Chapter 4

Last night I had a nightmare about the thing I saw. Most memories of the dream faded in the few seconds it took me to open my eyes, but the instance of its piercing stare remains as clear as day; I can still see it.

The thing's gaze is so lively — it must be alive, but somehow that seems more terrifying than the beast being dead.

"Mia? Honey? The laminator sucking you in?"

I look up from the white tabletop machine. "Oh, no, just concentrating."

Mom smiles. "Alrighty. That the last bulletin photo coming out now?"

I nod and take the picture, stacking it with the others once the laminator spits it out. "I just have to trim them."

"Why don't I do that, and you take that box downstairs for me?" She points to the brown box Harvey dropped off the other day. "Walking down the steps with that big thing at my age makes me nervous."

"Your age? Mom, you're not old."

She pets my head as I pass her. "Aren't you just my favorite thing ever? Thanks, Babe. Careful on the last step — remember it's shorter than the others."

I squat and lift the unsealed box, opening one of the cardboard flaps and peeking inside; some of the stuff is gone, some is still there. Mom turns her back and starts trimming the laminated pictures, so I take the box into the short hallway off the Society's back room where there's a hole in the floor for a questionably old staircase. The stairs lead underneath the building, into its basement. There aren't any windows on this side of the basement, but there's a switch for a singular lightbulb fastened to the unfinished ceiling. I turn it on halfway down the stairs.

Despite the number of artifacts and papers and boxes in the museum basement, there isn't much to look at. Everything is sealed up, boxed away on metal shelves. I set the box on the folding table in the middle of two shelves where unsorted things go. The light from the one blub only reaches so far, creating an eerie shadowed tunnel between the rows of shelving and the brick wall.

It's been a few days since my strange encounter and talk with Abby, but all I've done is hide in my room with the windows covered, stroking Teddy like he's a therapy animal, doing school assignments, and calling in sick to the café. Mom asked me to come to the laboratory to help with Society Festival business, and I agreed only to stop her from asking what's up with me lately.

Black Lake was founded long ago, but it seems impossible for all of this stuff to have historical significance. I start to wonder if Marianne, the museum curator, has hoarding tendencies.

With no one watching, I impulsively open Harvey's box on the table and rummage through the antiques and artifacts left inside it; whatever was taken out must have been worthy of a display. There's a photo album, doctor's journals, and the bloodletting tools Mom showed me before.

"Mia?" I hear my mom call.

I surface from the basement, shut off the light, and return to the Society meeting room. My mom stands staring at her phone. "You won't believe who just got a hold of me. Harvey Norwood — who brought the box of stuff from Norwood House. He said he found the original Equinox Festival banner from 1954. Do you think you could swing by and pick it up on your way home?"

"From him? A-at Norwood House?" I question, my tongue tying.

"Yeah, from Norwood House."

"I can't." I improvise, "I have a quiz for school that's due at a specific time and—"

"Well, I guess I could make the time," she considers. "I'm going to be here until four, and then I have to stop by Vic's to get some timesheets, and he's a chatterbox, but after that... I wonder if Harvey would mind me coming at—"

Her worried rambling does its job. I say, "It's fine. I'll get it."

"You will? But your quiz."

"It's fine. I have time. Norwood House isn't far."

"Oh, well, great. Gives me one last thing to run around town for. I'll let him know you'll be dropping by now. Just bring the banner in the house and leave it on the dining table."

I glance around the room, picking at my nails. "You don't need any more help here?"

"Nope, just the banner. I'll see you at home for dinner, though. Your dad is picking up from Village Curry."

"Great," I breathe. "Then I'll see you at home."

I grab my bag slouched on one of the chairs and sling it over my shoulder. Mom already jumps to the next thing on her to-do list, so I walk myself out through the museum and go to my car parked in the small lot on the side of the building. There's no need to ask for directions to Norwood House; it's one of the great, historical houses in Black Lake, the kind to be sat on a hill and surrounded by a bare-branched, wiry forest.

As I start my car and back it out of the parking spot, I recall passing by Harvey last week with as much detail as possible. He looked at me, but he won't remember me, I'm sure.

I drive slowly along the thin Black Lake streets and turn into one of the older neighborhoods. The houses along Audrey Way are large, spaced-out farmhouses or mansions either built in the late 1700s to early 1800s or around the 1950s when Black Lake had a population boom. It's easy to tell which properties are Victorian ones with their ornate details and steep roofs. Norwood House is one of the particularly pretty ones if haunted boarding schools could be at all pretty. 

I park halfway down the stretched, gravel drive and then quickly change my mind and roll closer. I get out of my car and shut the door. My head tilts back to look from the front step of Norwood House to its highest spire. My chest aches, so I quickly rehearse normal things to say.

I trek up the stone porch and press the intricately-plated bronze doorbell. The vegetation around the brick foundation seems to be recently tidied up, and the tiled porch, swept. I wonder if Harvey lives here alone, or if he has help to look after such a big place.

The door unlatches and draws open, and as expected, Harvey — the guy I saw in the museum — is standing on the other side with rolled-up sleeves and a slightly unsuspecting look; he must not have seen my mom's text.

"Here for the banner?" He asks and dusts his hands together like he's been working at something.

I nod. My voice is lost.

He steps to the side, out of view, and I check my phone to appear as though I have a life, teetering on my feet and picking at my thumb nail with my pointer finger. Harvey reappears promptly with the folded-up banner just made small enough to carry. He hands it over, and I take it.

"Thanks," I squeak.

"Your mother is Nadia, the Society head?" He asks.

I nod again. "Yeah. She's been there for a long time."

"And you work with her?"

"I help out around festival season; it can get pretty crazy. Have you always lived in Black Lake? I don't think I've seen you around."

He explains, "I spend a lot of time out in the mountains."

"You hike, rock climb?"

Harvey breathes in, crossing his arms. "Yeah. This place is too beautiful to stay inside."

"It's pretty special," I agree.

"Perhaps I'll see you again sometime." He glances behind himself. "I'm cleaning out the place and finding a lot of stuff to donate to the museum."

"I saw the first box you brought. Was Dr. Norwood your..."

"Great great grandfather. The family's kept everything, including festival banners." He gestures to the folded banner in my arms, so I smile.

"Well, my mom really appreciates it, and I'm sure everyone at the festival will love it."

He grabs the door. "Take care of it."

"We will," I assure as my cheeks start to ache. I've been warding off all unnecessary blushing since he opened the door. "I better go get this home. Thanks again."

Harvey nods with a sort of effortless charm; I'm sure plenty of women are drawn to it along with his stature and build. He looks like he climbs mountains all day.

I make it to my car with him still watching. Wired with nervous energy, I side-eye him as I place the banner on my back seats. I pop open my driver's door and lower in, shutting it and pulling my seatbelt on. Only once I start the engine and turn around does Harvey close the thick wood door of Norwood House.

"Thanks," I squeak again, mockingly. "Seriously?"

That night, I poke at my Indian food while sitting at the dining table, surrounded by my family, contemplating the figure that was watching me. Dad rants about some rude guest at the hotel, and Mom goes on about Millie's Bakery remodel which was tearing up the laminate floors as she walked past. Harper and Perry are pressed to share what they did at school, and Teddy weaves under my chair, between my legs.

"How was your day, Mia?" Dad asks and then bites a piece of butter chicken.

I look up. "Fine. It was fine."

"She picked up a banner for me today at the Norwood House."

"Oh?" Dad looks at Mom.

I say nothing.

"You know, I think that Harvey is just the cutest thing," she adds. "I thought maybe he was too old for you, but I asked, and he's only twenty-four."

My face twists, and Harper snickers. "Mom," I warn.

Dad decides, "That's too old."

"Oh, five years is nothing."

My face flushes. Thankfully, Perry is too concerned with the phone in his lap to care what we're talking about. I lean back in my chair. "Please stop talking."

"Alright, alright, sorry." Mom sinks into her shoulders.

After dinner, I help with the dishes before I close myself in my bedroom. I go to the window over my desk and lean into its frame. I stare at the forest, squinting to dissect the brush at its edge: that's where the monster would be, but its yellow eyes aren't there. Drawing back, I consider how Abby believes me, and I cling to that because she didn't say it pityingly.

She simply believes me.

I force myself not to remember too much about our past friendship at this moment because I don't want to cry, so I sit at my computer instead and do schoolwork. But, as I stare at the blank text document on my screen, I wonder if I'm the only person to see something unexplainable in the woods of Black Lake, or if Abby has as well.