Chapter 2

The last time I saw Abby was over the summer. She was very tan as though she'd been on vacation, and she was with a guy I may have seen around town over the years. They were holding hands walking along the lake, and I was standing on the waterfront deck of the Lodge.

She laughed and smooshed her cheek into his shoulder. They stopped at the lapping edge and stared out and the water for a few minutes before Abby peered over her shoulder, and I ducked fast. I searched for the glint of an engagement ring on her finger but didn't see one.

"So, are you two excited for school tomorrow? What are you going to wear?"

Perry pokes his fork at his plate. "Clothes."

"Well, that's a relief," Dad says.

"What about you?" My mom asks Harper. "Do you have a special outfit planned? Maybe that cute sweater with the stripes?"

She shrugs. "Probably my black jeans and a black shirt."

"I do miss the days I got to dress you two myself. Oh, the tiny overalls and jackets and rain boots. How all three of you would match for those first-day-of-school pictures."

"Gross," Perry says.

"Whatever. It was adorable, right?" Mom looks at Dad across the dining table, and he promptly agrees. "So we finalized all of the food vendors today. There'll be kettle corn and cotton candy and candy apples. They actually dip the apples in chocolate and caramel so you can choose which one you like, and there are all kinds of toppings. I think it's so fun. And if any of you three want to volunteer for the festival, it would be a big help."

Dad points his fork at us. "I'm sure they'll help out. Right, guys?"

"Sure," I say, the only one to respond.

"That's why Mia is my favorite."

"You're not supposed to pick favorites," Harper mutters. "That's in like every parenting book ever."

"You could be a favorite too if you woke up before noon and brought your brother to his lessons on time."

Harper makes a face. "We were six minutes late."

After dinner, I hang out in my room on my computer, and I finish an introductory assignment for one of my classes under the gentle light of my standing lamp. Today has been slow without work, and tomorrow will be as well. There isn't much due at the beginning of the semester, so I've agreed to go with my mom to the Society in the morning to assist with the painting of directional signs. As expected, she wants everything to be picturesque for the festival.

Not long after I settle in bed, it starts to rain. Nighttime is the hardest for me. My head wanders to places I wish it wouldn't, and I can't stop it.

I hate how I function, how I feel and think. I despise my fears and pray to be oblivious, but once I know, there's never a moment of not knowing.

My own existence skulks in the shadowed corners and hides under my bed. I sit against my hoard of pillows and urge myself to not tear every last one open. Then the worries come: I'm wasting my life, I'm unsuccessful, I have no friends, I'm destined to be alone.

I rush through my morning routine the following day so my mother and I can get to the Laboratory early. Perry and Harper are off to school, and with Dad at the Lodge, Teddy has the house to himself.

Marianne, who runs the museum, is there when we arrive. My mother gives her a quick good morning as we settle at the work table where the festival plans remain strewn about.

"Here, Mia," Mom says as she lays wooden arrows on the floor — the only surface uncluttered. "Let me grab the paint. I also got some gold glitter, so maybe you could paint a few leaves and dust them with it? What do you think?"

I lower to the ground. Thankfully, the floor is kept relatively clean. "That would be cute."

"Okay, so for sure one arrow pointing in each direction needs to be labeled 'restroom.' You can get started on those, and if you finish, I'll look to see what else we need. And just keep the lettering in white so it's nice and clear against the wood. Big, clean letters, okay?"

"Okay."

She sets a tub of paint tubes next to me, and sticking out is a set of brushes. "Let me get you a water cup and paper towels."

Marianne sits behind the information desk up front with a cup of coffee. I can hear the soft clicking of her nails on her keyboard, and my eyes stray from the wood arrows to my surroundings. There's another, smaller table against the wall beside the computers, and I recognize the box on top of it as the box the stranger carried in this past weekend. Some of its contents have been extracted and spread out for analysis.

When my mom returns with my supplies, I ask, "What's all that stuff?"

"A donation from the Norwood House. I took a peek at it; there are some pretty neat things."

I stand and drift to the table. "So someone lives there after all?"

"Harvey Norwood. I met him when he dropped it off. He seemed like a very nice young man. He said the house was recently left to him, and he found those things stored away. He thought they'd go to better use here."

"So he's a descendant of Dr. Norwood then?" I ask and look over the donations. Letters, cases of medical tools, and items too archaic for me to name. I cautiously open one of the closed cases and find strange instruments. "What are these?"

My mom comes behind me and looks over my shoulder. "Marianne said those were for bloodletting. Freaky, huh?"

"Yeah, it is," I murmur and close it.

"Alright, do you have everything you need? I'll just be right here at the table. There are few phone calls I have to make."

"I'm good to go."

I outline the letters on the wooden arrows then fill each one in with white paint. The corners are decorated with autumn leaves in orange and red and yellow colors before they're sprinkled with gold glitter as if their tips are dipped in starlight. It's busy work that makes time race by, and once the first arrow is approved, I start the second.

The arrows will be nailed to wooden stakes and then driven into the ground. Every year, the festival takes place in the central park where the lake ends and both halves of the town join together. There are picnic tables year-round, but for the festival, booths will be constructed, and games, and a stage where a live band will perform. It's a Black Lake tradition that started long before my parents — possibly originating in the year Dr. Norwood put this place on the map.

My phone vibrates against the wood flooring, and the screen lights with the Blue Moon Café contact — my boss Taryn. I answer while painting the letter 'R.' "Hi, it's Emilia."

"Hi, Emilia. I'm calling to see if you're able to come in for the closing shift tonight. Will called in sick."

"Six to ten?"

"You know it. Are you available?"

"Sure. I can fill in."

She sighs in relief. "Thank you so much. I'll talk to you later."

"No problem. Bye."

I hang up and my mom asks, "Going into work tonight?"

"Someone called in sick, so I told her I could do it. The extra money won't hurt, anyway."

"Oh, could you bring us back some of those cinnamon buns if there are any leftovers? I love those things."

"You know they're just from Millie's," I say and move on to the 'E.'

My mom scrunches her nose as she smiles cheekily. "But I like when we get them for free. Food tastes better that way."

"I'll bring back whatever's left."

By the time I'm on my way to the café, the sunset is overcast. A shadowy gloom consumes Black Lake, and I expect at least a drizzle of rain during my shift. No matter how brutal the weather gets, I'm tucked away in the shop, and besides, I've always loved the sound of rain.

I take over, so the worker before me leaves the second my apron is tied. For a Thursday night, I don't expect it to be busy, but there's a group of high school students gathered around one of the low coffee tables, sitting with their legs folded beneath them. They produce enough noise to make it feel crowded, but I let them be.

The teens order more drinks before leaving — hot drinks to combat the rain that grows heavier and heavier by the hour. There isn't much to clean and store by the end of my shift, but I follow the closing routine so the shop is ready for tomorrow's opener. I work tomorrow, but not until the late afternoon. I'll do some school work beforehand since the house will be at ease.

As my mother requested, I pack a baggie of cinnamon rolls, and I toss in an apple cinnamon muffin for Harper since they're her favorite. I wipe down the pastry case but pause when a shadow moves in one of the windows. The figure just escapes me, but a clattering noises sounds from outside.

I slowly switch the open sign to 'closed' and then lock the front entrance. I shut off the lights and set the alarm. Puddles litter the employee parking lot, still stirring by falling droplets. I tell myself the noises were racoons as I lock the heavy metal door behind me, alone in the murky night and eager to get in my car. The lock clicks into place, and I turn to run through the downpour, but the moment I do, I see it; the shadow some steps into the trees behind the parking lot. And then I see its eyes — like two lone stars.

My heart throttles into my ribs.

The thing must be seven feet tall, maybe more. The edges of its being blends into the darkness, but its stare is electric. Just as I focus on the features of its face, I blink, and it's turned, slinking away, leaving a gap in the trees. My body heaves forward, and I ease my grip on my keys. Deep imprints from the keys' edges warp my palms, and my baggie of goodies has fallen and soaked on the wet ground. I sprint to my car door and yank it open, and once inside, I lock the doors and shakily start the engine.

Abby's warning of beasts in the woods whispers in my ear. That thing wasn't human, wasn't a moose, black bear, or bobcat — I know what those are like.

Water wraps around my car wheels and sprays outward. Not a minute is wasted to digest the seemingly otherworldly encounter.

The hairs on my arms stand at their roots, and my fingers grip the steering wheel so fiercely that they begin to ache. On the streets, I find my voice, and it manifests through incoherent rambling. The feeling of security is not something I experience often, but to now face an even greater amount of anxiety and fear — was that real?

The sides of the road are shaded, and the only light is cast in two beams by my headlights. Rain pours into the light and splatters on my windshield, and I swear I see the figure again, running through the trees alongside my car. My chest cramps; it's following me. I glance continuously from the road to see if it's still there, and it is, moving slick, weaving in the trees.

I make it home, but I can't leave the car. What if it snatches me as I run to the door? I clench my teeth and twist in my seat to see all around my car. The house is backed up to the forest. I monitor the tree line for those bloodcurdling yellow eyes, but see nothing.

In the driveway, I bang my fist against the wheel, doubting my senses. What was that? Was it really there?

What did Abby never tell me?