And it wasn’t like it was irreparable vandalism anyway. I had nothing against the McClanahans.
I just wanted to freak them out a little, so they’d rethink their agenda. Will and I had the same goal, albeit for different reasons.
The grave had become a local legend. In Will’s mind, Edward McClanahan belonged to everyone.
In my mind, if he stayed in his grave, my brother would be shit out of luck on buying it.
Will moved around the wrought-iron fence surrounding the crypt, fitting all the scarecrows we stole from Mr. Ganz’s Halloween yard display and the basketballs we also stole from the supply closet onto each head.
I stared at the McClanahan tomb, its dark, stained-glass windows and smooth, new stone, unmarred and clean. Brand new and ready for use.
“He shouldn’t be moved, right?” I asked, making sure we were still on the same page.
“Right.”
After we’d left the dance, I sent him to the gym while I raced to the bio lab and stole all the dead animals floating in jars full of formaldehyde. I put them on a cart, wheeled them to a window, and Will drove up with his truck and helped me load.
After making a couple of more stops, we were here. Ready to show the McClanahans what would happen if they moved Edward.
The vigil… would follow him. Year after year, unfailing, and complete with a Children of the Corn vibe.
If they didn’t want their final resting place to become a pilgrimage for messy, destructive, sexually active teens, they’d change their minds.
I took one more look around the cemetery, making sure we were alone as I lit the candles.
Only the shadows of the trees on the grass—blue in the moonlight—moved as the breeze shook the leaves free off their branches.
I half expected Will to try to take out his phone to film this, but thankfully, he didn’t. I didn’t want to wind up on one his videos.
Adding the dead animal offerings, I checked to see that Will had finished the scarecrows, complete with basketball heads and scary faces drawn in Sharpie with forbidding eyebrows and teeth.
I laughed and rolled my eyes, hearing him snort at his own cleverness as he moved around the fence.
I stuck in the tiki torches from Will’s garage around the crypt, lighting them, and then fished some light green chalk out of one of the bags that I’d grabbed from bio lab.
Running inside the fence, I raised the chalk to the stone, about to start the vandalism part, but I looked up at the stained-glass windows once more, hesitating.
“It is empty?” I said again. “Right?”
I didn’t feel bad about the vandalism or petty theft, but I would if people were laid to rest in there right now.
But he just shook his head. “They just finished it. No tenants yet.”
I nodded, squeezing the chalk. Go to hell, then, Martin.
Hurrying, I drew triple Xs all over the wall, reading in one of my coffee table books about a ritual where you draw the symbols on a tomb, making a wish. If the dead grant it, you have to come back and leave an offering and circle the Xs.
It was washable, and the tomb would be good as new when they cleaned it, but if the spark caught fire with the public, they’d be continually cleaning this tomb for a century.
Will grabbed a blue piece and helped, both of us smiling and rushing, because it would be no good if we got caught, especially me, and he knew it.
I grabbed the bag off the grass that I used to haul the candles, and we backed away, staring at the McClanahans’ newest nightmare.
“Hey!” someone yelled.
I sucked in a breath.
“Oh, shit.” Will grabbed my hand and pulled me, running down the slope. I looked behind me, seeing a man in a khaki uniform jogging after us.
Oh, my God!
I squealed, laughing as Will dragged me through the trees, around a tomb, and past the fountain.
I dug in my heels, trying to keep up as the cold air whipped across my face.
Will yanked me behind a massive headstone, and we hid, Will peering around the corner to see if we’d made it.
He’d left the truck parked just on the other side of the tree line, otherwise anyone would’ve known his vehicle. It was a pain in the ass, dragging all that stuff in three trips, but man, that was worth it.
I hugged his arm, still shaking with laughter.
He turned, smiling as he gazed into my eyes. “I love seeing you laugh.”
I dipped my forehead to his, my body filled with excitement and more freedom than I’d ever felt in my whole life.
“More,” I begged.
He took my hand in his, caressing my jaw. “Yeah? I have just the place.”
• • •
An hour later, I laughed, squeezing his hand and feeling that drop in my stomach as the pirate ship swayed back and forth.
Shit. I squealed, butterflies swarming my stomach as the ride slowed, the tires screeching against the bottom as we went up, caught air for a split second, and then fell back down, the wind blowing through my hair.
Why the hell didn’t I come here more often? How many people could have roller coasters in their lives every day?
It was kind of pricey, I guess. The cost for a ticket kept getting more and more expensive as Adventure Cove struggled to stay open over the years.
The bars came up, and Will and I climbed out, laughing down the steps.
“It’s my favorite ride,” he said. “Nothing quite like the sensation of free falling.”
Nope. It was better than the best roller coaster. I looked up at Will, seeing him pull cash out of his wallet and then take a stick of pink cotton candy, handing it to me as he took his change.
“You want my jacket?” he asked as we started to walk again.
I picked off some of the fluffy sugar. “I’m okay.”
I stuck the candy in my mouth, honestly a little chilly, but I was loving the wind too much. I was like my grandmother that way.
We walked, the sounds of the park raging around us—screams and coaster tracks and bells ringing from the game booths…
The sea air wafted through my nostrils, and I looked past the Ferris wheel, deep into the dark where I couldn’t see it, but I knew it was there.
The coast and the ocean and Cold Point—the edge that dropped off onto the rocks and into the sea.
Will leaned over and picked off some candy, and I did the same, warming when his arm brushed mine. His other hand rested on the small of my back, and I felt his eyes on me.
“Have you ever heard of The Carfax Room?” I asked, picking off more candy and eating it.
“Sure,” he said. “It’s like Edward McClanahan and Blackchurch and EverNight. Another Thunder Bay urban legend.”
I turned my head, looking up at him. “What’s Blackchurch?”
“A house.” He shrugged. “Supposedly.”
He paused, eating more, and we passed game booths where a few people played. The park wasn’t too crowded tonight, some middle schoolers making it louder than normal.
He continued, “No one knows where it is, if it’s even real, but stories abound of rich, young men who can’t behave being ferried away there to be hidden.”
He’d hesitated, like he couldn’t think of a better word.
“Hidden?” I pressed.
He laughed under his breath. “Well, we can’t be arrested,” he pointed out as if I should’ve known. “It looks bad for the family, you know? So, moms and dads will send you to Blackchurch if you become too uncontrollable. You just disappear. Overnight. Legend has it that it’s remote, secluded, and wild.”