Tears filled her eyes; her throat grew tight as she tried to keep down the sob she felt coming.
“I’m sorry,” she said again. “Sorry for being such a fucking coward.”
The pumpkin only stared, the hideous grin seeming to grow wider, more taunting.
She was not going to be forgiven.
Not this easily.
1982
Running, running, wind in her blue face, blowing the cape back, and the hair, oh the hair, the great rainbow happy clown wig. She’s a wild thing. Hannah-beast unleashed. The gas can bumped against her thigh, the gas in it sloshing around like water in an empty belly. Her brain buzzed from sugar, from the high being around those girls had given her, and now, now she was on a hunt, a scavenger hunt, and she was going to get a prize, a SURPRISE, something good, something wonderful, something that would make the girls love her even more.
Love her more, more, more. Her heart pounded as she ran, felt like it was going to explode right out of her chest. The barn was in sight, a big old leaning thing — miracle it was still standing. The Caldwells were sleeping, tucked safe in their beds, the lights in the white farmhouse all turned off, too late for trick-or-treaters. Mr. and Mrs. Caldwell had two kids, little kids, still in elementary school, fourth and fifth grade, lucky little buggers. Elementary school wasn’t like middle school, where the halls were long and dark, and people jumped out at you, shoved you, kicked you; people left horrible stuff in your locker — dog shit in paper bags, notes that said “Why don’t you just curl up and die, Hannah?”
She entered the barn, ducked into the shadows, pausing to catch her breath, trying to slow her racing heart. The barn was open at one end and had a hayloft with a wooden ladder leading up to it, and it was still full of old hay bales from back when there used to be cows and horses. There was a long row of windows, most with the glass busted out. The floor was dirt. There was a broken tractor. An old motorcycle. Engine parts. Kids’ bicycles. The barn smelled like old wood, grease, and gasoline.
Something brass.
How was she going to find something brass in here? Needle in a haystack.
But they’d made it easy for her.
So easy.
Too easy?
Did they think she was that dumb? Or were they just being nice?
Nice, nice. Nice as spice. Manda Panda maybe, but not the others. Maybe Manda had left this for her, right where she could find it. Manda was on her side. Manda wanted her to win, to get the big surprise of a prize.
At the other end of the barn, there was a dim glow. A flashlight turned on, left on the floor. And there, in the beam of the flashlight, was an old brass lighter with a note tucked underneath.
She picked up the lighter, opened it up, and flicked it to see if it worked. The wheel struck the flint, and a flame came to life. Hannah knew how to work lighters. She sometimes lit Daddy’s cigarettes for him while he was driving. “Light me up, Hannah Banana,” he’d say. She’d pull a Camel out of his pack and get it going for him, take a few puffs herself first just ’cause it made Daddy smile.
She picked up the note:
You’re almost done! Take the three notes and burn them with the lighter. Leave the ashes in the barn. Take the lighter and gas can and bring them to the tallest oak tree at the edge of the yard. We’ll meet you there and give you your prize.
Hannah scrabbled the notes out of her pocket, held them with this final one, and flicked the lighter, watched the flame swallow them up. She held them until her fingers were hot and she couldn’t stand it any longer; then she dropped them, watched what was left of the pages sink and flutter to the dirt floor like burning moths. Once they were down there and had burned out, she stomped on them to make sure — didn’t want to leave anything smoldering, not in this old barn.
The wind blew hard outside, rattling the glass left in the windows. She thought she heard something up above her, coming from the hayloft. A board creaking like a sigh.
She pocketed the lighter, picked up the gas can, and headed out, scanning the tree line, looking for the tallest oak. She didn’t know her trees, didn’t know an oak from a maple from an ash, especially now that most of them had their leaves off. She headed for the tallest tree she could see, walking across the big yard, through grass that needed to be cut, so long it was like a hayfield.
She got to the tree and looked around for the girls. Nothing.
“Manda?” she called, keeping her voice low, not wanting to wake up the Caldwells. “Mel? Katie?”
She was there before them. She’d been faster than they’d thought she’d be. Wouldn’t they be impressed? Hannah-beast was fast. Hannah-beast was clever.
She stood next to the tree, fidgeting with the lighter. It made her fingers smell tangy and metallic, like raw metal. She flicked it, watched the flame. They’d see her now as they came. See her and know she had the lighter.
She was like the Statue of Liberty with her torch. She held it up high, her eye on the flame.
I got it.
I found it.
I win.
The acrid lighter-fluid smell filled her nostrils.
But there was something else. Another smell behind it. A campfire smell.
Smoke.
She smelled smoke.
She looked over at the barn and saw flames curling out through the windows, reaching up like long fingers, all the way to the roof.
Her heart jackhammered in her chest.
Had she done this? Had the paper not been out?
No. It had been. She’d made sure.
She stood, frozen. She thought of running, but then the girls would never find her. So she stood and watched from her safe place tucked behind the thick old tree. The lights from the house came on, and Mrs. Caldwell came out, screaming. She tried to run into the burning barn, but Mr. Caldwell was running now too, grabbed her from behind, stopped her.
There was another sound too. Screaming. High pitched and hysterical, from inside the barn.
Animals, Hannah thought at first. There must have been animals in there after all — a horse or cow, a couple of pigs maybe tucked away in a dark corner.
“Ben! Brian!” Mrs. Caldwell called. She fought against Mr. Caldwell, kicking, digging her nails into his arms. “Let me go!”
“For God’s sake, Margaret,” he said. “You can’t go in there.”
“Brian! Ben!” she howled.
The Langs came over from across the street. The barn was completely engulfed in flames now — it seemed to have taken only a minute. Mrs. Caldwell was screaming, sobbing, hysterical, and Mr. Caldwell kept his arms wrapped tight around her. More people came, people from down the street. Sirens started in the distance. Too late now. The VFD boys with their pumper trucks and miles of hose could never save that old barn.
Hannah watched from behind the tree, feeling like she was watching some show on TV, not something from her very own life. The barn roof caved in with a terrible cracking, roaring sound, and Mrs. Caldwell sank to her knees, howling like she was the one on fire.
Then Hannah saw the girls, her girls, coming down the street, twittering and bobbing like a flock of birds. They slowed, all three staring at the burning barn. Manda grabbed Mel’s shoulder, leaned in, said something Hannah couldn’t hear. Then they all ran to the sidewalk in front of the barn, to the group of neighbors gathered there.
Hannah stepped out from behind the tree, waving, trying to get the girls’ attention, not sure if she should run to them or wait right where she was. That was what the note said, to wait. So that’s probably what she was supposed to do?