Henry Jon
Spring 1694
Seattle
We were long past the darkness of the trials, but we soon found out we would never be done fighting the evil among us. The days were longer, giving us more light to work in our favor. An ache in my bones told me something was coming and I needed to be prepared.
Every night I prayed, and every morning I woke in the same bliss, I could have cried a grateful tear.
When the mysterious settlers came across our village from the woods, I knew God was frowning upon us and preparing me in my sleep. This was the battle I was waiting for. Those deranged girls with their dead flowers and book of evils went quietly into the night, too quietly. These were the demons crawling up from Hell as penance for sending their sisters home by fire.
Revenge.
Retribution.
We disrespected the balance.
I waited, counting my blessing and watching them settle on the edge of our village with ease. They mocked me when they evinced in my direction at the market or walking past the church bells. It came as no surprise when their leader caught the fair eye of my Rosalia.
She was beguiled quickly by the evil I knew him to be. My child of the one true God was dancing with the Devil.
The children were never seen at worship. They didn't carry the Bible, and they let the mischief in their irises make questioning who made them simple. They went about town sharing their stories, their beliefs shaming our dedication to God with their myths. The false gods they worshipped were nothing but a bad nightmare to scare the children into faith. They were using it to convert my people, my town, and spitting on my religion.
They wouldn't escape my watchful eye.
Arianna
You know that storm of butterflies that induces a slight sweat and your anxiety kicks into gear, readying to drive you into fight or flight? That was me every six months.
I never adjusted to being permanently new. I never felt rooted to anyone or anything. I was always willing to say goodbye at every moment, through all of my firsts, making them suddenly lasts.
The new kid… again. Great.
I stood in the middle of the room I was assigned to at the Arcadia Preparatory School for the forgotten, left behind, and otherwise independent.
I didn’t begin to ponder which one I was. I wasn’t ready for that kind of truth.
Painfully real observations are my specialty when it comes to the rest of the world. I had a sharp tongue, constantly breaking its cage of teeth to tactlessly hurt people in the wrong way. I was still learning to wield this kind of power in my words.
My dad was brand A military grade quiet, which only made my tongue even more antsy to do the talking for someone else too. It was only him and I after mama passed when I was ten. Naturally I absorbed her silence too, turning it into blabbering. Synchronously, that was the exact time we lost our grip on our sanity. We took her for granted, every minute, up until we lost her. Suddenly, we were fighting to learn how to do anything for ourselves.
I stumbled my way through puberty, barely making it to womanhood with no real female gracing my presence—not a permanent one anyways. Just my highly decorated military dad, who was a ranger and who spent more time overseas than actually in the country he swore to protect. He left me constantly to bounce around from different extended family and friends.
I assessed the old, ancient even, iron gates of Arcadia Prep, while our car was stopped, waiting for them to open. My dad had to press a button on a com for the iron to break down the middle and let us in.
I was hoping it’d stay closed.
The driveway was more like a dirt road being stalked by thick woods on either side, lined with old streetlamps and nothing giving away that this was, in fact, a school.
Everything after we passed through the iron gates seemed eerie. This didn’t seem like a normal boarding school—at least not a happy one. There was a thick fog as the temperature shifted from the blazing highs of summer to the slight chill of autumn.
Seattle wasn’t Texas; that much was obvious. The only gloomy parts of Texas were in the outskirts, away from the cities, where the land was flat and resembled The Texas Chainsaw Massacre’s aesthetic. I was in Austin with my aunt last, which was far from horrific. The city was the power source for starving artists and hip cafes.
Arcadia Prep wasn’t home—not even close.
The main building was all stone and brick, historically old and not impressing me. History was my least favorite subject. The building sat much further away from the rest of the campus, with pathways reaching out in every direction to other larger buildings. I grabbed my bag and tossed a stick of gum into my mouth, as I unwillingly got out of the car with a nudge from my dad, hitting my knee.
A woman in an all-black, floor-length dress, with a long face that hollowed at her eyes and cheeks, “greeted” us, which didn’t help me see this change in a positive light. It was all still creepy as fuck.
“Welcome to Arcadia Prep, the school for the wise and intelligent leaders of tomorrow. You must be Arianna?”
I laughed at her saying my name. She tried to say it with an upscale twist like I was some elite leader of tomorrow. “No, it’s pronounced the shitty way. Just plain Arianna.”
She crossed her arms unamused. My dad scolded me silently, while he introduced himself and dragged my bags behind him. I refused to make this transition any easier for anyone involved.
The woman who was guiding our Arcadia Prep tour wasn’t even close to friendly. Her voice was a shrill tone that made goosebumps along my spine.
She actually used skeleton keys to unlock the door we finally stopped at which sent the goosebumps further down my arms. I had watched my fair share of scary movies, wondering too hard how those people felt, in the middle of sheer horror.
Now, I knew.
She was tall but that was no reason to literally look down at people. I was painfully aware I didn’t belong here with my purple hair, Doc Martens, and jean jacket that was from the 80’s. I let people associate me with being a Stranger Things super fan, instead of telling people it was my dead mom’s.
I made that mistake at school number three this year with what I learned later was the mean girl. Suffice to say, it didn't work out in my favor when I landed in the principal’s office after she thought of using my dead mom to torture me.
Our creepy guide huffed, waiting for my father, who was trailing too far behind us, carrying my duffle that really looked like a body bag and wheeling two suitcases I refused to wheel in myself. I had looked at the brochure the whole way here, like it would magically illuminate a way out of bad behavior. My attitude could grow into a monster which got me kicked out of my last three schools and made a good case for having me banned in the tri-state area from public school. Guess that’s how I ended up at Arcadia Prep—at boarding school.
Did I mention that it was my senior year, on top of being new? Double whammy.
The room was suffocatingly small and even the walls were wood paneling. The one small window dividing the twin-sized beds in the room barely illuminated the completely dark side belonging to my roommate.
Yes, a roommate my senior year of high school. What could go wrong putting two hormonal girls, who are strangers, together in one room for a year?
I desperately missed my bedroom that was all to myself at my last stay-cation. That’s what I called long vacations with no real destination. I was the residency guest at various homes.