I closed my eyes, leaned my head against Isis’s warm, wet cheek.
“Yes, this is Corrie.”
“Corrie, hi. Gosh, I’m sorry about that. I heard Isis. I hope I didn’t upset her.”
Isis wiggled in my arms and I set her on the floor.
“No, it’s okay. She’s… she’s fine. I’m sorry. Who am I speaking with?”
Laughter on the phone.
“Guess I should have started with that. It’s Gunner from the Halloween party. You met my wife, Micah. We have a boy the same age as Isis.”
“Yes, Gunner. I remember you. How are you?”
“I’m okay. I’m calling, actually, to ask about you. I wanted to right after, but figured you’d need time.”
“Sure, thanks. I’m fine. That’s a lie, of course, but we’re getting there - one day at a time.”
“Yeah, good, I’m happy to hear that, Corrie. Sammy was an inspiration and a friend, and our whole community, the comic artists up here, have been devastated by the news. We’re creating a comic book in his honor. All of us donating a strip. I won’t bore you with the details, but I’ll send you a copy as soon as it’s finished.”
“Thank you, Gunner. Sammy would have loved that.” He would have; in fact, it was just the sort of thing Sammy would have organized for someone else.
“I have another reason for calling,” Gunner continued. “Micah’s taking Jared to the Children’s Museum today. She’d love to take Isis.”
Isis had run back into the kitchen. She waved her pink sippy cup in my face.
“Juicy?”
I took the cup and unscrewed the lid.
“Isis, would you like to go to the Children’s Museum today? With a little boy your age named Jared?”
Isis hopped up and down.
“For play?”
“Yes, to play. Does that sound fun?”
She nodded her head.
“Sure, Gunner. I think Isis would really enjoy that. I’d take her myself, but…” I imagined a string of excuses but let them all die on my lips.
“Jared will be over the moon,” Gunner said. “I’ll let Micah know. She’ll probably be to Kerry Manor around two. Is that good for you?”
“Perfect.”
“Great. And Corrie, if we can do anything, please let us know.”
He hung up the phone, and I stayed on the line listening to the staticky silence, willing Sammy’s voice to drift across the veil and whisper my name.
Sarah
SARAH PUSHED through the door into the arcade’s back room.
Will sat at the cheap folding table, his black hair shaggy across his face, a pencil propped on his lip.
“I need your help,” Sarah told him, holding out a bag of chips and a bottle of Mountain Dew.
He wrinkled his nose. “And this is what? A bribe?”
“Isn’t this what your kind eats?”
He rolled his eyes, snatching the chips from her hand. “Not that stuff,” he nodded at the soda, “tastes like battery acid.”
He tore open the chips and paused, studying Sarah.
“I don’t play well with others. You’d be better off teaming up with a cop. Isn’t that how it works in the crime shows?”
“I’m pretty sure if I took my concerns to the cops, they’d lock me up and throw away the key. Plus, the police are too…”
“Stupid?”
“No.” She imagined Detective Collins’ suspicious gaze. “They’re too closed-minded - not open to consider other possibilities. Not that I blame them.”
“Explain,” he said.
“Before my brother died, he said his wife Corrie was acting strangely. He found her sleepwalking several times. Once she was holding a doll in the lake. I’ve noticed things too. She…” Sarah paused, but Will did not look skeptical. “She changes, gets this dazed look on her face and sings like a little girl.”
Will stuffed a handful of chips in his mouth and crunched loudly, wiping the orange dust on his dark jeans. He stood and wandered away from her, pausing at a large picture of Pac Man dressed as a super hero.
“Too risky? Or time for a new adventure?” she heard him mumble.
“Are you talking to yourself?” she asked.
He turned and grinned. “Of course, I’m talking to myself. Sometimes I need expert advice.
Will reminded Sarah of her twin. A more brooding version of Sammy, but similar nevertheless. She wondered if she desired to draw him closer for that reason alone.
She glanced at the table where he’d been sitting and saw a newspaper lying open. A picture of Kerry Manor perched above a caption that read: How Much Tragedy Is Too Much Tragedy?
He saw her looking.
“They’re starting to take notice.” Will tapped the paper. “There’s an op-ed in there from a guy demanding Kerry Manor be demolished.”
“Do you believe the destruction of Kerry Manor will… end it, kill it?” She struggled to find a phrase that didn’t sound insane.
He stared off, and then shook his head.
“No, but it’s a start.”
“Maybe, helping me is a start, too?”
“I’m intrigued,” he admitted. “But Sarah, this isn’t a joke. That house harbors something evil, and I’m not sure if it can be stopped.”
“I spoke with Delila,” Sarah said.
Will perched on the edge of the table.
“And now that you’ve had adult confirmation, you believe me?”
“No. I already believed you, as much as my rational brain allowed, anyway. I was curious about her story. It reminds me of what’s happening with Corrie. And Delila got rid of Ethel.”
“She trapped her.”
“At the asylum.”
Will nodded.
“Do you know the place? The Hippie Tree?” Sarah asked.
“I’ve been there a time or two. I don’t like it. Lots of kids hang out there, get stoned, spray-paint the trees. Dancing with the devil, if you ask me.”
“How can we find out more?”
“I have some connections. Give me twenty-four hours, and I’ll take you to meet someone.”
Sarah bounced on the balls of her feet, feeling lighter than she had in days.
“Is it absurd that I finally feel closer to the truth? Could you be the key to figuring all this out?”
“I am a paradox wrapped in an enigma sealed in a Monopoly game.”
“Huh?”
“Exactly.”
CORRIE
“CORRIE! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” Sarah’s voice sliced through my thoughts.
I looked up, surprised, but continued cutting. As I brought the knife back down, I felt the sharp blade cut into my index finger, but it was as if my brain was too slow to catch up.
Sarah whipped the knife from my hand and flung it away. Blood splattered us both. I blinked at her face speckled in red, wondering at the shock in her eyes.
“What? My God,” I said. “I lapsed for a second, it’s only a little…” But then I looked down and saw it was not only a little cut. I had several long gashes on the backs of my hands, another on my right forearm - and almost worse, a bird lay on the chopping black, its head severed and its legs sliced clean away from the black, oily body.
I swallowed rising bile and spun away, trying to breathe, but I couldn’t force the air. My ribs had locked tight around my lungs, blocking passage for the next breath.
Sarah took my elbow and guided me to a kitchen chair. I sat stiffly, refusing to look in her eyes.
What could I say? I tried to think back. When had I come into the kitchen? Picked up the knife?
“Where’s Isis, Corrie?”
I looked at Sarah, bewildered, and then terror tore me in half before I remembered - Micah, the woman from the party, had picked her up.