It found us, p.10
It Found Us, page 10
“Forget your pants! We just had a major breakthrough!” Den yells through the wind. “He practically admitted there are ghosts here! And those smiley faces? What was that all about?”
Another flash of lightning. This time it stops me in my tracks. I’m breathless, stunned by what I think I just saw.
“Hazel? Haze!” Maggie is shaking me.
I snap to attention and blink the rain out of my eyes. “Did…did you see that?”
“See what?” Maggie yells back. She’s using her hands like a visor across her forehead. Rain tumbles from her fingertips.
“The tree!” I point.
When the next lightning bolt races across the sky, the large gnarled tree that sits in the center of Woodlawn lights up as well. Its branches are so twisted they look like bony fingers reaching out in all directions. A smiley face is carved into the bark of the tree, like whoever was carving it got interrupted.
“Oh my god,” Maggie says, looking from the tree to the muddy ground around us. She spins in a circle, breathing loudly like she’s hyperventilating.
I instinctively look down. Even with the rain falling, I can see what scared my best friend so badly—the footsteps. Dozens of them. Tiny and identical to the ones we saw in the ashes outside my bedroom door. They’re filling with rainwater now, but I can still make out the direction they came from—the toolshed.
That can only mean one thing…
It found us.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Every moment counts when you’re being chased by a ghost. With the footsteps surrounding us and the storm raging, Den, Maggie, and I have no choice but to run.
Fast.
Panic fills me as we weave back through the graveyard, through the ancient headstones and mausoleums that look even more ominous now than they did before. Every clap of thunder sends another wave of dread through me. I turn around more than once, terrified I’ll see a flash of red and white. Or worse, that awful face and stitched-up mouth.
“I don’t see it anywhere, do you?” Den yells.
Maggie and I pause long enough to look behind us. I shake my head. “No, but that doesn’t mean anything. We’re on its turf!”
The wind thrashes from every direction. It knocks down curtains of wet leaves and twigs large enough to sting if they hit you. A larger branch falls to the ground just a few feet in front of us. I pull my friends to a stop.
“It’s trying to keep us from getting out!” I scream. “Stay together! No matter what, don’t get separated!”
The skies light up again, illuminating my brother. He’s staring at me, his jaw dropped and his eyes impossibly wide. I’m about to tell him to keep moving when I realize he’s not looking at me; he’s looking behind me.
I spin around just in time to see a blur of red and white streak past. The wind howls, carrying with it the same singsong voice we heard on my recording.
I’m heeere. I’m heeeeeeeeeere.
The voice drifts through the trees, chilling me to the bone.
Charging around the branch, I make a break for the closest sidewalk outside of the graveyard. Den and Maggie huff alongside me, the three of us doubling over the second we make it off the cemetery grounds.
Den spins around one direction, then the other. “I don’t think it followed us out.”
“Me either. Are you guys okay?” I ask. My lungs are on fire. My clothes are drenched and my heart is beating fast. I feel like I did when Maggie dared me to guzzle two energy drinks back-to-back earlier this year.
Den finally stops his frantic search for the ghost. He’s panting and pale, but at least he’s okay. We’re all okay.
“I’m good,” he answers. “You, Mags?”
Maggie nods, but her quivering chin tells a different story.
“It’s all right,” I say in my most soothing voice. It’s a voice I practiced for my podcast back when I thought it was going to be a thing. People like to hear calming voices. Hopefully it keeps my best friend from freaking out right now. “We made it out in one piece! And look on the bright side!”
“There’s a bright side?” she asks, blinking away obvious tears. “Because right now I feel like I just had a near-death experience.”
“You aren’t wrong. But we also got some new clues. Big ones.” I open the flap of my jacket and tap on the clue journal I tucked inside to keep dry. “We’re close to cracking this case, guys. I really think we are.”
Smiley faces. The clue digs at me like a splinter. Why would a spirit that seems so angry be leaving smiley face signs all over the graveyard? Why not frowny faces?
The storm is finally moving out of the area, so we begin trudging toward home. I try to focus on the clues and not the disgusting squish of my wet socks, or the fact that we were all in serious danger just now.
“I hope the storms didn’t break up the search party,” Maggie mumbles. It’s the first thing she’s said since we left the graveyard and I’m grateful. My best friend is a lot of things, but she’s not usually quiet.
“Probably didn’t even storm where they are. Seems like mostly the graveyard and the area around it,” Den answers.
“Makes sense. I mean, if you believe the article I read about paranormal activity and storms.” Our house finally comes into view. We strip off our wet shoes and socks on the porch, then head in.
“Take your shoes in and put them in the closet. If Mom and Dad come home, I don’t want them seeing wet shoes and realizing we left.” I open the closet door and toss mine inside. Den and Maggie do the same.
Maggie pinches her nose. “Ugh. Someone’s dogs are barking. Can we get some dry socks?”
I laugh. “Yeah. It’s the least I can do after the near-death experience.”
When I come back downstairs, socks in hand, Den and Maggie are on the couch arguing.
“What now?” I ask.
“I was just saying that I think this smiley face clue is our best lead yet, but Den here is being a Negative Nancy and says no,” Maggie rolls her eyes.
“I didn’t say it isn’t a clue, I just said that there’s no proof yet a ghost is doing that. I know what Mr. Jeffries said, that he doesn’t think it’s a prank or that kids are doing it, but we can’t be sure. The legends about the shack have been going around for years. Couldn’t the smiley face be the same? Like different sets of kids sneaking in and putting it everywhere as a joke?”
“It could be. But what’s their motive? Why would they be drawing a smiley face on things?” I pause for a moment to think about it. “And why wouldn’t we have heard anything about it if it’s kids our age doing it? Maggie hears everything!”
“Facts,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’ve never heard anything about that being a thing, and I was the first person who heard about you and Everett egging the math teacher’s house.”
Den’s face reddens. “Stop bringing that up! It was a bad idea, okay? It’s not like you don’t ever have any bad ideas.”
Their bickering starts up again, so I put my fingers in my mouth and whistle the way my grandpa taught me to years ago. “Okay, okay, stop. You’re both right. We don’t really know anything about the smiley faces except that they keep showing up in the graveyard. I do think seeing it half-drawn in the tree today, then seeing the ghost right after seems kinda coincidental. A good detective doesn’t assume stuff, though. To connect the smiley face to the ghost we have to find out more.”
“How? We’re half-frozen and exhausted. Also, I don’t think Mr. Jeffries will want to see us back in that graveyard anytime soon.” Maggie swipes the thick blanket from the back of our couch and snuggles up under it.
“Mrs. Forster,” I muse out loud. “I need to talk to Mrs. Forster again.”
“And how are you going to do that?” Den asks, glancing away from his phone. “She doesn’t answer her phone and we can’t leave again. It’s going to get dark soon, which means Mom and Dad will head home.”
“We can leave. We just can’t get caught.” I head toward the stairs, stopping when Maggie jumps in my way.
“Ohhhh, no, you don’t. Your parents will be so mad if they find out.”
“Then don’t let them find out,” I tell her. “Look, you two stay here and pretend we’ve just been hanging out and eating pizza. I’ll sprint to Mrs. Forster’s house and be back before anyone knows.”
“I don’t know, Haze. My parents have been cool with me coming over here because they know I’m freaked out about Everett, and they trust your parents, but if your mom and dad catch us sneaking around, that will change.” She squeezes her hands together so tight her knuckles turn white. “Your parents would call my parents and I’d end up back home, babysitting the snot monster.”
Den is shaking his head. “She’s right. Too risky.”
“It’s not. We’re not going to let anyone get caught. Promise. If Mom and Dad come home, tell them I’m upstairs in the bathroom. Besides, if you keep the receipt for the pizza, we can use it as proof that we were here eating dinner.”
He scowls. “How are you so sneaky?”
“Not sneaky,” I answer, my mind already focused on what I need to find out. “Determined.”
With this I bound down the stairs. Mrs. Forster knows everything about that graveyard. She’ll have to know something about the smiley faces.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
My breath is stolen away when I turn the corner onto Mrs. Forster’s street. There are two police cars and an ambulance all parked in front of her house. Their lights are on. A small group of neighbors is huddled up on a lawn in the drizzle, their pinched faces telling me something bad happened. Something very bad.
Pulling my hood up to hide my face as much as I can, I decide to get a little closer. There’s a man talking on his phone near the ambulance. He’s got on a dark-colored uniform with a badge that says MEDIC on it. I squint harder. No, PARAMEDIC. I edge close enough to hear a few words, then pause half-behind a tree.
“Suspected cardiac arrest. Neighbors heard screaming and called the police. Patient is stable. ETA ten minutes.” He stops talking and looks my way. I immediately look down at my shoes so he can’t see my face. Hopefully he can’t hear my heart practically thumping out of my chest. Screaming? Cardiac arrest? I quickly pull my phone out and ask Google the question pinging around in my head. Then I cover my mouth to keep the gasp from escaping.
Cardiac arrest means heart attack.
Mrs. Forster had a heart attack.
Neighbors heard her screaming.
Just then, the front door of her house bursts open and a cloud of uniformed people rushes out. They’re pushing a stretcher with a very white, very frail-looking Mrs. Forster on it. Her body is covered with a sheet and her face is mostly hidden by a mask. Oxygen, maybe? I watch them wheel her to the ambulance, and as soon as she vanishes inside, I run.
I’m back home in six minutes flat. I stand on the front porch for a long minute, catching my breath.
The door swings open, startling me. Den looks me up and down, frowning.
“Dude. You scared me. I thought you were Mom and Dad.”
“Sorry, just me,” I say, stepping inside. I start to take off my hoodie, but don’t. Even though it’s warm in my house, I’m cold. Like I’ve gotten chilled to my bones and will never be warm again. Seeing Mrs. Forster on that stretcher was horrible. She looked so white…as white as the sheet covering her.
“We have a big problem,” I say, sinking down onto the couch.
“Obviously,” Den says.
“No, a new problem, I mean. I couldn’t talk to Mrs. Forster because she was being taken to the hospital. She had a heart attack.”
Maggie’s eyes fly wide. “A heart attack? Are you sure? We just saw her, and she looked totally normal!”
“I’m positive. I heard one of the paramedics talking. He said that the neighbors called the police because they heard screaming.”
My brother nods slowly. “A heart attack is probably scary. I’d scream too.”
“Or she was screaming because she saw something scary. Something that gave her the heart attack,” Maggie says, looking me dead in the eyes. “Is that what you’re thinking? That the ghost got to her too?”
I swallow, bobbing my head up and down. “What if the ghost has been watching us ever since we left the graveyard the first time? What if they saw us go to Mrs. Forster’s house and wanted to keep her from talking to us again?”
Den pales. “Mrs. Forster was really nice, guys. Did we do this to her?”
“We didn’t give her a heart attack, Den. That monster did,” Maggie answers, venom in her voice.
He takes in a deep, shaky breath. “Yeah, but did we lead the ghost to her? Maybe they would have left Mrs. Forster alone if we didn’t go to her house.”
His question needles me. I lied to Mrs. Forster to get the answers we needed, but I never would have done it if I knew something like this would happen to her.
I stand up and start pacing. My mind is a jumble of thoughts. It reminds me of the bumper cars at the county fair. Too much chaos. As soon as my thoughts arrange themselves into something I can make sense of, I feel it. The anger.
“If the ghost did go after Mrs. Forster because they wanted to keep her quiet, then that’s even more reason for us to figure out who they are,” I say, trying to sound calm even though I’m totally not.
“And what they want,” Maggie adds. “What if they go after other people around us? Like our parents?”
Den’s mouth parts into an O shape. “Oh no. I didn’t think of that. I know we weren’t planning to tell Mom and Dad anyway, but we really can’t tell them now. Or anyone!”
I stick my hand out like my field hockey team does before a big game. The break. “All hands in. We agree that this is top secret, right? To protect everyone around us, we don’t tell anyone about the ghost?”
Den and Maggie put their hands in. We lift them into the air, solidifying our promise. We’ll keep our families safe. Friends too.
“So back to our plan,” I start, settling back down onto the couch. “I really wish one of us knew more about ghosts.”
“I’m not an expert or anything, but I did watch this show once that said ghosts are dead people who can’t find peace.” She waves her arms in the air like wet noodles. “They’re stuck in limbo between dead and alive.”
“Stuck in limbo,” I repeat. “Okay. So, we need to find out why this ghost can’t find peace. What’s making them so angry that they’re doing these evil things?”
“Well, what do we know so far?” Maggie asks. She starts ticking off clues on her fingers. “It’s a kid, right? Maybe they’re just angry. I mean, I would be.”
“Same,” Den mutters. “The footprints that were in the hallway were itty-bitty. Same with the ones in the graveyard. I bet the ghost couldn’t have been older than ten or so.”
I think back to the footprints, a ripple of sadness washing over me. I shake it off. I don’t want to feel bad for the ghost. They just gave Mrs. Forster a heart attack! They took Everett! Whoever this ghost is, it doesn’t deserve our sympathy.
“I think we need to ignore the smiley face clue for now. We don’t even know if it’s connected to the ghost anyway. Let’s focus on finding out how many children are buried in that graveyard. Also, whoever died the most gruesome death should probably be our main suspect. At least for now.” Snatching my phone up off the table, I pull up Google. “Here! A plot map. The thing you use to find graves in a cemetery is called a plot map.”
Maggie hops onto the couch beside me and leans over my shoulder to look at the phone screen. “But would a plot map tell how old the person was? How will we know which graves are kids?”
“Let’s find out.” I type in the words how many kids are buried in Woodlawn Cemetery in the search bar, then frown at the results. “How can there be so many articles about that graveyard?”
Clicking on the first one, I fight off a shiver. It’s an image of an old chipped sculpture. A child. “Yikes. This grave is scary. Don’t remember seeing it in there, though.”
Den leans further over the back of the couch and points to the top of my screen. “That’s because that’s the wrong Woodlawn Cemetery. That’s in New York. Add Illinois to your search.”
I do as he says, scanning the new links that come up. “There’s something called Find a Grave, but it looks like we need to know the person’s name to use it.”
My brother crosses over to the armchair and flops down. “This is impossible. Without knowing anything about this kid, how can we possibly track down who it was?”
Maggie leans back and sighs. “No clue. And I’m already tired. Tired and freaked out.”
I clench my jaw. I’m tired too. But we already failed Mrs. Forster. We can’t fail Everett too.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
My parents are home an hour later. They drag themselves through the door that connects our kitchen to our garage and immediately sit down.
Dad groans as he stretches out his legs and kicks off his shoes. It’s not like him to be this tired. To be tired at all. It’s why he uses Google so much—to stay busy because he has a lot of energy. Only most of the time, his projects still aren’t enough to wear him out. Apparently searching for a missing kid is, though.
“Not good, huh?” I ask. Den and Maggie peek through the doorway from the living room. I wave them away, annoyed. We agreed that all three of us asking questions might look suspicious. So I volunteered to see what I could find out.
Mom leans over and tries to push the button on the coffee maker. Her arm doesn’t stretch far enough, so she lets it fall to her side and hang there. “Not really. Other than the piece of sweatshirt, we didn’t find anything.”
I walk over and jiggle the pot to make sure there’s enough coffee in it to reheat, then push the button for her. She gives me a weak smile.
“What do the police think?” I ask. “Have you heard anything new?”
