“It’s a scavenger hunt,” Katie explained.
“Do you know what that is?” Manda asked.
“Sure, I guess,” said Hannah, thinking it sounded like a thing from birthday parties, even though she hadn’t been invited to a birthday party since second grade.
“It’s where you follow clues, gather objects, and find a prize.”
“Like a treasure hunt?” she asked.
“Yeah, like a treasure hunt,” Katie said, smiling, bobbing her head.
“Well, what’s the prize?”
Mel laughed. “Think about the word prize, Hannah. It’s short for surprise, right? And it wouldn’t be a surprise if we told you.”
“It’s gonna be good, Hannah,” Katie promised. “Something you’ll never forget.”
“Are you ready?” Mel asked. “Ready for the first clue?”
“I don’t know,” Hannah said. “It’s late, and my dad—”
“If you don’t want to do it, you don’t have to,” Manda said.
“Of course she wants to do it,” Mel said, giving Manda a disgusted look.
“Yeah,” Katie said. “You want the surprise, don’t you, Hannah?”
Hannah hefted her sack, heavy with candy, over her shoulder. “BOO!” she howled at the top of her lungs, and the girls all laughed and patted her on the back, and she was the star of the show. It was the night of Hannah-beast. Hannah-beast unleashed, that’s what Mel said.
“You can leave your candy with me,” Manda said. “It’ll be easier without it. And I’ll keep it safe, I promise.”
Mel handed her a piece of paper, and Hannah squinted down at it through the eyeholes of her mask. “‘You’ll find me in Old Man Jarvis’s garage. I’m made of metal. I ring but I’m not a phone.’”
Hannah looked up from the paper to the others.
“What are you waiting for?” Mel asked. “Go!”
Hannah started off running toward Old Man Jarvis’s place. She looked back and saw the girls standing in the gazebo, watching her. “Aren’t you coming?” she called.
“We’ll meet you at the end.”
“But how will I know what to do?”
“Just follow the clues,” Katie said. “You can do it!”
“Yeah, you can do anything!” shouted Mel. “You’re Hannah-beast!”
2016
Amanda wrapped up her hand in gauze and surgical tape. The bleeding had finally stopped.
“Fucking idiot,” she mumbled to herself.
She went back out to the kitchen, poured the last swallows of wine into her glass. She lit the votive and dropped it inside the pumpkin, stepped back to admire her handiwork.
The smiling face leered back at her — round eyes hopeful, expectant, a slack-jawed grin giving the thing a bewildered look.
Her stomach twisted, the wine turning to acid.
Hannah. It was Hannah’s face.
Hello, Manda Panda.
Long time no see.
The air seemed to go out of her. The cut on the base of her thumb throbbed in time with her heartbeat.
At that moment, the power went out, plunging the house into darkness and silence.
The wineglass slipped out of her hand, crashing onto the tile floor.
1982
I ring but I’m not a phone.
Hannah worked the clue around in her brain as she entered Mr. Jarvis’s garage through the open door. She squinted in the darkness as she walked around the old Plymouth parked there. There were tools hanging on the walclass="underline" rakes and hoes and shovels. And a workbench at the end. She walked over to it.
I ring.
Ring around the Rosie.
She looked at the tools on the bench and the walclass="underline" hammer, saws, screwdrivers, wrenches.
“None of you ring,” she said.
She bit her lip. She could do this. She had to do this. Show them that she wasn’t a dummy. Not like everyone thought she was.
“I’m Hannah-beast,” she whispered. “I can do anything.”
Then, like a miracle (the power of Hannah-beast brought miracles!), she saw it! There on the shelf above was what she’d come for: an old brass cowbell. It was sitting on top of a crowbar. She picked up the bell, saw it had a note tied to it. She moved closer to the window and read the note by the light coming in from Mr. Jarvis’s front porch.
Ring me for one FULL minute. NO CHEATING. Then take the crowbar underneath and go to the Blakelys’. Use the crowbar to pry open the door to the shed. Inside, look for something red. Bring this note with you.
Hannah stuck the note in her pocket, held on to the bell, and started ringing it and counting, “One, two, three...”
She was at fifty-five when the front door to the Jarvis house banged open, and Mr. Jarvis came walking stiffly toward the garage, calling, “Who’s there? What the hell is going on?”
She started counting faster: “Fifty-five-fifty-six-fifty-seven-fifty-eight-fifty-nine-sixty!” She dropped the bell, grabbed the crowbar, and tore out of the garage, nearly running into Mr. Jarvis in the driveway.
“Hey, come back here!” he yelled. But she did not slow. Did not turn. She zigzagged her way through backyards, across the Caldwells’ field, and over to the Blakelys’. The old wooden shed was in their backyard along a split-rail fence. She tugged on the door handle, but it was locked, as the note had said, so she slid the chiseled end of the crowbar between the door and frame, pushing it in as far as it would go; then she pulled her full weight behind it. The old wood on the doorframe cracked and splintered and the door flew open.
She laughed. She was Hannah-beast. No locks could stop her.
The red thing was waiting for her right in the middle of the shed: an old gas can with a note tied around the handle.
Use the crowbar to smash out the window of the shed, then leave it behind. Take the gas can to the Caldwells’ old barn. Look for something small and brass. Keep all the notes with you.
Without pausing to think, she smashed out the old single-pane windows with the crowbar, then threw it to the ground. As she sprinted across the yard, lights came on in the house. A man shouted, “Stop right there!” but she didn’t even turn around, just ran faster, harder, the wig bobbing around on the top of her head, the cape flying out behind her.
“BOO!” she screamed as loud as she could.
2016
“What the fuck?” Amanda said, blinking in the darkness. All the background noises of life were gone: the humming refrigerator, the ice maker, the furnace clicking on, and fans starting.
She tried to remember where the breaker box was in the basement. What you were even supposed to do to try to get the power back on — flip a switch, change a fuse? This had always been Jim’s department.
She stumbled forward, stepping over the broken glass and spilled wine, toward the window, saw it wasn’t just her house that was out. It was the whole street. The whole town, maybe. She didn’t see a hint of light anywhere.
Amanda held still, watching, listening.
A siren whined far off. A girl screamed. Someone laughed.
Amanda thought she smelled smoke.
Her throat grew tight.
The grinning jack-o’-lantern, with the candle sputtering inside, was now the only light in the room, filling the kitchen with a fiery-orange glow. The flickering eyes were watching, following her, saying, I know who you are. I know what you’ve done.
“I’m sorry,” she said out loud, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. “I didn’t know what would happen. I should have stopped it, but I had no idea. None of us did. I was young and scared and stupid.”