My dad never had one, and I blamed my mood swings on the mother I never knew. Or the moon. “You phase with the moon, child,” Marietta’s words swam in my head.
Either way, the lump turned into a pumpkin and dropped into my stomach, knowing these people may have already made a judgment call about me.
Townies watched as I marched across the lawn surrounding the gazebo, heading straight toward Milo, who lifted off his back and shooed the girl’s hands away. I halted at their feet and shook the newspaper out in front of me until it laid flat in my hand.
“The only descendent of Tobias Morgan returns, but what does this mean for Weeping Hollow …” I read off, then flitted my eyes to deliver a menacing glare. Milo took off his newsboy hat and pushed his hand through his fluffy curls, his lips pressed firmly together. So, I continued, “If there is one thing I am certain of, no one is as innocent as they seem.”
“That’s a fact,” the girl beside Milo pointed out, and my domineering gaze shifted to her. “What?” Her matter-of-fact voice turned into a whisper as she looked away. “No one really is innocent.”
“River, not now,” Milo mumbled.
My glare narrowed. “This is slander.”
Milo dropped his hand over his stretched thighs and sat back. “I didn’t think you’d be upset about it. It’s just an article.”
I threw the newspaper at him, and he caught it before it hit his face. “Find someone else to write about.” I’d made my point and didn’t want to hear more, so I turned and stormed back to my scooter with my skin heated and my mind in a frenzy.
“People want to know about you,” Milo shouted at my back. “I only give the people what they want.”
A pair of ravens sat side by side over the giant Blackwell mausoleum, their high-pitched squawking shattering in my ears, tiny black eyes following my movements as I walked deeper into the cemetery and toward the back. The slithering fog returned and blanketed the gravestones. Tombs disappeared into the damp void, and I shivered inside my jacket.
I rounded the corner of the funeral home to find Monday leaning against the brick wall in a black terry cloth tracksuit. The bottoms of her pants were tucked inside red hunter boots, almost as if she refused to wear all black. A ray of color in this depressing town, Monday was easily likable. So easy, it almost seemed as fake as the girls back at Johnson High School, which made me wish I had more experience in the friend department—the ability to tell the difference.
“I didn’t think you were going to show,” she admitted through a sigh.
I wrapped my jacket tight around my chest and crossed my arms to keep it pinned. “I said I would come. What are we doing here, anyway?” It was dark and late. What could we possibly be doing back here, isolated and far from the gathering going on at Town Square?
Monday lifted off the wall and started a casual trek toward the woods. “I want to show you something, and after you see this, you’ll never want to go near those Hollow Heathens.”
There was no direct path, but Monday seemed to know the way as I followed close behind. Twigs broke beneath our boots as we wandered past the train tracks and deeper into the woods. The trees swayed like a Danse Macabre ballet, their branches dancing over our heads. The only light was the burnished moon filtering through the twisted limbs, and if you listened closely, you could hear the trees talking, their restless leaves spilling the secrets of the night. I kept my eyes in front of me, following the bright red ribbon neatly tied in Monday’s high ponytail.
Off in the distance, a vast, circular object curved above the tree line to my left. “Is that a Ferris wheel?”
“A Ferris wheel?” Monday twirled and looked to where my finger was pointing, the moonlight casting over half her face. “I don’t see anything.”
“Right there,” I nudged my finger, “What’s a Ferris wheel doing in the middle of the woods?”
“Shh, we’re almost there.” Monday faced forward again, her steps slowing.
After a few more yards, an orange glow flickered between the trees. Deep red and orange sparks flew up past the branches and into the night sky. Smoke billowed between the branches above, and Monday grabbed my wrist and yanked me behind a fallen tree trunk. She crouched, taking me down with her.
Two men stood before the fire from this angle, their bare chests glistening against the embers and flames as the wood crackled. The fire reflected off their callous eyes within the two holes of the black masks over their heads, dress pants hanging loosely off their hips. I raised from behind the log and kicked my leg over, needing to get closer. I needed to see more.
“No, don’t! Where are you going?” Monday whispered in a panic.
“I can’t see.” I raised my hand behind me, gesturing for her to stay put. Hunched over, I crept to a closer tree, and the hot blaze from the fire licked my face. The other two men came into view, all four of them in a complete circle with their long torso’s bare and heads covered by the drop cloths, except one. An animal skull secured to the fourth member’s face, his mouth partly visible. Flickering flames and distance were the only barriers between the Hollow Heathens and me—between Julian Blackwell and me.
My eyes fixed on the way his mouth moved under the shadow of the skull, slow and precise and bewitching as the raging fire drowned out his haunting words. White clouds from the icy night slipped from my parted lips with every breath I released, obscuring my view of him.
There was a rope tied around Julian’s wrist, and he turned slightly, gently tugging the rope when a goat appeared at his side in front of the fire. Beads of sweat rolled down his chest and followed the currents of the prominent lines of his stomach toward the black pants hanging off his hipbones. He ran his palm from the goat’s head down its back, whispering into the animal’s ear.
Julian paused for a moment with his lips parted, then tilted his head.
Though I couldn’t see his eyes behind the skull, I was certain he saw mine. I felt them on me like they were his fingers, and sweat raced down my spine under my thick layers as I froze in place behind the tree. My breath caught, a bubble of air begging to release from my lungs as he continued to whisper into the goat’s ear, his long fingers drifting up and down the copper brown fur, bringing calmness and releasing the goat’s fear.
Chanting grew louder, picking up like the thrashing heartbeat in my ears. Julian reached behind him and pulled out a long sharp blade, and the hellish flames reflected off the metal.
Then he brought it to the goat’s throat! and I wanted to scream out. I wanted to cry. But nothing materialized. My senses went numb, only able to dig my nails into the tree bark.
Julian glanced once more at me, and I knew what was to come.
“No …” It came out as a breathy gasp as I shook my head and slammed my eyes closed.
The thump! against the earth didn’t happen for a long time. With my lips sucked in and fingernails embedded deep into the tree, I waited. It was only seconds but felt like forever, which was sometimes how long forever could last, especially for the goat.
And the chanting stopped, but I refused to open my eyes. I refused to believe what had to have happened from only feet in front of me, what Julian had just done, the life he’d taken.
A cool wind swept across my face.