The Demon's Grave Read online

  “What is with you two?” I blurted, then threw my hands up fast enough to make her jerk back. “Forget I asked.”

  “Good idea,” Phoebe said and changed the subject. “We should ask Aidan to come.”

  “Uh, no.”

  “He’s cute.”

  “He’s creepy.”

  Phoebe rolled her dark green eyes. “You’re irrational.”

  “And you’re pushy.” I looked up at her and flashed teeth in a satisfied grin.

  Phoebe sighed. “Touché. So, meet at lunch tomorrow and we’ll figure it out? And, just so you know, Aidan’s coming. Read’s already asked him.”

  I faltered in my step. “Read is an asshole.”

  Phoebe grinned. “Told’ja. And we might not have to look for a place to camp.”

  Adjusting my backpack on my shoulder I started to slow as we reached my locker. I noticed Phoebe didn’t carry anything with her. She rarely left the school with more than a few books at a time. “What do you mean? Did Robin get angry about Whitefish Lake again?”

  Phoebe snorted. “Yes, but that’s not it. Aidan says he has the perfect place.”

  Aidan Birket was coming. Something about that made my stomach drop. I never really liked Aidan and not knowing why was doubly frustrating. He wasn’t mean, cruel, annoying, or any quality I can list that would stretch my dislike beyond instinct. There was something about him that was just off.

  “What perfect place?” I asked, hearing the edge. I focused on the locker door instead of Phoebe.

  “Wouldn’t say. I guess we find out tomorrow.” Phoebe leaned against the locker next to mine and stretched her arms over her head. Her olive tanned stomach was toned to perfection. I suppose wanting to get into physical education had benefits.

  “You do that to make people jealous?” I asked and tugged down her white t-shirt. “You’ll stop traffic.”

  Already there was an anonymous whistle from the crowd.

  Grinning, Phoebe lowered her arms and jutted her chin at me. “What’s that?”

  To my horror, she was looking at my fist. A bit of paper poked out.

  So much for a temporary distraction. “Nothing.”

  Dismal is the Demon’s Grave. It didn’t even make sense. Maybe it was someone with really similar handwriting and it somehow got stuck in my book.

  Unless it wasn’t my book. Students scattered their stuff across the library tables like they were prepping a picnic. Marly from my media class had been across from me this afternoon.

  Dropping the backpack off my shoulder, it fell with a thud against the linoleum.

  “You okay, Fuller?” Phoebe quirked a thin, yellow brow.

  “Yeah, yeah,” I muttered and pulled the Writing for the Media book free.

  “Are you missing something?”

  Flipping the book open I saw my name scrawled at the top.

  My shoulders slumped and hope whistled by. It must have been a prank. There was no point wasting time thinking about a stupid note with finals in a few weeks.

  “Hey look.” Phoebe’s swan-like neck stretched. “It’s your book, imagine that,” she said flatly.

  Part of me wanted to tell her what I’d found but if she mentioned any of it to my family I’d be wheeled off to the sanitarium. I wish that were a joke.

  Until I could explain the note, I’d have to hide it.

  Slipping the note in my jeans pocket I started stuffing the locker with books I didn’t need. Slamming it shut I met Phoebe’s eyes. “It’s nothing,” I said, hearing the darkness in my own voice. “You should go save Robin instead.”

  Looking past Phoebe I could see the petite former cheerleader arguing with a handsome, blonde guy from the football team. Phoebe had pointed him out once or twice. If someone was into sports, leave it to Phoebe to know who they were.

  “That’s weird,” Phoebe said slowly, eyes narrowing.

  I took advantage of Phoebe’s distraction and slammed my locker shut. “I’ll see you tomorrow!” Before she could speak, I bolted into the streaming crowd.

  As much as I adored Phoebe, she’d never understand the note or my family.

  CHAPTER TWO

  During supper Read texted an apology about inviting Aidan.

  Crap. That meant Phoebe got to him. I hated it when she did that.

  Seeing me shake my head, Mom sighed. When I looked up it was as if she’d read my mind.

  “I remember when the yearly weekends were just outside the patio doors. You kids were so cute putting up those tents.” The smile slipped and she met my eyes, lowering her voice. “You guys will be safe this year, right?”

  I, of course, agreed and smiled feeling the strain.

  It was just supposed to be the usual bunch and maybe Robin because she was Cody’s girlfriend. Why Aidan though? Whenever we were close to each other my stomach would clench and my spine felt taut.

  I guess there was always the option of not going. I could fake an illness or pretend to have other plans. On second thought, it would be more believable to fake an illness. Oh, the sad, sad life I lead.

  I realized I was twirling the new blonde hair around my fingers and immediately stopped. Instead, I texted a lie to Read: It’s all good. I hope Aidan comes! I made sure to add that exclamation mark. Maybe it would cloak the lie, and he wouldn’t see through it. It was always easier to lie in a text message. If he’d seen me, I’d have never gotten away with it.

  After supper there was studying. I managed to dedicate twenty, lousy minutes before my attention started wandering. I could read the words and not retain a lick of it.

  Resting my forehead on the cool, open textbook, I hoped I could pass Professor Chase’s essay. Every essay to date, she’d given me a solid, red C-.

  In the living room I could hear my little sister, Mona arguing with our mom about going to the park with Dad on the weekend. He’d been distracted these last…‌oh, ten years or so and didn’t have much time for us.

  When one-year-old Caitlin’s high pitched wails sought attention I knew homework was a bust.

  Standing, I realized sandbags had invaded every limb. I shuffled to the stairs and forced myself to take the steps two at a time, hoping to increase blood flow.

  After finals, I was going to have to treat myself.

  At the top of the stairs, my eyes caught the open bathroom door and every muscle ached. Oh yes, a shower, I thought. A hot, steamy, forget-your-cares-shower would be perfect.

  I did a zombie shuffle to my bedroom for clothes. The idea of the shower still sent tingles down my arms. Gathering up the essentials I thought about the weekend.

  This year, I’d planned for a camping trip, one I’d hoped to share with my friends but with Aidan butting in with some great idea…‌I sighed.

  Whatever he had planned, it was probably something like camping. We’d play drinking games and roast marshmallows. Maybe after a few shots I could get Phoebe to tell me what was going on with her and Read. Or maybe I’d get Read to, if he was drunk enough.

  I smirked, recalling the trip two years ago when Phoebe was dared to run through the campground naked. She was so fast most folks didn’t know what to make of it. Then there was the year where a simple game of “chubby bunny” ended with Read’s chipmunk-cheeked victory dance to Michael Jackson’s Thriller. Needless to say, we were asked to leave but not a single soul was sober enough to drive and we had to wait until morning.

  Locking the bathroom door behind me, I tested the door handle to be sure. With Mona’s affinity for pranks one could never have too many locks.

  Starting the shower, I went through the monotonous routine of undressing and brushing my hair. My reflection left much to be desired. Weeks‌—‌no months‌—‌of my hair trapped in a ponytail, made me look strange when it fell past my shoulders. The new color was foreign and I found myself staring for several seconds.

  “I don’t care what Phoebe says” I told the girl in the mirror, “I think blonde looks good on you.”

  Large blue eyes b
linked back at me, the bags beneath them seemed a little heavier today than yesterday. Sleep deprivation does that, I suppose. My grown out bangs framed my childish, round face, almost reaching my chin. I set down the brush, as steam clouded the girl in the mirror. My muscles ached to feel the warm water.

  I flung open the glass shower door and I sealed myself in. Warm water beat down my hair and back, swirling my troubled thoughts down the drain. Well, at least until tomorrow, when I’d worry about the weekend, the note, and whatever else I could. With this much overanalyzed stress, I’m certain that, by thirty, I’ll have to take up drinking just to make the voices go away.

  “That’s it,” I breathed into the wall, “you’re obviously irrational and insane.”

  I ignored the internal flinch that came with the joke and grabbed the shampoo. My thoughts kept snapping back to the note as if it were attached to an elastic band. You didn’t write that note, I told myself.

  I realized I was scrubbing the shampoo too hard. I was mad. All I wanted was peace and I couldn’t even grant myself that.

  Flushing the shampoo from of my hair I reached for the conditioner. It was empty.

  Groaning, I put the empty bottle back on the shelf and contemplated abandoning the warmth to get another bottle from the cabinet.

  I procrastinated by piling my hair on top of my head to pass time, when a movement caught the corner of my eye.

  Startled, I froze and found myself staring at the shower door. A finger was tracing letters into the steam from the other side.

  My shoulders dropped. The little bugger almost got me this time. She must have crept downstairs for a butter knife to pick the lock. If it wasn’t a fire safety issue, I’d have locked her in her room every night.

  Rolling my eyes, I untangled my fingers from the mass on top of my head. A moment of privacy. That’s all I asked. This wouldn’t be the first time she’d broken into the bathroom while I was in the shower. Mona liked to steal my towel, clothes, or toothpaste. When I’d come out fuming, she’d break out in a raucous laughter. Mona was blessed with an infectious laugh; it probably saved her life during the dramatic height of my puberty.

  Hoping to scare her, I rapped on the glass hard enough to make my knuckles sting. The door rattled over the sound of the water. “Mona! Get out of the bathroom or I’ll tell Kyle you love him!”

  I half expected to hear a girlish giggle or scampering for the door, but there was nothing. The letters continued to streak themselves in the glass, unhindered by my racket.

  Listening, I wondered if she’d decided to change tactics.

  The letters were backwards. A backward ‘E’ followed by a ‘N’. I stared in confusion, not knowing what to say or do. Who was there? Mona was my only suspect. No one else would try something like this. But if it wasn’t her, then who?

  “Mona?” I demanded, my voice surprisingly in control.

  There was no answer.

  I felt my muscles freeze despite the hot water. I tried squinting through the clear lettering to see if I could make out a shape, a shadow or a figure. Anything to give away the intruder.

  I leaned so close my nose could follow the flat of the finger along the steamy door. Past it, I could see someone there. Hunched over, it was definitely not a kid, the height didn’t…‌I was holding my breath.

  Panic exploded. The shrapnel seared hot enough that my scream came out as a squeak. The burst of fear had kidnapped my voice! I wondered if they knew that I was aware it wasn’t my little sister. Every muscle in my body had stiffened as I watched the writing continue.

  Where was Mona? And what would happen when the writing stopped?

  Concentrating on moving my cramped muscles, I dropped.

  Cracking my knee on the unyielding tiles, tendrils of pain shot through my joints. I gritted my teeth to stifle my voice while my hands slapped out on either side to catch my balance.

  The letters had stopped.

  Automatically I covered myself, unsure if the door was going to fling open. Feeling as if I had cotton stuffed down my throat, I strained for any sound to reassure myself that I could speak. I managed a whisper that not even I could hear over the shower. Taking a deep breath, I tried again, raising my voice only to hear the same wheeze.

  I waited for the footsteps, for the door to open, for an attack‌—‌for anything.

  My pulse resounded in my head. It felt like I had been kneeling there for an hour. One arm across my chest, the other pressed to my mouth, leaving teeth impressions in my lips.

  Nothing was happening.

  I tried to see through the door but the room was steaming enough to fade the letters and shield the intruder.

  My hand over my mouth peeled away. My shaky palm wiped the steam from the bottom of the glass door. I could make out the green bath mat, but no feet.

  The suspense stabbed and I realized I needed something to happen. Being alone with my thoughts wasn’t helping. Who was here? Where was my family? I had been so worried about finals and a damn weekend, it all seemed so shallow now. I found my voice and it cracked. “This isn’t funny anymore…‌”

  Only the splashing water answered.

  My gaze shifted up to the letters. They were beginning to collapse in on themselves.

  To see them clearer, I wiped a hand along them on my side.

  N-I-S-D-E-N-E-K-C

  I turned the water off so the silence could shriek.

  Standing with the help of the walls, the imprints of the tiled floor throbbed in my bare knees.

  The water dripped behind me in steady, rhythmic beats. My heartbeat easily outpacing the sound.

  Swallowing the lump in my throat, my eyes searched for the shadowy figure.

  I listened for a few more seconds, staring at the letters before me‌—‌no, the message. It was beginning to fade faster.

  I realized all at once that I had to know what it said.

  Shoving open the shower door with my shoulder, I prepared to dive for the hallway in case there was someone there to catch me.

  The glass door banged against the edge of the toilet and revealed an empty bathroom.

  Stunned for several seconds I forgot that I was naked. Fumbling for the white towel hanging beside the door, I wrapped it around me. Not that I believed anyone was in the bathroom with me anymore, but my nerves were starting to fray. Someone had written those letters. Someone had been in here.

  Slamming the glass door shut, I twisted to peer at the message.

  In a solid line it read:

  O-N-E-S-O-U-L-O-F-B-L-A.

  I frowned, realizing that this wasn’t Mona-material.

  The words dropped down to another line, drooling condensation.

  C-K-E-N-E-D-S-I-N.

  The new line hadn’t been there before. It wasn’t there when I was in the shower.

  ONESOU? No, Maybe Ones oul of black…‌

  Shaking my head I tried again, taking in the second line.

  One soul of blackened sin.

  This wasn’t Mona.

  The stinging thought lingered as my eyes darted to the door, which was still locked, to the small window over the toilet. The forest-green curtains and white mini blinds were closed. The window itself could only open a few inches anyway. It wouldn’t be enough for even Mona to climb through, let alone an intruder.

  Cupping my temples in my palms, I dropped my head.

  On either side of my feet were two large shoe impressions in the bath mat.

  CHAPTER THREE

  I decided that the impressions could have been a man’s size ten or eleven dress shoe.

  They definitely didn’t belong to a seven-year-old girl. Even if she slipped into a pair of Dad’s, I’d have heard her clomp inside. No amount of toe-curling could keep them on her small feet and it couldn’t have been Dad. He wasn’t home and he’s not that type of dad.

  The impressions began to rise, blending into the plush carpet.

  Dizzy from the thoughts playing bumper cars in my head, I sat down on the toi
let lid. What just happened? This wasn’t normal. I hadn’t had an episode since I was five. They said I was back to normal, they said…‌

  Looking back, I saw the letters had vanished with the steam.

  Surveying my items I counted everything. Even my underwear was left.

  Nothing in the bathroom had moved, not even the lock.

  Hands before my lips I cast one final glance around the small bathroom and attempted to clear my throat. My voice cracked, but it was there.

  My mind reeled, grasping for any rational thought I could before wondering, ghost? We’d lived in this house for fourteen years and there hadn’t been any signs of ghosts, plus it would have rendered my beliefs, or lack thereof, invalidated. Ghosts aren’t real. I pushed the bathmat with my toe.

  Leaning forward, I unlocked the door and took a moment. I wanted to make sure I could stand without falling. With the help of the counter, I stood and gathered my clothes in my arms.

  I wasn’t sure I was still alone and I couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched despite the bathroom being too small to hide even a child. Disturbed, I tried to shove the idea away. I wasn’t being watched. I was being paranoid. “You’re better than this, Nora. You’re not a kid anymore,” I whispered.

  Something out of the corner of my eye moved.

  Frantic, I spun around to the window. My heart hammered inside my head, making the room warp and shift.

  The white venetian blinds were open, though the window remained closed. I tried to remember if they’d been closed before the shower and realized I wasn’t sure.

  My lips parted and I knew I wanted to scream but didn’t. Instead, I ripped open the bathroom door.

  The cool air was a staggering shock.

  I nearly tripped over my own feet getting out into the hall. Gripping the towel I ran, feet thundering. I didn’t bother to be quiet.

  The heaviness was still on me as if those eyes were right behind me, launching me into my bedroom. I couldn’t grab the door fast enough.

  Pulling it shut, I didn’t dare peek over my shoulder. I didn’t want to see that something might be there, breathing down my neck.

  Leaning on the closed door, I heard Caitlin give a shriek.