Jett had the blankets pulled up to her chin, but still she shivered. Katy put a hand to her forehead, a typical Mom thing, but Jett didn't have a fever. Unless you counted bogeyman fever. She had that big time.
The man in the black hat was bad enough by himself. Now he had the scarecrow creature on his side. She closed her eyes and saw the cheesecloth face, the stitched grin, the button eyes, the wicked curve of the sickle. Worse was awakening among the goats, who had milled about her sprawled body, nudged her with their horns, and pressed wet noses against her flesh.
"Sure we shouldn't take her to the emergency room?" Mom asked Gordon, who stood in the doorway as if he were late for an appointment.
"No bones broken," Gordon said, speaking with the authority of a former Boy Scout. "And both her pupils are the same size, so she's not concussed."
"I feel okay," Jett said, though she was tempted to feign some sort of internal injury so she could get out of the Smith house and into the relative sanity of a hospital. But that would mean Katy would eventually wind up here alone with Gordon. And with the man in the black hat, the goats, and the scarecrow creature. And with whatever else had been bothering Katy lately. Jett needed to stay and watch over her.
"Well, we'd better keep you out of school tomorrow, just in case," Katy said.
"You should have been more careful," Gordon said.
"The barn was dark," Jett said.
"I was hoping you'd be able to pull your weight around here. You're a Smith now."
"Gordon, she's just had a bad fall," Katy said, defending her daughter for the first time in weeks. "No need to be mean."
"I wouldn't be surprised if she was out there doing drugs. Maybe that's why she lost her balance."
Katy's voice rose in pitch. "That's your answer for everything, huh?"
"Well, you knew how I was when you married me."
"No, I didn't. Not at all."
Gordon glowered, shook his head, and faded back into the hall. Katy stroked Jett's cheek. "I'm sorry, baby. Things aren't going too well right now."
"Something's happening, Mom."
"I'll have a talk with Gordon-"
"No, I mean something weird is happening here in Solom. With you. With us"
Jett sat up, letting the covers slide from her shoulders. She was dressed in a nightgown and a black tube top. She didn't really need a bra yet, but liked the black accessory, especially at school. But now, with the world gone doomsday freaky, the whole Goth thing seemed a bit silly. Jett fought a hand out from under the blankets and gripped Mom's wrist.
Mom scooted to the edge of the bed and faced the window. The world outside was silvered by the moon, the light rimming the dark and silent walls of mountains. "I'm being haunted," Mom said.
"Like, by a ghost?"
Mom nodded. "I think so. Sometimes I think the ghost is me."
"Don't tell me you're going nuts, too? No wonder Gordon's pissed off at you."
"And I saw a man at the top of the ridge yesterday, standing by the fence near the Eakins property. He was just standing there, looking over the valley. The goats had gathered around him."
"Was he wearing a black suit? And a hat that was kind of rounded, with a wide brim?"
"Have you seen him?"
'Twice, at school. And today I saw him outside the house, just before you got home. I was so scared, I hid in the attic, only something was up there. Some kind of creepy scarecrow. And he was in the barn, too. He had a sickle, and he chased me, and that's why I fell-"
"You sure it wasn't Odus? Maybe he hired somebody new."
"But this guy isn't new at all. He's like two hundred years old. His face looks like somebody melted candle wax over a skull."
"Hmm. Maybe you hit your head harder than you thought."
"I swear, Mom. I wasn't doing drugs." At least, not much.
"I believe you, honey. But none of this makes sense."
"Like, you think ghosts are real but my weird trips are all in my head?"
"I can't think here. I should go to the kitchen."
"Fuck the kitchen, Mom. What's happening to you?"
The expletive caused Katy to blink. "Don't cuss, Jett. It's not ladylike. You're a Smith now, and we need to behave like Smiths."
"But I'm not a Smith. Neither are you."
"That's not what she says."
"She who?"
"The woman in the pantry."
"Jesus, Mom, are you on pills or something?"
"She's nice. She wants me to be happy and take care of Gordon, just like she did."
"Hell-o. You're scaring me as much as the scarecrow did.'
"The scarecrow is a Smith. He's been in the family for generations."
Jett waved her hand in front of Katy's eyes, but Katy was nearly catatonic, staring at her reflection in the window. "Mom. You're not hearing me. Solom is going goat-shit crazy."
"The best thing is to get some sleep. I'll talk to Gordon about it. He'll know what to do."
Sure, Gordon, always knows what's best. That's why we're one big fucking happy family, getting through it together, fighting the good fight.
"I love you, sweetie." Mom hugged her, and the embrace reminded Jett of how things used to be, back in Charlotte before marijuana and the divorce and the first stirrings of puberty. Jett held on as if the universe were crumbling away beneath the floor, and the bed were the last tiny island of sanity and hope. Warm tears ran down her cheeks. Everything was going to be okay, as long as they stuck together.
Unless the scarecrow dragged his scratchy sack of straw out of the barn and came calling on the house. The September wind picked up, whistling around the window frame, and bare branches clicked against the side of the house. Or it could have been the point of the sickle, tap-tap-tapping, probing for an opening.
"Will you sleep in here, Mommy?" Jett hadn't said "Mommy" in years.
"A wife's place is by her husband," Katy said, staring out the doorway into the hall.
"Mom?"
Katy stood and walked across the room like a zombie in an old black-and-white movie. She paused at the door, blew a kiss, and turned off the light. "Pleasant dreams, Jessica."
"Mom!"
The door closed, throwing the room into darkness. Jett, panicked, fumbled for the bedside lamp, and flipped the switch. She huddled in its glow as if it were the world's first campfire keeping back all the beasts of the night. Every rattle of a leaf outside became the footfall of a straw man, every creak of the wind-beaten house was a straining bone of the man in the black hat, each flap of loose shingles was the fluttering wings of some obscene and bloated bat.
Mom had gone over. Jett couldn't rely on her. So much for getting the fuck through it together. She waited a few minutes until she was sure Katy had gone into her own bedroom. The she tiptoed to the door and cracked it enough to check the hall. It was dark but empty, as far as she could tell. Jett tiptoed to the staircase. She was passing by the linen closet when she remembered the access hole and the scarecrow's box in the attic. Maybe it slept away the day mere, like a vampire in its coffin. She quickened her pace, socks slipping on the wooden floor. She descended the stairs so quickly she couldn't recall touching any of the treads.
In the den, the banked fire threw a throbbing orange glow across the room. The phone was by the sofa, and she plopped down and dialed. The trophy heads on the wall glared down at her with glass eyes mat seemed animated in the firelight. On the third ring, Dad answered.
"Hello?" His voice was cracked with sleep. He was an early-to-bed type, especially when a woman was around.
"Dad?"
His voice cleared. "Jett? What time is it?"
"Nearly midnight."
"What's wrong?"
"It's Mom. She's losing it and everything's going to hell."
"Where is she?"
"Upstairs."
"That doesn't sound so bad."
"She just told me she was a ghost."