Now the butterflies started raging inside me.

  “No, Viv, wait. I think it’s not the best idea. He’s too dangerous.” I looked into her eyes that were now as black as Mrs. Palmer’s.

  “You just need to use me as bait,” she pressed. “We just need—”

  As if on cue, the wind stopped and an eerie silence settled in.

  “No!” I interrupted her. “What are you, mental?” I asked.

  She sat a bit closer and put her hand on my shoulder. It felt as light as a feather. She was way too close to me, compared to what I was used to with other people. “Cal, listen. We need to go to Chief Coleman and talk to him. He’ll think of something.”

  I shook my head. “No, you don’t get it. It’s better for you to stay out of this. There’s no way I will risk your life.”

  She lowered her eyes, as if offended by my words. I needed to tell her why. Just say it, I told myself. “It’s because I really like—”

  “Vivian!” a voice called from behind the gates, and Vivian jerked up her head, gasping quietly. “Oh, damn it, it’s Aunt Gloria.”

  “Vivian, I know you are there!”

  “How did she find us? I think I’d better go.” She pushed herself up from the bench and broke into a run down the snowed path, leaving prints in her wake. “Bye, Cal. Promise me you’ll think of what I told you,” she shouted to me, her voice farther away from me.

  I followed her with my eyes till she reached the gate. Mrs. Palmer’s stern voice boomed again, though I didn’t catch what she was saying.

  “See you, Viv,” I whispered. After a few more moments of sitting on a cold bench, I stood up and hurried back home.

  It was freezing tonight as Mrs. Palmer had said, and my legs felt stiff in this fierce cold.

  When I got home, I switched on the lights in every room, then rushed upstairs and looked around my own room. No traces of anyone being here. Aiden hadn’t visited the house.

  It was hard to believe this room had belonged to my father. The thought sickened me, and I left the room that would never feel mine anymore.

  I went downstairs, then to the kitchen. I checked the fridge for something to bite, but it was nearly empty. I picked a slice of pizza and washed it down with cold water.

  Then an idea came to me. Under the stairs leading to my room there was a door to the basement where we’d dropped boxes with all sort of junk on the day we’d moved to Olden Cross. I didn’t remember Mom going in there ever since, and I wondered if there might be something in those boxes that might help me find out anything about Aiden. Old pictures or stuff like that.

  I opened the door and peered into the dark. The switch was in the basement, so I had to go down first and then turn on the lights. I took cautious steps, feeling the cool walls with my hands. My eyes gradually adjusted to the dark, and I exhaled upon reaching the last step.

  I entered the dark room and hit the switch, and the bulb flickered, bathing the room with dull yellow. I squinted for a few moments, but then I got used to the dim light. Stacks of boxes lay around in a haphazard way, some of them on the damp ground, already ruined by mildew. The air here was cold and damp, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to stay here long, so I got to the nearest box and opened it.

  Filled with old clothes, nothing interesting. I laid it aside and got to the next one. Books, fiction. I buried my hand deeper, looking at the titles. Nope, nothing here as well.

  After about ten minutes of rummaging through the boxes I hadn’t found anything yet, my clothes and face covered in dust. At least I didn’t feel cold anymore. It wasn’t as easy to get through the old stuff as I’d expected. Some of the boxes were so heavy I couldn’t lift them so I just pushed them aside to get to the other boxes.

  Halfway through the labyrinth of boxes I found one that was Scotch taped. I put it onto a stack of boxes I’d already looked at. This one was rather heavy. Perhaps more books. I looked around for a knife and noticed a box of nails on a shelf not far. This one will do, I thought as I picked a large nail. I cut the tape and pried the box open. Dust swirled around me, and my nose tickled.

  Yep, more books. “Wait,” I whispered.

  There were a few picture albums there, and I grabbed one. They were Mom’s, back when she was a child. There she was smiling at me, her mother looking at the camera. I’d never known my grandparents, and I didn’t know how I felt about seeing these pictures. Sad? Probably yeah.

  I turned the pages and there were more pictures that I’d never seen. Why would Mom hide them from me and Bev?

  Then I came across a picture with Mom and a boy. It chilled me to see the boy’s face burned out of the picture, like someone had put out a cigarette on his face.

  I checked the rest of the album, all of the pages having the same burned-out pattern. Was it Mom who did it to Aiden’s face? I felt too creeped out to go on.

  There seemed to be nothing else of interest in the box, but when I got to the bottom, my fingers grabbed hold of a notebook. Its leathery hardback was pliant, crumbling at the edges.

  An old diary. I opened it to find yellowed pages with a familiar scrawl. I leafed through it, the page rumpling under my fingers.

  I caught bits of Aiden’s notes; I didn’t want to read the whole thing. The excerpts I read chilled blood in my veins.

  “… I can’t take them haunting me anymore.” I opened my mouth like a fish suddenly finding itself out of water.

  “No one can help me. … They follow me everywhere …”

  “…—the dead …”

  On top of one of the pages I found the date: December 26, 1976.

  Next to it there was a heart with an arrow piercing it. Two names were inside the heart, and I could feel my hands shaking as I stared at these two names: Aiden and Gloria.

  I shook my head. That couldn’t be right. Aiden and Gloria? What the hell?

  The door opened and closed upstairs, and I stopped breathing. There was no way out of the basement except through a narrow window I would never be able to get into. I’d probably chosen the worst time to get trapped here. If that was Aiden, I’d never make it out of the room.

  I took a few steps to the stairs, listening. Someone was breathing in a noisy way. Someone close to the basement.

  “Callum? Beverly?” a voice called, hoarse and difficult to make out.

  I knew who it was and I bolted up the stairs, taking three at a time, and ran out of the basement.

  “I’m here, Mom,” I said.

  Then I skidded to a halt. It was Mom, but it looked like she’d aged a decade, her clothes covered with dirt, her hair a mess. She coughed, and for the first time in my life I sprinted to her. I hugged her, and not only because I was relieved to see her.

  “Where’ve you been?” I asked.

  She coughed again, then cleared her throat, and said in a feeble voice, “I need to tell you what you should have known years ago. It’s about your father.”

  I led her to the couch and she sat.

  “Wait,” I said, going to the kitchen and switching on the kettle. “I’ll make you a cup of tea.”

  When I returned to the couch Mom was sleeping. I woke her, and she drank the tea.

  “Thank you, dear.” She smiled at me weakly.

  “I missed you, Mom.”

  “I know. I missed you too.”

  “What happened to you?”

  She looked at me, then sighed. “Your father came here a few days ago. He forced me to go with him to the Swamps.” I noticed bruises around Mom’s wrists. “He kept me in some old house.”

  “A house?”

  “Yes. I’d never known there was one. It’s deep in the wood.”

  So that’s where he keeps everyone, I thought.

  “Have you seen anyone else there?”

  “No, I was alone in that room. But I occasionally heard voices in other room.”

  “Jeez!” I hugged Mom.

  “Your father’s crazy. He kept mumbling about some signs and numbers on your hands.”

  “What? What else did he say?”

  “Well,” Mom’s eyes filled with tears, “that he’s going to kill you all when he’s got you in his collection.”

  “Collection?” Aiden was sick.

  “It started years ago. He and his parents lived here, in this house. I lived not far down the street. I was friends with Cynthia Abbott and Gloria Palmer. We tried to make friends with Aiden at first, but he always kept to himself so we left him alone.

  “Then Oliver Crosby came to town. We became friends, and then Aiden started bullying him.” Mom coughed again. “Then Cynthia and he started dating.”

  “And then she disappeared, right?” I said.

  “Yes.” Mom nodded her head. “Then they found Cynthia dead. And her purse was in Oliver’s room so they arrested him. Aiden disappeared some time later. It turned out that the police had found bit of skin under Cynthia’s nails and they weren’t Oliver’s.

  “A few years later I moved to Phoenix and met Aiden. He’d changed. We married soon.”

  Mom stared right in front of her without blinking, probably looking back at her life.

  “What happened next?” I interrupted her thoughts.

  “Then Bev came. I thought we were a real family. Happy, but I was wrong. Something snapped after you were born.”

  Her words stung, but I knew it wasn’t either my fault or Mom’s that their life had been ruined.

  “Your father kept writing this weird diary. He said it was important. He never told me what was so important about it.”

  Mom grew agitated, and I interrupted her. “Mom, you must be really tired. You need to take some rest.”

  She turned to me. “But what if he comes here?”

  “No, he won’t.” I helped her stand up and then saw her to her room. As her head hit the pillow, she closed her eyes and fell asleep, breathing peacefully. I stared at her for a few moments, thinking over what she’d told me. Aiden had kept her deep in the forest. That was where he kept the others. That was where I should go.

  I just needed to do one more thing before meeting Aiden.

  Chapter 14

  Aiden watched Melanie stumbling away, towards Olden Cross. He wasn’t going to chase her.

  Let her tell Callum about this place. He’s going to come here to save his stupid friends, Aiden thought, his lips curved into a wicked smile.

  Shoulder-length blond hair tickled his neck as he walked leisurely towards the exit, past the rooms where he kept the marked ones.

  Melanie hadn’t even cared to close the door. Why would she? It kept creaking in the wind, nearly falling off its rusted hinged. He bowed his head to get through the doorframe, stepped over the threshold and came outside. Melanie’s footprints were still there, but soon the snow would cover them.

  The Swamps made this place almost impossible to get to, especially at this time of the year. He’d found it years ago after he killed Cynthia. It provided shelter to him whenever he had to hide from the police or Olden Cross townsfolk.

  Aiden knew that his son was going to come here soon in spite of the weather. Callum had been close to this place already, bringing his friends and Geoffrey.

  Aiden walked around the house, peering into the distance. No one was out there.

  If only he didn’t have to go out there and search food for the damned kids. I hate them. But soon I’ll set myself free. He licked his lips in anticipation. I’ll get all the numbers and they’ll be dead. I’ll stop seeing them all then.

  He heard someone banging against the door. Was that the same kid who’d gotten on his nerves ever since ending up here? Wayne, was it his name?

  “I’m gonna kill him,” he hissed, rushing into the dilapidated house.

  In quick steps he crossed the dark corridor and opened the door. Wayne stared at him right in the eyes. Aiden grappled the long-haired boy by the collar and pushed him into the room. Not that Wayne could offer any resistance with his hands tied behind him. Snatching him by the hair, Aiden kneed his face, the boy’s nose crunching. The boy dropped the ground, nose-bleeding and moaning.

  “If you bang against the door one more time, I’ll cut the girl’s throat,” Aiden said, pointing to a scared-looking girl in the corner, “and you’ll be watching.”

  Aiden noticed how the boy’s and the girl’s hands kept glowing with circles, triangles and the numbers 4/7 and 5/7.

  It was fascinating to watch these symbols and numbers. The fourth and fifth to die, Aiden told himself, then turned around and left the room.

  He would have to visit Olden Cross one more time. Before meeting Callum he had to capture another marked girl. As Aiden was walking through the Swamps, he smiled wickedly, his heart beating with wild anticipation.

  Chapter 15

  5 hours later

  My last entry

  November 25

  This is going to be my last note. Ever. I’ve had enough of it. Enough of the dead. Enough of the suffering. Enough of the diary.

  It never really helped. Just postponed what was going to happen anyway.

  Aiden would never stop. It’s I who should do it.

  P.S. I love you, Mom. I love you, Bev. Sorry I was such a jerk to you.

  P.P.S. Vivian, you are the best girl I’ve ever met in my life. And you are so hot! Back there, at the graveyard I meant to say that I really like you. Your vanilla scent is driving me crazy.

  I raised my eyes from the page, smiling to myself at the last phrase. I heaved a deep sigh. Soon. It’s going to be over soon.

  I shut Bev’s notebook and put it on my desk.

  “It’s time,” I told myself.

  “Are you going to leave me alone?” Cynthia said, coiling her beautiful hair on her index finger.

  “I’m sorry, but we belong in different worlds.” I turned to go.

  “If Aiden kills you, we’ll be together, right?” the dead girl said, hope in her voice.

  “Sure.” I winked at her, then left the room.

  Careful not to wake Mom, I tiptoed downstairs, picked Aiden’s diary, put it in my bag and left.

  *

  Bad luck seemed willing to play jokes on me whenever it had a chance. As if I hadn’t had enough of it. As I locked the door of my house and exited the gate to our yard, I saw Stan. He had become the runner-up on my black list, since Aiden had taken the lead.

  He was alone, no cronies by his side, but the way he was walking straight to our house unnerved me a bit.

  “Hey, Blackshit, what’s up?” he hollered. “What’s in that bag of yours?”

  “None of your damn business, Stan,” I said with as much confidence as I could muster. I was going to face my father soon, so Stan felt like a warming-up rather than real threat.

  “You’re too bold to talk to me like that,” he said. “There’s no Nate or Wayne to step by your side.”

  He grinned at me, like a wolf that was about to pounce on a lamb.

  “I know, and I’m not afraid of you,” I said, my fingers clenched into fists.

  Stan paced towards me leisurely and kicked me in the stomach without warning. The blow knocked the wind out of me, and I collapsed to the ground.

  Stan laughed in my face. “You should know where you belong, jackass.” He kicked me again. I rolled over, stars flecking my vision.

  This time I was on my own, no one would come and save me. I had to act fast before Stan beat the crap out of me.

  His next kick found my face, and I thought my head would fall off. I didn’t know how I managed not to pass out. Maybe it was Stan’s hysterical laughter that made me pull myself together.

  “What’re you going to say now, huh? You come to Olden Cross and all this stuff happens.”

  While Stan was making his speech, I thought of what to do next. My temples throbbed with pain, and my ribs hurt. I tasted blood in my mouth. That bastard had probably cracked a few teeth. The corner of my mouth hurt, and I licked my cut lip, flinching at the sudden pain.

  “—you never belonged in here. If you don’t get the hell out of here, I swear I’ll kill you.” He pointed his index finger at me. “After all my father had to suffer because of your freakin’ family, you should’ve never come here ever again. And that’s for you to make sure you’ve got my point.”

  He approached me, about to kick me again, aiming at my face. I ducked and rolled away, got up quickly, but Stan was faster, punching me real hard in my chest, the sledgehammer blow making my frame ripple. It wasn’t enough for Stan. He took a few steps towards me, and I swung my plastered hand, striking him across his face.

  For a moment he didn’t seem to get what had happened. He furrowed his brow in confusion, and there I swung my hand another time, trying to punch him with as much force as I could. My second strike hit his neck, and he took a few feeble steps back, his eyes on me.

  “You’re never going to hurt me, Stan,” I said, lunging at him, the same way I’d lunged towards Aiden in front of the school, and kicked him right in the face, and he toppled to the ground. “Ever again.”

  *

  I was lucky my plastered hand proved useful at least once. I had to ignore the shooting pains in my stomach as I hurried to the Swamps. I had no idea how, but I knew Aiden was waiting for me tonight, and I feared to get there late.

  No one was out in the street except me as I entered the forest and worked my way deeper through the dark wood. Tree roots stuck out of the moist ground like varicose veins. I nearly tripped on one but managed to keep my balance.

  Icy water trickled into my sneakers. I still couldn’t believe this austere wood once used to be a friendly place where animals and plants thrived on sunlight and warmth.

  Feeble stars flickered in the evening sky. I was fairly close to my destination, and I thought my mind was playing tricks on me when I heard two distant voices ahead: one harsh and one panicky and tearful.

  I broke into a slow run across the mildly frozen ground. My hands turned into steady, clenched fists. My fears seemed so stupid when someone was in real danger and needed my help.

 

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