. Silence overtakes the room. Then, another blood-curdling shriek echoes in the distance, followed by the sound of soft meat being split open.


    THUMP!


    ¡°No more screams,¡± he begs as blood drips down his neck.


    My mind scrambles to explain the screams. They couldn¡¯t be real, I hope. They must be a memory, his memory. I try to think of why a woman might be screaming in these woods. What if the monster attacked her? But that would mean the monster has been here for hundreds of years. Every part of me wants to shut it out, but Dr. Ward¡¯s demand rings in my head, ¡°Let them in, Reaper,¡± and I reach for another strand.


    Fear. The man¡¯s fear and desperation flood my mind as thunder cracks outside. I sit here in the darkness, waiting to be found, to be killed. It¡¯s too much. My head swells with heat, but again I grab another damned strand. His hunger, his pain, his madness, all of it explodes in my skull like broken metal pots slamming together.


    I want to scream, but I can¡¯t. I don¡¯t have the energy. My body is weak and frail. I don¡¯t have the strength to stand, and it hurts to lift my arms. I feel my skin sag against my bones. Another night passes, and more screams of agony pierce the skies. Every night, they run, they scream, and they die. Make it stop.


    ¡°No more screams,¡± we beg in unison.


    Suddenly a wave of heat washes over my body. The screams stop, and my muscles relax. Twinkling dust floats around the room, softly circling me, then flowing into my body. My skin warms as the last of the dust touches my skin, and all at once, the light vanishes. Once more, I¡¯m left in a cold, empty cell lit only by my flashlight. I wait a moment to hear the crack of bone, or screams, or thunder, but they don¡¯t come.


    Gently, I pick up my hilt. A sudden warmth pulses in my fingertips. As I stand, I¡¯m surprised by the new strength that vibrates through my muscles. My body feels lighter and blood surges into every muscle.


    I hold the hilt out in front of me and release a slow breath, searching for that loneliness, desperation, and pain. Then I grasp it. Heat rushes from my chest and into my arms. White static cracks around the room, and tiny particles of light explode from the hilt, swarming around it like mosquitos. I tilt the hilt forward, preparing for a shimmering blade to emerge like before. And, as if on command, the particles form together like threads of light. They weave into intricate patterns, and in one decisive motion, they pull tight to form a long white blade.


    I did it. I actually reaped an echo. Silver light fills the room as static ripples around the blade, just like the one I ignited in my bedroom. But it isn¡¯t the same shape as the first one. This sword is more crude and simple. There¡¯s no elegant butterfly-shaped guard; in fact, there isn¡¯t much of a guard at all. But I can feel the energy course through my body and into my new weapon.


    A smile of wonder emerges on my face. I wave the sword around and admire its construction. Tiny elegant knots of glowing threads weave together into a deadly blade. Cautiously, I hold my hand near the edge and feel the searing heat spill from it.


    I don¡¯t know if this thing can cut through metal or how durable it is, but there¡¯s only one way to find out. I walk to the gate and hold the sword up over my head, then swing it down hard against the iron gate. But, to my surprise, the blade simply passes through the bars as if they aren¡¯t even there. I stumble forward, thrown off by the lack of force.


    I catch myself against the bars and look at the blade, praying it isn¡¯t broken. The glowing blade doesn¡¯t have a scratch. I inspect the iron gate, but it too is completely unscathed. I know I didn¡¯t miss; it should have smacked the iron bars hard. Slowly, I press the blade against one of the iron bars once more. The blade passes right through the metal like a ghost through a wall. What a useless piece of¡ª


    Just before I throw the sword away in rage, I notice a dull red glow emanating from the iron bar where the blade is touching. I hold my hand close to the gate and immediately feel heat radiating off it. It may not be cutting the metal, but it sure as hell can melt it.


    I press my face against the rusted bars and search for the latch. Then, I pierce the blade through the gate until it hits the weakest part of the lock. If I hold it here long enough, hopefully it will melt the metal tab holding the bolt in place. The buzz of heat echoes through the old prison. Sparks leap from the metal and it begins to glow a dull red.


    I look up for a moment and spot two empty eye sockets staring at me¡ªor through me. I was able to reap one echo, but my neighbor across the hall is still hunched against his gate.


    ¡°F-ail-ure,¡± he whispers.


    ¡°Yeah?¡± I mutter, watching the metal flicker with sparks. ¡°Watch me.¡± Heat swells in my face. ¡°I¡¯m covered in mud, rust, and who knows what else in this fucking cage. Maybe some version of me would rather stay in here and die. Maybe a part of me would be happy to just disappear and let the world go by without me. It never did me any favors.¡± The metal begins to glow a bright orange. ¡°But I¡¯m done feeling sorry for myself. That part of me can stay here and rot, I¡¯m getting out.¡±


    I pull the sword from the lock and reach it between the bars. I pray to myself that this hilt isn¡¯t fragile, then I slam its base against the glowing hot metal. Sparks explode from the lock, filling the room with light. Again and again, I bash the molten iron. Finally, the small tab holding the bolt in place sheers off.


    With my other hand I pinch the bolt and try to slide it out of the catch. It nudges little by little, but just before the bolt releases, it sticks. I groan as I squeeze my fingers between the metal to nudge the bolt, but it doesn¡¯t move. Frustrated, I push my shoulder into the gate. It gives slightly.


    I take a step back and ram the gate. It shoves forward a bit more. I groan with frustration and blow the hair out of my face, then with one final effort I shove all of my weight into the iron bars. With a loud clang the door swings open. As the door gives, I stumble forward and fall onto the stone floor.


    ¡°Ge¡ª ou-t,¡± the man breathes.


    ¡°Gladly,¡± I sigh.


    I stand and hold the glowing sword up as a torch, then walk back into my cell and grab my things. I look back at the corpse slumped against the wall, no more than a bundle of ragged bones now. I notice a crack in the base of his skull. Fear and loneliness battered his mind every night until it killed him. I will not make the same mistake.


    I look up at the narrow window. The light outside has almost completely vanished. I don¡¯t have much more time. Holding the glowing sword up for light I quickly walk down the narrow corridor. As I pass each prison cell, I notice more and more grim faces staring at me. I can hear their labored breathing as I pass them. Everyone in this prison was left behind. But why?


    I reach the thick wooden door of the entrance and shove my weight into it. I hear the soft rattle of chains outside. Dr. Ward really didn¡¯t make this easy on me. I prepare to plunge my sword into the door, but the light suddenly flickers. I look at my sword in horror as the energy dims and disintegrates in front of me.


    ¡°No no no NO!¡± I shout.


    I slam my fist against the door, and pace back down the dark hallway. I don¡¯t know how much longer I can stay in here. With every minute, I can feel rage and desperation slinking into my mind, and it¡¯s getting difficult to tell if those are my emotions or someone else¡¯s. I take a deep breath and try to calm myself. I look up at the pitiful faces looking out from their cells. I need to reap another.


    ¡°Ff-ail-ure,¡± the man at the end of the hall whispers.


    ¡°You¡¯re up first,¡± I growl.


    I close my eyes and relax my shoulders. It¡¯s easier the second time. In the darkness, I let all of my fears fall away and invite the shadows in. Silver strands of light appear, gently blowing around me.


    I reach for the first one. Shame. Disappointment fills my soul. It hits me like a sack of bricks. His emotions erupt in my mind and become my own. I have failed my family, I¡¯ve disappointed my parents, and worst of all, I¡¯ve left my daughter without a father. I¡¯m a failure. She¡¯s alone and I¡¯m locked in this prison. My only hope is that they get out before he finds them.


    I let his shame fill my mind. I embrace it all, then let it burn inside me. Heat floods my skin, and my eyes burst open, their color likely darker than the shadows around me. I march back to the door and hold up my hilt, then stop. The door is made of thick lumber, nearly eight inches thick, and reinforced with iron brackets. If I burn the wood, it could fill this cramped prison with smoke. I¡¯d suffocate before the door came down.


    Dammit. If Maggie were here, she¡¯d probably tell me to use some sort of superpower or magic spell to blow the door down. She¡¯s already named all of my abilities so far; she¡¯d know exactly what to do. Sorry, Maggie, I¡¯m not a superhero, and I don¡¯t know any spe¡ª Spirit bomb.


    At the Davidson house, energy exploded from my body and shook the whole building. Maggie dubbed that ability ¡°spirit bomb.¡± I still have no idea how I did that, but I was able to hit the back door with a gust of energy. Maggie called it my ¡°telekinetic burst.¡± It was pretty weak back then, but maybe it¡¯s stronger now. How did I do that again? I visualized myself surrounded by fog.


    I take a deep breath and close my eyes. I imagine myself lying in the white snow, watching the clouds pass overhead. Slowly, fog rolls in, blanketing the town and hiding everything around me in a white void. This time, something is different. Tenderly, the fog rotates around me like a stream of water. I lift my hand and notice the fog subtly shift.


    As I raise both hands, the falling snow halts, and the air freezes around me. I wave my hands to the left. The cold air mirrors my movement and rushes around me. Then, as I wave my hands to the right, it races past me in the same direction. I can¡¯t help but smile, feeling a deep connection to something deep inside me. The air swings behind me as I lift my hands. Then, in one decisive shove, I slam my hands forward and open my eyes. A wave of heat rushes from my arms, warping the air before me as it cascades down the hall.


    BANG!


    The large wooden door rattles hard against the stone, and the chains clang together outside, but to my disappointment, it stands firm. I sigh in frustration, but I did it. It just needs more power¡ªa lot more power.


    I close my eyes once more, and invite the darkness.


    Strands of silver slowly crawl from the prison cells around me. I reach for a strand belonging to yet another echo of a person left in this prison to die. Hatred. It erupts in my bloodstream and burns my skull. I clench my fists until my knuckles turn white until I force myself to relax and let it in. I feel the heat build in my chest, but I need another. I grab another silver cord. Doubt. It sits on my shoulders and pulls me to my knees. Heat burns in my chest, and my throat tightens.


    Maybe I¡¯m too weak to do this. Maybe I don¡¯t deserve to get out. I can¡¯t breathe. I open my eyes and gasp for air. I taste iron on my lips as bright red blood drips from my nose.


    ¡°You¡¯re a badass!¡± Maggie¡¯s voice echoes in my head.


    I really don¡¯t feel badass right now. It feels like scalding hot oil is pulsing through my veins, and every doubt, fear, and insecurity is swirling in my head. Maybe she¡¯s wrong. Maybe I¡¯ll die in here. I doubt I¡¯d be missed.


    ¡°I just thought I was doing the world a favor.¡± The memory of Maggie¡¯s crushing words nearly stops my heart.


    Maggie was wrong to think such a horrible thing. She deserves to know that. She deserves to know how wonderful I think she is. She deserves to know how much the world needs her¡ªhow much I need her. I can¡¯t leave her alone. She believes in me, whether I think I deserve it or not. Fuck it. Let¡¯s be badass.


    I punch my fist into the stone and stand back up. I close my eyes, and once more those grim silver strands dance around me. I grab another. Madness pours over the cracks in my mind and seeps into every pore like liquid mercury, but I grab another and another. Heat rips across my skin, and molten oil explodes in my chest. I lower my defenses, let it all in, and let it burn.


    Once more, I imagine that fog surrounding me in the snow. Only it isn¡¯t a fog, but a raging black storm. Thunder snaps around me. I raise my hands and watch the storm swirl around me.


    I open my black eyes as energy surges through my body. White hot static cracks around me, whipping the iron bars. I am both shadow and flame. I am the reaper of souls.


    With a bloody scream, I shove my arms forward. A concussive wave of heat explodes from my arm.


    KA-BANG!


    The door hinges break from the wall, and the door careens out from the building, cartwheeling across the grass until it splashes into the water.


    The pink light of sunset and bright white snow feels almost foreign to the darkness I¡¯ve gotten accustomed to. Then, as my adrenaline settles, I feel my energy drain into a puddle of nothing. The heat dissipates and is replaced with throbbing pain.


    ¡°Reaper!¡± Dr. Ward¡¯s proud voice feels almost like a growl.


    I look out and find him standing just out of the blast range of the doorway, his arms crossed with pride.


    ¡°I was almost ready to give up on you,¡± he says with an eyebrow raised.


    ¡°So was I,¡± I groan. Part of me wants to punch him, though it wouldn¡¯t do any good. My arm feels like it would snap against his massive chest.


    ¡°I reaped them,¡± I say.


    ¡°Indeed.¡±


    ¡°Does this mean I¡¯m tell¨²rii?¡± I can¡¯t hide my excitement. If my dad were here, I¡¯d squeeze him. It¡¯d make me so happy to share this with him.


    ¡°No,¡± Dr. Ward''s cold response nearly breaks me.


    ¡°What?¡± I argue. ¡°But I¡ª¡±


    ¡°You accomplished what any reaper could do,¡± he cuts me off. ¡°You still have a long road ahead of you.¡±


    The defeat in my face must be pitiful. He looks at me and sighs.


    ¡°But you did well, Autumn.¡± He smiles. ¡°I¡¯m proud of you.¡±


    My chest flushes with warmth. The last time I heard those words was when Dad taught me to swim. I had kicked and punched in the lake for weeks. Finally, I learned to calm myself and swam a whole three feet. Dad lifted me out of the water as if I had swam three miles.


    ¡°Thanks,¡± I manage to say without a single tear.


    ¡°Come,¡± he says. ¡°Let¡¯s get you home before your mother notices how long you¡¯ve been gone.¡±


    Together, we begin our march out of the woods. We stomp through mud and tall grass, when a deep voice croaks through the woods.


    ¡°Hey!¡± That raven-like voice sends a shiver down my spine.


    Dr. Ward snaps his head around, his eyes morphing into deep pools of glossy obsidian, while dark veins branch out like spiderwebs under the skin of his cheeks. His impenetrable gaze sends a shiver down my spine. If I didn''t know him, I''d be terrified of him. I think a part of me is.


    ¡°What is that thing?¡± I ask quietly.


    ¡°Regret,¡± he replies.

 Chapter 15

    ¡°I¡¯m not the same person I was when I first entered those woods. I¡¯m not sure I¡¯m the same person I was yesterday. I don¡¯t think I¡¯ll ever be the same.¡±


    <hr>


    ¡°RUN!¡± Dr. Ward shouts.


    We charge through the tall brush, weaving between trees. Details of the woods are reduced to shades of gray as the sun sets. A deep and unsettling croak bellows out from behind us, echoing through the swamp like the war cry of a thousand toads.


    ¡°SOMEBODY, HELP ME!¡± A woman¡¯s shriek pierces the air. That had to be a real person, right?


    ¡°Ignore it,¡± Dr. Ward commands before I can even ask. ¡°Don¡¯t turn around.¡±


    I attempt to convince myself it¡¯s nothing more than a clever animal. I know some birds can mimic the sounds they hear with stunning accuracy. Even ravens have been known to copy human noises. This creature just happens to mimic someone screaming in terror unnervingly well. Unfortunately, we¡¯re not dealing with a damned bird.


    I can¡¯t help myself, and I look behind me. Everything further than twenty feet into the woods falls away into complete darkness. But two glistening red eyes bob up and down, obscured only by the passing trees and branches. The blood-red glow pierces the night with vile hatred.


    Suddenly, searing hot pain rockets through my body as I slam my face into a low branch. I crumble to the ground and groan in pain. I blink. My vision is blurred, but I can still see those red eyes racing toward me closer and closer. We¡¯re mere seconds from the edge of the woods. How close to the town is this creature willing to get? Will it leave the woods? Can it?


    ¡°I told you not to look,¡± Dr. Ward lifts me up and brushes the dirt out of my face. ¡°Always look where you¡¯re running.¡±


    Dr. Ward¡¯s black eyes then shift toward the approaching danger. Then, he pulls out a hilt of his own, a worn silver color. Time slows as white light explodes from both ends of the hilt. But it doesn¡¯t form a sword. Instead, Dr. Ward uses his other hand to pull on an imaginary bowstring. The two ends bend, and a glittering arrow materializes between his fingertips.


    He draws the arrow back and takes aim. I¡¯m still in shock, partly from the blood dripping down my face, and partly from the fact that bows are apparently an option for reaper weapons. The monster is within range and approaching at an unsettling speed. I watch anxiously, waiting for him to shoot. I doubt a single arrow will do much other than piss it off, but still, shoot dammit! But Dr. Ward suddenly aims away from the monster, and points the arrow upward.


    He releases the arrow. It rockets up into the canopy with a silver trail of glittering light and slams into something hanging in the trees. Suddenly, fire erupts above us and I understand everything.


    A bundle of oil and animal fat hanging from a rope quickly catches fire. My dad used to fill big leather pouches with fat before he went hunting. I never understood how that was supposed to help him catch anything. Maybe it wasn¡¯t. Maybe Dad was helping Dr. Ward make traps. The rope quickly snaps and the flaming hide drops from the tree. Bright gold flames scatter across the white snow, flooding the woods with light.


    The creature comes to a heavy stop. I squint my eyes in the light to see it a little better, but immediately, I wish I hadn¡¯t. My mind scrambles to erase every detail from memory before trauma twists my thoughts into madness. Nothing about this creature makes sense, like some kind of taxidermy nightmare. It shouldn¡¯t be alive. But those hate-filled eyes twitch with bloodlust as they stare at Dr. Ward.


    ¡°Come on,¡± he grabs my arm and pulls me.


    We rush through the woods until we reach the clearing, and then keep running still. My lungs burn by the time we reach the door of the mansion. Dr. Ward doesn¡¯t say a word as he pulls me through the halls. We reach the library and he quickly locks the door behind us.


    ¡°Sit down,¡± he demands and places me in a chair.


    ¡°How many of those traps have you set out there?¡± I ask.


    ¡°More than I can count.¡± He doesn¡¯t look at me as he sheds his jacket and rolls up his sleeves. ¡°She hates light.¡±


    ¡°She?¡± I mutter. That thing has a gender?


    ¡°Hold still,¡± he says before dabbing an alcohol-soaked rag on my face.


    I hiss at the sudden burn. Shit, I must have hit my head pretty good. The adrenaline begins to wear off and a wave of pain rushes through my skull. I look in the mirror and immediately know I can¡¯t hide this from my mom. What the hell am I going to tell her?


    Dr. Ward then presses his hand against a wooden panel on the wall, revealing a little door. I sit up, holding the rag against my head. He reaches his hand in to pull out a small bone. God, I hope that isn¡¯t human. He snaps the bone in half and inhales the burst of white light that escapes it.


    I have so many questions. But before I can arrange any of them into a coherent thought, he places his palm on my head. Bright red light glows around his hand and warmth spills over my face.


    ¡°There,¡± he says, pulling his hand away. ¡°Can¡¯t send you home with cuts and bruises.¡±


    I quickly turn my head to look at the mirror. My short curly hair is in a state of distress, and my face is covered in dirt, but there isn¡¯t a scrape or cut or even a bruise.


    ¡°What did you do?¡± I ask with bewilderment.


    Before he can answer, my phone rings. ¡°Mom¡± spells out across the screen. Shit, I¡¯m late.


    ¡°Another time, maybe,¡± he replies. ¡°Get yourself cleaned up and head home before your mother also tries to kill us.¡±


    <hr>


    Luckily, Mom buys my ¡°I was visiting Granny and lost track of time¡± bit. I was sure to actually visit Granny before leaving, so it isn¡¯t a complete lie. Nevertheless, she guilts me for making her worry as I reheat my dinner.


    Maggie keeps me up most of the night as I tell her everything, and, for once, I think I¡¯m almost as excited as she is. We spend hours naming my abilities and guessing what other abilities I might develop. Not that I could sleep anyway. Every time I close my eyes, I just see the emaciated faces of those prisoners staring at me in the dark.


    I make the decision to include every detail in my blog. I know Hannah reads it religiously, and I doubt I¡¯ll have the energy to explain it all again at school. I¡¯m not worried about anyone else reading it. It¡¯s far beyond the realm of believability at this point.


    The next morning, I feel surprisingly energetic despite the lack of sleep. I have far too much on my mind to be tired. Mom¡¯s working late again tonight, so I put on some black lipstick and an outfit that would absolutely appall her. I look in the mirror and comb my fingers through my hair, then shrug. I like it messy. A new aura is building inside me, like I finally understand exactly what I am, and why black looks so good on me.


    I get to school and immediately feel the weight of other students staring at me. In fact, a few more eyes watch me as I enter, but no one says anything. Even Brennan stifles his usual banter. He just watches me in stunned silence as I enter the rotunda.


    Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    I smile and confidently walk past them. Let them stare. Let them whisper like I¡¯m something other than human. Because I¡¯m not human. I¡¯m a fucking reaper.


    I round the corner and spot Liam. His face tenses with concern when he looks at me, like my arrival is somehow unexpected. He quickly looks away and I follow his gaze. Immediately, my confidence descends into horror and the blood drains from my face.


    Two uniformed police officers stand in front of my locker with Principal Summers. My skin turns cold when I look at my locker, as something dark and red drips from its base. A foul odor then invades my nose. It¡¯s sour and pungent. I recognize that smell now. Decay.


    ¡°Miss Everly,¡± Principal Summers¡¯ shrill voice scratches through the air. Her face is painted with both disappointment and horror. ¡°Open your locker, please.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± I ask


    ¡°You tell us,¡± she replies with her arms crossed. ¡°Whatever you¡¯ve hidden in here is obviously creating an odor.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s just books, I swear.¡± Even I don¡¯t believe that. What the hell is in my locker?


    ¡°Open it Miss Everly,¡± she demands.


    Reluctantly, I spin the lock. My fingers tremble as I twist the knob, and the smell gets worse and worse. I see the eyes of every other student look at me with disgust. A look I''m familiar with, but this is worse. The lock softly clicks with the final combination and I take a deep breath.


    Slowly, I pull the locker door open. My mind floods with every horrid macabre thing that could be inside. What if I¡¯ve awoken some dark spirit? Is Mallory angry with me? Is her bloated corpse in my locker somehow?


    What I find is far less imaginative, but curious and awful all the same. A dead black cat is crumpled in the base of my locker. Its face has already shrunken in and its eyes have dissolved into empty sockets. Part of its ribcage is exposed, leaking dark red bile into my locker and the locker beneath it. It didn''t crawl into my locker on its own. Someone put it in here. I¡¯ve seen enough death at this point to recognize roadkill.


    Strange drawings of pentagrams and nonsensical symbols are painted in red inside the locker. Gasps fill the hall and whispers swirl around me.


    ¡°Witch.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s a monster.¡±


    ¡°Psycho.¡±


    ¡°Freak.¡±


    Then, I spot a small detail on the inside of my locker door. ¡°SLUT¡± is written in black Sharpie. The handwriting is elegantly feminine, marked by a pink lipstick kiss over it. I spot Jaqueline conveniently within eyesight, leaning against the wall, feigning utter horror.


    Part of me wants to cry. Part of me wants to break her nose.


    ¡°Come with me,¡± Principal Summers demands, grabbing my arm.


    <hr>


    I knew Jaqueline was dramatic, but this is insane. She must have snuck in over the weekend and broke into my locker. And since her mom is the principal, she could have stolen the master keys from her fairly easily. But of course her mother would never believe that. In summary, I¡¯m screwed.


    ¡°Thank you for joining us, Missus¡ª¡± Principal Summers pauses, clearly unsure what to call my mother as she enters the office. All of my mom¡¯s campaign posters say vote for Adelina Alvarado, which is my mom¡¯s maiden name. But, of course, her problem child, yours truly, still uses her given last name, Everly. Then there¡¯s the matter of being a widow. Some people say missus, some say miss, most avoid the problem entirely with ma¡¯am. Principal Summers clearly isn¡¯t clever enough to think of the latter. Apparently the apple doesn¡¯t fall too far from the tree. She doesn¡¯t bother to finish her sentence before my mother cuts her off.


    ¡°Mija,¡± Mom¡¯s first word cuts through the air as her eyes stab me like daggers. My outfit and black lipstick aren¡¯t doing me any favors. Her gaze is so angry, part of me worries I¡¯ll suddenly catch on fire and burn to death in this room.


    ¡°?Qu¨¦ hiciste?¡± She asks, knowing full well that Principal Summers can¡¯t understand her.


    ¡°Nothing, Mam¨¢,¡± I groan.


    My mom clicks her tongue. ¡°?C¨®mo que nada? Vestido as¨ª, seguro que quieres buscar problemas.¡±


    ¡°Ma¡¯am, please,¡± Principal Summers begs. ¡°I¡¯d be happy to explain everything if you could please sit.¡± She gestures to the chair beside me.


    Mom fakes a half-smile and sits straight up in the chair. She somehow manages to be the most commanding figure in the room. The office is small. The wall behind Principal Summers is covered by bookshelves of decorative books I doubt anyone has ever read. There are pictures of her family standing on a few of the shelves. Her desk is filled with little wooden blocks with inspirational messages like ¡°Inspire¡± and ¡°Believe¡±, as well as the obligatory Bible verse.


    Everything about Principal Summers is well groomed and pampered. Her neat blonde hair curls out at the bottom almost perfectly. Her roots barely show, likely from getting them highlighted recently. Her jacket is pressed, and her gold necklace is on full display.


    ¡°We received a report of a foul smell coming from Miss Everly¡¯s locker,¡± she begins after a short breath. ¡°Upon opening it, we found a dead cat and some disturbing drawings.¡±


    My mom doesn¡¯t say anything. She simply scrunches her eyebrows and narrows her lips, as if she¡¯s switching to councilwoman mode.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t put that in there,¡± I say.


    ¡°Well, I hope even you would never put a dead animal in your locker,¡± Summers replies. ¡°But if not you, then who?¡±


    I bite my lip, knowing the answer will fall on deaf ears.


    ¡°Jaqueline,¡± I mutter.


    Summers drops her shoulders and tilts her head as if I just told a silly lie. ¡°Why would Jaqueline ever do such a thing?¡± she asks.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± I shrug. ¡°She probably thinks I stole her new boyfriend.¡±


    ¡°Aye,¡± Mom gasps. ¡°A boyfriend? First I''m hearing about that.¡±


    ¡°No, Ma,¡± I groan.


    ¡°Jaqueline would never do that,¡± Principal Summers offers a condescending smile.


    ¡°How do you know that?¡± My mother bites back. My eyes widen. I¡¯m surprised she¡¯s actually defending me. ¡°Do you have cameras?¡±


    ¡°Well, no. But¡ª¡± She tries to defend herself.


    ¡°Then you don¡¯t know.¡± Mom leans forward. ¡°My daughter is being bullied and you wish to punish her for it?¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s not in any trouble.¡± Summers quickly backpedals.


    ¡°Then what are we doing here?¡± Mom raises her voice. I¡¯m still in silent shock.


    ¡°Even if this was just a prank,¡± Summers says, pulling notebooks from her desk. My notebooks. ¡°Some disturbing drawings were found in her notebooks.¡±


    She opens my notebook, presenting my drawing of the monster in the woods. The detailed drawings leave little to the imagination. My mother¡¯s face is stone cold, but I can see the horror in her eyes. Her body is completely still and resolute, but her eyes waver, as if deeply troubled by something.


    ¡°Her father died only two years ago,¡± Mom finally speaks. Her voice is calm and slow. ¡°And you snoop through her private things?¡± Her eyes narrow on Principal Summers. ¡°She is mourning, she can draw what she likes.¡± Mom stands from her chair.


    ¡°Mrs. Alvarado, please¡ª¡± Summers begins.


    ¡°Thank you for wasting government time,¡± Mom replies coldly. ¡°You will return all of my daughter¡¯s belongings and move her to a different locker, away from Jaqueline.¡± She turns toward the door.


    ¡°We will need to keep a closer eye on Miss Everly from now on.¡± Summers attempts to regain the lead.


    ¡°Yes you will.¡± My mom looks back at her with a look that shakes me. ¡°To ensure she isn¡¯t bullied again. Now send her back to class. I can¡¯t do your job and mine.¡± She turns and leaves the office without even looking back at me.


    <hr>


    All of my belongings are returned to me, and I¡¯m given a new locker, as instructed. However, I immediately throw away my notebooks and anything else that stinks of decay.


    ¡°Hey Autumn,¡± Liam says from behind me.


    I¡¯m not really sure how I managed to earn Liam¡¯s companionship. I spoke to him one time in class and I guess that was enough. I have to admit, he can be sweet. It¡¯s nice to have an actual friend who doesn¡¯t think of me as a superhero or science experiment.


    ¡°Hey.¡± I don¡¯t bother to offer a smile. I don¡¯t know if I could fake one right now.


    ¡°I was going to warn you, but I was too late,¡± He mutters. His long blonde hair droops over his eyes.


    ¡°Don¡¯t sweat it. I had it coming.¡± I shrug. ¡°Just pissed I had to throw away most of my stuff. It smelled like shit.¡±


    ¡°Oh!¡± Liam digs through his backpack and pulls out a black leather notebook, wrapped in a single ribbon. ¡°I was going to give it to you before the whole¡­ cat thing.¡± His cheeks flush red. ¡°I saw you were using your school notes to draw and I figured you deserved something a bit nicer.¡±


    I pull the bow off and open it, in shock for the second time today. The notebook is filled with thick sketch paper. I¡¯ve never really invested in any sketch pads or visited many art stores, so this is easily the nicest notebook I¡¯ve ever held. Why would he give me this?


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what to say,¡± I mutter. ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°I liked your drawings,¡± he says. ¡°You¡¯re a great artist.¡±


    I smile. But before I can reply, an announcement comes over the speakers.


    ¡°All students, please report to the gym for a mandatory assembly. All students¡­¡± The speaker repeats again.


    I look back for Liam, but he¡¯s already gone.

 Chapter 16

    ¡°Reapers walk a lonely road. This world doesn¡¯t tolerate our kind. One way or another, we are always cast out from society.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, well, I guess you don¡¯t know your real family until the world casts you out.¡±


    <hr>


    I sit at the top of the bleachers of the gymnasium, ignoring the wide berth everyone has given me. I can hear them snicker and gossip as they sneak glances in my direction. With everyone gathered in one place, the entire school will know some version of the story in minutes. Like a giant game of telephone, people will probably think I killed the cat myself by the end of it. But my attention is focused on the black leather notebook in my hands.


    I run my fingers over the fine sketch paper. Why would Liam give me something so nice? Perhaps he thinks I really am a witch, and this will earn him some form of good fortune. I quickly shake that thought away, though. Liam isn¡¯t like that. My cheeks flush at the insane possibility that, maybe, this is a genuine gift.


    ¡°Got room for two more?¡± Hannah asks with JJ in tow.


    I look up but don¡¯t offer any response.


    ¡°I heard what happened,¡± she says. ¡°Was there really a dead cat in your locker?¡±


    I raise my eyebrow with an expression that says, ¡°Yup, and I don¡¯t want to talk about it.¡±


    ¡°I bet it was Jaqueline,¡± she continues. ¡°That bitch was born heartless.¡±


    ¡°Any idea what the assembly is for?¡± JJ asks.


    ¡°Probably something to do with Trevor and Mallory,¡± Hannah replies. My eyes widen with dread as a million questions flood my mind. ¡°Those are their parents over there.¡± She points at the four adults standing against the gymnasium wall.


    Nausea bubbles in my stomach as a blanket of grief falls over my shoulders. None of them look like they¡¯ve slept in weeks, all showing some form of anxiety or discomfort. Mallory¡¯s parents are easy to spot; her mother looks just like her. Her long blonde hair falls past her shoulders, fine and straight like Mallory¡¯s. Her eyes are dark and sunken in, and her nose is pink with irritation from rubbing it with the tissues she keeps in her pocket.


    Each of them feigns tired smiles when someone approaches them, likely offering kind words. Words they¡¯ve heard a hundred times. Words that don¡¯t change the fact that their children are dead. Worse, I can¡¯t help but wonder if there is still some sliver of hope in their eyes. In their minds, their children are still missing¡ªstill alive.


    The two detectives I encountered in Dr. Ward¡¯s office walk to the center of the polished court. Beside them are four chairs and a podium. I remember the one with thinning blonde hair is Detective Hart, but I never got the name of the preppy one. Hart is fidgety like he¡¯d rather be anywhere else but in a high school gymnasium.


    ¡°Maybe they found a body,¡± I say.


    ¡°Tch,¡± Hanna scoffs. ¡°What could they have possibly found?¡±


    ¡°We never found Trevor¡¯s body,¡± I reply, knowing there is likely a very good reason for that.


    ¡°Yeah, the monster probably ate him too.¡± Hannah¡¯s voice carries a bit further than expected, and some faces turn and scowl at her.


    ¡°Quiet, please!¡± Principal Summers speaks into the podium microphone. Her voice echoes through the gymnasium, but she is forced to repeat herself two more times before the crowd finally settles.


    ¡°Detective Hart and Detective Kingsly are here to give a very important announcement,¡± she continues. ¡°Please give them your undivided attention.¡± She then gestures to Hart, welcoming him to the podium.


    ¡°That part never really made sense to me,¡± JJ whispers.


    ¡°What part of any of this makes sense?¡± Hannah asks.


    ¡°Well if the monster is eating people, why were there drag marks in the grass?¡± JJ asks.


    ¡°Thank you students,¡± Detective Hart speaks a little too close to the microphone, causing many students to recoil. ¡°Uh, thank you. I won¡¯t take up too much of your time.¡±


    ¡°I can think of a few unpleasant reasons why there would be drag marks, JJ.¡± Hannah scolds him a bit louder. Again, eyes shift to her, but she quickly scowls back at them.


    ¡°I have with me the parents of your classmates, Trevor and Mallory.¡± Hart continues. The parents take their seats in the chairs beside him. ¡°They have asked me to relay a very important warning to all of you.¡±


    ¡°Okay, fine,¡± JJ continues in a hushed tone. ¡°But why was Mallory¡¯s body almost a mile from the picnic spot, floating in the swamp? Why didn¡¯t she get eaten?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Hannah shrugs. ¡°Maybe the monster chased her into the water then got distracted by something else. I don¡¯t know how this thing operates.¡±


    ¡°We have reason to believe that whatever happened to Mallory and Trevor,¡± Hart says with a stern face. ¡°Was perpetrated in those woods.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the thing, we do know how it operates,¡± JJ says, opening up a notebook. On it is a table of months that repeats over and over for multiple years. Every two months, a name is written, sometimes two names. I spot Trevor and Mallory at the end. I recognize a few others from freak accidents and disappearances from neighboring towns, but the rest are new to me.


    ¡°I checked the public record for all accidents even remotely related to Thicket Grove,¡± JJ continues. ¡°It''s oddly consistent. Every two months, at least one person is reported missing or killed, but never more than two people.¡± He flips through the pages of his notebook, and the tally seems to repeat forever. ¡°The pattern goes on for years.¡± I spot a familiar name on one of the pages, Everly. My dad died in those woods two years ago. Did the monster kill him too?


    I think back to the closed-casket funeral. I remember thinking if I can¡¯t see him, maybe he isn¡¯t really in there. Maybe he didn¡¯t die, and they just made a mistake. He could show up at our front door any day. He never did, though.


    ¡°We have known Thicket Grove to be dangerous to enter without an adult,¡± Hart says. ¡°The swamps are unexpectedly deep, it¡¯s easy to get turned around out there, and predatory animals are known to be in the area. We cannot let this pattern continue. It is for this reason we are officially declaring the woods as off limits for anyone after four pm.¡± Murmurs erupt through the stands.


    The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°Maybe the monster only gets hungry every other month,¡± Hannah says, ignoring the startling new announcement as if it changes nothing.


    ¡°It might be hungry then,¡± I reply. ¡°They went missing two months ago.¡±


    ¡°Shit. You¡¯re right,¡± Hannah replies. ¡°It¡¯s on the hunt."


    ¡°Additionally,¡± Hart raises his voice. ¡°If you are caught entering the woods without a guardian, you will be arrested and brought in for questioning.¡±


    ¡°How will they even enforce that?¡± I ask. ¡°Thicket Grove is huge.¡±


    ¡°Good thing tonight¡¯s haunt isn¡¯t in the woods,¡± Hannah smirks.


    ¡°Haunt?¡± I ask.


    ¡°Yeah, remember?¡± She elbows my arm. ¡°We¡¯re taking you ghost hunting so we can hone those powers of yours.¡±


    ¡°Where at?¡± I¡¯m afraid to ask. There are plenty of homes around town I know to be haunted through rumor or just from walking near them. None of which have any visible portals, or rifts as Dr. Ward calls them. Which means they are either echoes or dark spirits, and I ordinarily avoid homes like that. If there¡¯s no soul to save, there¡¯s no reason for me to put myself into trouble.


    ¡°The Windy House,¡± JJ replies. I immediately recognize the name. The Windy House is a popular story, but I¡¯ve never bothered to check if it has any merit. ¡°It¡¯s an old house North of town that borders the woods. It was abandoned after a supposed failed exorcism fifty years ago.¡±


    ¡°Well, not abandoned,¡± Hannah corrects him.


    ¡°Right,¡± JJ replies. ¡°The landowner lives nearby to maintain the house, but doesn¡¯t stay in it.¡±


    ¡°So,¡± Hannah wraps her arm around me. ¡°As long as we¡¯re extra sneaky tonight, we should be fine.¡±


    ¡°Why that house?¡± I ask.


    ¡°You scared?¡± Hannah bumps me with her shoulder. I roll my eyes in response. ¡°We need the real deal. We can¡¯t afford to waste our time with little league haunts. If we¡¯re serious about killing this thing, we need to know what you¡¯re really capable of.¡±


    ¡°Tonight?¡± I let my discomfort show. I have no idea what kind of mood Mom will be in tonight. Sneaking out is bad enough. But sneaking out after getting Mom pulled into the principal¡¯s office is suicide.


    ¡°If you have any information,¡± Hart begins to shout over students. ¡°Please bring it to the police. The only way we will solve this is with your help. Someone knows something. Even the smallest information could lead us in the right direction.¡±


    I notice some of the students sneaking passing glances at me once more. They think I have something to do with it. They aren¡¯t wrong. I do know something, just nothing anyone would believe. I¡¯m sick of letting my powers be a curse. If this continues any longer, they¡¯ll blame me like they blame Dr. Ward.


    ¡°Look,¡± Hannah continues. ¡°We¡¯ll wait outside the Davidson house at midnight. If you don¡¯t show up, we¡¯ll assume you chickened out and go without you.¡±


    ¡°Bring a flashlight and wear black,¡± JJ says.


    ¡°If you have anything black, that is.¡± Hannah smirks as she scans my outfit.


    <hr>


    My leg fidgets incessantly as I sit at the edge of my bed, staring blankly at the wall of my bedroom. I changed into sweatpants and a tee shirt, something more comfortable that won¡¯t give my mom another reason to kill me. I keep replaying the memory of her defending me in my head over and over. The fact that she didn¡¯t eat me alive is shocking enough, but that isn¡¯t what is currently blurring my vision as I get lost in thought.


    It was the look she made when she saw my drawings. They were familiar to her somehow; I know it. Of course they were. Dad was a reaper like me, so he must have shown her pictures or drawings of similar creatures. I need to tell her everything. I need to know why she kept it a secret from me all these years, why I was forced to think something was wrong with me, and why I couldn¡¯t just talk to her about it.


    I tried to talk to her about it when I was little, but she always explained it as childlike imagination. When I got older, I was afraid to bring it up for fear of being sent to a mental hospital. But maybe she¡¯s ready to listen now.


    ¡°Are you even listening?¡± Maggie¡¯s voice catches me off guard.


    ¡°Wha¡ª¡± I mutter, realizing I¡¯ve already picked my nails clean as Maggie rambled about my potential superhero names.


    ¡°You know, if I ever meet Jaqueline, I¡¯m going to haunt the shit out of her,¡± Maggie continues, her silhouette only partly visible under the light. ¡°I mean, killing a cat? That¡¯s psycho.¡±


    ¡°She didn¡¯t kill it.¡± I snap out of my gaze enough to roll my eyes. ¡°You¡¯re giving her too much credit.¡±


    My heart jolts when I hear the door open and shut downstairs. I wait for her to call to me, or shout, or even just announce her presence. But only silence follows.


    ¡°Oh, she¡¯s mad,¡± Maggie says. ¡°Your mom is scary when she¡¯s quiet. You should just hide up here with me.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m done hiding.¡± I stand up and open the door. My hands instantly feel clammy just thinking about talking to her.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Maggie roots hesitantly from the shadows of my room. ¡°Go get¡¯em. When you die, we can be dead BFFs.¡±


    I ignore her jab and quietly step down the stairs, careful to avoid the parts of the wood that tend to creak. I peek my head around the railing, hoping to see her before she sees me, but I find nothing. The kitchen light is off, and the living room TV isn¡¯t playing. I reach the base of the stairs and slowly step down the hall. Suddenly, the bedroom door on my right opens.


    Mom looks down at me with a cold stare. Her eyes are slightly red, and she stuffs something away in her pocket. Was she crying? Regardless, her stance is unwavering.


    ¡°Hey Mam¨¢,¡± I muster.


    ¡°I see you changed,¡± she replies with an eyebrow raised. ¡°Didn¡¯t get the attention you hoped for?¡±


    I stifle the heat boiling in my chest. Is that really all she cares about?


    ¡°Mam¨¢,¡± I huff, looking away to hide my frustration.


    ¡°Did you get a new locker?¡± She says, stepping past me.


    ¡°Yeah, I got moved to a different hallway.¡±


    ¡°Good. Now, maybe you can stop getting distracted with boys and stay out of trouble. Those grades better not drop; I don¡¯t care what emotions you¡¯re working through.¡±


    She flips the kitchen light on, pours herself a glass of water, and pulls leftovers from the fridge, careful to avoid looking in my direction. I squeeze my fists tight. I want to scream at her to shut up and listen to me.


    ¡°About the¡ªdrawings,¡± I mutter.


    ¡°Draw what you like, mija,¡± She says, setting the glass of water down with a firm clink. ¡°You have always been¡­ imaginative.¡± The last word exits her throat like a worm.


    ¡°Mom,¡± I say a little louder. ¡°What am I?¡± How can she keep pretending like this? She knows I¡¯m a reaper, and she continues to hide it.


    ¡°You are my daughter,¡± She finally looks at me. ¡°And I know it has been hard for you¡ª¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not in mourning,¡± I say, feeling the heat rise up my throat. ¡°I can see things. The monsters I used to cry about when I was little,¡± My throat tightens and my face flushes red with heat. ¡°And in the woods, I saw¡ª¡±


    ¡°You will stay out of those woods, Autumn,¡± she cuts me off, her face sharp and pulled tight against her jaw.


    My breath withers away. ¡°But Ma¡ª¡±


    ¡°No!¡± she slams her hand on the island top. The clang reverberates off the walls, scaring away whatever part of this house that made it feel like a home. ¡°I have worked hard to provide a normal life for you. I work late, I cook, I clean, I buy you clothes which you never wear. And yet, you insist on pushing against the current and attracting trouble. Enough with these fantasies. Why can¡¯t you just be normal?¡± I feel my heart break and fall apart like grains of sand between my fingers. ¡°You will stay out of those woods and focus on your school. Do you understand me?


    ¡°Yes.¡± my eyes swell.


    I return to my bedroom. Then, just before midnight, I pack my backpack, change into black pants and a hoodie, and climb out my window.

 Chapter 17

    ¡°Hannah and JJ could have chosen a different path. They should have. But they chose me, and I¡¯m forever grateful for that.¡±


    <hr>


    I take in a soft breath as our van passes the last house leaving Greenfield. Small homes lit by the flickering golden light of old streetlamps are replaced by tall dark trees which forbid all light to enter. Yet, somehow, I feel peace. I relish the idea of leaving Greenfield¡ªleaving everything¡ªand never coming back.


    I sit in the back of the van as my eyes dart from tree to tree. JJ¡¯s hand-me-down minivan smells of old coffee, aged fabric, and earthy dust, which JJ has attempted to conceal with an overwhelming pine scented car freshener. The upholstery looks freshly wiped, but the cupholders are sticky from years of spills and a mix of crumbs are stuffed into the crevices of the seats despite JJ¡¯s futile attempts at cleaning.


    ¡°Hannah, please take your feet off the dashboard,¡± JJ begs, gripping the steering wheel at ten and two and driving five miles an hour under the speed limit.


    Hannah only sings her music louder with her black army boots on the dash. For once, I¡¯m not the only one in all black. We all are. JJ should consider wearing black more often. His dark hair is slicked back as usual and his plain black tee shirt is tucked into his blue jeans. If he had some confidence and maybe some acne cream, he could be a heartbreaker. Hannah lets her personality shine through in her own way. Her shredded black jeans are fastened with a shining studded belt, and a silver cross hangs around her neck. Her black bandana does little to hide her bubblegum pink hair, which lightly dances in the wind from her open window. She hangs her hand out the window, surfing it on the breeze, as she bellows out the music from her mix CD.


    Hannah¡¯s jaw drops as JJ turns the music down.


    ¡°Why do you insist on stressing me out?¡± He groans. ¡°I only got this van a month ago.¡±


    ¡°Oh shut up, you know you love me,¡± Hannah replies with a smirk, but takes her boots off the dash. I glance at JJ to see his cheeks flush red. Hannah then turns toward me. ¡°What are you so mopey about?¡± She asks. ¡°Didn¡¯t you just get your magic sword thingy to work again?¡±


    ¡°I¡ª¡± I stammer.


    ¡°I read your blog.¡± Hannah unbuckles her seatbelt and climbs into the back with me. JJ complains the whole way. ¡°So now you can eat spirits?¡± Her question catches me off guard.


    ¡°I¡¯m not¡ª¡± I catch myself. I¡¯m not sure it¡¯s worth the time to explain the difference between reaping and eating. ¡°They weren¡¯t spirits. Not whole ones anyways. They were fragments of souls echoing moments from the past.¡±


    ¡°Ah, yes.¡± Hannah narrows her eyes. ¡°Because that¡¯s so different from what I just said.¡±


    ¡°It is different,¡± I reply. ¡°They weren¡¯t living souls, just energy.¡±


    ¡°Stone tape theory,¡± JJ interrupts.


    ¡°Stoned apes?¡± Hannah asks bewildered.


    ¡°Stone tape,¡± JJ rolls his eyes. ¡°It¡¯s the theory that traumatic or emotional events can sometimes project energy into the earth, storing them like a record player, especially in areas with high mineral content. Under the right conditions, those memories can be replayed.¡± JJ looks at me in the rearview mirror. ¡°If you were able to consume that energy from the earth, you likely consumed fragments of every soul who ever imprinted in that area.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re such a nerd,¡± Hannah mocks. ¡°So, would you ever eat a living soul?¡± She looks back to me with a curious smirk.


    ¡°It¡¯s called reaping, and no, never.¡± I cross my arms. ¡°Those spirits are people, even if they are just ghosts.¡±


    The sound of the road shifts to gravel as JJ turns down a dirt road. I watch the small lights of Greenfield shrink and disappear as the trees close around the town like a curtain. Pebbles kick up and clang against the bottom of the van as we plunge into the dark woods.


    ¡°How does it feel?¡± Hannah asks.


    ¡°What?¡± I reply.


    ¡°Reaping. Consuming another soul, living or not, must have some side effects.¡±


    ¡°I mean,¡± I pause. Stupidly, I¡¯ve never really considered the potential consequences of it before. I search for the emotions of those prisoners squirming around in the recesses of my mind. It¡¯s a dark part of my thoughts I¡¯m always conscious of, but prefer to ignore. ¡°It¡¯s terrifying at first, like my thoughts aren¡¯t my own. Their emotions and memories all rush in at once and mix with my own. It takes me a minute to sort out which emotions are mine and which aren¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°What if they¡¯re dark emotions?¡± She asks softly.


    I look down at my hands, my nails still picked clean. ¡°They usually are.¡±


    The van pulls to the side of the dirt road and slows to a stop.


    ¡°We¡¯ll have to walk from here,¡± JJ says.


    As he turns off the headlights, a small white panel house reveals itself in the distance. The van sits down the hill to the right of the house, out of view and hidden by trees. I grab my backpack and climb out of the van. I was careful to pack extra batteries, my flashlight, Dad¡¯s notebook, along with the nails, silver ring, and salt. Plus, I found some old glow sticks in my closet which I can only hope still work. My hilt is tucked away in one of the pockets of my coat. It¡¯s the same coat Dad got me before he died, and I¡¯m beginning to think it was made specifically for reapers judging by how perfectly my hilt fits in one of the pockets.


    We emerge from the van and I look up at the tall trees. Thicket Grove stretches far outside of Greenfield and connects to a few other nearby towns, but the trees are just as intimidating out here. They¡¯re tall and gray with long spindly branches that hide the night sky.


    ¡°That¡¯s the Windy House?¡± I ask.


    ¡°No,¡± JJ replies. ¡°That¡¯s Mr. Hawtrey¡¯s house. He owns the Windy House and lives in the guest house.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the Windy House,¡± Hannah says, shining a flashlight deep into the woods. Her light reflects off a bone white house that stands out against the raven black night. The white building floats in the darkness like a bedsheet ghost who might scurry away before our eyes. Its slender structure juts out of the ground at a slight angle giving it the appearance that it wasn¡¯t built but summoned from the earth. Its jagged edges give it a hostile appearance of dissatisfaction with its fate, neglected deep in the woods.


    ¡°I thought we were staying out of Thicket Grove,¡± I protest.


    ¡°Technically, this is private property and not part of the Grove.¡± Hannah winks at me. ¡°Come on.¡±


    Hannah leads the way toward the angry old home. My eyes shift uneasily around us, searching for any movement. We¡¯re breaking into a private home after midnight with the owner nearby, in a haunted forest where police have specifically forbidden entry into. Mom would be so proud.


    I¡¯ve broken into a few abandoned houses in my life, but never with company, and I don¡¯t know this particular house very well so my nerves are on fire. Plus, I only break into a home if I know there¡¯s an open portal and a soul I can help. I don¡¯t ordinarily go searching for spirits whose rift has closed. Their minds are marred with hatred and desperation, cursed to an eternity of solitude. I¡¯ve encountered three in my life. I call them poltergeists, though I¡¯m sure Dr. Ward has a different name for them. They were each vile creatures with little remaining of their humanity. The Davidson house flashes in my mind. I rub my neck as I think of those charred fingers wrapping around my throat.


    Besides, there¡¯s nothing I can do for them. I can guide lost souls to their door, but if there isn¡¯t a door to open, I think I¡¯d be better off putting them out of their misery, though I¡¯ve never tried to do that. I suppose that isn¡¯t entirely true. I think I killed the poltergeist at the Davidson house. How, I have no idea.


    ¡°Why did we pick this house?¡± I ask.


    ¡°You know the story don¡¯t you?¡± Hannah replies.


    ¡°A little. There was a failed exorcism and a man died, but how is that supposed to help me train?¡±


    As we approach the house, its true size surprises me. It¡¯s three stories tall with square windows on every floor, except the third. The upper windows are short and squinty like two eyes narrowing at its approaching intruders. Wood paneling has faded and chipped away as the vines pry into every crevice, but for an eighty year old home in the middle of the woods it isn¡¯t in horrid shape.


    ¡°Oh ye of little faith,¡± Hannah chides. She runs up the dirty wooden steps and twirls on the porch. ¡°This is the home of Abigail and Hank Wickham, who built this home long ago in hopes of finding peace and wealth, but fate had another plan.¡± She uses the porch as her very own stage. ¡°Their lives were plagued from day one with strange noises. Doors opening and slamming shut, scratches in the walls, and tapping along the wooden floors like phantom footsteps. The Wickhams chalked it up as rogue winds with the house up on the hill. But word eventually spread to the locals of Greenfield, who dubbed it the wicked windy house. This frustrated old Hank, who wanted to earn respect in the town.


    ¡°But their daughter, Daisy, was an adventurous and curious young girl. One day, she ventured deep into the woods, despite her mother¡¯s warnings, and returned with an old wooden toy soldier.¡±


    ¡°Oh give me a break,¡± I groan. This story is starting to sound like a movie. I doubt much of it holds any truth.


    ¡°Eh-hem,¡± Hannah scolds me. ¡°I¡¯m not finished.¡±


    ¡°This will go a lot faster if you let her get it out. She takes this part very seriously,¡± JJ whispers, holding a camcorder with a blinking red light. This night is already becoming quite the production.


    ¡°Thank you.¡± Hannah tosses her hair. ¡°Now, once young Daisy brings home the little wooden soldier, the harmless creaks and moving doors escalate to whispers in the night, shadowy apparitions, and crashing plates. Daisy, once full of life, became withdrawn and would take the toy soldier everywhere she went. She kept to her room talking to an imaginary friend she referred to as, Shy boy. The town began to spread rumors that the Wickhams were cursed. Hank, displeased with these rumors and his daughter¡¯s behavior, began to drink heavily and would fly into fits of rage.¡±


    THUNK


    The door behind Hannah suddenly knocks loudly. Hannah squeals and twists to face the door. The air suddenly feels heavy and my gut sinks like I¡¯m going to vomit. It¡¯s so strong I place my hand over my mouth for a moment. Whatever is inside must know we¡¯re here now. I look up at the windows, searching for any faces, but find none.


    ¡°Did you get that?¡± Hannah¡¯s shock quickly turns to glee.


    ¡°Yeah, I got it,¡± JJ replies. ¡°Keep going.¡±


    This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    ¡°Okay,¡± Hannah composes herself with a quick breath. ¡°Well, the Wickhams decide to call the local priest. The priest says the house needs to be exorcised, so he blesses the house with holy water, salt, the works, then gives each of the Wickhams a blessing of their own. When he leaves, he comforts them that their problem is solved.


    ¡°But it isn¡¯t. That night, the cupboards fly open, chairs are thrown, and giggling is heard throughout the house. And little Daisy says her friend is mad they tried to kick him out. As the days go by, the problem gets worse and worse. Daisy stays in her room, refusing to leave. No one in Greenfield dares to visit the home as rumors spread of the Wickhams and their cursed house. But one stormy night¡ª¡±


    THUNK


    The door knocks again. I check the windows once more to search for faces, but I find nothing but dirty old windows.


    ¡°You don¡¯t like my story do you, Shy boy?¡± She turns to mock the house with a smirk.


    ¡°Let me guess, Hank mysteriously died.¡± It comes out a bit more condescending than I intend, but this sounds like a cliche ghost movie. Real hauntings are always more complicated than that.


    ¡°When his wife, Abigail, visited his study the next morning, she found his cold lifeless body covered in cuts and scratches all over his body, and bruises around his neck, and in the dark corner of the room sat Daisy¡¯s toy soldier.¡± Hannah emphasizes each of those last three words with a dramatic step toward JJ¡¯s camera.


    ¡°And you think the shy boy spirit is still here,¡± I say, looking up at the house.


    ¡°When the Wickhams left, they supposedly left the toy soldier here. This could be a legit haunting for you to test out your powers.¡± She lifts her chin. ¡°Besides, it¡¯s a cool spot for a spooky video.¡±


    I have to admit she¡¯s right about the first part at least. After locking me in a prison, who knows what Dr. Ward will throw at me the next time we train. I need to be ready.


    <hr>


    Of course the house is locked. So we circle the house and find an entrance to the basement. The old wooden doors, rotted away from years of moisture, have collapsed under a fallen tree branch. Why is it always the basement?


    The three of us slowly step down the concrete stairs into the dark basement.


    WOOSH!


    I shriek as a bat flies inches from my face.


    ¡°You see dead people everyday and you get spooked by a bat?¡± Hannah mocks.


    ¡°Shut up,¡± I say, feeling my blood rush through my cheeks. ¡°It just surprised me.¡±


    I shine my flashlight around the basement. The room is empty, apart from the pipes, support beams, and a dirty old sink. The air is warm and damp with a subtle sweet musk of earth and rot. The paint on the walls has deteriorated to blotches of white, gray and brown. The ceiling is low with dark wooden beams and old rusty pipes.


    ¡°Woah,¡± Hannah gasps as she looks around. ¡°JJ, start recording.¡±


    ¡°Okay, three, two¡­¡± he says, pointing the camera at Hannah.


    Hannah points her flashlight up at her face, creating sharp dramatic shadows across her features. ¡°We have now crossed the threshold of the house. You can already feel the dark energy in the basement. I can only imagine what horrible rituals were conducted here.¡±


    It takes a lot of effort not to tell her the ¡°dark energy¡± she feels is probably just mold. Though she might not be wrong, I do feel the weight of something here. The muscles in my neck begin to tighten and a low burn creeps up to my temples.


    I scan the room with my flashlight, while Hannah stays close to JJ and the camera. Her voice echoes off the walls. I walk to the stairs and point the flashlight up, expecting to see a shadow, or eyes, or some spirit looking back down at me. But there¡¯s nothing there. Only a tall white door, slightly ajar, invites us to enter.


    Anxiously, we accept its invitation and walk up the wooden steps. The first floor is barren of any remnant of life, nothing but empty space and stale air, yet its narrow hallways and skinny doorways make it feel utterly cramped. The wide living room space is empty, apart from a single couch in the center of the room, covered by a thin white cloth. The ornate patterns of the walls are riddled with cracks, covering the ground with crunchy flakes of plaster. There¡¯s a broom in the corner with piles of dust and paint chips around it. Mr. Hawtrey must come to tidy up the place from time to time, but not as often as he should.


    Slowly, I wander the pitch black room, my flashlight providing only a narrow cone of visibility. Every time I move it, the fear of passing it over a dark figure staring back at me crawls into my mind. Whatever haunt is here, it isn¡¯t some lost spirit looking to cross over. No, we¡¯re here looking for ¡°Shy boy¡±, a poltergeist who allegedly killed a man. The sudden fear for Hannah and JJ crosses my mind. They¡¯re merely expecting moving doors and spooky shadows, but I¡¯ve never known spirits to be so tame around me. JJ had mentioned that I give off a high electromagnetic field. It¡¯s made me wonder if spirits are just more powerful around me.


    ¡°And this is Autumn,¡± Hannah suddenly shines her flashlight in my face. ¡°Our spiritual guide. She is a powerful medium who can feel the forces from beyond the veil.¡± It doesn¡¯t go unnoticed that she doesn¡¯t mention me being a reaper, but I know how this story goes. I hold my hand up in front of the camera.


    ¡°Come on,¡± I plead. ¡°Everyone in Greenfield already thinks I¡¯m a freak, I don¡¯t need the world knowing it.¡±


    ¡°You are a freak,¡± Hannah says. ¡°That¡¯s what makes you awesome. You think we¡¯d hang with a normy?¡± She wraps her arm over my shoulder. ¡°Who cares what the world thinks when you¡¯ve got friends like us?¡± She then bounces from me and grabs JJ by the arm, dragging him into the kitchen. They begin unloading equipment from his backpack. I recognize JJ¡¯s EMF reader, an audio recorder, and a few other objects are laid out across the counter.


    Suddenly, I hear the pitter patter of light footsteps above me. I leave Hannah and JJ and walk into the small rectangular foyer. Stairs climb up the wall on the left and wrap around until they disappear on the upper floor. The steps, carpeted with elegant designs, are faded and covered in a layer of gray dust. The railing has been removed, creating an uncertain climb. The heat in my temples suddenly grows into a throbbing pain. I step forward and shine my light into the upper floor and a web of goosebumps blankets across my skin.


    I grab my hilt and pull it from my pocket. It weighs a little more than the flashlight in my other hand, but it feels more familiar now than it did when I first found it. My fingers fit perfectly between the grooves of the golden engravings. I grip the hilt tightly, waiting for something to leap from the shadows. If the poltergeist here is as violent as the one at the Davidson house, Hannah and JJ could be in real danger. My heart thumps in my throat as I step closer and closer.


    ¡°Let¡¯s see it,¡± Hannah¡¯s voice jolts me from my focus. I turn to catch her standing in the threshold of the foyer. ¡°You figured out how to use it right? Let¡¯s see it.¡±


    I look back up at the top of the stairs, confirming that nothing is there, then back down at my hilt. A confident smile grows on my face.


    ¡°Okay, stand back,¡± I say.


    I switch my flashlight off and slip it into my pocket. Hannah turns her light off too, filling the room in absolute darkness. Then, I grip the hilt with both hands and tap into that part of my mind where the dark things lie, where the emotions of those imprisoned echoes reside like memories I¡¯ve locked away. I feel their grief, madness, and hatred fill my thoughts.


    CRACK!


    White light floods the foyer as static whips around the room. Iridescent glitter bursts from the hilt and groups into thousands of tiny threads. The threads knit together tightly until they form a long glowing blade. I can¡¯t hide my pride. I¡¯m actually able to activate the blade on command.


    ¡°Epic,¡± Hannah says softly. JJ stands beside her with his mouth open wide. The white light flickers in their eyes like tiny fireworks.


    I twirl the blade around, creating a low crackle. Hannah and JJ step forward to get a closer look.


    ¡°Careful, it¡¯s hot,¡± I say. ¡°I¡¯m not really sure what this will do to human skin.¡±


    ¡°Your blog said it passes through solid objects,¡± JJ says, holding his EMF detector close to the blade. It beeps with bright red lights.


    ¡°Yeah, but it was hot enough to melt metal,¡± I reply.


    ¡°I wonder if it¡¯s powered by the souls you reaped,¡± JJ says. ¡°Some believe the human soul is just energy. Is it possible you are channeling that energy into a central beam? Like a magnifying glass in the sun.¡±


    I deactivate the blade and darkness returns. Hannah and JJ are quick to turn on their flashlights and return to the safety of light.


    ¡°I think so,¡± I reply. ¡°But eventually, that energy runs out and I can¡¯t use the blade anymore.¡±


    ¡°Does it always look like that?¡± JJ asks.


    ¡°No, the first time I used it, it had a butterfly on it, and Dr. Ward was able to create a bow with his,¡± I say.


    ¡°Well how do you turn it on? Is there a button or something?¡± Hannah joins in. I hold the hilt out for both of them to inspect.


    ¡°No, I just imagine a sword and one appears.¡±


    ¡°Have you tried imagining something else?¡± JJ asks.


    ¡°No, I haven¡¯t,¡± I mutter, then pull the hilt back. The two of them step back once more and look at me expectantly. ¡°Dr. Ward obviously knows more than me, and I don¡¯t know how much more energy I have.¡±


    ¡°Just try it for a second!¡± Hannah begs.


    ¡°Fine,¡± I sigh.


    I stare at the hilt then close my eyes. I imagine the bow Dr. Ward created, two long arcs forming from either side of his hilt. Then, I invite the darkness in.


    Static pops around the room and, just as I imagined, glowing ribbons burst from both ends of the hilt, weaving together to form two solid arcs of light. An iridescent thread connects the two arcs from tip to tip. I lightly touch the thread and feel its warmth against my fingertips. Just as my fingers touch it, more threads suddenly twist together forming a long arrow with a sharp tip at the end.


    ¡°No fair,¡± Hannah groans. ¡°I want to be cool like that. JJ, why weren¡¯t you recording?¡± She jabs his shoulder.


    <hr>


    The three of us sit in the empty living room with our backs against the wall, asking questions to the air.


    ¡°Shy boy,¡± Hannah starts. ¡°Are you here with us? Can you give us a sign?¡±


    We sit in silence, waiting for a response, listening for the slightest tap or creak in the wood, but only the toads outside respond with a distant chorus of croaks. JJ¡¯s camera sits on a tripod pointed at us. Hannah grabs the audio recorder beside her.


    ¡°Let me see if we got any response,¡± she says and hits play. Our distorted voices echo through the room as the last five minutes are replayed. Each question we ask is followed by a minute of disappointing silence. Hannah groans and drops her head back against the wall.


    ¡°Guys, I have a question,¡± JJ speaks up. ¡°There is a big couch in the center of the room. Why are we sitting on the crusty ground?¡±


    I smile. He makes a good point.


    ¡°Well I¡¯m not sitting on that thing,¡± Hannah replies. ¡°It¡¯s probably got fifty years of dust and who knows what on it.¡±


    ¡°It has a blanket over it,¡± JJ argues.


    ¡°Okay then you go sit on it.¡±


    ¡°Fine.¡±


    JJ stands up and walks to the center of the room and cautiously places his hand on the cloth. He covers his mouth with his shirt and slowly pulls the cloth away, revealing an ornate red couch with ruffles on every pillow. Surprisingly, it still has plenty of color for its age.


    ¡°That blanket must have been there since the Wickhams moved out,¡± Hannah says and stands up to inspect the couch.


    ¡°The material has likely aged. I doubt the legs can hold our weight,¡± JJ says.


    ¡°What are you saying?¡± Hannah narrows her eyes at JJ.


    ¡°No, I¡ª¡± JJ squirms.


    ¡°Only one way to find out,¡± Hannah smirks. ¡°Get over here Autumn.¡± She marches to me and pulls my arm until the three of us stand in front of the couch.


    ¡°On three, ready?¡± She says, as we stand shoulder to shoulder. ¡°One, two, three!¡±


    In unison, the three of us drop hard on the couch. We grab each others¡¯ hands as the couch groans in pain, but it holds firm. We let out a giggle of relief. I let my shoulders relax and rest my back against the cushion.


    SNAP!


    The back of the couch breaks as our collective weight pushes on it. The seat falls forward as we all fall backwards. Our flashlights scatter across the floor and laughter fills the house. My cheeks flush with warmth as I giggle like a chipmunk. It¡¯s an old laugh I haven¡¯t heard in a long time.


    ¡°Well,¡± Hannah tries to overcome her laughter. ¡°I think I¡¯ll stay on the floor a little longer.¡±


    The three of us lie there in the darkness until our lungs permit us to breathe.


    ¡°Isn¡¯t there supposed to be a ghost here?¡± I ask sarcastically.


    ¡°Maybe they¡¯re scared of you,¡± Hannah replies.


    ¡°What¡¯s so scary about me?¡±


    ¡°Maybe it¡¯s the stank face you always have,¡± Hannah giggles.


    ¡°I do not!¡± I jab her arm.


    ¡°You do have a scary face, Autumn,¡± JJ adds.


    ¡°Shut up JJ,¡± Hannah says.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± I bite my cheek. ¡°I guess people just always disappoint me.¡±


    ¡°What about us?¡± She asks.


    ¡°No,¡± I smile and sit up. ¡°But this ghost is disappointing me though.¡±


    ¡°How do you not get scared?¡± She sits up beside me. ¡°You see creepy ghosts all the time. How do you not just lock yourself in your room?¡±


    ¡°She has a ghost in her room too, remember?¡± JJ sits up.


    ¡°Oof, that¡¯s right,¡± Hannah cringes.


    ¡°I do get scared, but it¡¯s different,¡± I reply. ¡°In horror stories, the ghosts always manifest as something that could be explained away. The characters try to rationalize their fears as a gust of wind or the house settling. I don¡¯t have the luxury of disbelief. I can¡¯t rationalize a creak in the floor as a bad foundation or a sudden cold shiver as a change in air pressure. I know when I turn my head there will be another face staring back at me.¡±


    ¡°So why go looking for them?¡± JJ asks.


    ¡°Because not all of them are monsters. Sometimes it¡¯s someone forgotten, who has lost their way. They reach out to the world, but no one reaches back. Their pain makes sense to me. They just want to be heard.¡±


    After a moment, Hannah replies, ¡°I hear you, loser.¡±


    Suddenly a muffled tone echoes from above us like muted notes of a piano.


    ¡°And I hear that too.¡± Hannah leaps up and helps JJ and I stand. ¡°Looks like Shy boy wants to play.¡±

 Chapter 18

    ¡°You never should have entered that house without a guide, especially with Mundanes.¡±


    ¡°What a callous thing to call a living person. I¡¯ve lived much of my life without a guide. This was no different.¡±


    <hr>


    My fingers grip the cool metal of my hilt as we ascend the stairs. With no railing, I hug the wall and keep my eyes upward to the second floor. Hannah and JJ quietly follow close behind me.


    The second floor wraps around the stairs like a horseshoe, with two rooms on each side of the staircase. The absent railing creates a gaping hole down to the first floor. Every door is shut, hiding whatever awaits behind them. Three of them are painted white, which has faded to pale yellow, and one door is stained with a deep oak brown. The walls are adorned with old ornamental sconces covered with dust and cobwebs. Paint chips flaking from the walls cover the carpet and crunch under our feet with every step. A small accent table sits against the wall with an old photo hanging above it. In it, a cloudy white vignette frames a family of three in shades of brown.


    ¡°That must be the Wickhams,¡± Hannah whispers.


    ¡°Their daughter was so pretty,¡± I reply quietly. Our nerves have heightened so much we¡¯re whispering in a house with no one in it.


    Tap tap tap¡­


    Light footsteps, like that of a child, suddenly scurry behind us. We quickly turn around and shine our flashlights against the opposing wall.


    ¡°Hello?¡± Hannah asks shakily.


    ¡°What the¡ª¡± JJ exclaims. ¡°The camera just died.¡±


    ¡°Did you charge it?¡± Hannah asks.


    ¡°Yeah, of course. Hang on. I¡¯ll change the battery.¡±


    Creeeeeeeeak¡­


    Frozen in place, our flashlights fire to one of the white doors across from us. We watch in horror as it slowly creeps open. Fear tickles my head like a hundred long-legged spiders. I strain to search for any figures behind the door, but I can¡¯t see any. If Shy Boy is over there, he¡¯s hiding out of view. Is he playing with us?


    ¡°Holy shit,¡± Hannah breathes. ¡°Hello?¡± She asks louder this time.


    ¡°We know you¡¯re there Shy Boy,¡± I say.


    No response comes. Something doesn¡¯t feel right, like he¡¯s inviting us to find him.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go check it out,¡± Hannah says and grabs JJ¡¯s hand. ¡°Come on.¡±


    ¡°Wai¡ª¡± I try to stop them, but just as I step past the brown door beside me, white-hot pain burns into my skull. I press my hands hard against my temples, and a wave of anger floods my senses.


    ¡°Dammit Hannah,¡± I shout. ¡°I told you to wait.¡±


    Then, as quickly as it came, the anger washes away, and I¡¯m filled with embarrassment.


    ¡°Woah,¡± Hannah replies, timidly walking back to me. ¡°Are you okay?¡±


    ¡°I¡ªI¡¯m sorry,¡± I reply. ¡°I don¡¯t know where that came from. This house¡ª¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± She grabs my arm and holds me steady. ¡°We¡¯ll go in together.¡±


    Where are you Shy Boy? I think to myself. What are you trying to show me? I compose myself and lead Hannah and JJ to the open door. Whatever is in this room could be dangerous, so I¡¯m the first to enter.


    ¡°Stay close to me,¡± I warn them.


    My flashlight floods the room with stark white light, casting long shadows across the walls and revealing patterns of lavender swirls. The room has more furnishings than the others. A small wooden bedframe bears only a naked mattress guarded by tall wooden posts on each corner. Beside it sits a nightstand, and a skinny oval mirror reflects our bright lights back at us. On the other side of the room, an old upright piano sits against the wall.


    ¡°We all heard the piano playing, right?¡± Hannah asks.


    After a confirming nod, we approach the piano to get a closer look. Its blotchy wood, draped in a blanket of dust and cobwebs, tells a silent story of songs that once filled the halls but abruptly fell silent. Hannah reaches out her hand and presses one of the faded keys. An uneasy note echoes off the walls with muted resonance, silenced by the painful creak of the ancient wood.


    ¡°This must be Daisy¡¯s room,¡± I say.


    ¡°Maybe the toy soldier is in here,¡± Hanna replies.


    She wanders the room to search, starting with the nightstand. JJ looks beneath the bed, and I check every corner of the closet. Nothing. Doubt begins to creep into my mind. I can feel the heavy weight of this house pulling down on me. But maybe it¡¯s merely an echo and not some dangerous poltergeist.


    ¡°Damn,¡± Hannah sighs. ¡°Time for the big guns.¡±


    She drops her backpack on the floor and unzips it, then pulls out a long rectangular box. Ouija is printed across the top.


    ¡°Hell no,¡± I say.


    I¡¯ve never used a Ouija board. In fact, I doubt they¡¯re anything more than a hoax. But Mom has ingrained her superstitions into me, and I know better than to test my doubts in a haunted house. Besides, I¡¯ve seen enough spirits to know some can be mischievous. Shy Boy could take this as an open invitation to harm us.


    ¡°Oh come on,¡± Hannah whines. ¡°We haven¡¯t found anything yet, and you need a ghost to kill. If this doesn¡¯t work, we¡¯ll leave.¡±


    ¡°We have no idea how that thing works,¡± I argue.


    ¡°I do,¡± she replies solemnly, then opens the box and places the board on the floor. The alphabet is printed across it in decorative lettering, with Yes and No tucked in the top corners. All of the pieces have already been removed from their protective plastic packaging. ¡°I used to do it with my sister. Just trust me, okay?¡±


    ¡°What if you get hurt?¡± I¡¯m running out of excuses.


    ¡°Then you¡¯ll just have to protect me,¡± she poses flirtatiously but drops her shoulders when I don¡¯t react. ¡°Look, we came here to pick a fight. Are you in or not, reaper?¡±


    <hr>


    Hannah places small candles around the board like a miniature seance. JJ sets down the audio recorder beside a digital thermometer, then stands the camera up on a tripod and points it down at us. We turn off our flashlights and sit in a circle as the candlelight reflects off our faces. Each of us rests our fingers on the planchet. Then, we wait in uncomfortable silence, broken only by our shaky breaths and thumping heartbeats.


    ¡°Are there any spirits with us tonight?¡± Hannah asks.


    We stare down at the board and watch the planchet, but it doesn¡¯t move other than the subtle shifts of our nervous shudders.


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to be scared,¡± she continues. ¡°Come play with us, Shy Boy. We¡¯re bored.¡±


    The air shifts as if someone new now takes up the space beside me. I look around the room, investigating every dark corner. I expect a face to be staring at me, or two empty black eyes to appear in my peripheral, or maybe a shadow to leap just out of view. But nothing shows itself. I know someone is here. Why can¡¯t I see them?


    ¡°The temperature just dropped two degrees,¡± JJ announces.


    ¡°Is that you?¡± Hannah asks. ¡°Are you here Shy Boy?¡±


    The planchet suddenly flinches beneath our hands. I look up at Hannah.


    ¡°That wasn¡¯t me,¡± she says. I look to JJ. He shakes his head.


    It bumps again and we let the planchet pull our fingers across the board until it comes to a stop.


    Yes.


    ¡°Hi, Shy Boy,¡± Hannah replies with consternation. ¡°Where are you from?¡±


    Again, the planchet shudders and moves across the board. This spirit is right beside us but chooses to hide itself. I¡¯ve seen Maggie disappear sometimes, but she knows I can see the dead. Other spirits don¡¯t even think to hide from me, if they even know they can. But this one is intentionally hiding from me.


    H-O-L-L-O-W


    ¡°Hollow,¡± Hannah reads aloud. ¡°You¡¯re from Cedar Hollow?¡±


    ¡°That makes sense,¡± JJ says. ¡°If Daisy brought the toy from the woods she must have found it in the ruins.¡±


    ¡°Did you kill Hank Wickham?¡± Hannah asks, and once more the planchet slides over the letters.


    I-H-E-L-P-E-D


    ¡°I helped,¡± Hannah says. ¡°What does that mean?¡±


    ¡°Some spirits can manipulate our emotions,¡± I say, remembering Dr. Ward¡¯s stories of evil spirits convincing people to end their lives. ¡°If someone is in a dark place mentally, they can force a person to do things they never would.¡±


    Suddenly, the planchet drags our fingers around the board like limp corpses swaying in a macabre waltz of the dead.


    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.


    R-E-A-P-E-R


    Hannah looks up at me. ¡°Yes, this is my friend Autumn. She¡¯s a reaper.¡±


    Something cold and small slides up my back until it tickles the bottom of my ear. My head twists involuntarily and I swat at my ear, hoping it was just a bug. But I know it wasn¡¯t. We look around the room in quiet apprehension, glancing at each other for comfort. He knows what I am.


    ¡°Are you afraid of her?¡± Hannah asks to break the silence.


    Scratch!


    The planchet abruptly jerks out from under our fingers. We recoil our hands and stare down at the sentient piece of plastic.


    No.


    ¡°Then why don¡¯t you show yourself?¡± She taunts.


    The throbbing pain returns, concentrated in the space where the back of my head meets my neck. It spreads through my skull and burns like a migraine.


    ¡°Ah,¡± Hannah groans and reaches her arm over her shoulder, pressing against her back. She squirms anxiously.


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± JJ asks.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± she replies. ¡°My back feels like it¡¯s on fire.¡±


    ¡°Let me see,¡± JJ requests, then rushes to inspect her. Carefully, he pulls the back of her shirt up, and his face turns pale. He lifts it higher and higher until it reaches her neck, then looks at me.


    ¡°Autumn,¡± he finally says with a gulp.


    I grab my flashlight and join JJ.


    ¡°Uh, anyone want to clue me in? I feel like a dog at the vet right now.¡± Hannah begs, but I don¡¯t have the words to answer her.


    Her skin burns with bright pink as hundreds of tiny scratches cover her back. The fresh cuts swell and overlap one another as if some demented cat just attacked her.


    I can¡¯t stop the concern, panic, and anger that rushes into my mind. I consider if the spirit is putting these emotions in my head again, but no. This rage is mine. I¡¯ve put Hannah and JJ in real danger. Shy Boy knows he can hide from me, and now he¡¯s put his hands on Hannah right in front of me. The fucking arrogance.


    Tap tap tap¡­


    Little footsteps scurry out of the room, followed by childlike giggles. I close my eyes and open my mind to the darkness. I can feel my inner storm churning, begging for release. When I open my eyes again, ribbons of silver fill the room and float around me. They stretch out the door and twist over the stairs until they disappear into the brown door across the hall. A little child¡¯s face ducks behind the door as I hear it click shut.


    ¡°Stay here.¡± I turn to look at Hannah and JJ but catch my reflection in the mirror. The whites of my eyes melt away into black oil, and a web of dark blood vessels crawls down my cheeks. Those eyes once terrified me. Now they are familiar, like a piece of me I¡¯ve always known but kept hidden.


    ¡°Autumn wait,¡± Hannah pleads.


    But I won¡¯t wait. The world has a habit of taking away the things I love in life. My innocence. My childhood. Dad. I¡¯m in control now. I won¡¯t let Hannah and JJ be another victim. I won¡¯t be an omen of death.


    I shut the door behind me and march down the hall. Just as my hand wraps around the cold brass doorknob, the throbbing pain returns in my neck. I attempt to shrug it off, but it persists as a sign of the darkness that lingers beyond this door.


    The door releases a long painful creak as I pull it open. Behind it, the bright white beam of my flashlight reveals a narrow wooden staircase ascending to the third floor. This must go up to the study. I turn off my light and place it in my pocket, then retrieve my hilt. I ignite it, and silver light bursts around me, weaving into a thin blade.


    After a slow breath to build my courage, I charge up the stairs, prepared to swing at the first silhouette I see. The third-floor study is a single room built like a self-made prison meant to shut out the rest of the world. The walls tilt inward to meet the sharp peak of the roof, squeezing the room like a noose. Two narrow windows on the opposing wall peer out into the empty darkness. A solitary desk, covered in tall spider webs stretching up to the rafters, stands as the room¡¯s centerpiece.


    In the middle of the room sits a small boy hunched over himself, crying. His subtle gasps and whimpers echo in my head. I lower my sword and take a step closer.


    ¡°Monster,¡± a boy¡¯s voice whispers into my skull. My muscles lock up like solid ice.


    ¡°What?¡± I breathe.


    ¡°Reapers are monsters.¡± The boy looks up at me. His black empty eye sockets send an icy chill across my skin. His ribcage is ripped open. Bright crimson blood glistens in the light of my blade as his black intestines spill from his chest cavity.


    ¡°What are you talking about?¡± I ask.


    ¡°You are mockeries of God,¡± he says, tilting his head slightly.


    ¡°You killed an innocent man,¡± I argue, holding my sword up. I feel my nervous heartbeat in my fingertips.


    ¡°I rescued a family from a monster!¡± He shouts.


    Silver strands pulse overhead and light up a scene behind the boy. A cloud of dust forms and coagulates into flesh and bone. Then, a man appears with a woman standing before him, resembling Hank and Abigail from the picture on the wall. Only now Hank¡¯s fingers twist around Abigail¡¯s neck.


    ¡°Keep that insolent daughter in line or I will do it for you,¡± Hank shouts. ¡°I will not have this house be made into some Godless spectacle. We are a respectable family and she will behave accordingly.¡±


    Their bodies melt away into ash and form a new grotesque scene. Hank sits at his desk with a glass decanter beside him filled with liquid amber. He presses his hands against his head and groans. Shy Boy must have tormented Hank¡¯s mind, and he drank to escape it. He scratches at his skin and rips his shirt open, begging for relief, revealing layers of cuts across his chest. Just as his drunken madness leaves him vulnerable, Abigail appears. They tumble to the floor in a heaping mass of rage and sorrow. She wraps her fingers around his throat and squeezes as tears pour down her cheeks. Then, as Hank¡¯s body falls limp, the vision fades.


    ¡°I hunt monsters,¡± the boy says softly. His eyes narrow with disdain.


    ¡°So do I,¡± I reply, squeezing my hilt.


    Suddenly, shadows erupt from the boy. The empty room instantly fills with a crowd of new faces, each with a horrific wound to match his. Their empty black eyes glare with restless anger. A woman in a ripped dress and a dirty white bonnet steps toward me. Her jaw hangs by a strip of bloody skin.


    ¡°You will reap what you sow,¡± her condemning voice whispers into my ear.


    ¡°Whoever sows to please their flesh,¡± says an old priest, split down the middle like a tree. His feet stumble forward uneasily.


    ¡°From the flesh will reap destruction,¡± Says a woman crawling on the floor with one leg dragging behind her by a single ligament. More corpses appear, closing the space around me. A hand grabs my shoulder and I twist around to find a woman reaching for my face. Her bloody fingers wrap around my throat, and I shriek.


    Wildly, I swing my blade. Lightning cracks around the room as it cuts into her flesh. I feel the blade stick as her bones crunch and pop. This isn¡¯t like the prison. The skin on her face boils then cracks. I watch in horror as she crumbles apart into a cloud of ash.


    ¡°The cannibal is your destruction,¡± the boy whispers. His voice bounces around my head. ¡°Your penance is your soul.¡±


    Tap tap tap tap!


    Bony feet smack the floor as the corpses charge. The priest stretches out a long arm toward me. I raise my blade and plunge it into his open eye socket, feeling the blade stick as it punctures his skull. Just as he melts into a cloud of ash, hands wrap around my leg and pain explodes from my ankle. I look down to find a woman sinking her rotting teeth into my skin. I whip the blade around and stab it into her back. As her body disintegrates, blood drips from the new bite mark on my ankle.


    My lungs sting with every breath. My heart slams against my chest again and again. I flail the sword around me and it collides with another corpse. Lightning bursts from the blade as it crushes a man¡¯s rib cage. Then, a pained scream echoes through the house from behind me. I immediately recognize Hannah¡¯s voice.


    ¡°Autumn!¡± JJ¡¯s desperate cry quickly follows.


    My heart shudders. This was always a trap. He wanted to separate us.


    A new figure appears and I cut it down, but it¡¯s quickly followed by another, then another. Their limbs twist around my body in a tangled mess of rotting flesh, and fingers pull and puncture my skin.


    ¡°Get off me!¡± I shout.


    I close my eyes and search for my storm. It rushes through me as I throw my arms out. A wave of energy explodes from my body, sending the corpses tumbling away from me. The house shakes beneath my feet.


    Crack!


    I feel the weak wood snap beneath me and my heel suddenly plunges into the floor. My heart sinks into my stomach as the world flips around me. I drop my arms, hoping to catch myself, but there¡¯s nothing to catch myself on. I¡¯m over the stairs.


    I violently tumble down the hard wooden steps. My body careens down the narrow stairway and out onto the second floor. Without any railing around the main staircase, nothing is there to stop me from falling off the ledge and dropping to the first floor. I dig my fingers into the old carpet. God it burns. I feel the skin on my fingertips melt. One of my fingernails breaks off. The sword deactivates as my hilt drops from my hands and rolls away. But I come to a stop, hanging off the ledge.


    Kicking my feet at the wall below me, I scramble to get up. My tangled hair falls over my face, sticking to the sweat on my forehead.


    ¡°Autumn!¡± Hannah¡¯s blood-curdling scream pierces the air.


    I whimper as my arms burn and my feet struggle to get any foothold. The boy at the Davidson house flashes in my head and I think of his body disintegrating in front of me. I failed him, and now I¡¯ve failed Hannah. What cruel God gave someone so worthless these powers?


    ¡°Why can¡¯t you just be normal?¡± My mom¡¯s cutting words twist my heart.


    I¡¯d love to be normal. I¡¯d love not to be a freak. But right now this freak is all Hannah has. So fuck normal. I desperately reach my hand out and rip into the carpet. Pain twists up my muscles, and with a strained wail, I pull my body upward. I reach out another hand and pull again until I can lift my knee over the ledge.


    I reach the top and roll onto my back. My chest leaps with ragged breaths, but I don¡¯t stop to calm it. I grab my hilt and stand, then run toward Hannah¡¯s screaming. My fingers wrap around the door knob and twist, but it doesn¡¯t budge. It¡¯s locked. How? I didn¡¯t¡ª


    Shy Boy must have locked it. I slam my shoulder into the door, but it holds firm. I know what to do, but I can feel my energy waning. I don¡¯t have time to think about it. I close my eyes and release a long breath, knowing I have to get this right the first try. I find the storm inside me and feel the wind rush around me. Then I throw my hands forward.


    The door bursts open and swings wildly. I charge into the room to find Hannah suspended in the air. Her body arches backward as she hangs over JJ¡¯s head. Her arms hang limp and bright red blood falls from her nose and drips down her cheek.


    ¡°Do something!¡± JJ pleads.


    I shake myself from the shock and grip my hilt. I tilt it forward and activate the sword. Sparks burst from the hilt then sputter out. And the sword dies before it forms. No. No, please no. I try again, but nothing forms.


    I look up at Hannah. Tears build in the corners of my eyes and a sob swells in my chest, but I swallow it. No Hannah, you can¡¯t die. Then, I spot a bundle of silver threads extending from her back. Shy Boy is inside her, possessing her body. Suddenly, Hannah turns her head toward me, dripping blood onto the floor.


    ¡°You do not know loss, but you will.¡± Hannah¡¯s voice isn¡¯t her own.


    ¡°Fuck you!¡± I shout through my tears.


    I rush across the room and grab the silver threads. Memories burn into my head as my fingers wrap the strands around my hands. Memories of fear, loss, and trauma. But I don¡¯t follow them. I grip the threads tightly with both hands and pull as hard as my muscles will allow. The boy rips from Hannah¡¯s body and slams onto the floor. Dust bursts into the air as his body tumbles across the wood. Hannah drops on top of JJ, who wraps his arms around her and drops with her to break her fall.


    Shy Boy looks up at me with seething rage. I follow the threads that extend from my hand and stretch around the room like a web. All of the threads meet in a twisted bundle beside the bed, where they disappear into the wood panel flooring. I look back at the boy and see his eye sockets widen with panic. I know now what I¡¯ve found.


    I rush to the bedside and drop to the floor, then press my hands against the wood panel where the threads vanish. It shifts forward and out of its pocket. I pry my fingers between the new gap and lift the panel up, revealing a small cavity. In it is the wooden toy soldier. Its blue uniform has faded to a pale gray and its musket is snapped in half. None of the details remain on its face.


    The glistening silver threads wrap around it, weaving into elegant knots. The knots look just like the weaving patterns from Dad¡¯s notebook. The boy¡¯s spirit must be bound to this toy. If I cut these knots, he¡¯ll die. I grab the toy and hold it in the air.


    I turn and spot the boy standing beside JJ, who comforts Hannah, seemingly unaware of the boy¡¯s presence. Shy Boy looks at me with a smile. Panic creeps in as I realize I have no way of cutting the threads. I used all of my power, and my sword won¡¯t activate.


    The boy tilts his head and reaches his hand around Hannah¡¯s neck. My skin burns hot as fury surges through my veins. I close my eyes and desperately reach for whatever darkness remains inside me. I search through those foreign emotions of the dead prisoners, but stumble upon something else, something mine. Suddenly, the storm within me erupts into golden flames. I twist my fingers around the toy like it¡¯s my hilt.


    ¡°Burn,¡± I say through gritted teeth.

 Chapter 19

    ¡°I needed guidance, and Dr. Ward was all I had. He understood my demons. Even if he had his own.¡±


    <hr>


    ¡°Hannah, focus on my voice.¡± I grip her hand as her chest leaps uncontrollably. Tears pour from her eyes as her breathing stampedes. She whimpers and flinches away from me when I touch her face. Snot and blood smears across her mouth. ¡°You¡¯re not alone, Hannah. I¡¯m real. Just focus on my voice.¡± My shame drips down my cheek. I did this.


    Glittering black dust floats in the air, a remnant of Shy Boy after his body scorched in golden light. He screamed as his body disintegrated. The poltergeist at the Davidson house exploded similarly, but something about this felt different. For starters, it was intentional this time. But I don¡¯t know where that burning energy came from. And now I can¡¯t find it. It felt like I opened something I was never supposed to find. Something that had a cost I may never know.


    ¡°Autumn, your hands,¡± JJ says.


    Blood drips from my missing nail. My blistered fingers swell with bright purple bruises. As my adrenaline diminishes, burning pain begins to squirm up my arm. Looks like I¡¯ll be visiting Dr. Ward sooner than expected.


    ¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± I lie.


    ¡°A-ah-toom,¡± Hannah blubbers through heaping breaths.


    ¡°I¡¯m right here, Hannah.¡± I try to hide my panic but my voice shakes. ¡°We¡¯re here.¡±


    ¡°Did¡ªwe get him?¡± She asks. Her eyes finally open as her chest calms.


    JJ and I look at each other with a bright smile that¡¯s almost a laugh through our tears.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± I reply. ¡°We got him.¡±


    We sit Hannah up and rest her back against the bed.


    ¡°Hailey,¡± Hannah mutters, staring at the floor. ¡°She was right.¡±


    ¡°Your sister? Right about what?¡± I ask. I look into her eyes and see the dilated trauma in her dazed stare. What did Shy Boy show her? There¡¯s no telling what torture he inflicted on her mind.


    ¡°The spirits are angry.¡± Hannah sways as she speaks, unblinking. ¡°The Hollow remembers.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± I ask, but she stares blankly. I shake her shoulder. ¡°What does that mean? What did you see?¡±


    ¡°Huh?¡± Hannah snaps from her daze and looks at me confused.


    ¡°Autumn,¡± JJ suddenly exclaims. I look at him, but his gaze is focused elsewhere. I follow it to see white light shining across the bedroom window from outside. It¡¯s a flashlight. Mr. Hawtrey must have heard us. I can¡¯t say I¡¯m surprised considering the screaming and loud booms he must have heard.


    ¡°Time to go,¡± I say.


    JJ and I scramble to put the Ouija board and tools away. I pick up the charred wooden toy soldier. Black scorch marks remain where the threads once tied around it. All Daisy did was bring a toy home, and it ripped her family apart. But she was rejected long before that. Her adventurous side was shunned, and Greenfield considered her a freak long before she brought home a poltergeist. I can¡¯t help but wonder if Daisy snapped. Did she tell Shy Boy to kill her father? What will happen if I snap?


    ¡°Autumn.¡± JJ breaks my focus as he attempts to lift Hannah.


    I shove the toy into my pocket and rush to help him support her. Luckily, she isn¡¯t completely deadweight and pulls herself up.


    Together, we fly out the door and rush down the central staircase. As we land in the first floor foyer, white light shines through the textured glass of the front door. We collectively gasp and bolt into the next room as the lock jostles and clicks. We need to get to the basement quietly before we¡¯re spotted.


    ¡°Hello?¡± The old man shouts as he swings the front door open. His sharp voice cuts through the air. ¡°I know you¡¯re in here.¡± His words trail off as he rotates around the opposing side of the house. The first floor is one big loop, and we¡¯ll meet in the middle if we don¡¯t move quickly. The thought crosses my mind to turn back and bolt for the front door, but the basement is closer and Hannah is still a little clumsy. I¡¯d make it, but she might not.


    We round the corner into the living room. The broken couch is still in pieces in the center of the room. Breaking and entering, destruction of property. We¡¯re in deep shit if he finds us. We just need to get through the kitchen and down to the basement. I poke my head around the corner of the kitchen. Immediately, I spot the old man in the next room over. His cloudy eyes glisten in the darkness. He¡¯s tall. He hunches forward as he walks, gripping a flashlight in his left hand. In his right, a long metal golf club. If we¡¯re going to get to the basement we need to go now.


    I recoil from the edge and look back at Hannah and JJ. JJ¡¯s eyes are dilated with panic. Hannah carries her own weight without his help, though she looks like she¡¯s sleepwalking. I tilt my head at them to signal Mr. Hawtrey¡¯s location without speaking. I hold a finger over my lips, then point it down to my feet.


    Dad taught me long ago when we¡¯d play hide-and-seek never to tip-toe. ¡°Tip-toeing will crunch anything noisy,¡± he¡¯d say. ¡°Step with your heel, and roll.¡± Carefully, I step around the corner into the kitchen.


    Heal. Toe. Heal. Toe.


    Every step is slow and intentional as we sneak through the kitchen. We hug the wall to hide as much of our bodies from view as possible. We reach the door to the basement and I suddenly fear opening it. That stupid door will creak and groan the second I pull on it. I¡¯ll have to swing it open quickly, then hold him off for Hannah and JJ. I place my hand over the doorknob and look back at them. I hold up three fingers. Their eyes widen in understanding.


    Three.


    Two.


    ¡°You!¡± Mr. Hawtrey shouts.


    Shit.


    I swing the door open. It screams.


    ¡°Go!¡± I shout.


    Hannah is the first through the door. She rushes down into the darkness, gripping the railing for safety. JJ follows behind. I squeeze in after him, pulling the door with me. Suddenly, pain rips across my head as I¡¯m jerked backward. Mr. Hawtrey pulls hard on my hair and I stumble backwards.


    ¡°I got you, you little shit,¡± he says, gripping my hair.


    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    ¡°Let me go!¡± I scream.


    ¡°Oh no, you need to be taught a lesson.¡± That last word slithers from his tongue with a hiss. He yanks my hair and drags me back into the kitchen. I squeal and kick. He raises the golf club over his head.


    ¡°Leave her alone!¡± Hannah shouts as she and JJ tackle the old man.


    Dust explodes into the air as they pull him to the ground. I reach for his club but I¡¯m too late. He raises it high and slams it into JJ¡¯s leg. JJ screams and crumples to the floor.


    ¡°Stop!¡± I shout.


    I stand. I let darkness rush into my mind, turning my eyes black as night. Mr. Hawtrey stops and looks up at me. His jaw drops and trembles.


    ¡°Demon,¡± he mutters.


    Hannah untangles herself from him and helps JJ to his feet. The two of them step behind me as I stand over the frightened old man.


    ¡°Worse,¡± Hannah says through panting breaths. ¡°She¡¯s the Grim fucking Reaper.¡±


    The old man drops the club and crawls backward, shaking in fear. Hannah and JJ turn and bolt down the stairs while I stare down at him. His panic-stricken eyes look up, terrified¡ªof me. I feel the darkness wash away and my face returns to something more human. Then, I turn and run down the stairs.


    We leave through the exterior basement door and help JJ run through the woods until we reach the car. Hannah checks JJ¡¯s leg. He¡¯ll have a nasty bruise for a while, but he¡¯ll heal otherwise. We pile into the van and JJ starts it up.


    ¡°That was fucking awesome,¡± Hannah says. ¡°You scared the shit out of that old man.¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡± I force a smile and look out the window. I search the dark woods to see if Mr. Hawtrey follows us, but I know he won¡¯t. Afterall, I scared the shit out of him.


    JJ turns the car around and starts back down the dirt road. I keep my eyes on the trees as we drive. Something catches my attention. Standing between the trees, dark figures reveal themselves. A priest. A woman. A child. A man. Another and another. Their clothes are old. Their wounds are many. And their empty black eyes stare back at me from the dark tangled trees of Thicket Grove.


    <hr>


    I sleep like a rock. I don¡¯t remember my dreams, if I dreamed at all. But school feels like a daydream. None of it feels real anymore. Like a game of make-believe, where I pretend to be a normal human being. But I¡¯m not sure I care anymore. I cover my hands with gloves to hide the obvious wound, and to avoid a trip to the nurse¡¯s office. I get a few judging glares, but I¡¯m certain that has more to do with the dead cat in my locker. I have to remind myself that was only yesterday. It feels like a week ago. I¡¯ve already put the cat out of my mind. After nearly getting Hannah killed, my thoughts are somewhere far away. She says she''s fine, but I don''t know how she could be. Her limp body floating overhead repeats in my mind again and again. I barely say a word to anyone. Except for Ethan.


    He¡¯s sweet. He comforts me, and promises to talk to Jaqueline, but I beg him not to. I know that will only make things worse. Besides, I don¡¯t need his help fighting monsters. That¡¯s how friends get hurt.


    He shows me pictures of our popsicle stick bridge he completed last night, and reminds me our project report is due tomorrow. I had entirely forgotten about it. I really was a bad choice of partner after all. I agree to write the report tonight, though that could be a lie.


    I¡¯ve decided it¡¯s time to see Dr. Ward again. Tonight. It¡¯s hard for me to match his recent actions with the man I¡¯ve always known. Clearly, so much has been hidden from me for so long. But that stops tonight. I¡¯m done being helpless.


    I visit Granny first. She knows something is off with me immediately. Of course she does. I tell her about Jaqueline and her latest prank to avoid telling her the truth. That I¡¯m terrified. I don¡¯t know who I¡¯m becoming or where this path will lead, but I can¡¯t be a passenger in my own story anymore.


    ¡°I think a broken nose would do that girl some good,¡± she says with a wink.


    I can¡¯t say I disagree with her. After our goodbyes, it takes me some time to work up the courage to visit Dr. Ward. My mind scrambles to predict what awful tests he¡¯ll have for me this time. I walk the halls mindlessly checking rooms I know he isn¡¯t in. Because he¡¯s in his tower. He always is.


    <hr>


    ¡°We reapers have been called demons long before you were born,¡± Dr. Ward says, carefully peeling Hannah¡¯s pink bandage from my finger. I wince as it pulls the raw flesh.


    I sit in an old, cushioned leather chair in front of his desk. Rays of light shine through the nearby window. I look out expecting sunlight, but it''s merely the white reflection of snow. He kneels on the ground to inspect my hand. Even kneeling, his head reaches my height. Dr. Ward is a massive man, especially for someone who must be in their late sixties. But he still dresses his age. He¡¯s well-dressed in his usual old-fashioned attire. His black turtle-neck shirt wraps tight around his heavy arms. His pant legs are rolled up, and even his boots are nice, apart from some dirt. His long gray hair is neatly combed back. A strand of it breaks loose and falls over his face as he releases a disappointed sigh.


    ¡°Can¡¯t you just heal me again?¡± I ask, attempting my best puppy dog eyes.


    He leers at me. ¡°You expect me to make your problems go away every time you leap without looking? You endangered yourself and two others, then carelessly showed your powers to frighten an old man.¡± He stands up and leans against the edge of the wooden desk. The ornate wood creaks softly under his weight. ¡°There¡¯s a reason reapers live in secret. You never should have revealed yourself to those two in the first place.¡±


    ¡°Hannah and JJ?¡± I scoff. ¡°They¡¯re my friends. I can trust them.¡±


    ¡°For now,¡± he pinches his eyes between his thumb and forefinger. ¡°Reapers once trusted the mundane, but they fear us. They will always fear you, Autumn.¡± He crosses his arms. ¡°What if Hannah had died? Who would people blame? What if that old man recognizes you?¡±


    Hannah and JJ aren¡¯t afraid of me. Or I hope they aren¡¯t. Even if they should be.


    He sighs and drops his shoulders, then smiles at me. ¡°I know you want to fit in. But have you ever bothered to ask why? Why slave for normalcy when you are destined for so much more? Everything that makes you different is what makes you great. You don¡¯t fit in, Autumn. You were born to stand apart. Embrace that.¡±


    ¡°Mom wouldn¡¯t agree,¡± I reply softly. ¡°She just doesn¡¯t understand.¡±


    ¡°I do.¡± He offers a soft smile. ¡°But you should stop jumping into fights you aren¡¯t ready for.¡±


    ¡°Then teach me to fight.¡±


    He chuffs. ¡°You kill one wraith and suddenly you¡¯re ready for war?¡± Wraith. Another new word.


    ¡°No. I¡¯m just ready to take control of my life.¡±


    He scans me for a moment. A smirk of pride pushes against his cheeks.


    ¡°Give me your hands,¡± he says.


    A warm glow emits from his large hands as he places them over mine. Crimson threads burst from his palms and wrap around my fingers. The red light braids around my hands in intricate patterns, and heat floods my nerves until he releases me. I watch the threads absorb into my skin. When the light fades, my nail is back and my fingers are clean. I wonder if I can do that, or if only a lun¨¢rii can.


    ¡°Blood weaving,¡± he says before I can open my mouth. ¡°And I won¡¯t be doing it again.¡± His voice is low and stern.


    ¡°Maybe you can teach me then?¡± I ask.


    ¡°No.¡± His eyes are more serious. He rolls up his left sleeve to reveal a scar on his forearm. The wound is old, but the details are unmistakable. An M and C are branded into his skin with a skull in the center. It¡¯s the same emblem from the bestiary. ¡°Mortis Custodes,¡± he says. ¡°The order of death. There was a time when all reapers were indoctrinated into the order. It was a cult of fearful leaders and devout followers, unwilling to accept change.¡± He hides his arm under his sleeve again. ¡°Blood weaving was strictly forbidden. Only celibate monks were allowed to perform it under extreme supervision.¡±


    I shake my head. ¡°Next you¡¯re going to tell me they met in graveyards and drank blood.¡± Of course the reapers had a creepy old cult.


    ¡°Yes,¡± he grins.


    ¡°You¡¯re joking.¡±


    ¡°And we slept in coffins and turned into bats.¡±


    I roll my eyes. ¡°Well why would healing someone be forbidden?¡±


    ¡°Using a human soul to reshape the flesh.¡± He chews on his cheek for a moment, pacing around the library. ¡°It starts with healing wounds, but what more would you attempt with that power? Would you amplify your strength? Alter your identity? Would you take a life to extend your own?¡± His eyes meet mine. ¡°What if it was to save a loved one? How many souls would you reap to save your father¡¯s life?¡±


    Heat drains from my face. I¡¯d do anything to get Dad back.


    ¡°A power too tempting,¡± he continues. ¡°I don¡¯t agree with much of what the order taught. But they had that one right. Some lines should never be crossed.¡±


    I narrow my eyes. ¡°So what makes you the exception?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m no exception.¡± He pulls a dark gray overcoat from the coat hook on the wall, then grabs an old leather bag from the shelf. ¡°Don¡¯t be like me, Autumn. I want you to be better.¡± He walks toward the door. ¡°You coming?¡±

 Chapter 20

    ¡°When I saw my reflection, I didn¡¯t recognize myself. I knew I was walking a dangerous path. But I wasn¡¯t about to go back to being miserable. I don¡¯t think he knew what dark creature he was creating.¡±


    <hr>


    My heart thumps against my chest as we step into Thicket Grove. The woods feel less alien to me now, like a familiar nightmare. Though the immediate cover of its ashen branches twisting overhead still tickles my senses with unease. Anxiety hangs in the air, damp and sticky like a cloud of sweat. Nevertheless, this time, I keep up with Dr. Ward as we enter.


    ¡°You know, you¡¯re as impulsive as your father,¡± he says as we step through the quiet woods. ¡°It¡¯s no wonder he fathered a reaper so easily.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s that supposed to mean?¡± His statement confuses me. I thought he wanted me to come back. And what does Dad have to do with anything?


    ¡°You came here knowing I would test you, but according to you, you depleted your reaping. You have no power we can train with. We¡¯ll need to fix that.¡± He leers down at me. ¡°You leap without looking. Something your father surely passed down.¡±


    It¡¯s difficult to tell if he means it with praise or annoyance, but pride kisses my cheeks all the same. While I feel defenseless without any powers, I have questions. And whatever demented training he has for me may not leave room for me to ask them. The longer we spend preparing, the more information I can pull from him.


    ¡°I¡¯m glad to hear a part of him still lives.¡± I smile back. ¡°You knew my dad well. You two would hunt together right?¡±


    ¡°We did,¡± he smiles as he looks ahead down the trail. ¡°He spoke of you often. He hated keeping secrets from you. He wanted to train you himself, but your mother forbade it.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°A question you¡¯ll have to ask her.¡±


    I allow a moment of quiet to settle the rage boiling inside me.


    ¡°What did you do together? Any stories?¡± I ask.


    He chuckles. ¡°Plenty. He was quite the talented tell¨²rii. He would find an echo around every corner. On nearly every hunt, he was bound to disappear. Off somewhere investigating the history of the earth at his feet. He could manipulate echoes to flip through time like pages in a book. He once found the echo of a crying baby and bound it to a pebble. Then he hid it in one of the top shelves of my library. It would cry intermittently, then suddenly stop for hours. It took me a month to find it.¡±


    I laugh. ¡°He would always pull pranks on Mom and me. He once picked me up from school dressed like a caped superhero. I ran home.¡±


    We both share a laugh until the obvious next question creates an awkward pause.


    ¡°How did he die?¡± I finally ask. ¡°Really.¡±


    Dr. Ward takes his time before speaking. ¡°He was a curious man. We were both fixed on stopping the creature in these woods. One night, he came to my office. He had grown impatient after another dead body was found. I refused to push our investigation deeper into The Grove. He called me a coward. I chased him and begged him not to go any deeper.¡± He releases an unsteady sigh. ¡°It found us. Unprepared. You¡¯re a lot like him in many ways. I just ask that you don¡¯t waste the gift he has given you by making the same mistake he did.¡±


    ¡°What about you?¡± I quickly ask before the sob building in my chest takes hold. ¡°In the bestiary you gave me, the last owner was Sir Arthur Ward. Is that who passed down your powers?¡±


    He stops. For a moment, I swear I see fear in his expression. Or is it sadness? Then he stifles it and looks behind us at his mansion, framed by crooked branches.


    ¡°He built this place,¡± he replies. He stares at the house, lost in some far off thought.


    ¡°Do you miss him?¡± I ask.


    ¡°Hmm?¡±


    ¡°Your grandfather, right? Seems like he meant a lot to you.¡±


    He looks down. ¡°I do miss him, or at least the man he once was. He changed after his wife died.¡±


    ¡°How¡¯d she die?¡±


    He glances at me, then turns back down the path. ¡°You sure are inquisitive today. And I lent you that book by the way. I do want it back.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, sorry about that. Lots to read. It may take me a while to get through all of it.¡± I smirk and follow close behind him; these woods still give me the creeps.


    ¡°You know, the reaper gene is incredibly rare. It often skips a generation or two. Your dad was overjoyed when you saw your first ghost. I don¡¯t know what he did to get you that weaving focus so quickly.¡± Ward looks down at the golden hilt poking out of my pocket. ¡°However, it¡¯s useless in your current state. That will be your first lesson. Never leave home without a reaping,¡± he scolds me as we march deeper into the woods. ¡°Preferably a fresh one. Evil comes in many forms, and getting caught without reserves could get you killed.¡±


    ¡°What if I can¡¯t find an echo?¡± I ask. ¡°It¡¯s not like I can stock up at the nearest ghost supermarket.¡±


    ¡°Open your eyes.¡± He stops again.


    ¡°Wha¡ª¡± I look up at him. His eyes are black.


    ¡°A reaper¡¯s sight comes naturally, even without a harvest to pull from,¡± he says


    I close my eyes and release a long steady breath. When I open them, a long thread of silver light floats beside me. It weaves between the trees and curls into the ground beside one. As I step toward it, fear tickles my spine. Soft whimpers whisper into my ears. A girl, my age maybe, sits huddled at the base of the tree crying.


    ¡°I learned a long time ago to trust my senses. They rarely lie,¡± he says. ¡°Now reap it before it gets too late.¡±


    I know this isn¡¯t a soul. Merely an echo of the past. But I can¡¯t help but feel bad. A small piece of her soul created this for whatever reason. Reaping it feels like erasing a part of someone¡¯s life.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± I whisper. Then I wrap my fingers around the silver thread and open the door. Her fear and desperation enters my body like a snake. It wriggles down my spine and vanishes somewhere dark.


    <hr>


    ¡°Can I be possessed?¡± I surprise Dr. Ward with a question as he places his leather bag on the ground and unzips it. It¡¯s a question that¡¯s been gnawing at my brain since last night. Hannah¡¯s limp body flickers in the corner of my eye.


    ¡°Not without some willingness on your part,¡± he says, pulling bulky black fabric from the bag. Then, he stops and stares at something in the wet grass.


    ¡°You see that?¡± He points to a bundle of red bulbs sprouting from the ground. Suddenly, I¡¯m reminded of the deer meat Dad would bring home. Each bulb is the deep-red color of severed muscle. Violet veins pulse through the pedals, chasing away any green to their tips. A horrid thing.


    ¡°Sarracenia purpurea,¡± he says. ¡°Any insect naive enough to dive into its bowels will never return. Then, that little monster will preserve its body, siphoning its energy until nothing remains.¡± He looks up at me. I already hate what he¡¯s about to say. ¡°Like you.¡± Yup. Hated that. ¡°If a spirit enters your body, your soul will rip it apart and consume it. Even a tell¨²rii, who ordinarily couldn¡¯t reap anything more than an echo, would be safe. If that ever happens, you have two options. You can either consume the spirit, or reject it. But if you choose to reject it, it will explode from your body in a wave of terrifying energy.¡± He returns to digging the black fabric from the bag. ¡°So, I¡¯d recommend against that option.¡±


    Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!


    The heat drains from my face as the Davidson house floods my mind. The horrifying pieces come together to make a macabre painting of dread and guilt.


    The boy.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be scared.¡±


    I still remember the last words he whispered to me before his spirit exploded. I felt his presence vibrate through my body. His desperation, fear, and anger flooded my mind. His memories added to my own. So I panicked. I must have rejected him. Then, he was gone. That was the spirit bomb. I didn¡¯t know what I was doing. I was just scared.


    Guilt squeezes my throat and my eyes begin to throb. But I quickly wipe my eyes and smother my heaving chest as Dr. Ward stands.


    ¡°Well, this place is as good as any,¡± he says, holding up a long black robe. Elegant patterns of black stitching cover the fabric, contrasting the stark white human bones attached to it. A complete ribcage hangs over the chest. Long straps dangle from it, presumably to tie around the wearer. Odd and uneven bones are woven into the fabric or fastened with buckles and laces. Their placement is barbaric but deliberate. Larger bones are fitted to cover wide areas, while smaller pieces fill the gaps in a crude mosaic. It definitely took more than one life to assemble all of it. More pieces still hang from Dr. Ward¡¯s other hand, resembling pauldrons and vambraces composed of the same morbid ornamentation, complete with a cowl and a mask made from a skull.


    ¡°Nope,¡± I say.


    ¡°Put it on,¡± he commands.


    ¡°Creepy ghosts and dead bodies I can handle. But I draw the line at wearing human remains.¡± I cross my arms, but I already know I¡¯m going to lose this argument.


    ¡°Your blade harnesses the energy of a human soul.¡± He gestures to my hilt. ¡°It can burn the flesh and sever the spirit. A human soul can pass through anything except another soul, or something made from one. So think of the bones as spirit armor.¡± He tosses the robe and its additional pieces at my feet.


    ¡°What do I need armor for?¡± I ask, wincing at the pale skull looking up at me.


    ¡°That is a traditional reaping cloak, made by the Order. Ordinarily, it¡¯s used to guard against spiritual attacks. But today¡ª¡± Lightning suddenly cracks, echoing through the woods. He steadies a long white blade and looks at me with a grin. ¡°It will have to defend you from me.¡±


    <hr>


    White light ripples against the stark shadows around us as our blades flicker with heat. We circle each other under a dome of tangled branches. The cloak sags over my shoulders, but it fits better than expected. Like it was made for someone only a bit taller than me. The skull mask presses against my face. Its jagged eye sockets frame my vision as I focus on Dr. Ward. His large stature towers over me, even at a distance.


    ¡°You¡¯re wasting time,¡± he says. Static cracks as he smacks the tip of my blade with his own. ¡°A reaper¡¯s energy is limited. You must be quick and precise. End the fight before you deplete your harvest.¡±


    ¡°What if I hit you?¡± I ask. He isn¡¯t wearing a cloak, just the same turtleneck.


    He smirks. ¡°If you think you can, do it.¡±


    I lunge forward and swing the blade wildly overhead. He raises his sword and bats my attack away. I quickly attempt a second swing, hoping to catch him off guard. But he¡¯s taller than me. He flicks away my second attack and plunges his sword past my head. I feel the heat radiate against my face and leap back.


    ¡°You¡¯re afraid,¡± he says bluntly.


    ¡°You¡¯re a fucking giant,¡± I complain through heaving breaths. The bones wrapped around my chest squeeze my lungs. I¡¯m not used to tight clothing. I prefer my hoodies and oversized tees. ¡°I can¡¯t even get close to you.¡±


    ¡°Most creatures you face will be larger than you.¡± He spreads his arms wide. ¡°I am your monster. Right now, I control the distance. Take it from me. Find the opening and strike. Again.¡±


    I lift my blade. He immediately slaps it away.


    ¡°Your fear controls you. Conquer it.¡±


    I take a deep breath. I imagine myself in a smaller space, my room. Maggie is beside me. She¡¯d get a kick out of this. If she was here, she¡¯d be shouting superhero fight moves. I shake out my wrists and wrap both my hands around the hilt. He¡¯s tall, so maybe I can slip under him when he raises his arms.


    We pace around each other once more, our black eyes locked on one another. I wait for the tell. I know he¡¯s impatient. It doesn¡¯t take long for the opportunity as he raises his arms and lunges forward. I duck low and hold the blade over my head to block his, then I leap toward him. Suddenly, pain rips through my body as he kicks me in the chest.


    I fly backward and drop my blade. It deactivates as it slaps the wet ground. My lungs stab against my ribs as they beg for air. My diaphragm spasms, unable to inhale. Finally, it recovers from the shock and I gasp.


    ¡°That¡¯s¡­ not fair,¡± I cry.


    ¡°This is life or death,¡± he says coldly. ¡°That was clever, but monsters won¡¯t have swords and they won¡¯t fight fair. Get up.¡±


    I force myself to stand. But as soon as I grab my hilt, he dives toward me. I desperately activate my focus and raise my sword. His weight slams against me. Each swing vibrates my bones as I block blow after blow. He steps forward with each attack, forcing me back.


    Pop! Pop!


    I feel a sudden crack as his glowing blade crashes into mine once more. The tiny threads that weave my sword together snap like guitar strings. My blade rips in half. Iridescent sparks whip around me and the sword flickers away.


    My mind swirls with panic and confusion. How did it break? Blinding light floods my vision as his glowing blade swings toward me. Suddenly, my heel catches on a rock, and I stumble backward into the grass.


    I wince as he holds the blade against my neck. Its searing heat pulses against me like an open flame.


    ¡°Blocking is foolish,¡± he mocks. ¡°Monsters will be much larger than me. You won¡¯t be able to block their attacks.¡± He deactivates his blade and steps back.


    ¡°You broke my sword,¡± I say, staring at my hilt.


    ¡°It isn¡¯t broken. I overpowered your reaping. I am a lun¨¢rii. I reap things more powerful than echoes.¡± He releases a long sigh. ¡°You¡¯re a reaper, Autumn. Your power is rivaled only by Death herself, and yet your fear controls you.¡± He turns and begins to walk away. ¡°Come find me when you deserve that power.¡±


    In a single sentence, my confidence withers away. I¡¯ve never deserved these powers. I never wanted them in the first place. Why the fuck am I even here?


    I stand and catch my reflection in the placid water of the swamp. The white skull peeks out under the shadow of the black hood. I look just like the reaper from the drawings in the bestiary. The dim light fades to black at my feet, giving me a floating spectral appearance. I look back at Dr. Ward as he disappears around the corner. Fuck him. I don¡¯t have to play by his rules. I may not know how to fight, but I can hunt.


    I step into the high brush and weave between the trees. The robe is black and gray. It blends perfectly in the shadows. I stick to the darkest parts of the woods as I stalk behind him.


    Heel. Toe.


    Heel. Toe.


    I move quietly enough to get ahead of him and wait in the tall bramble. Then, just as he passes me, I leap toward him. I keep my body low and wait until the last minute to activate my blade. It flickers to life with a crack of lightning. I sweep for his legs. If monsters are larger than me, my best bet is to immobilize or disorient them. Ward is no different. But he leaps away just in time.


    He activates his focus and swings it down toward my shoulder. I sidestep, dodging his attack. Then another, and another. One gets too close and I raise my blade. His sword glances off mine, spitting heat across my face. But I shove through the fear and push forward. If he doesn¡¯t have to play fair, neither do I. I¡¯ll hit him with a telekinetic push. I feel my storm rage inside me and reach out my hand. With all of my strength I throw the storm forward. Energy ripples down my arm.


    Then searing heat replaces it.


    Dr. Ward flips his blade and slices through my wrist. My nerves scream as the sword scolds my skin. I wail and fall to my knees, gripping my hand.


    I can¡¯t feel it.


    My hand is completely numb.


    It swells red from a fresh burn across the wrist. But I can¡¯t feel anything. I strain to squeeze my fingers, but they hang limp. Pain tears across my skin.


    I cry. ¡°I can¡¯t move my hand!¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re fine.¡± He deactivates his blade and grabs my hand. ¡°Take a deep breath.¡±


    I try, but panic conquers my lungs. They jump uncontrollably.


    ¡°It¡¯s only a first degree burn,¡± he says, as if that offers any comfort. ¡°The paralysis will pass. Just breathe.¡±


    ¡°But the blade¡ªYou said it cuts the soul,¡± I stammer.


    ¡°Your soul will heal. Your body protects it from any permanent harm. It will take a moment for you to rebuild the connection to your hand, but it will heal. The cut just fries the senses. If I had cut your neck or spine, we¡¯d have a different story.¡± He gently rubs my hand. His face flushes red with anxiety. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± he says softly.


    ¡°I can¡¯t even hit you,¡± I whimper. ¡°I don¡¯t want to be a reaper. I just want to be normal.¡±


    He then sits down beside me. I miss Dad. I miss having him¡ªanyone¡ªto hold and comfort me. It isn¡¯t fucking fair. Why couldn¡¯t the monster take Mom or me instead?


    ¡°Normal is a lie,¡± he says calmly. ¡°Normal is how the weak enslave the strong. It¡¯s a creation of fear. You are not normal, Autumn. The world will not be kind to you. It will seek to bind you in fear.¡± He looks at me. His eyes are black, reflecting my own. ¡°Does fear control you, reaper?¡±


    I stare up at him. Tears tickle my cheeks, but my heart steadies. I find my strength, and build a wall around my core. I pack it tight, and fill every crack. Nothing will break through as I wrap my soul in iron.


    ¡°No,¡± I reply softly.

 Chapter 21

    ¡°When everyone tells you to be strong, you start to wonder if it¡¯s because you aren¡¯t. So when someone else calls you a hero, it feels like a joke.¡±


    <hr>


    I stand in the kitchen watching a plate of pizza rolls twirl in the microwave. Maggie flails an imaginary sword through the air as she imitates fight moves. She interrogated me in the shower after I got home, begging to hear what new powers I learned. She practically drooled when I told her about our sparring match. Now, she¡¯s determined to make me into some sort of ultimate fighter. Why couldn¡¯t she have been a reaper? She seems to enjoy it far more than I do.


    ¡°We should practice together,¡± Maggie says breathlessly. ¡°We¡¯ll start with defense. If I can touch you, you lose. Ready?¡±


    She springs her arm out to touch me. Hot panic rushes under my skin. My mind flashes with the image of the Davidson boy grabbing my arm. I wonder if he knew touching me would kill him. He trusted me. And I destroyed him, all because I couldn¡¯t control my emotions. Maggie¡¯s hand comes within inches of my arm. I can feel the air cool around her, lifting the hairs of my skin. If she touches me, I could kill her.


    ¡°Maggie, don¡¯t!¡± I leap backward.


    ¡°Woah,¡± she holds her hands up. ¡°I¡¯m not actually going to hit you. It¡¯s like Tag. Jeez, you can¡¯t be this jumpy if you¡¯re going to hunt monsters.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m just¡­¡± I swallow. ¡°I¡¯m not in the mood right now.¡±


    Gently, I rub my swollen wrist. Feeling returned to my hand not long after Dr. Ward treated the burn, but now it stings constantly. I asked him to use his blood weaving one last time to heal it, but he refused. He just sent me home with some aloe vera and painkillers.


    ¡°You okay?¡± Maggie asks.


    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± I say as the microwave chimes. ¡°I¡¯m just tired.¡±


    I hear Mom¡¯s car pull up outside. Quickly, I grab the plate of hot pizza rolls and walk toward the stairs. But just as I hit the first step, the front door opens.


    ¡°?Mija?¡±


    I freeze on the steps, but I don''t look at her. I''m too afraid to. Afraid of what I might say, of the rage that could sneak into my facial expressions. Every word that comes from her lips¡ªevery breath, every thought¡ªis a lie.


    ¡°How is your grandmother?¡± She asks, hanging her coat up and shaking off the cold.


    ¡°Good. A friend of hers is sick though.¡± I say, scrambling to remember what Granny and I even talked about.


    ¡°Who?¡± She asks.


    Shit. What was his name? B something. I wasn¡¯t really paying attention. ¡°Mr. Baker. He¡¯s one of the other residents at the mansion. He¡¯s been tired lately. She thinks he¡¯s coming down with something.¡± Granny mentioned her friend after we discussed Jaqueline deserving a broken nose. I¡¯d rather not mention Jaqueline to Mom right now though, so this will have to do.


    ¡°He could have the flu. She should stay away from him before she gets sick too. Bring her some food tomorrow. I doubt they disinfect their utensils well enough.¡± Her tone is so unfeeling. Of course she already has a diagnosis. It doesn¡¯t matter the situation or her part in it; she always has a firm assessment and critique. I could tell her my friend died of an overdose, and she¡¯d probably tell me to choose better friends.


    I take another step up the stairs.


    ¡°?Tienes hambre?¡± She asks abruptly, stopping me. ¡°I was going to make sopa.¡±


    I turn to face her and hold up the plate of pizza rolls. ¡°I have homework.¡±


    She quickly looks away when my eyes meet hers. Something must be on her mind. I don¡¯t want to hear it. I turn back up the stairs to make my escape.


    ¡°Autumn?¡± She asks.


    I face her once more. ¡°Hm?¡±


    ¡°I just want you to know, last night. I was harsh.¡± She breathes. ¡°I know things are difficult without your father. It isn¡¯t easy. He¡­¡±


    I narrow my eyes. She sucks in another breath and picks at her nail polish, unable to keep eye contact.


    ¡°He always knew what to say.¡± She stiffens and looks up at me. ¡°I just want you to stay focused on what matters. We have to be smart now. We have to be strong together.¡±


    I release a slow sigh through my nose. ¡°Yeah.¡±


    That¡¯s probably about as much of an apology as I¡¯m going to get.


    Be strong. Thanks Mom.


    <hr>


    The white light of my computer monitor beams against my face as I write my physics report. Luckily, Coach Jackson isn¡¯t much of a reader, so it only needs to be two pages double-spaced. Ethan¡¯s notes are thorough. He even included a crude drawing of Jaqueline with an arrow through her head and X¡¯s over her eyes. A boy after my heart.


    After finishing it, the blog comes easy. Though it feels different now. It isn¡¯t a shout into the void anymore. I think I miss thinking no one would ever read my posts, let alone believe them. Now, I have an audience of two. Hannah even made JJ an account since he refused to make his own. I submit the post and watch my view count quickly jump from zero to two.


    ¡°OMG that¡¯s me! I finally got featured in a GhostPost!!¡± HannahHex - 9:42pm


    ¡°You could have died. We should have prepared better. I¡¯m sorry we weren¡¯t more careful Spooks.¡± InspectreGadget - 9:44pm


    ¡°:P At least you learned more about your powers. BTW, why does Ward always have to be so weird? He knows this isn¡¯t the middle ages right? It¡¯s not like you¡¯ve fought with a sword b4.¡± HannahHex - 9:45pm


    Maggie lingers beside me, her gaze fixed on the toy soldier from the Windy House resting on my desk. She examines it closely, tracing her finger over the thin scorch marks that weave around it.


    ¡°So, Shy Boy¡¯s soul was tied to this?¡± Maggie asks.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± I reply, resting my cheek on my palm.


    She straightens herself and looks at me. ¡°Can I read your dad¡¯s notebook?¡±


    ¡°What for?¡±


    ¡°Just curious.¡±


    I get out the notebook and open it for her.


    ¡°Tell me when to stop.¡± I flip through the pages slowly. I¡¯m used to turning the pages for her. She struggles to move anything unless her emotions are heightened.


    ¡°There. Stop.¡±


    I lay the book down beside me on the desk, then return to reading Hannah and JJ¡¯s comments.


    If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    ¡°Shy Boy deff knew about the cannibal monster.¡± HannahHex - 9:48pm


    ¡°I¡¯m not certain the cannibal and the monster are the same entity.¡± InspectreGadget - 9:50pm


    ¡°It eats people. What else would you call it?¡± HannahHex - 9:50pm


    ¡°A carnivore. Either way, something else is in those woods. Hannah might not remember much, but she saw something when Shy Boy possessed her. The cannibal must have something to do with Cedar Hollow.¡± InspectreGadget - 9:51pm


    ¡°Yeah, it probably ate them all. X_X¡± HannahHex - 9:52pm


    I roll my eyes and shut the computer off. I¡¯m exhausted and sleep sounds wonderful. I walk to my bed and collapse into the soft pillows. I grab my sasquatch and squeeze him tight. But when I reach to turn off my lamp, I notice Maggie. She hasn¡¯t moved from that spot, still glued to the notebook, flipping through the pages with ease.


    ¡°Maggie?¡± I ask.


    ¡°Hm?¡± She replies, not looking at me.


    I sit up and squint, trying to see what has her so focused. I can only make out a few weaving patterns on the pages. Whatever it is, it¡¯s important to her. I¡¯ve never seen her so interested in anything but comics and listening to my school drama. Come to think of it, she didn¡¯t even ask about school today. She only wanted to know what I learned from Dr. Ward.


    ¡°You know,¡± I smirk. ¡°I think Ethan might like me.¡±


    She turns and sneers at me. ¡°Are you kidding? Welcome to planet Earth. Those dreamy green eyes couldn¡¯t stop looking at you when he came over. He totally checked you out by the way.¡± She glides in front of me and leans in close to my face. ¡°But do you like him?¡±


    Warmth flushes my cheeks. Honestly, I did this to myself.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± I scoff. ¡°He¡¯s fine, I guess.¡±


    ¡°You guess?! I will possess you and date him myself.¡±


    Her threat of possession turns my skin cold. I quickly look away from her to hide it.


    ¡°I was joking,¡± she says softly.


    I feel the air shift as she tilts her head. When she sits beside me, I flinch, and a new fear crawls up my spine. I¡¯m used to the uneasy feeling I get around spirits. I¡¯ve never felt alone. I always feel eyes watching me. But for the first time, I¡¯m afraid of the absence of that presence. I¡¯m afraid of the day the voices stop, and I really, truly, am alone.


    ¡°Spooks?¡±


    ¡°What if I wasn¡¯t supposed to be a reaper?¡± The question spills from my lips. ¡°Dr. Ward said it normally skips a generation. It was supposed to skip me. Maybe it should have. I know you want me to be some kind of hero, but what if I''m not?¡±


    Maggie stares at me for a moment, then looks down.


    ¡°Can I show you something? Bring the notebook, and Mr. Squatch.¡±


    I start to question it, but I¡¯ve never seen her take charge like this. So, I do as she says. I grab my stuffed sasquatch and Dad¡¯s notebook then quietly follow her down the stairs. The lights are off and Mom is already in her room. When we reach the front door, Maggie passes through it. I open the door just enough to slip through and walk out into the cold snow.


    ¡°Maggie, it¡¯s freezing out here and I¡¯m in my PJs.¡±


    ¡°Just come on.¡±


    I follow her down to the street. Greenfield is still and quiet as bedroom lights begin to switch off. The streetlamp overhead flickers as Maggie passes it. She stops in the middle of the road and looks up at the moon. It¡¯s huge tonight, like a living face in the sky looking down on us.


    ¡°What are we doing out here?¡± I complain.


    ¡°My parents never liked me wandering from their perfect plans.¡± She stares out into the darkness as light snow dances around us. She squeezes her hands into fists at her sides. ¡°My dream was always to explore. I wanted to see the world and experience all of its wonder. But more than that, I wanted to make as many friends as I could. I wanted to meet someone as weird as me. Someone who understood the dark thoughts I had every night. You know, the ones that chain you to the bed until you rot?


    ¡°But I was their perfect daughter. I needed to have normal friends. There were only three places their sweet Christian daughter needed to be. School. Church. Home. And I didn¡¯t need medicine, because that would mean something was wrong with me. Right?¡± Her voice shakes. ¡°And now, even in death. I can¡¯t get more than a hundred feet from this goddamn house!¡± Her voice doesn¡¯t echo, even as she shouts.


    Maggie steps forward. Her silhouette suddenly loses its color. Her body fades into nothing more than outlines and she falls to her knees. I run to her and drop beside her, instinctively grabbing her hands. Touching her cold skin.


    ¡°I¡¯m glad you¡¯re a reaper Autumn,¡± she says gently. ¡°Not because I want you to be a hero. Because you are one. You see me.¡±


    My breath shudders. Her obsession with the notebook suddenly clicks in my head. The toy soldier, the weaving patterns, the sasquatch doll.


    ¡°And if I attach you to an object, you can be free,¡± I deduce.


    She smiles. ¡°We can go to school together. I can visit Granny. I can help you train. We can¡ª¡±


    ¡°Maggie, I can¡¯t.¡± I release her hands. ¡°We don¡¯t know how it works and I¡¯ll just kill you like I did the Davidson boy.¡±


    ¡°Your dad¡¯s notes give clear instructions. You just have to weave the correct pattern. It¡¯s easy.¡±


    ¡°But you¡¯re safer he¡ª¡± I regret the words as soon as they leave my mouth.


    ¡°Here? In the house I haven¡¯t left in over ten years? Where I can still see the swing set I hung myself from?¡± She grabs my hands, even after I shrink away. ¡°Autumn, please.¡±


    ¡°I could hurt you.¡±


    ¡°I know you won¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°What if it doesn¡¯t work?¡±


    ¡°What if it does?¡±


    I release a soft breath. She isn¡¯t going to give up. I open the notebook and flip through the pages until she stops me. Braids, knots, and patterns of every kind are sketched onto the pages. I skimmed over these when I read it initially. It felt like dad was simply learning to braid hair or taking up knitting. In my defense, his notes are so scrambled. I¡¯m pretty sure he used one of the pages to write a grocery list. But now that I look at them, the threads are clearly meant to be soul strands.


    Each pattern serves a purpose. A square knot is simple and easy to do. It''s perfect for most echoes but won¡¯t hold stronger entities for long. A chain braid, finished with a weaver¡¯s hitch, will bind powerful wraiths, so long as you can hold them long enough. The hex weave will compel the spirit to protect whatever it¡¯s tied to, and a double coin knot will make them feel any harm done to the object.


    I recognize the pattern Shy Boy was bound with. Dad¡¯s notes call it the shield braid, allowing him to hide away. It was combined with a blood knot, a sign the attachment was formed in life. He must have been holding the toy soldier when he died.


    ¡°This one,¡± Maggie says, pointing to the heart knot, a simple binding requiring a willing spirit and the hair of a loved one.


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure I count as a loved one, Maggie,¡± I smirk.


    ¡°I am.¡± She looks up at me with a face of firm resolve.


    My chest warms. It¡¯s easy to see why she picked the heart knot. It will bind her emotions to mine, allowing us to share senses like sight and sound.


    ¡°I think we should add the shield braid, so you can hide if needed.¡± I have a feeling the monster can see spirits. ¡°But it says here the object has to be something you find comfort in.¡±


    ¡°Good thing we brought Big Foot here.¡±


    She¡¯s already thought this all through, and she¡¯s made up her mind. I''m the only variable. I¡¯m the only reason this could go wrong. This is insane. But even now, as I waver in fear, her face is still and calm. She has so much confidence in me.


    So, I close my eyes. I take a deep breath and let the cold air fill my lungs. Shadows seep into the forefront of my mind, and I welcome them in. The darkness is my calm. The night is my shield. When I open my eyes, Maggie¡¯s bright form glows before me. Threads of silver and white slowly flow from her like ribbons in the ocean.


    ¡°You ready?¡± I ask.


    She nods assuredly.


    I reach out and grab one of her threads. My senses flood with warmth as her emotions crash into mine. They aren¡¯t singular like that of the echoes I¡¯ve reaped. Colors of hope spill into my mind hand-in-hand with loss and shame. I smile as her endless passion and wonder dance in my heart.


    Then, I weave. I braid her strands into intricate patterns around my stuffed sasquatch. I¡¯m slow and methodical, careful to follow Dad¡¯s instructions. But soon, I settle into a rhythm, and it merely feels like braiding hair with a friend. She asks more about Ethan as I twist the threads. I should be terrified. I should be worried I¡¯ll fail again. Instead, I laugh as she plans my future wedding for me. She insists I wear something purple for her.


    ¡°It¡¯s the best color. Easily my favorite. And you have to have fireflies! That¡¯s how you can honor me.¡±


    Honor me, I note. I¡¯m reminded that, inevitably, I will have to lead her to her portal. She will cross the veil. And I will have to let her go.


    ¡°You skipped a loop,¡± Maggie breaks my thought. ¡°You can¡¯t mess this up at the very end.¡±


    I quickly correct my error and complete the shield braid. Then, I pull a hair from my head and twist it around one of her threads. I complete the heart knot and pull it tight around Mr. Squatch. The knot even looks like a heart when pulled taut.


    ¡°Is that it?¡± I ask nervously.


    There are no magic lights, no bursts of energy, only the quiet of the night as we sit in the cold. Cautiously, Maggie takes a step forward. Then another. She reaches out her hand, and a tear drips from her cheek.


    She turns and wraps her arms around me, plunging her head into my chest. Fear pulses through me once more, but it washes away. And I wrap my arms around her.


    ¡°You know what this means right?¡± I ask.


    ¡°That you¡¯re the best sister ever?¡±


    For once, holding her doesn¡¯t feel cold. I feel her warmth.


    ¡°You¡¯re now officially my sidekick.¡±


    ¡°Oh my god, I need a sidekick name!¡±

 Intermission: Behind the scenes

    Update: I recently lost my job. So all of my time has been consumed looking for a new one. Sorry for the delay yall! ?? I promise I will finish this story.


    Greetings Reapers!


    I can''t thank you enough for all of your love and support. Your comments and reviews fuel my passion. I''m so happy you enjoy Reaping Autumn as much as I do.


    My wife and I are in the middle of buying our first house and dealing with some medical treatments. So I apologize for the delay. But I do have a chapter planned for this month. So I appreciate your patience. I know I''m not as fast as the other writers on this platform. But I hope you think the end result is worth it.


    To make up for it, I thought I''d share a little behind the scenes. No spoilers of course, but if you don''t want to know how the sausage is made I don''t blame ya.


    I''m a big plotter. I use Obsidian to track all of my crazy notes and test out different routes. Here''s a snapshot of my insanity.


    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    I obsess over the little details. And I like to have and idea of where the story is going before I write so I can properly seed those moments. I''ve replotted my story about 6 times now to find better routes or avoid plot holes.


    Fun facts


    Characters listed in order of most to least likely to return the shopping cart:


    1. JJ - Dude is a goodie two shoes always follows the rules.


    2. Maggie - if she wasn''t dead she''d do her best to be a good human.


    3. Dr. Ward - He''s a responsible adult and has to keep a good image as a doctor in a small town.


    4. Hannah - She''ll do it but she''s the type to yeet it from 20 feet away and just hope it lands in the lane. If it doesnt, oh well.


    5. Autumn - Maybe. If she''s in the mood.


    6. Jaqueline - No. Thats what the workers are there for.


    Other plots I''ve wanted to write:


    An otherly where Autumn and Hannah visit a medium at a carnival and Autumn scares the hoax medium with her black eyes.


    A prequel set in a more medieval or colonial era when Reapers are in their prime. It would feel a bit more like Witcher I think.


    A Hogwarts of Reapers.


    Publication plans:


    I plan to reach out to publishing agents once I''ve done a few drafts. I know posting online might harm those chances, but we''ll see I guess. Either way I will self publish if I can''t get it traditionally done.


    I also have an Instagram @themythicalkidd and a tiktok @writernickkidd I post silly stuff so come follow.


    Anyways, thanks yall! Much love. And remember, you''re never alone. The dead are always watching.

 Chapter 22

    ¡°She¡¯s a part of me now. I don¡¯t know which parts are mine, and which are hers. If I¡¯m honest, that gives me some comfort.¡±


    <hr>


    ¡°Oh my gosh,¡± Maggie exclaims, twirling in the center of the school rotunda, analyzing every detail of these confines we call a school. The bone white painted brick walls, the harsh fluorescent lighting, the Greenfield Gators mascot adorning the walls, all of it a prison to me. But to her it¡¯s wonderfully nostalgic. She scans every student she passes like some alien species. She walks beside them as if she wasn¡¯t a wandering specter, but a young student just like them. If I didn¡¯t know better, I¡¯d swear her pale skin is a shade warmer.


    ¡°A lot¡¯s changed, huh?¡± I speak softly with my head low. I¡¯d hate to give anyone the impression that the weird witch girl talks to herself, not that it matters. I doubt anyone would be surprised at this point.


    ¡°Actually, no,¡± she replies. ¡°I mean, other than the students. Not sure how I feel about boys in skinny jeans though.¡± I release a breathy giggle. ¡°Other than that, it¡¯s like nothing¡¯s changed at all. It even smells the same.¡± Suddenly, the smell of citrus-scented cleaner mixed with an array of perfumes, colognes, hair sprays, and other teenage fragrances floods my nose. It isn¡¯t a smell I¡¯m normally aware of, just something that¡¯s always been there and suddenly feels new.


    ¡°I guess that heart knot worked,¡± I say. ¡°I can smell what you smell.¡±


    ¡°God, I hope not.¡± Maggie sniffs the air around a boy passing by. My nose is assaulted with a wave of body spray. ¡°Because now he is all I can smell.¡±


    The smell lingers with me until I reach my locker. I stuff my backpack inside, retrieve my History book and notebook, then begin to close the door.


    ¡°Wait!¡± Maggie shouts. ¡°Don¡¯t leave me in there. I can¡¯t go far from the sasquatch. Take me with you.¡±


    I hide my face behind the locker door. ¡°I can¡¯t just bring a stuffed animal into class, Maggie.¡±


    ¡°Why not?¡±


    ¡°W¡ªBecause that¡¯s weird.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong with being weird?¡±


    I sigh. ¡°Fine. Just promise me you¡¯ll behave.¡±


    ¡°Mmmm¡­ I promised your dad I wouldn¡¯t behave.¡±


    ¡°Maggie.¡±


    ¡°Ugh. Fine. I¡¯ll be a good little ghost.¡± Maggie places her hands together and tilts her head, resembling one of those painted baby angels that hang in the church.


    I grab the sasquatch and shove it under my arm with my History book. Then, I spot Liam walking to class. I offer a smile, but it quickly fades as he passes without acknowledging me. His long blonde hair is disheveled, falling over his eyes. He keeps his head pointed at the ground as he enters class.


    ¡°Who¡¯s that?¡± Maggie whispers beside me.


    ¡°That¡¯s Liam. He gave me the nice notebook after Jaqueline stuffed that dead cat in my locker.¡±


    ¡°Aww, what a sweetie. I like him already. I wonder why he¡¯s so down.¡±


    ¡°Same,¡± I say, closing my locker door.


    I follow Liam into History class. Maggie walks beside me with a giddy smile.


    ¡°Hood off, Miss Ev¡ª¡± Mr. Martin stops himself when he looks up and notices I¡¯m not wearing a hood today. Even I¡¯m surprised by it. I normally hide away in my hood, but today I just don¡¯t feel so alone.


    I offer an awkward grin and find my seat. Maggie picks an empty seat in the back and sits up straight, ready for her first lesson. I sit the sasquatch on my desk, strategically placed behind the back of the boy seated in front of me to hide it from as many students as possible. But the boy suddenly grunts and arches his back over the chair to pop his back. He leans back, gracing me with his lack of deodorant, and knocking the sasquatch onto the floor. He returns upright in his chair after a cacophony of sickening cracks vibrate my desk. I quickly grab the sasquatch and return it to its original position, but it''s too late. I glance at Jaqueline and catch her whispering to the girl in front of her as she side-eyes me. Both of them cover their mouths to hide their snickering.


    God, why do I even care what that corpse of a personality thinks? Dr. Ward¡¯s words echo in my head, ¡°Does fear control you, reaper?¡± No, it doesn¡¯t. And neither does Jaqueline. I clench my fists. Then, I turn and stare back at her with a withering gaze. She scoffs, so I let an evil grin crawl up my cheeks and roll my eyes into the back of my head until only the whites show. She wants a freak? I¡¯ll give her a freak. I almost pity her. She¡¯s an empty casket of potential who has peaked in high school. Once I¡¯m satisfied, I blow her a kiss and face forward as Mr. Martin begins his lecture.


    ¡°Damn,¡± Maggie says. ¡°A casket of potential? I gotta remember that one.¡±


    Slowly, I turn to look back at Maggie. How did she hear me? I don¡¯t think I said anything out loud. Did I?


    ¡°I can hear your thoughts, dummy. Duh!¡± She doesn¡¯t move her lips, but her whisper swims in my head as she smiles at me.


    Great. Just what I needed. Less privacy.


    ¡°This is going to be so much fun!¡± Maggie exclaims.


    I sigh and repeatedly bang my fist into my forehead as Mr. Martin drones on about our upcoming finals. Eventually, I spot Liam again. He¡¯s furiously scribbling something into his notebook. I can¡¯t see what it is, but it has him enthralled. Strands of his disheveled hair shake as she presses his pencil hard into the paper.


    ¡°Let¡¯s take a peek,¡± Maggie exclaims.


    Slowly, she floats beside Liam. He quivers as Maggie nears him, as if some rogue breeze just crossed his neck. Sometimes I forget Maggie is dead. I wonder what it must feel like to feel the presence of the dead, but have no awareness of it. Even normal people, or mundanes as Dr. Ward calls them, can feel the dread of a passing soul. Just like me, they feel the change in temperature, the shiver down their spine, or that feeling like someone is watching while they lie in bed at night. Only, they can¡¯t see it. They can easily rationalize it as their mind playing tricks with them. I can¡¯t. I guess ignorance really is bliss.


    ¡°Woah,¡± Maggie mutters. ¡°How did you describe the monster, Autumn? The one in the woods. Picture it in your head.¡±


    Unconsciously, I crack open a door in my mind I¡¯d rather forget existed. But the mere mention of it is enough, and the creature¡¯s form bores into my mind. Its long branch-like arms, its scarred flesh pulled tight against its bones, the pungent smell of decay, all of it¡ªpatched together in some impossible shape. A hodgepodge of human flesh stretched apart like putty, with bone-like antlers bursting from its skull.


    ¡°You need to see this,¡± Maggie says.


    Suddenly, a new image paints in my mind. I see Liam from Maggie¡¯s perspective. As the image focuses, I see what he¡¯s drawing. To my horror, I recognize the drawing immediately. The monster from the woods is scratched in graphite across the paper, hiding behind the tall trees. Liam¡¯s eyes are dark and sunken in as he scribbles away unblinking.


    ¡°How does he know what it looks like, Autumn?¡±


    I don¡¯t know, respond in my mind. But we need to find out.


    I sit through the rest of class carefully watching Liam. Slowly, his demeanor calms until he stops drawing. Whatever was bothering him subsides, likely soothed by the monotony of class.When the bell rings, I quickly gather my things to watch him leave. He spots me and offers a weak grin, but walks past me without a word. I stand to go after him until I see Jaqueline. The smirk on her face tells me she has something planned. I defied her in front of her friend. I should have expected consequences. Now, she needs to put me in my place. But if I act quickly, she¡¯ll have to do it on my terms.


    I cram myself into the herd of students leaving class so she can¡¯t catch me at the door. She¡¯ll likely want to make a scene somewhere public. If I can take that power away from her, I may have an edge. I walk quickly toward the bathroom. When I reach the door, I turn back to look at her. She needs to see me go in. Her eyes are already locked on me as she marches toward me.


    I rush into the bathroom and check every stall. Empty. No witnesses. Perfect.


    Hiding in a stall will only corner myself. I need enough space to keep my distance or flee if I have to. I choose the sink furthest from the door and begin to wash my hands. Then, the door creaks open. I let out a slow breath to calm my thumping heart.


    ¡°Oh, hey Autumn,¡± Jaqueline says calmly, trailed by her friend.


    I think her name is Nikki. She has long dark hair and tan skin, but otherwise feels like a clone of her plastic master. She¡¯s wearing a light blue velour tracksuit with pants just low enough to reveal her pink undies. Jaqueline wears the same, but hot pink with stars bedazzled on her top. The two of them check their make-up in the large mirror, pretending this is all a coincidence. I know she won¡¯t come to me, I need to spring her trap.


    I turn off the sink and turn toward her. The hand dryers are near the door, just past Jaqueline. Quietly, I walk toward them with the sasquatch tucked tightly under my arm. Just as I reach her, she places her hand on my arm.


    ¡°Hey,¡± she says gently. ¡°I just wanted to say I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    I narrow my eyes. I know this is a trap, but what is it?


    ¡°I¡¯ve been just awful to you. I admit I was sort of jealous seeing you with Ethan. Boys, right?¡± She smiles at Nikki, who circles behind me. A shiver crawls up the back of my neck and I glance in the mirror. Maggie smiles back at me in the reflection. Our connection feels stronger since last night. Maggie feels stronger.


    ¡°Let¡¯s just put it behind us,¡± Jaqueline continues. ¡°Friends?¡± She extends her hand out to me. I stare down at the hand, knowing this is a trap. She¡¯ll pull my hand and hurt me somehow. Maybe she¡¯ll throw me into the sink or trip me. But if I resist her, she¡¯ll only make it worse for me later. At least in the bathroom it¡¯s private.


    Hesitantly, I grab her hand and offer a small smile. To my surprise, she gently shakes my hand and smiles back. My shoulders relax slightly. Am I just paranoid? I do have a habit of assuming the worst in everyone, but this is strange.


    But I quickly realize how wrong I am. Nikki suddenly snatches the sasquatch from under my arm. Panic explodes across my skin. I was too busy worrying what she would do to me, I didn¡¯t think to protect the damned doll.


    ¡°Oh, you brought your teddy to school. That¡¯s so cute.¡± Jaqueline says, taking it from Nikki.


    ¡°Give it back.¡± I reply, terrified of what could happen to Maggie if she damages it.


    ¡°It¡¯s so dirty. Teddy needs a nice bath.¡± She shoves one of the stall doors open.


    I rush toward her but Nikki steps in my way.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry. Teddy¡¯s in my care now.¡± Jaqueline says


    She dangles the sasquatch over the brown speckled toilet. Then, the lights begin to flicker wildly. Jaqueline¡¯s smile slowly fades as she looks around the bathroom. Suddenly, something catches her attention in the mirror behind me.


    ¡°The fuck?¡± She mutters.


    I turn around and see Maggie standing in the mirror, appearing only in small moments as the lights flicker on and off. Her smile is too wide, theatrically wide. Then, she slowly tilts her head. Nikki screams and runs from the bathroom. A new feeling grows inside me. Something wicked, but I like it. The lights suddenly blink into darkness, stealing away our vision. And my eyes turn black.A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    The lights flicker back on and I stare at Jaqueline with a smile on my face. A very wide smile.


    Jaqueline screams and scrambles backward. She tosses the sasquatch at me as she slams her ass against the side of the toilet and coils on the grimy floor beside it. Her screams of terror echo off the tile walls, ringing through the air.


    The bathroom suddenly door swings open and the lights return to normal. As the bright florescent glow returns, so too do my human eyes. A teacher bursts into the bathroom.


    ¡°What is going on in here?¡± She demands to know.


    I put on my sweetest, shittiest face. A face Jaqueline knows well. ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± I reply. ¡°She started screaming after she saw something in the mirror. I think it was a pimple.¡±


    ¡°Jesus girls. There is no need for hysterics. You, get to class.¡± The teacher steps past me to help Jaqueline. ¡°Come on. I¡¯ll take you to the nurse.¡± I pick up the sasquatch from the floor and look at Jaqueline. Her eyes quiver in their sockets as she looks back at me in terror.


    And I wink.


    <hr>


    My heart races as I enter Physics class. I anxiously glance around the room, watching the faces of my peers for looks of fear or judgment. Does anyone know? Did anyone else see? Of course not, there were no witnesses. But showing my powers in school, using Maggie, all of it was incredibly reckless. But as I find my seat, slowly, I let a smile grow. Why should I be afraid? I¡¯m a Reaper. I wield death.


    ¡°That was totally wicked!¡± Maggie spins beside the lab table. ¡°Gosh, I feel so alive! Did you see her face?¡±


    I did, I pass my thoughts to her. This new telepathic link feels almost natural, like Maggie is some imaginary friend.


    ¡°Look,¡± Maggie points to the classroom door behind me.


    Jaqueline enters. She¡¯s touched up her makeup and switched her entire outfit. Of course she has a second outfit at school. Her eyes meet mine. She quickly shakes off the panic and straightens up, ignoring me. She smiles and finger waves to her girlfriends across the classroom.


    Liam enters behind her. His tired eyes stare unblinking at the ground, lost in thought as his body moves through space on autopilot. He sits in the chair beside me and offers an obligatory smile, then sets his notebook on the table.


    ¡°What¡¯s up?¡± I ask after an awkward pause.


    ¡°Oh, nothing much,¡± He quickly answers. ¡°You ready for your bridge experiment?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t be dumb,¡± I narrow my eyes. ¡°You look like a sad puppy killed another sad puppy. What¡¯s up with you?¡±


    He lets out a soft giggle and shakes his head. His eyes look down, then back at me, as if he¡¯s debating trusting me. ¡°Your grandmother is at the Ward Estate, right?¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± I jerk my head back slightly. How does he know that?


    ¡°My pawpaw does too¡ªdid.¡± He quickly corrects himself. ¡°He passed yesterday.¡±


    ¡°I¡ª,¡± I stop myself. He doesn¡¯t want sympathy. ¡°What happened?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± he replies, staring at the table absently. ¡°He was fine one day, then he wasn¡¯t. They said it was congestive heart failure. He¡¯s not even that old¡ªor was. Whatever. But he started having memory problems. The last time I saw him it was like he barely recognized me. Like he was lost. Then, he was gone.¡±


    ¡°What are you doing here then?¡± I ask. ¡°You should be home with your family.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s too sad at home. School is a nice distraction.¡± He rests his cheek on his palm and draws doodles on the cover of his notebook.


    ¡°That¡¯s so sad. I just want to hug him.¡± Maggie wraps her arms around Liam. His body suddenly shivers. He looks up at the ceiling for an air vent to blame, but finds none. I raise my eyebrow at her with a sighing glance. She backs away grimacing.


    ¡°So what were you drawing then?¡± I change the subject. Partly because I know he needs it, but I can¡¯t contain my own curiosity. Why is he drawing the monster? ¡°In history class today, you were drawing for most of the class. Come on,¡± I jab his shoulder with my elbow. ¡°You¡¯ve seen my doodles, show me yours.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re going to think I¡¯m crazy,¡± he says.


    ¡°Do you even see who you¡¯re talking to?¡± I gesture to myself.


    ¡°Fine.¡± He smiles. ¡°I¡¯m writing a horror comic, so I like to draw creepy monsters. Lately, I¡¯ve been dreaming of this one monster, but every time it looks a little different. So I try to draw it.¡±


    He opens up his notebook and flips through the pages. Every page has some new monster on it. Some pages have blocks like a comic book. But he stops on the page from today. Its resemblance to the creature in the woods is unsettling.


    ¡°I think I¡¯ve got the details right,¡± he continues ¡°I don¡¯t know what to call it yet, but it¡¯s super gross. It¡¯s like a bunch of people were thrown into a blender and reassembled into some long legged creature with antlers.¡±


    ¡°I really hate that description,¡± Maggie groans. ¡°Man, can¡¯t you have just one untraumatized friend?¡±


    Liam looks at me concerned. ¡°You think I¡¯m a freak, don¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°What?¡± I shake myself out of the trance. ¡°No! No, no. I just,¡± I stammer. ¡°It¡¯s really good. I didn¡¯t know you were a fellow monster lover.¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± he smirks. ¡°I¡¯m no good at comedy, and love doesn¡¯t really interest me. But horror I can do.¡±


    A chill settles over my chest as I stare at the drawing. I can almost smell it. The muggy air of the woods sticking to my skin, the sour scent of rot, the cracking of bones, the¡ª


    ¡°Hey!¡± A low, raspy voice punches my ears.


    I jolt upward, standing from the table ready to run. As I turn to see where it came from, I find a familiar face instead.


    ¡°Woah,¡± Ethan staggers backward holding a large popsicle stick bridge. In my shock, I nearly knock the bridge from his hands. ¡°That was almost a catastrophe.¡± His speckled green eyes disarm me as he offers a warm smile. ¡°You got the report?¡±


    ¡°Uh,¡± I release the air in my lungs. ¡°Yeah, right here. You think it will hold?¡±


    ¡°I used three bottles of glue on this thing. It better.¡±


    ¡°Alright,¡± Coach Jackson shouts. ¡°Don¡¯t get too comfortable. Everyone get up and find a table with your lab partner. Only your reports and your bridges should be out. Let¡¯s go, let''s go.¡±


    I look back at Liam and offer a soft smile, then grab my things to follow Ethan. We find a table at the edge of the classroom. Jaqueline and her partner, another plastic clone, are seated directly in front of us. She glances back at me, then quickly looks away. Maybe I really have scared her away for good. Or maybe I¡¯ve only given her more ammo.


    Ethan sets the bridge down and gestures to it as if to present some ancient gemstone.


    ¡°So?¡± He asks. ¡°What do you think?¡±


    The bridge is constructed just as we planned, a simple truss bridge with sticks assembled in connecting triangles to support it. However, Ethan has painted it and added small action figures to it like a mini battle scene.


    ¡°We were only supposed to use popsicle sticks and glue,¡± I reply. ¡°He¡¯s going to dock us points.¡±


    ¡°What? No, it¡¯s just decoration. He¡¯ll probably give us extra credit.¡± He smiles at me. ¡°Besides, you¡¯re on here.¡±


    ¡°Am I?¡± I raise an eyebrow.


    ¡°Yeah, you¡¯re the sorceress right here.¡± He points to the figure of a small barely clothed woman with plastic lightning extending from her hand. ¡°You¡¯re killing the evil witch and her army of goons attacking the bridge.¡± He points to a pink-haired troll doll on the other end of the bridge.


    ¡°And who¡¯s this valiant knight supposed to be?¡± I pick up the figure holding a silver and gold shield.


    ¡°That,¡± he begins, taking the figure from me and placing it back on the bridge beside the sorceress. ¡°Is me, fighting by your side. We make a pretty good team.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re a bigger nerd than I took you for.¡± I smirk.


    ¡°Eh, I was bored and you never texted back.¡±


    Last night I was too busy binding the soul of my dead best friend to a stuffed animal to even notice he texted me.


    ¡°Yeah I don¡¯t really check my phone,¡± I reply.


    ¡°Well, that sucks for me. I like talking to you.¡± He says, fiddling with the bridge and its figures.


    ¡°We¡¯ve barely talked,¡± I scoff.


    ¡°Exactly! I want to know more about you, Autumn.¡±


    Hearing him say my name sends goosebumps across my skin. What does this meathead pretty boy want to do with me? I¡¯m not used to this kind of attention.


    ¡°What do you want to know?¡± I ask, turning my face to hide the warmth flushing my cheeks.


    ¡°Like, what¡¯s your favorite color?¡± He asks after a bit of thought.


    ¡°Black. Obviously.¡± I gesture to my outfit, ripped black pants with a zip-up hoodie over my ribcage-printed shirt.


    ¡°Quiet!¡± Coach shouts. ¡°Let¡¯s get started.¡± He wheels a small cart with two tall bars on either side. A stack of weights are placed at the base. ¡°I¡¯ll bring the cart to your desk and place your bridge across the bars. We¡¯ll add weights, ten pounds at a time. Your bridge needs to hold 80 pounds to pass.¡±


    Ethan bumps my arm. I glance at him and see him pass a sheet of paper toward me.


    EpicEthan is written with a crude drawing of a sword above it. He¡¯s added a lightning bolt below it with Screen name written beside it. I smirk. Of course he has a cheesy screen name.


    ¡°Since you don¡¯t look at your phone,¡± he whispers as Coach Jackson wheels his cart around the class.


    I hesitantly look at Maggie, who stands across from me. Her jaw drops.


    ¡°We are so stalking his profile tonight,¡± she says.


    I shake my head and write Spooks92 under the lightning bolt. Ethan tears the sheet of paper in half and hands me the piece with his screen name on it, then pockets the sheet with mine.


    Coach Jackson wheels the cart beside Jaqueline¡¯s table. She giggles with her partner and confidently hands him their bridge. Then, I see a mischievous grin crawl up Maggie¡¯s face. As Coach sets up their bridge on his cart, Maggie climbs on top of their table. She looks back at me with a wide smile, then, just as the first weight is placed, she leaps onto the bridge. Her body passes through it, snapping the bridge immediately. Sticks pop and fly in every direction. Jaqueline¡¯s mouth drops open.


    ¡°Well, that¡¯s our first failure,¡± Coach says disappointedly. ¡°I¡¯ve never had a bridge break that easily before.¡± The class giggles and Jaqueline¡¯s face flushes red with anger and embarrassment.


    ¡°You dropped the weight too hard,¡± she complains.


    ¡°Even if I did, that was only ten pounds. You weren¡¯t anywhere close.¡± He begins to wheel the cart away. ¡°Maybe you should focus more on class instead of your cell phone.¡± Jaqueline leers at him and pouts in her seat.


    He brings the cart beside our table, and stares at Ethan¡¯s masterpiece.


    ¡°What is this?¡± He asks unimpressed.


    ¡°We got creative,¡± Ethan replies proudly.


    ¡°You broke the rules,¡± he replies. ¡°This isn¡¯t art class. I¡¯m taking ten points off your grade. Follow instructions next time.¡±


    I place my face in my palms. My mom is going to kill me. Then, I hear giggling. Jaqueline and her partner snicker to each other as they look at our bridge. Maggie huffs. She reaches across the table and touches the sasquatch doll sitting against the wall.


    Suddenly, the possessed doll twists its head toward Jaqueline. She leaps from her table in a frenzy and screams. In her panic, she knocks her stool over. It crashes to the floor with a loud metallic bang. The room falls silent as the entire class stares at her.


    ¡°Miss Summers, if you¡¯re going to throw a fit, you can go to the office.¡± Coach crosses his arms.


    ¡°What?¡± Jaqueline stammers. ¡°No! Her doll!¡± She points at the sasquatch, now limply falling over. ¡°She brought her freaky haunted doll. It moved! She¡¯s got like demonic powers or something. She is evil!¡±


    Dumbfounded, I look around the class. After an awkward pause, whispers and giggles begin to pass around the room.


    ¡°Okay Jaqueline. Office. Now.¡± Coach demands.


    She grunts and grabs her things, then marches out of class. The giggles grow louder as she leaves.


    ¡°What a psycho,¡± Ethan snickers.


    I stare at Maggie, who crosses her arms proudly. I guess we¡¯re both being a little reckless today.


    Surprisingly, our bridge passes the test, holding 100 pounds until it finally snaps, sending action figures tumbling across the floor. Ethan excitedly shouts and gives me a high-five. I may not share his childlike excitement, but he did good. Maggie awkwardly high-fives herself behind Ethan.


    <hr>


    ¡°Maggie is here?¡± Hannah shouts, her voice carrying only a few feet from the table and drowning in the chatter of the cafeteria. ¡°Where is she? Hi Maggie!¡± She waves.


    I use my fork to point at Maggie sitting beside me, on the opposite side Hannah was waving to.


    ¡°Is her power any weaker?¡± JJ asks. He sits close to Hannah, a bit closer than he normally does. Since the Windy House, he¡¯s remained at her side, opening doors for her and even carrying her books.


    ¡°Uh,¡± I glance at Maggie. ¡°If anything, her power is stronger. I think she¡¯s pulling energy from me.¡±


    ¡°That would make sense,¡± JJ replies. ¡°We¡¯ve already proven you¡¯re like a walking battery. Tethering you to her likely connected her directly to the source. Though, I can¡¯t help but wonder what happens when that power runs out.¡±


    I honestly hadn¡¯t thought of that. Hairs stand on my arm. Have I accidentally put a timer on Maggie¡¯s life?


    ¡°But,¡± JJ continues after Hannah elbows him. ¡°She¡¯s still connected to her portal right?¡±


    I nod my head.


    ¡°Then as long as she gets some time to recharge at home, I think she¡¯ll be fine.¡±


    ¡°Look at you.¡± Hannah smirks. ¡°Already a ghost expert.¡± Hannah has regained most of her strength after her encounter with Shy Boy. Her face is still a bit more pale than usual and she refuses to talk about that night. In fact, she barely remembers getting possessed. But every time we bring it up, she closes up.


    ¡°That¡¯s not even the weird part about today,¡± I say. ¡°Liam is dreaming about the monster. He was drawing it in class today. It¡¯s a perfect copy of what we saw in the woods.¡±


    ¡°Could he be the cannibal?¡± Hannah asks. ¡°Think about it. You fight off the monster in the woods, and suddenly he takes an interest in you? Why was he drawing it anyway?¡±


    ¡°He said he¡¯s making a monster comic.¡±


    ¡°And he likes creepy monsters?¡± Hannah raises an eyebrow. ¡°Come on.¡±


    ¡°Thicket Grove has a weird effect on people,¡± JJ adds. ¡°I¡¯m pretty sure his house borders the woods. Maybe it¡¯s affecting his dreams.¡±


    ¡°Either way, we need to keep an eye on him,¡± I say.


    ¡°Yeah, we¡¯ll watch him.¡± Hannah accidentally drops her fork onto the floor.


    ¡°I¡¯ll get you a new one.¡± JJ leaps from the table and walks away.


    ¡°He¡¯s awfully helpful today.¡± I raise my eyebrow at Hannah.


    ¡°I know.¡± Hannah smirks. ¡°Serving his dark queen like a gentleman.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re cruel. You know he likes you.¡±


    ¡°Of course I do,¡± she snaps back at me. ¡°Not everything needs to be so blunt, Autumn.¡±


    ¡°Do you like him?¡± I ask gently.


    ¡°You know what he did when I told him about my sister?¡± She asks rhetorically. ¡°He read every book he could find on spirits. Three days later he was quoting facts to me. All because he knew how much my sister and I liked paranormal studies. He didn¡¯t want me to be alone. So, yeah. I fucking like him.¡± Her breath shudders as she says those words. ¡°But I want him to say it. I want him to have the strength to do something for himself for once. Until then¡­¡± JJ returns with an extra utensil and some napkins. ¡°He¡¯s my faithful knight.¡±

 Chapter 23

    ¡°So he trained you to kill monsters?¡±


    ¡°He trained me to kill.¡±


    ¡°Did he train you to kill the one in the woods?¡±


    ¡°We never made it that far.¡±


    ¡°Why was training so important to you?¡±


    ¡°I just wanted to belong. To be strong enough to write my own ending.¡±


    ¡°Did you?¡±


    ¡°You tell me.¡±


    <hr>


    Icy slush crunches under my boots as I walk along the sidewalk after school. Maggie wanders beside me, exploring the world around her, recalling old memories from her childhood. She points out the houses where old friends used to live, calling each out by name. To her, anyone willing to say hi is a friend. I can¡¯t help but wonder if they felt the same about her though. In my experience, no one ever does anything for you for free. I doubt Maggie would have chosen me as a friend, let alone a roommate, if she wasn¡¯t forced to.


    ¡°You¡¯re an idiot,¡± Maggie blurts out. ¡°I may not have chosen you, but I did choose to stay.¡±


    I flinch, reminded that she can read my thoughts. ¡°Sorry, I guess I¡¯m a bit of a cynic sometimes.¡±


    ¡°Not every relationship is a transaction, you know.¡± She stands in front of me. ¡°You¡¯re my friend. I just tied my soul to you. Doesn¡¯t that prove something in that sad little head of yours?¡±


    ¡°I¡ª¡± I pause for a moment. ¡°Do you think we¡¯d have been friends if you were alive? Would you have liked me?¡±


    ¡°Mh,¡± She shrugs. ¡°Probably not.¡±


    I feel my stomach drop slightly.


    ¡°We don¡¯t choose our friends, Autumn,¡± she continues. Her tone is more serious now. ¡°You don¡¯t get to decide how I feel about you or if it¡¯s genuine or not.¡± She shoves my shoulder hard. ¡°Sometimes people just need each other. And you need me.¡±


    I don¡¯t find the words to argue with her as she walks off. I continue down the sidewalk until a figure catches my attention. An old man slowly jogs toward me with his dog leading him. The dog¡¯s untrimmed brown and gray fur bounces with every step, and its tongue swings merrily. But as I recognize the man, my heart sinks.


    Every day at precisely eight in the morning and five in the afternoon, Mr. Tully takes his dog, Milo, for a walk around the block. I often catch them on my walk to and from school. Milo is well known in Greenfield as a friendly old dog on a mission. Everyone he meets is just another friend. He¡¯s often begging for head scratches and treats. But he doesn¡¯t know that Mr. Tully passed away four years ago. Mr. Tully¡¯s daily walks created an echo. Now, everyday, Milo follows a shadow around town.


    ¡°Doggy!¡± Maggie shouts.


    Milo bolts toward Maggie at a dead sprint. When he reaches us, he sits with his tongue hanging.


    ¡°Dassa¡¯ good boy!¡± She leans down and attempts to pet him, but her hands pass through. It doesn¡¯t stop her from pretending though, and Milo doesn¡¯t seem to mind. It¡¯s always been clear that our pets can see the dead. Funny, I have more in common with a dog than anyone else in this town.


    I look back at Mr. Tully¡¯s echo, still slowly jogging toward us. Then I remember what Dr. Ward told me. ¡°Never leave home without a reaping.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t you dare,¡± Maggie says.


    ¡°We¡¯re already almost to Ward¡¯s,¡± I reply. ¡°I can¡¯t train without a reaping. He always says I get too attached to echoes, and I¡¯m definitely attached to this one.¡±


    ¡°But what about him?¡± She gestures to Milo sweetly.


    ¡°He¡¯s getting old. It¡¯s time for him to let go. Mr. Tully is just an echo.¡±


    ¡°Milo doesn¡¯t know that.¡±


    ¡°He could get hurt following an old echo around town. Besides, I¡¯m sure Mrs. Tully wouldn¡¯t mind the extra company.¡±


    Maggie sighs. ¡°Fine. It¡¯s time to say goodbye, buddy.¡±


    Milo attempts to lick Maggie¡¯s face, but passes through her with every lick.


    As Mr. Tully gets closer, I let darkness fill my mind and relax my muscles. As my eyes turn black, silver threads extend from his body. I reach out and grab one of them. A sudden calmness settles my emotions. All of my problems feel so small. But time feels so short. So every day, a walk with a friend¡ªa dog even, experiencing the world that sprouts around us, slows time down a bit.


    I look down at Milo, who stares back up at me with his head slightly tilted. I look away to prevent my tears. Maybe Ward is right. I do get too attached. I close my eyes and let the echo in. Warmth wraps around me like a hug. When I open my eyes, Mr. Tully is gone, and the warmth quickly fades.


    Slowly, I kneel down beside Milo, afraid of what he must think of me. Will he bark at me, bite me, whimper? But after a moment, he simply drops his tongue and starts panting again. Suddenly, he leaps up and places his paws on my shoulders and licks my face.


    ¡°Well he moved on quickly,¡± Maggie giggles.


    I stand and wipe my face off.


    ¡°Come on, let¡¯s get you home.¡±


    <hr>


    I release an unsteady breath outside the front door of the Ward Mansion. I¡¯m ready for whatever he can throw at me. I need this. I have to know if these powers really are a curse, or a path to something greater. I look to Maggie, who smiles gently at me. I¡¯m going to make Dad proud, somehow.


    ¡°Can you hide in the sasquatch?¡± I ask. ¡°I don¡¯t want to surprise Ward with you just yet.¡±


    Maggie nods and fades into a cloud of glitter, which flows into the doll. I stuff it into my backpack with its head poking out, so she can see. I release one quick sigh, then push the door open.


    The cool winter air pulls into the large foyer, tossing my hair. A shiver tickles down my arms. I spot Liam sitting on the main staircase. The large windows above me cast a dramatic spotlight over him. His long blonde hair droops over his face as he stares at a large book in his lap. He holds a pencil in his hand, unmoving. Frozen like the snow outside.


    ¡°Liam?¡± I ask.


    He pops his head up. ¡°Autumn.¡±


    I notice the room closest to Liam is closed. A black ribbon is tied around the door knob and a flower pot of white roses sits on the table beside it. He must be here to mourn. With my hands in my pockets, I wander up to him.


    ¡°What are you drawing?¡± I ask.


    He sighs. ¡°Nothing yet. This was my Pawpaw¡¯s.¡± He holds a large spiral-bound sketchbook. His pencil hovers over a blank page. ¡°He inspired me to start drawing. I thought, maybe, if I drew something nice in his notebook I¡¯d feel better. But I¡¯ve just been staring at this blank page. I don¡¯t know where to start. I¡¯ll just ruin it.¡±


    Quietly, I sit down beside him on the stairs. My arm pushes against his, but he doesn¡¯t look at me. I think for a moment, then smirk.


    ¡°Can I see that?¡± I gesture to the pencil.


    He looks at me suspiciously, then hands it to me. I tap the eraser against my cheek and pretend to think for a moment. Then, I take the pencil and scratch a line across the center of the page, ruining its perfect emptiness. He gasps and looks at me.


    ¡°Start there,¡± I say, holding the pencil out toward him.


    After a moment, the shock in his eyes settles and he takes it back hesitantly. He places the pencil over my mark and begins to draw. I watch him with a proud smile as he turns my hideous line into a beautiful rose stretching over the page. Tears drop from his face and splash onto the page.


    ¡°Thank you.¡± His words shake like a hiccup.


    I wrap my arm under his and offer a gentle smile. He looks up at me with tears dripping down his cheeks. Silence falls over us as his glistening eyes meet mine. I never realized how blue they are, like a circular waterfall surrounding the deep black of his pupils. Warmth fills my chest as he leans closer.


    Suddenly, the door with the black ribbon clicks and swings open. Dr. Ward spots us on the stairs as he exits the room. Quickly, I release Liam and stand up. Dr. Ward pauses as he takes in the scene. I look past him into the room, but he shuts the door before I get a good look at anything.


    ¡°So sorry. We¡¯re still cleaning up,¡± he says with a calm smile. ¡°I didn¡¯t realize you two knew each other.¡± Ward steps in front of us, towering over us both.


    ¡°Y¡ªyeah,¡± I reply. ¡°We¡¯re friends at school.¡± I look down at Liam, who has shut his sketchbook. Then, he stands beside me and straightens out his pants.


    ¡°I¡¯m headed out actually,¡± he says.The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°You are welcome to stay as long as you¡¯d like, Mr. Baker,¡± Ward replies.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay. I¡¯ve gotta get home.¡± He turns to me and awkwardly wraps his arms around me. ¡°Thanks, Autumn.¡± I can¡¯t think fast enough to hug him back. Before I can, he releases me and walks away.


    I watch him leave. As he shuts the front door, Ward¡¯s face comes into focus. His eyebrow is raised with disappointment.


    ¡°What?¡± I ask.


    ¡°Seems like you¡¯re getting attached. Perhaps we postpone your training until you¡¯re ready to take this seriously.¡± He turns away from me and begins down the hallway.


    I quickly chase after him. ¡°No, I¡¯m ready.¡±


    He doesn¡¯t slow down for me as we walk down the hall toward the back garden. We pass Granny¡¯s room. I peek in to say hi, but she¡¯s focused on the TV. The old black and white Dracula movie has her attention. Once more, Ward doesn¡¯t slow down for me. I mentally promise to come say hi after, then catch up to him.


    ¡°Did you come prepared?¡± He asks.


    ¡°I reaped, if that¡¯s what you mean.¡± I search my mind for Mr. Tully¡¯s echo. His calmness settles over me, a sign that he¡¯s still there.


    ¡°Good. We can skip the basics then.¡± He offers a smirk.


    ¡°I¡¯m ready.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± he replies. ¡°But you will be.¡±


    <hr>


    Thicket Grove consumes light and hope like a maze with no end. Yet, deeper and deeper we go. Dr. Ward barely says a word to me as we walk. I stay close to him, keeping my head on a swivel. As our long shadows leap from tree to tree, they play tricks with my eyes. Shadows move too soon or too quickly. Sometimes an extra shadow stands where it shouldn¡¯t.


    Yet deeper and deeper we go.


    We pass the old jailhouse. It sits in the marsh, crooked and empty. My mind shudders as I imagine the corpses still rotting inside it. Ravens sit in dead silence in the branches overhead, a hungry audience waiting in anticipation. One releases a mocking giggle, sending a jolt through my bones. Invisible threads pull at my stomach the further we walk, begging me to turn around. A fog slowly descends from the sky like a blanket of emptiness. Nothing looks familiar. We must be walking North. Maybe North East. Actually, that last turn may have set us South East.


    And deeper and deeper we go.


    A small white bunny bounds between the bushes. I smile softly. At least not everything out here wants to eat me. When the bunny turns its head, bright red blood drips from the gash on its face. A fresh wound. But Ward doesn¡¯t stop. I look up at the crows overhead and I want to vomit. The bunny leaps away and disappears into the thick fog. Soon, the threads tugging at my stomach feel more like leeches sucking the energy from my soul. Just as I begin to pray we go no further, Ward stops.


    ¡°Our power is born of death.¡± His deep voice vibrates in my chest. ¡°But we are not gods. Reapers are legends who exist in the memories of the few, but in the nightmares of many. Shadow is your ally. The power you wield in that hilt is limited by the souls you consume and the emotions that compose them. Those souls burn out quickly. We are not the old monster hunters of storybooks. We are a silent death. A blade in the dark.¡±


    He steps forward, but as I begin to follow he places his hand on my shoulder.


    ¡°Wait here.¡±


    My heart slowly thumps against my ribcage as I watch him walk further and further away until only his faded silhouette is visible in the fog.


    ¡°Reach me.¡± His voice booms.


    ¡°What, you want to play tag?¡± I mock.


    ¡°Sure.¡± I can practically hear his smug grin. ¡°Tag me, and we will learn what kind of reaper you are.¡±


    ¡°I thought I was tell¨²rii, like my dad.¡±


    Admittedly, I¡¯ve avoided thinking about the kind of reaper I am. The power to weave the energy of past lives into magic is already a lot to process. But I know the truth is a Pandora¡¯s box of darker magic. Reaping echoes gets easier for me every time. Do lun¨¢rri feel the same when they consume a lost soul like Maggie? Could I ever do that? And what horrors would lead the sol¨¢rii to extinction?


    ¡°Is that all you are, Autumn?¡± Ward replies. ¡°Your father¡¯s daughter? Can¡¯t you reach higher?¡± He takes another step back and disappears into the fog completely.


    ¡°He must have been a theater kid,¡± Maggie whispers. ¡°I mean, the drama.¡±


    ¡°How is this supposed to help me fight monsters?¡± I groan.


    ¡°Yeah. Playing tag with a creepy man alone in the woods? What could go wrong?¡±


    I release a long sigh, then stare into the fog. Fuck it. I charge into the fog as fast as I can. The fog envelops my vision in white. Dr. Ward¡¯s silhouette appears exactly where I saw him last. He doesn¡¯t run from me. But a bright silver glow bursts in front of him. He wants a fight? Let¡¯s fight. I grab the hilt from my hip and ignite it. Silver dust explodes into a glowing blade.


    Dr. Ward¡¯s light suddenly grows larger and closer. It¡¯s an arrow. Before I can dodge it, the arrow pummels into my thigh. My leg immediately loses all sensation and I collapse onto the wet ground. I try to stand, but the dead leg ignores every command. The edge of numbness is marked by a ring of crawling pain around my thigh like a parade of ants marching under my skin.


    ¡°If I could sense your approach, so could a monster.¡± Dr. Ward¡¯s voice echoes around me, but I can¡¯t find him in the dense fog. I slam my sword against the glowing arrow. The arrow bursts into iridescent mist and disintegrates, but my leg is still numb.


    ¡°Now, there are consequences,¡± Dr. Ward continues. ¡°Defend yourself.¡±


    ¡°Make a shield, Autumn!¡± Maggie shouts into my skull.


    I don¡¯t know how to make a shield. I don¡¯t know how to do anything. I sit up and hold my hand out and imagine a glowing shield surrounding me. Nothing appears. Suddenly, a light flies into the air and something snaps overhead. I look up to see a large shadow falling toward me. I barely have enough time to roll out of the way before a heavy bag filled with animal fat slams onto the ground beside me. The stench of the fat and alcohol invades my senses. Then I hear another snap.


    Another fat filled burlap bag slams into my back. My body whips forward, smacking my face into the mud. The air in my lungs rockets from my body. I gasp for oxygen, heaving, begging for air to return. Panic explodes through my body as I hear Dr. Ward¡¯s footsteps approaching. I hold up my sword to defend myself. His glowing blade cracks against mine. I roll forward to swing for his legs, but his sword catches mine once more. My blade flickers and pops, then disappears. The energy sputters out with a whimper. He raises his sword high, and I wince.


    ¡°Stop!¡± I hear Maggie shout. I look up and see her appear before him. Her face is mere inches from his. I feel her rage and fear burn through me.


    Ward halts and stares at Maggie. Then, he looks down at me.


    ¡°You bound a soul,¡± he says. His smile reveals a hint of admiration. ¡°It took me three months to trap and bind my first spirit. I¡¯m impressed.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s my¡ªfriend,¡± I say as air finally returns to my lungs.


    Ward¡¯s admiration fades to disappointment. ¡°Careful Autumn. This friendship doesn¡¯t have a happy ending.¡±


    ¡°Yeah well,¡± I struggle to stand as the feeling slowly returns to my leg. ¡°Story of my life.¡±


    Dr. Ward offers to help me stand, but I push his arm away. I don¡¯t want his help, or anyone else¡¯s.


    ¡°You were going to kill me,¡± I say.


    ¡°No. But you needed to believe I would. Every encounter you have with the living or the dead could be your last. You are not a superhero. You wield death, but you are not its master.¡±


    ¡°I get it,¡± I say.


    ¡°Do you?¡± He asks sternly.


    ¡°Shadow is my ally,¡± I reply. ¡°Our powers are deadly, but limited.¡±


    ¡°Good.¡±


    ¡°I want to try again.¡±


    ¡°Very good.¡± He smiles.


    I want to wipe that smug grin off his face.


    On my second attempt, I try a slower approach. I hide in the tall grass and tip-toe as close to him as I can. I barely make it ten feet before he fires another arrow at me. It lands in the mud between my feet.


    ¡°Again!¡± He shouts.


    So again, I try. Again, I fail. This pattern continues the next day, then the next, and the next. Every day I reap another echo. Each afternoon, he lectures me on monsters, history, and tactics. Then, we enter the woods and train.


    Reaper history goes back far and much of it is hidden in lore. ¡°When creatures beyond the veil threaten the living, call upon a reaper.¡± Old journals, once interpreted as fiction, become windows into the past. There were secret societies, fraternities, and cults until The Order reigned. But there were competing ideologies. Some sought to help the living, while others wanted to defeat death. The Order eventually split and became a myth.


    Our powers are not simply wielding magic like a battery. We have to connect with our reaping and weave its emotions to fit our will. Most do so through fear, commanding the reaping through strength. According to Dr. Ward, connecting with a reaping is more powerful than commanding it, but it takes longer and is psychologically hazardous.


    On day four, I learn to make a shield. After days of failing to intimidate my reapings, I try to understand them. I connect to each echo to find a reason they would want to protect me. Some would protect me to preserve life, others would create a shield out of spite or anger. I tap into those emotions then weave them into my own, and it works. In fact, it¡¯s a pretty good shield. It arcs over me like a bubble of silver glitter, then fades away in an instant. I use it to block a few falling bags and even a couple of Ward¡¯s attacks, though my reaping is left depleted soon after.


    Weeks pass as we train in the cold. The semester is almost over, and all I can think about is outsmarting Dr. Ward. My fighting skills have improved. I¡¯m smaller and faster than him. But every time I feel like I have the upper hand, he shatters my blade. Its light flickers away and he holds his blade at my neck with a disappointed scowl. My only hope is to reach him before he notices me. But how am I supposed to sneak up on someone who knows I¡¯m coming? He always spots me before I can get close to him.


    I take one day off to investigate a haunt with Hannah and JJ. We break into the old Greenfield Theatre at night. Hannah captures a recording of what sounds like a woman singing, but it¡¯s merely an echo. I reap it and we head home. Then, it¡¯s back to training again.


    ¡°Hide your approach,¡± Dr. Ward says as we stand in the cold foggy woods. ¡°Conserve your power. Use your surroundings. Then immobilize, and finish decisively.¡±


    It¡¯s the same lecture he¡¯s given me for days.


    ¡°Death is quick and quiet,¡± I respond, reciting his lesson. ¡°It comes in the dark, and strikes without mercy.¡±


    Tonight, I replay every attempt in my head. Even when I¡¯m silent, he always predicts my attack. It reminds me of playing hide and seek with Dad. He¡¯d always find me, unless I cheated and jumpscared him first. Maggie would help sometimes, shrouding a corner in darkness and giving Dad goosebumps. Sure, I¡¯d still lose, but scaring him felt just as good as winning.


    ¡°Maggie,¡± I whisper. ¡°I¡¯ve got an idea.¡±


    ¡°Way ahead of you,¡± she giggles.


    Maggie fades into the quiet darkness, and I watch as a second shadow grows from beneath me. A clone of my long silhouette extends into the fog. I step left behind the cover of a tall twisted tree. My new shadow steps right. Slowly, I step from tree to tree, using their long twisted shadows to guide me. Suddenly, a twig snaps and I freeze.


    ¡°You¡¯re sloppy tonight, Autumn,¡± Dr. Ward says as his hilt ignites into a glowing silver bow.


    I take another step forward, but the grass crunches under heavy footsteps. Ward knocks a glowing arrow and releases it. The arrow screams through the air and slams into a tree.


    ¡°Again, Autumn!¡± He shouts.


    But I¡¯m not behind a tree. I¡¯m behind him.


    Maggie¡¯s giggle echoes through the woods as I leap forward and ignite my hilt. Ward realizes his mistake and spins to backhand me. The radiating energy of his hilt slams into my blade, shattering it immediately. But I let it, and duck under his elbow. I maintain my momentum and hammer my disabled golden hilt into his groin. He gags and stumbles forward, but responds with another swing. I hold up my other arm to summon a shield. Silver light arcs over me as his sword crashes into it. But he suddenly grabs my wrist with his other arm and twists it. His impossibly large hand wraps around my arm like a toothpick and lifts me into the air.


    I whimper and wail as my muscles stretch. He slices his blade through my arm, sending screaming pain through it. But the pain quickly fades into utter numbness, as if he¡¯s ripped my arm off. Then, he holds the blade to my neck.


    ¡°Good try,¡± he says exhaustedly. ¡°But you cheated.¡± He looks at Maggie behind me.


    ¡°Death strikes without mercy,¡± I say and look down at my other hand.


    Dr. Ward follows my gaze to spot my hilt pointed at his heart. If activated, my blade would stop his heart for at least a minute before his nerves regained function. He drops me immediately and steps back. I crumble to my knees and embrace my limp arm.


    ¡°Tag,¡± I say. ¡°You¡¯re it.¡±


    After a moment of uneasy silence, he finally deactivates his blade. Then, he laughs. A tired, but genuine laugh.


    ¡°What?¡± I ask. ¡°I won your stupid game.¡±


    His laugh subsides into a satisfied sigh. Then he steps toward me. I grip my hilt anxiously. But he kneels down and tosses my limp arm over his shoulder, then lifts me to my feet.


    ¡°You won,¡± he says.


    ¡°So when do I learn what kind of reaper I am?¡± I ask. My tone is both anxious and annoyed.


    ¡°Tomorrow.¡±

 Chapter 24

    ¡°I knew he was dead. But what frightened me more was how little it affected me.¡±


    <hr>


    The cafeteria chatter is quieter today. Students cast weary glances at one another. Their usual giggling and shouting is reduced to hushed gossiping. Even Ethan is cold today. He left class without a word to me. I¡¯ve thought over everything I could have done to upset him. I can¡¯t think of anything, but I do know why a blanket of dread hangs over the school today.


    Brennan is missing.


    His parents placed missing posters all over town. Police are everywhere, scouring the streets, visiting homes, and interrogating students. Greenfield is in a panic. I can¡¯t say I¡¯ll miss his lame insults every morning, but guilt squeezes my stomach.


    I pick at the leftover pasta on my plate as reality once again rears its head. There is a monster in the woods, and I¡¯ve done nothing to stop it. I¡¯ve been so focused on myself and my training, allowing the monster to quietly slip into the back of my mind. Once again, I¡¯m the only one who knows the truth. Brennan is probably dead.


    ¡°You¡¯re not alone,¡± Maggie says, sitting beside me.


    Hannah and JJ return from the lunch line and sit across from us.


    ¡°Hey Autumn. Hey Maggie.¡± Hannah greets us both. She¡¯s happily grown accustomed to having Maggie around, even if she can¡¯t see her. ¡°Take a look at you-know-who¡¯s table.¡± She nods to the table at the far end of the cafeteria where Brennan¡¯s friends sit. All of them are hunched over a large map, likely putting their heads together to find him. ¡°I doubt we have much time before the entire chess club goes searching in those woods for him.¡±


    ¡°We should warn them,¡± I say.


    Hannah scoffs with a french fry in her mouth. ¡°Something tells me that will have the opposite effect.¡±


    ¡°Well we can¡¯t just let them go in there,¡± I reply.


    ¡°If I went missing, would anything stop you from going in there?¡± Hannah asks pointedly. I don¡¯t reply. ¡°I¡¯m sure that isn¡¯t their first option, but eventually they¡¯ll get brave.¡± She swallows and takes a deep breath. ¡°Besides, there¡¯s something else.¡± She anxiously looks at JJ. He nods back at her assuredly.


    ¡°The suspense is killing me guys,¡± I mock.


    ¡°We found something.¡± She says, finally. ¡°We did a bit more digging on Cedar Hollow and Greenfield¡¯s history. And, well¡­¡± She pulls a stack of papers from her backpack and sets them on the table before me.


    The first page is a copy of an old newspaper ad with a plat map of Greenfield. Large type is printed across the top.


    SETTLE GREENFIELD


    PLANT YOUR FUTURE TODAY FOR A BRIGHTER TOMORROW


    THOUSANDS OF ACRES OF LUSH FOREST AND ROLLING MEADOWS


    PRICED LOW


    ¡°Okay¡­ ?¡± I say, narrowing my eyes. ¡°It¡¯s an old ad.¡±


    ¡°Look at the bottom corner,¡± JJ says.


    In the bottom right corner of the ad is an elegant W stamp, perfectly matching the one on the gates into Ward¡¯s property. Beside it is a signature. Sir Arthur Ward.


    ¡°So, Dr. Ward¡¯s grandfather sold the land for Greenfield,¡± I deduce aloud.


    ¡°That¡¯s not even the weird part,¡± Hannah says and points to the edge of the plat map. ¡°See this little restricted section in the woods? That¡¯s exactly where Cedar Hollow¡¯s ruins are.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re old ruins, that¡¯s not that crazy,¡± I reply.


    ¡°I thought so too, but then we found this.¡± She slides the top page off to reveal pages and pages of newspaper clippings.


    Headlines like ¡°GHASTLY SIGHTINGS¡±, ¡°CREATURES OF THE NIGHT¡±, and ¡°THE DEVIL OF THICKET GROVE¡± paint a scene of superstition and fear around the woods. Each of them are authored by the same man, Sir Arthur Ward.


    ¡°Looks like Dr. Ward¡¯s grandfather was a bit of a blogger himself,¡± Hannah continues. ¡°He spread these stories about the woods, even naming them Thicket Grove.¡±


    ¡°He probably wanted to keep people out,¡± I reply. ¡°There is a monster in the woods after all.¡±


    ¡°Then why sell the land in the first place?¡± JJ asks bluntly.


    His question sits in my skull for a moment. My reality begins to unravel as I question the parts of Ward I wanted to ignore. If the monster did exist back then, why would Arthur build a town right next to it?


    ¡°His family still owns that land. Did he ever mention that?¡± Hannah asks.


    I shake my head uneasily.


    ¡°Look, I¡¯m not saying Dr. Ward is the bad guy here,¡± She adds. ¡°But he clearly knows more than he¡¯s telling you.¡±


    ¡°Okay. So, what do you want me to do?¡± I ask, already knowing the answer.


    ¡°We need to get into those ruins,¡± JJ replies.


    <hr>


    Dad used to say never to trust only one source of truth. The truth is never that linear. It¡¯s a web of happenstance, consequences, and human desire. Even myths are lined with truth. But what if my only resource is Dr. Ward? I trust him. My dad did. Or did I invent that? How much of my own life is exactly as I recall? Much of it was a lie after all. I guess I just hoped that the lies had stopped. Stupid.


    The soft, high-pitched ring of tinnitus echoes in my skull as I stand outside the door to Dr. Ward¡¯s library. My head has been spinning since lunch, and the air in the mansion feels especially thin today. I pick at the last black nail on my hand. I haven¡¯t been taking the best care of myself lately, only focusing on training. Dr. Ward said he would show me what kind of reaper I am today. The last time exactly what I am was revealed to me, my world flipped upside down. But I can¡¯t seem to crush the unending desire to know where I belong, even if that truth is uncomfortable.


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to do this,¡± Maggie whispers. She appears behind me and places her hand on my shoulder. But I don¡¯t reply. I need the truth. All of it.


    I twist the old ornate door knob and push.


    Rays of soft white light reveal the slow fall of dust in the empty library. The smell of leather and paper grace my nose once more. I cross the threshold and scan the room for any life.


    ¡°Up here.¡± Dr. Ward¡¯s voice echoes from the mezzanine above.


    He stands at the top of the spiral staircase, removing gloves from his hands. He smiles as he looks down on me.


    ¡°So, what kind of reaper am I?¡± I ask flatly.


    He releases a breathy laugh. ¡°To come, I promise. I want to show you something first.¡±


    ¡°The last time you showed me something, you locked me in a prison filled with dead bodies.¡±


    ¡°Fair enough.¡± He offers up his hands in defeat. ¡°Today I¡¯m experimenting with a more positive reinforcement approach. A gift.¡±


    ¡°Ooooooo, we love presents.¡± Maggie floats beside me.


    ¡°Well, you¡¯re welcome to join us Maggie,¡± Dr. Ward says.


    She grabs my hand and pulls me up the stairs. Dr. Ward stands beside a long table in the center of the room with a blanket draped over it. Lumps in the cloth hint at something hidden beneath it. The smell of chemicals directs my attention to a small table of cleaning supplies and various tools. Nothing in this library looks clean enough to warrant such chemicals. I¡¯m not certain he¡¯s even dusted anything in months. Doubt swells in my mind once more. What is he hiding?This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    ¡°I know I¡¯ve been hard on you, Autumn. I¡¯ve tried to train you in a similar manner to which I was raised. Though even I had the company of friends then, other reapers like me who wanted to protect the living and the dead. We wanted to master our abilities and become immortal gods of death.¡± He chuckles, but it fades as a sadder thought seems to enter his mind. ¡°Not all of those friends survived training. None of them are alive today. But you have done so much on your own. You adapt quickly. You are fierce and perceptive. You will make a formidable reaper. So, I think it¡¯s time you had a cloak of your own.¡±


    Dr. Ward pulls the blanket away to reveal a black cloak laid across the table. Leather straps and buckles connect its pieces together. I brush my fingers over the fabric and feel the hard bumps over the chest area. A rib cage is sewn under the fabric. Bones are woven into every piece of the cloak, but not exposed like the one Ward had me use.


    ¡°I kept the theatrics to a minimum and hid the bone where I could. I doubt it would be taken well these days if a young woman was seen covered in human remains.¡±


    ¡°Where did you get them?¡± I ask.


    ¡°In the early years of Mortis Custodes, young reapers were raised with a mundane squire. That squire would accompany them everywhere, even through training. They rarely survived long. Reapers would honor the dead by sewing the bones of their squires into their cloak. It was a rite of passage. However, we no longer subscribe to such barbaric practices. These are the bones from the prison. I gathered and cleaned them, then burned the remains. It was the site of your first reaping, so it feels fitting.¡±


    I pinch the soft wool between my fingers and feel the tiny bones within it. Black leather straps connect it all together. Elegant patterns are woven into the wide hood. For a doctor, he makes quite the tailor. I can¡¯t deny the dark satisfaction it brings to have a cloak of my own. Sure, the bones are a bit disturbing, but I conquered that jail. I faced those horrors. And I came out stronger.


    ¡°You¡¯ve earned this, Autumn. I¡¯m proud of you.¡± His words crash into my soul.


    I struggle to think of any response. Hairs prickle up my arms as I grip the fabric. I can¡¯t remember the last time I¡¯ve heard anyone utter those words, yet I never knew how much I missed the sound of them. Immobilized by the weight of my emotions I only look up at him and smile.


    ¡°I¡¯m glad you like it,¡± he says with a smirk. ¡°After today, it¡¯s yours to wear.¡± He pauses for a moment and leans against the wall, wrestling with his next thoughts. Then his eyes meet mine again. ¡°I know you¡¯re afraid you might actually be lun¨¢rri,¡± he finally says.


    I look away. ¡°I¡¯m not afraid.¡±


    ¡°No? Well, it¡¯s unlikely anyway, since your father wasn¡¯t. But if you are, embrace it.¡± He steps away from the wall and opens a drawer on his desk to retrieve a small match box. He pulls out a single match and strikes it. The small flame bursts to life between his fingers. ¡°Your echoes are like this match. Bright, warm, and they can save your life in a pinch.¡± Slowly, the flame burns down the match. ¡°But they burn out quickly.¡± He then picks up a wax candle from one of the sconces on the wall and passes the flame to it. ¡°A spirit burns much longer and brighter.¡± He paces around the room as he begins another one of his lectures.


    ¡°The emotions that compose a soul fuel your magic. When you reap an echo, you feel a reflection of those emotions. A few colors of the past. But imagine accessing all of them at once. That power can defeat monsters, and it has for centuries. Do you know why most paintings of the Grim Reaper appear in the late middle ages?¡±


    ¡°The Black Death?¡± I reply, folding my arms waiting for the point of this history lesson.


    ¡°Exactly. There is nothing more powerful than the human soul, save for the soul that still breathes. As we age that power fades. And the moment a soul leaves its body, that power drains until only madness remains. So it¡¯s no wonder reapers are often associated with death throughout history. One always seemed to be around where death was plenty.¡±


    ¡°But what remains after a reaping?¡± I ask.


    He looks back at me inquisitively.


    ¡°Does that soul cross over, or is it destroyed?¡± My question hangs in the air awkwardly.


    Dr. Ward takes a deep breath. ¡°Your respect for human life is what makes you so strong. We fight to save lives, at any cost.¡± He pats my shoulder and begins to walk down the stairs.


    ¡°Where are we going?¡± I ask.


    ¡°No use talking about it anymore, reaper. Do you want the truth or not?¡± He replies merrily.


    Maggie offers an encouraging grin and tilts her head, gesturing to follow him. I rush to follow Ward out the library and into the hallway. I mentally prepare myself for the woods once more, knowing this next test is likely somewhere deep within Thicket Grove. It¡¯s gotten easier over the days to put on a brave face and endure the Grove, but the weight of its hollowness never goes away. Behind every tree, I can feel the eyes of the past watching me. I¡¯ve never gained the courage to look back. But I¡¯m a reaper, and today I will look back into that darkness.


    Then, Dr. Ward turns left, not toward the back of the house. Not toward the woods. Instead, he walks toward the front.


    My excitement shifts into anxiety and I pause. I look right. Two doors down is Granny¡¯s room. At the end of the hall is the back door. I never thought I¡¯d actually prefer the woods. It¡¯s a dread I know, one locked behind the shadows of crooked branches. I look left, back to Dr. Ward getting further and further away. What horrors are this close to home?


    The hall stretches out before me like a nightmare as I step forward. I follow Ward past door after door until we reach the large open foyer. Then, beside the stairs, at a door with a black ribbon tied around the door knob, he stops. The blood drains from my face when he looks back at me. His kind smile does nothing to disarm my fears. He then turns the door knob and pushes the door open.


    ¡°What are we doing?¡± I ask as my mind spins to think of any other reason than the only one that makes any sense. Please, not that.


    Dr. Ward¡¯s smile fades and he steps into the room.


    Slowly, I peek my head inside. My stomach churns. Bile crawls up my throat. The walls stretch in and out and tinnitus screams in my skull. But before I know it, I¡¯m inside the damned room, staring at the eyeless soul of Mr. Baker.


    Dr. Ward shuts the door behind me and locks it.


    ¡°What is this?¡± I ask.


    Panic swirls in my head. A thin translucent thread hangs beside the bed, only a few feet from Mr. Baker. His sad, tired face looks back at me with hope. A hope that dies when Ward steps beside me.


    ¡°He¡¯s hurting!¡± Maggie shouts as she rushes toward him. She twirls around him, inspecting him. But the answer is easy for her to find. A circle of salt is poured around his feet like a small prison. Before I can stop her, Maggie attempts to grab the salt and brush it away. I wince as she screams in pain.


    I run to her and fall to my knees. I cup my hands around hers and look back at Dr. Ward. His long shadow stretches far into the room. He steps forward and that darkness crawls over me like a blanket of spiders.


    ¡°Enough, reaper.¡± His words snap like a snake bite. He steps between Mr. Baker and I, looming high above me. He looks at Mr. Baker who glares back at him. His eyes, a brew of hate and fear.


    I stand, rising only as high as Dr. Ward¡¯s chest.


    ¡°Move.¡± I say as tears boil in my eyes. ¡°I need to help him.¡±


    Dr. Ward releases a long disappointed sigh. ¡°No, Autumn. There is only one way to learn if you¡¯re lun¨¢rri.¡± His voice scratches against my heart with every word. ¡°Reap him.¡±


    ¡°MOVE!¡± I shove against him, but he holds like a wall.


    ¡°This is your reality!¡± He shouts back. ¡°It isn¡¯t easy, but necessary.¡±


    ¡°Granny was right. You¡¯re a fucking monster!¡± Tears pour down my cheeks.


    ¡°These souls are your fuel to fight the real monsters out there. They¡¯re far more powerful than your echoes. One soul could last months. I warned you of your attachments. Mundane souls are your food, nothing more. This town, all of Greenfield, is your pasture. All so you can fight the real monsters out there.¡±


    ¡°And yet you¡¯ve told me nothing of the monster out there!¡± I shout back, pointing to the window facing the woods. ¡°You even called it a she. You know what it is! But you won¡¯t kill it. Why?¡±


    His eyes narrow. ¡°Spooks, you¡ª¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t get to call me that!¡± I scream through tears and duck under his arm to reach Mr. Baker.


    Ward steps to the side and shoves me with his full weight. Pain burns into my side as I slam into an old wooden dresser. I grab my hilt and ignite it. Static whips around the room. My eyes throb as the veins on my cheek pulse. Immediately, my vision bursts with light as silver threads cascade around the room, pouring from Mr. Baker and Dr. Ward.


    I charge him. He ignites his blade and tenses his lips with disappointment. In one move he shatters my blade and slams his elbow into my face. My hilt drops to the hardwood floor. Hot blood bubbles from my nose and drips down my throat. He grabs my neck and pins me against the wall.


    ¡°Autumn!¡± Maggie shouts.


    Ward points his blade toward her without even looking.


    ¡°Maggie, don¡¯t,¡± I cough.


    ¡°You need to calm down, Autumn,¡± he commands. ¡°Like it or not, this is who you are. This is who we are.¡±


    I spit. My blood sprays across his face. ¡°You¡¯re a fucking devil.¡± I feel hot rage burn in my chest, like a storm about to release hellfire. I search for my reaping, but all I feel is my own hatred.


    ¡°Devils imply the existence of angels. There is no good or evil. Only perspective.¡± He presses hard against my throat, lifting me to my toes. ¡°And yours is childish¡ª¡± Then his face drops as if he¡¯s spotted something. Maybe he sees the devil he¡¯s become in the reflection of my black eyes. Whatever it is, it¡¯s an opportunity.


    I feel the hot rage burn through my body. The same heat I felt in the Windy House. I grab his arm and growl, ¡°Burn!¡±


    White gold lighting bursts from my hand. Dr. Ward screams and releases me. I drop to the floor holding my neck. I have to move quickly. I lunge toward Mr. Baker and wipe the salt away.


    ¡°Go!¡± I shout.


    He nods and leaps toward the portal thread. He touches it and disappears in a burst of light. The thread then disintegrates into a cloud of glittering dust. The glitter floats into me, warming my skin, and Mr. Baker¡¯s presence fills my heart with gratitude and hope.


    Dr. Ward grits his teeth and glares at me like I¡¯m some disobedient dog.


    Hide. I command Maggie through our bond. She quickly vanishes and returns to the sasquatch in my backpack.


    I charge toward Dr. Ward once more. He raises his blade to swing, but I suddenly change course and drop. I roll across the floor and pick up my hilt. Ward bolts for the door to cut me off, but I have other plans. I stretch my arm out and release a burst of kinetic energy from my palm. The wave of force shatters the window into tiny pieces.


    ¡°Autumn, stop!¡± Dr. Ward shouts.


    But he¡¯s too late. I dive out the window.


    I land into the finely trimmed hedges outside. Their branches scratch against my skin as I roll to untangle myself from them. My blood drips onto the white snow as I crawl out. Desperately, I get to my feet and bolt across the lawn. Every breath of cold air stings like needles in my chest as I run as fast as my body will allow.


    I¡¯m done with the lies. I¡¯m done fearing the dark. Only I can control my future. Only I can discover the truth. Only I can save these people. I run, run, and run. Until I cross the threshold of Thicket Grove.