Chapter 3

Perry rode his bike into the garage door, and the wheel scuffed the bottom of it, leaving a streak of black. The other night, I heard Mom scolding him about it across the hall while I was on my computer in my bedroom; it was background noise, but I see it now — the scuff — along with so many little things. The number of smudges and marks on my windshield. The spiderweb tucked in the white gable of the garage roof. I see the speckles of dust and crumbs in my cupholders, the fifty-five cents and hair tie in another small compartment, and the slight droop of the mirror cover on my sun visor.

Every time I close my eyes, I see those bright, animal-like ones in the black of the woods, beaming at me.

Time doesn't seem to pass as I sit in my car, but the sun rises, making me rouse. My phone died while I was at work — I never called home to tell anyone I'm stuck in the driveway.

My eyes are dry from my sleeplessness, and my body moves sluggishly. I pop open my door and shiver when fresh air blows in. Tear stains line my cheeks below my puffy eyes, salty and tight. A sense of dizziness racks my brain when I lift myself up and off the driver's seat, so I latch onto the door and bend to rest my head on its rim.

It was almost like a dream; everything about the encounter was dream-like other than the fact that it was real. I know it was. That thing was not an animal I'd seen — it was possibly a real-life monster — and by the way it stared at me, strange and all-knowing, I know I was meant to see it.

Why did it follow me? Could it it harmless, like a lost spirit bound to the forest, watching me? Was it curious about me or hungry for me? I squeeze my eyes shut and beg whatever god is listening — please, no chase. Let that be it. Like someone who spots the flashing lights of a UFO, let me wonder about it forever and be told I'm crazy when I recall it.

Deep down, I know this encounter can't be like that, though. I won't let it.

I take myself inside once the joints in my knees and hips are stretched straight. My attention floats from the brick walkway to the porch steps, to the porch light that's usually turned off when my dad goes to bed. He has a door-lock-checking, house-securing routine which includes shutting off the outside lights.

I enter through the front door with my key and pad down the hall, desperate for a glass of water to soothe my itchy throat. When I open and close the cabinet, something stirs in my peripheral. I face the breakfast table where my dad is slumped. He rubs his eyes but truly awakens at the sight of me.

"Mia," he exclaims with half the energy needed. "W-when did you get home?"

"Late," I improvise and stand like my whole body isn't aching. "Did you wait up for me? I didn't see you in here when I got home last night. I went right to my room."

"Yeah. I think I was up till midnight. How come you were gone so late? Your mother was worried."

"I dropped a carton of milk while I was cleaning up, and it went everywhere — under things, and I couldn't reach — it was just a mess. I should have called, sorry."

His gaze holds, maybe not convinced by my subtly disheveled appearance, but he gets up and asks, "What time is it?"

"Six fifteen," I read off the microwave.

"Well, I guess I'd be getting up now anyway. I'm gonna go get ready for work, and remember what your mom says about sleeping in jeans; it's bad for your circulation or something."

"Okay. Sorry again, Dad."

He waves me off and moseys out of the kitchen, so I hurriedly fill my glass with water and hide in my bedroom to avoid any further questions, besides, I have much more crucial things to obsess over.

Without even thinking, I've created my own little secret, and I've lied to protect it. I should keep it to myself, shouldn't I? My parents are practical people, and my siblings would only make a joke of it.

I set my glass on my nightstand and then lay across my bed on my back. Although no candle is burning, there's a perpetual smell in the air — maple, pumpkin, sandalwood — melted into the walls to soothe me but now burning my nose. I lift to open the window but pause. An open window is a way in, a crack for the shadow to pour through. I made it into the house okay, but what if it's still out in the woods? Who's to say the beast disappears in the daylight?

My heart starts to rile as my fingertips freeze numb.

There's only one person who would understand — one person I want to tell. She still lives in the same house beside Moody Pond, or maybe she's moved in with that guy she was walking with this summer. Nothing about their demeanor suggested a casual relationship. Either way, I feel the sudden need to reach out and try, even if Abby rejects me again.

I rinse off in the shower and change into clean clothes before leaving the house again. Dad has already gone to work, but Mom shuffles around in the kitchen. I creep down the steps and slip through the front door; she'll think I picked up an early shift if she sees my car gone. That's fine. If I told her where I was actually going, she would talk me out of it.

My mom never got over Abby's treatment of me in high school. When she spots Abby in town, she always reports to me with a bad taste on her tongue.

The drive to Moody Pond is no more than five minutes. Her mom's house is around the north point of the lake, positioned farther into the forest. I pull over and park against the curb in front of Abby's driveway. Like the houses in my neighborhood, hers has an antique charm to it: one story, a covered front porch, and a hanging, swinging bench positioned to look over the quiet, tree-lined street. I hurry up the porch steps and ring the charming doorbell. Her mother answers wrapped in a thin housecoat with slippers on her feet.

She halts once she realizes who I am. "Emilia?"

My hands tangle at my front to stop from shaking. "Is Abby home?"

Miss Jackson's face is bright but a little puzzled. "Oh, well, sure she is. Have you two—"

"No. We haven't. Not since high school, but I need to talk to her about something important. Do you think she'll—"

"Mom?" Abby's voice calls from inside the house.

Her mother moves to the side and Abby sees me at her doorstep. She's wearing loose-fitted house clothes; probably the clothes she slept in. Her curly hair is wrangled back with a hair tie, forming a messy bun, and her arms cross defensively. Before Abby assumes too much, I ask, "Can we talk?"

Abby glances at her mom and then snakes around, gesturing to the side of the porch. She steps out silently in house slippers, so I sit on the hanging bench. She sits beside me, leaving a cautious gap.

"I-I know this is weird."

"What is it?"

I swallow. "When we were little, in like middle school, you told me about paranormal stuff — supernatural stuff, remember?"

"No."

My nails drive into my palms. "Really?"

"I mean, what paranormal things?"

"Um, you told me not to go into the woods alone because of all these monsters, remember?"

Abby's brow furrows. "Mia, that's just kid shit. Sounds like I was playing around."

"I swear to God you weren't."

"I was what? Twelve? Thirteen?"

"But we were always into that sort of stuff. The spells? The games? We — we went walking towards Mount Baker, on the hiking path, and you took me to—"

"I really don't know what you're talking about," Abby says, standing.

"Come on. You brought me to that place with the ring of stones, and you said when the sunsets in the peak of summer, the moon shines through the — the space in the canopy, and it's a blessing."

"It was just some random circle of stones someone moved around."

"So you remember?"

"Mia, seriously."

My head drops into my hands. "I saw something last night — I didn't sleep at all — and I don't know what to do. I was going to keep it to myself, but it freaked me out so bad, I thought maybe you would understand but it's been three years since we actually talked and obviously you aren't the same person. There's just..." I wrangle my breath and smooth my hair back, sitting up straight. "Sorry. God, I'm losing it."

Abby's arms uncross as she looks somewhat apologetic. "What was it?"

"What?"

"What did you see?"

I stare up at her for a second. "Oh, i-it was a big, black thing, in the trees behind Blue Moon. It had bright yellow eyes, and it followed me home. I-I know it's — it sounds like I made this up, but I swear it was like a big black bear but different. It watched me like it... Whatever. I'm sorry, Abby, for showing up like this. It just reminded me of stuff you would talk about when we were younger, and maybe I just want to make it something it's not."

Abby turns slightly but pauses. "It's okay."

"I'll go now."

"Mia," she stops me from getting up, "what happened in school—"

"Don't—"

"No, really, what happened — what I did to you — I'm sorry. I shut you out without any explanation and that was cruel, and I still regret it, but I want you to know I regret it, and if I could go back and do things differently, I would."

I press my lips together and nod once. My chest sinks, my hands slide down my thighs, and I stand. Face-to-face, I smile briefly and walk past, but at the porch steps, my curiosity gets the best of me. "Did," I turn back, "something, you know, happen? To make you cut me off."

Abby nods.

"Oh, okay. I just always thought something did. I tried to ask what, but my texts and calls—"

"I know," Abby says, holding plenty within. "I couldn't, um, tell you."

"Yeah."

A frown pulls at her lips. "How's your mom? Is she busy with the Equinox Festival again?"

"Oh, yeah, really busy. Every year. I help her at the Laboratory when I can."

"I remember going to that every year; it was our favorite."

My face brightens through all the mugginess looming over me. "I know. But it got less fun when we grew too tall for the hay maze."

Abby laughs a little. "I grew like a whole foot in sixth grade."

"You were taller than all the boys, so they put you in the back center of all the school photos until high school."

"Goddess," Abby mutters. "I hated it."

"Goddess? I like that."

Abby's face relaxes. "Oh, right, God is a woman these days so..."

"So I should probably go home and lie down and convince myself I'm not a lunatic," I say. "But thanks for listening."

I head down the porch steps and take my keys out of my jacket pocket, thinking I might never talk to her again.

"I believe you," she blurts. "You saw something last night, and you aren't crazy; I believe you."

I look back. "You do?"

"Yeah, so stay out of the woods, alright? And don't isolate yourself when you feel unsafe. Those things I said when we were young — they're things my mother told me, things her mother told her; we're all lunatics."

Again, Abby reels me in. So she does remember.

"I'll stay safe," I promise.

"See you."

"Bye."

I head to the street and lower into my car, and Abby closes their front door behind her. I stare at her house for a minute as I consider how, despite my nonsensical rambling, that didn't go half bad. The engine comes to life and heat starts to blow through my car vents, warming my face. On the opposite side of the street is the forest. I survey the trees and pull onto the road.