Eden! That’s the woman who sits on the board for the Sterling Foundation. Eden Kruger. Her maiden name is Clark. Scott Clark is her father. Scott Clark, the magic seed pusher, the Cedarville scammer.
“Holy shit,” I mutter.
If I had dug a little deeper, searched a little harder, I would have seen the forest for the trees early on. But once I knew what I was looking for, it was all easy to find. The connections . . .
—Patrick Ridgefield, heart surgeon
Also part owner of Lost Keys, the contracted architecture firm hired through the city for the redevelopment project, and city board member, approving budget.
—Richard Cummings, retired football player and community activist
Also the owner of Big Ville, a for-profit prison.
—Eden Kruger, philanthropist
Also the daughter of Scott Clark, magic seed scammer.
—Linda Russo, partner at Kings, Rothman & Russo Law
Connected to the Russo Empire mafia.
—Ian Petrov, CEO of Key Stone Group Real Estate
His name is on the deed for over fifty properties in Maplewood. All of which are abandoned. And he has kept them that way for over thirty years, leaving the Wood to look like it’s in shambles when it could be so much better.
Dad was right; this is a game of chess. And all the pieces have been moved in place to checkmate Maplewood.
“Dude,” Tamara says over the phone. “This is like major true crimes–type investigation shit we’re doing here. A haunted house and now this . . . you can come live on my floor for the rest of high school. My mom won’t mind.”
Knowing the Foundation was watching, I placed a call from one of the Riverfront casinos’ free phones to the only person I knew who could rock this research stuff.
“There’s another thing,” Tamara says. “You mentioned something about Devil’s Night, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Dude, it’s, like, all over Instagram. You don’t see it?”
I pull out my phone again and try. “No. Nothing under the hashtag. It’s empty.”
“Hm,” Tamara huffs. “Well, then . . . I think it’s been shadow banned.”
“What’s that mean?”
“It’s when a certain hashtag is blocked from people seeing any content related to it. So, like, I’m looking at photos of Devil’s Night in Cedarville here in California, but you don’t see them at all. Which means . . .”
“They’re banning the content so no one can see what’s happening in Maplewood! But why?”
Tamara clicks her tongue. “Dude, you have to get out of there. And judging by the pictures I’m about to send you, you better be out of there before Halloween.”
Snuggled in a bed made of blankets and pillows on the floor next to Sam, Buddy snores beside me as I stare at the ceiling. I can’t even pretend to sleep. Not after seeing the eight photos of Devil’s Night Tamara sent. Each one worse than the one before. Fires raging on almost every street corner, homes massive fireballs turning the sky orange. Sobbing neighbors, standing in front of their own well-lived-in homes, desperate to save them. Seems they got the shitty outcome of a very shitty situation. I know, not super eloquent, but it’s the truth.
Some of the houses I recognize from my morning runs. The charred remains barely standing, now surrounded by weeds, like warped monuments to the past. The more recent photos of Devil’s Night didn’t have many burning homes, just a few lit-up trash cans.
But it all seems so tenuous, like we’re sitting in a false sense of safety. This place could easily slip back into old habits.
CREAK
I’ve been up enough nights to recognize the different sounds the house makes. And I know without question the bathroom door just opened down the hall, yet no one walked in there.
Buddy tenses, his ears perked, staring at the door, a chair and rope tied around it, keeping it locked.
CREAK
Sammy suddenly sits up, scrambling for his flashlight. Fear tightens its hand around my throat and squeezes.
“Did you hear that?” I whisper.
Slack-jawed, Sammy only nods in response. And I’m not going to lie. It feels good, having someone else experience this with me. Feels good not being so alone. But I hate that it has to be Sam. He’s already been through so much. And I’m partly to blame.
Thump. Thump.
Footsteps outside. Something is walking downstairs. I can’t believe Alec or Mom doesn’t hear this. They can’t be that tired.
The footsteps thump down the hall, into the kitchen. Water trickles out a faucet; cups clink. Buddy leaps to his feet, his fur bristling, and I grip his collar, holding him back. Don’t want him to chase the noise away.
This time, we welcome it.
In the morning, Sammy collects all the hidden cameras set up in the kitchen and family room.
“We definitely caught something last night,” Sammy says, grinning. He takes the cameras over to the TV, playing with the various wires, and I find myself impressed by his nerdy techy skills, how handy they’ve become in times of need. I can barely charge my phone without assistance.
“Okay, I think I’ve got it,” he says, switching inputs, and in pops a frozen image of the kitchen with night vision.
“Can I just say . . . this is very Paranormal Activity.”
Sammy glares at me. “Don’t say that.”
“Why?”
“You clearly didn’t see the end of that movie either.”
My back tenses. Oh boy.
“Mom! Alec!” Sammy calls upstairs. “Can you come down here for a minute?”
After somehow corralling our parents onto the family room sofa, Sammy stands proudly next to the TV, camera in hand.
“What I’m about to show you is going to blow your minds,” he announces like the opening act of a magic show. “It’s the proof that we need.”
Mom and Alec share a curious glance and chuckle.
“Proof of what?” Mom asks.
“You’ll see! Mari, hit the lights.”
In the darkened room, Sammy speeds up the playback for the kitchen camera. Most of the night, no activity. Then, at the 2:52 a.m. mark, something moves in the corner. The light pops on, the kitchen empty. Mom and Alec sit up straighter. I hold my breath, watching them study the screen, just as eager to see the face of the monster that’s been haunting me for the past two months. But it’s only Piper in her powder-blue pajamas, entering the kitchen, reaching over the sink, filling a cup with water.
Sammy’s mouth drops.
We watch Piper stop in the middle of the room to take a big sip, and though it’s somewhat hard to tell, she seems to be looking directly into the camera.
I whip my head around, finding Piper standing in the hallway, staring right at me. A laugh on her lips.
She’s playing us.
Mom’s frown deepens. “What are we supposed to be looking at here?”
In the video, Piper wipes her mouth and places the cup on the counter. Almost in the same spot I’ve found cups before.
Sammy stumbles over his words. “But . . . we heard something last night.”
Alec raises an eyebrow. “Why were you spying on Piper?”
Quickly, I leap over to grab the remote and turn off the TV.
“False alarm,” I blurt out, before the conversation could go left. “Taking Buddy for a walk. Sam, come on!”