I’m already on my toes when I hear the crisp crumbling of leaves to signal him following. “You’ll get lost.”

  Twisting only the top of my body around to be able to see him, I smirk and shrug. “I don’t even care. Life sucks either way.”

  “You’re crazy!”

  To be honest I’m terrified. I tried to pay attention to the way we walked. At least I know the direction the sun sets. Eventually I’ll make it home. I hope.

  In hindsight, I never should have gone into the creepy ass woods with someone I barely know. I think I’m just at a point where I don’t care anymore. If he took me to the woods to put me out of my misery maybe it was meant to be.

  For the first ten minutes I assume he’ll show up behind me. As the sun lowers against the horizon, I realize I’m on my own. I’m elated once I reach the end of the tree line. The road is empty. Every few minutes a vehicle passes by me driving at high speed. I contemplate hitchhiking, but I’ve watched too many horror movies to think it’s a good idea.

  My thighs are on fire when my eyes catch the first sight of town. I say town, but it’s more like one main road with several businesses, then it goes right back to being farmland. The buildings are historic. Even the grocery store appears to be over a hundred years old. The floors are wooden and creak as people walk across them. The barber has one of those things outside that’s like a moving candy cane. He sits outside and talks to everyone who walks by.

  On the corner of the furthest end is a small pharmacy. Across the street you’ll find a family operated restaurant. It’s set up like a diner with a full-length bar. There’s a back room with larger tables to accommodate more people. The bells attached to the door rattle as I step inside. Everyone in the establishment turns to look at me. I feel as insignificant as I was in school earlier in the day. Then my stomach drops when I see one of the waitresses. She’s in my grade and hangs out with the school bus chick that belittled me until I humiliated her.

  My feet ache. All I want to do is sit down, grab a drink, and hopefully fill out an application, but that’s not going to happen. There’s no way in hell I’m working with this bitch. Not today. Not ever.

  Sadly, I head back out and look down the small stretch of unpopulated road. My heels are on fire. I’m too far to turn back now. Just as I’m about to cry from exhaustion and defeat, I will myself to continue forward.

  Cringing. That’s what happens when I hear the vehicle pull up beside me. It’s getting dark, and I’m too far out of suburbia to be anywhere near a streetlight. It’s impossible to avoid this unless I want to jump into a ditch half filled with old stagnant water and probably the guts of roadkill left to rot.

  The tires toss up gravel as it comes to a stop next to me. Cautiously, I glance in that direction hoping to God it’s not a homicidal maniac.

  First, I notice the late model of the car. It’s a golden Chevrolet Caprice, like the old police cars. The electric window is moving downward to allow the driver to communicate with me.

  A silver haired woman with a short cut full of tight curls leans over to address me. “It’s getting late, sweetheart. You shouldn’t be out here walking alone.”

  “I’m okay,” I assure her, even though I’m doubting myself.

  “I don’t normally do this, but do you want a ride?”

  My legs feel like they’ve been put in a meat grinder. The temperature is dropping, and I’m not dressed to handle the wind coming off the miles of farm fields.

  “You don’t have to be scared, darlin’. I’m a grandmother. I’ve got family your age.”

  “I’m almost home but thank you.”

  “Are you in trouble? Do you need to borrow my cellular device?”

  “No.” I pull mine out to show it to her. “I’m good.”

  “I’m afraid it’s going to bother me too much to drive away. There’s a lot of passing tractor-trailers on this road and you can’t trust people these days. If you would please allow me to give you a lift it would settle my mind.”

  Just as she says it a truck goes blowing by, honking as it passes. This is the second time this afternoon that I’ve put my trust in another person. The first one left me alone in the woods. Since I’ve never heard about a nice old lady serial killer, I decide to take her up on the offer. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

  A moment later I’m buckled in the seat next to her. Her hands both remain fixed on the ten and two position of the steering wheel as she focuses primarily on the road ahead. “My name is Maggie.”

  “I’m Sophie.”

  “Where are we headed, Sophie?”

  “I think it’s called the old Collinswood house. It’s off Branch Road.”

  “I heard someone purchased it, but I didn’t think they’d move in so soon.”

  “We’ve been here for about a week.”

  “You and your parents?”

  I hate this part of any conversation. “Me and my dad. Mom died a while back.”

  “I’m sorry to hear. It’s difficult to be young and without a mother.”

  “Yeah, I’m finding that out.”

  “Are you any relation to the family who lived there prior to you moving in?”

  “No. My dad lived here for a time when he was a kid, but we didn’t know them.”

  She grips the steering wheel as she continues. “It’s a real shame what happened to them. Be glad you didn’t know them.”

  For the next five minutes it’s eerily silent. I want to ask why she’d say that, but we’re already coming up on the dirt driveway, and I’m so glad to be home that nothing else matters. “Miss Maggie, thanks again for the ride. I don’t know if I would have made it home. I’m not as in shape as I thought.”

  She reaches over and touches my arm, tapping it as she speaks. “All that matters is that you’re home safe. I’m glad to have met you, Sophie.”

  I don’t know why, but I lean over and half hug her. Maybe it’s because she’s the first person to offer me kindness without an ulterior motive. Maybe it’s because she’s a mother, and I miss mine more than words can explain. Whatever the case, she reciprocates for the few seconds I allow the embrace to continue. As I pull away, I can tell she knows my heart is in a million pieces. “Take care of yourself, and next time make sure you’re on the school bus. Our town is safe, but a lot of people come through it.”

  “I know.” I wave as I watch her pull away, leaving me at the end of the lane. Her focus isn’t on me though; it’s the house in the distance behind me. The way she does it gives me full body chills. Guess I should have asked about it. For now, it’s best I don’t know. My feet and legs need nourishment.

  Chapter 4

  This place still doesn’t feel like home. It reminds me of a neglected old house kids refuse to go to on Halloween. It’s been a little over a week and I’ve yet to really explore the property. Nine acres, half wooded, sits surrounded by two huge dairy farms. I’ve already refused to keep my bedroom windows open due to the pungent smell of manure. It’s worse because I’m not used to it.

  Behind the house is one of the three outbuildings. Dad mentioned getting chickens, but I’ll be the one to care for them so that’s a no-go.

  Avoiding going inside, I skirt around the rear of the house and check out the smallest barn. Old farm tools still hang from metal hooks fixed on the plank walls. There are shelves of old boxes and baby food jars filled with small screws and tidbits. Backing out, I registered the latch and lurk around the outside. A bicycle sits against the large barn in the distance. As I approach, I can already tell it’s been used recently. The mountain gears and tires are both in good shape. At least I know if I find a job, I’ll have a way to get there.

  Upon entering the big barn, I make a beeline for the stairs heading to the second-floor hayloft. The whole back wall is lined in hay and I find the smell isn’t bad. It’s outdoorsy but warm.

  Almost falling to my death when I have to give the double doors a shove, I peer down at the ground and how high up I’ve climbed. With my feet dangling, I give the whole property a good once over.

  Against the left side of the house is the weirdest shaped oak tree. It must have grown into parts of the awning and the previous owners never cut it. If I were younger, I’d attempt to climb it, but now it’s just an eyesore. When the wind blows the limbs scratch against the roof and my bedroom window. Another reason I feel like it’s haunted. All the frightening ass sounds.

  If I were popular, or had a strict parent, it would be possible to sneak out with friends from my room and climb right down the wide branches.

  Since I have neither, it’s a reminder of how lonely I’ve become.

  My eyes cast over the back-attic windows. Four in total, just like the front. The top of each has a stained-glass star in red and blue colors. All are inaccessible from the attic space. Apparently, they’re for show, a cosmetic improvement to make a colonial farm house more architectural on the exterior, from what I’m told.

  I think about how Dad put our things there to be smothered in dust forever. My first trip up those old wooden steps made me feel as if I’d stepped back in time. The hair stood up on the back of my neck and it was frigidly cold, sending my imagination into overdrive. Dad says my obsession with horror movies and science fiction novels have led me to paranoia.

  At any rate, I don’t like the remains of my mother up there in that lonely space. I need to find that urn. I’ll keep it in my room if Dad doesn’t want to see it.

  From up here the dilapidated home doesn’t seem as frightening. Essentially, it was walls, no memories or meaning.

  I wonder what would happen if I jumped from this height. Would I break my ankles? Would Dad look for me? Would he be able to care for me in his condition?

  I can’t even harm myself for attention in fear that I’d die before anyone gave a damn. How pathetic!

  The rickety old back porch screen door sounds like a sick bird when Dad opens it. He’s already looking up in my direction, as if he spotted me from inside. “When did you get home?”

  “A while ago.”

  He’s motioning for me to get down. “I need your help with something inside.” As he says it, he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a pack of cigarettes. Placing one in between his lips, he retrieves his lighter and takes a heavy drag before walking back inside.

  Mom would have never allowed smoking in the home. I hate the smell. In order to make a point, I remain seated to wait it out. It’s not fair that I’m the parent now. I never asked for this, and it’s not a permanent thing.

  The attic window beckons me again. I can’t explain why it keeps happening. Now that several people have made comments about the previous owners and things happening here, I’m more reluctant to go exploring up there. Before feeling overwhelmed every time I hear a noise, I would’ve found a way to make the attic a cool hang out. Now, not so much.

  Something about it gives me chills all over my body.

  It takes Dad another ten minutes to come back outside. The screen door slaps against its broken frame. That’s how I know he’s standing there waiting for an explanation. “You coming or what?”

  “Did you put that cancer stick out?”

  “Girl, you better watch your tone!”

  “Yeah,” I mumble while backing up to gain my footing. “Whatever you say, Dad. I’m coming, as soon as you extinguish that cancer stick and start caring about yourself.”

  It’s ironic how I’ve learned to stick up for myself since everything happened. I guess I’m to a point where I’m not going to take shit from anyone, especially my dad.

  Led to the living room, I watch as he points at the television and the wiring behind it. “I can’t get this shit to work right,” he admits, while reaching down on the coffee table to take a sip of his Jack Daniels. “Just help me figure it out, would you?”

  “Fine.” Taking my hands out of my pockets, with a roll of the eyes and a heavy exasperated sigh, I get down on my knees to take a closer look. As expected, the wires were put in the wrong places. After a little finagling, I manage to get everything up and running, the antenna at least. We can’t afford cable yet. The old bill is still overdue and they won’t provide service until it’s paid. Forget about internet. The only thing we can get in the middle of nowhere Virginia is a satellite service that’s limited data and extremely expensive. If I’m lucky I can get a couple bars on my cell phone in my bedroom. That’s about as good as it gets.

  Dad is already plopped down on the couch; a day-old dirty plate sits on the table between his perched two feet. I reach forward to take it to the kitchen. “Any luck finding a job today?” I inquire.

  “Didn’t feel like going out. I’ll call my buddy at the county tomorrow. Worst case I wait until that spring construction job starts. The permits are in, we’re just waiting on approval.”

  “Dad, we need groceries.”

  He mocks me. “Dad we need groceries.” Snickering, he finishes. “You’re old enough to contribute. I don’t see you getting a job.”

  “Actually, that’s why I was late today. Maybe if you moved us to a real town there would be more jobs available. Instead we’re in Farmville. How am I even supposed to get to and from a job, Dad?”

  I can already tell his sour mood will only make this conversation escalate. It’s best I take the high road, so I head into the kitchen while leaving him to slur profanities about how I’m unappreciative. Whatever!

  Later in my room, I gaze out the window counting the trucks as they pass on the distant road. The downstairs television is so loud I can hear it clearly even with my door shut. With only a hand full of channels to choose from, there’s nothing of interest to me.

  Once again, these four walls smother me, as I’m forced to comprehend that this is my future. In order for me to move on, I’m going to have to do some of the work to pass the time.

  The old cellar is nasty. It smells like damp mildew and I can’t be certain, but there could be dead rodents floating in dark corners. The last time I attempted to go down there several inches of stagnant water covered the ground. The drain had gotten so dusty the liquid would no longer pass through it, flooding the space. We most likely need a new sump pump. I’ll add it to the never-ending list.

  Since this was an estate foreclosure, there were a lot of items left behind. While Dad called them undiscovered treasures, I considered them to be more trash we’d have to dispose of.

  Soaked boxes line the walls. Who knows what they contained? If I had to guess I’d say it was the history of someone else’s life. Rooting through it seems like a huge invasion of privacy, and since I value mine, I’m not about to snoop.

  My heart skips a couple beats when I spot a mouse scurrying straight up a wall. If my fleeting eyes wouldn’t have narrowed in on the paint cans, I would have hauled ass back upstairs and locked the door behind me. Determination kept me focused, and the large plank of wood I now held to defend myself gave me courage.

  It would have been nice to go to a paint store and pick out a fresh new color, but we were pinching pennies. For now, my focus was to make the house more livable, one room at a time. Mine was decent for now, unlike the other five on the same level. Someone must have broken in at one point, because it’d been vandalized. Holes were punched in walls. Graffiti covered them in black spray paint. We’d kept those rooms closed off because we didn’t need them, and since I have nothing better to do, I decided to make myself useful. Maybe if Dad saw me making an effort, he’d do the same. One can hope.

  I’d never paid much attention to what the vandals had written. I’d decided I hated this place and all it stood for. While pouring two half-filled colors into one five-gallon bucket to mix up, I scanned each word.

  Murderer stood out.

  Hate.

  Burn in Hell.

  Death House.

  Cursed.

  There were other things too. Swallowing the dreadful lump in my throat, I kept repeating in my head that it was a bunch of kids probably playing a prank. Let’s face it, every vacant house seems haunted to kids. Aside from the creepy sounds, I didn’t believe an actual house could be cursed. What I did believe was that these words symbolized negativity and I’d had it with anything that could bring me down further than I already was. It didn’t matter if the color was a mix between blue and taupe, or if it had small clumps from sitting in the cold cellar for however many years. All I cared about was that I wasn’t leaving this particular room until I’d brought it back to life, one stroke of a brush at a time.

  Mom used to say painting was her way of relaxation. All it’s given me is sore arms and a headache from the oil-based fumes. Even with the window open, my high is obvious.

  Having started with the corners and edges of the upper and lower moldings, the only thing left is to roll the main walls. I’m about to hunt down the tools I need when I hear a loud thump come from the ceiling. Looking up is a natural reaction. Everything is silent for a second, then another muted knock happens. The hairs on my arms stand as I contemplate a scorned spirit living amongst us. Since it’s a ridiculous notion, I shake it off and hurry downstairs to let Dad know there’s most likely a living animal stuck in the rafters of the attic.

  Our third level is accessed by a real set of stairs. At the furthest end of the hallway is a door that has a lock from the outside, which happens to strike me as weird. Did the previous owners lock someone or something up there? If so, why?

  Dad unlocks the hook and has to pull hard on the stuck door for it to open. The narrow wooden steps still show our footprints in the dust from us carrying things up when we’d moved in. Following Dad up the stairs, each footfall is loud, making it obvious for any critter to make a fast escape. I’m already certain we’re not going to find anything, and from the way Dad is swaying I’ll probably end up having to help him back down.

  He pulls the metal chain on the light to illuminate the large space. The walls and ceiling slant like the shape of the original roof. Dad hunches over as he checks behind piles of boxes. Crossing my arms to avoid a chill, I scan the space and see an old rocking chair in the far corner. It moves slightly and I lose my shit. I don’t even remember my legs carrying me down the stairs, but I do know I hold my breath until I’m safely locked back in my room.